Alphonse blinked. Nothing changed.
Darkness. Total, absolute, depthless darkness.
He tried to move. His body was gone. No arms, no legs, no chest to breathe with. Just consciousness. A mind floating in a void so complete it felt like a physical substance.
The eyes appeared.
Two enormous irises, golden-yellow. They hung in the darkness before him, each one the size of a carriage wheel, and they looked at him.
Not through him. Not past him. At him. Every atom. Every stolen memory. Every lie he'd ever told and every truth he'd ever buried.
Alphonse felt himself being read. Peeled apart, layer by layer, like a book being stripped of its binding. His first life. The beatings. The bottle. The wire around his throat. His arrival in this body. Sophie in the bath. The ambitions coiling behind his smile.
All of it, naked before those golden eyes.
A voice spoke. It didn't come from a direction. It came from inside the darkness itself, resonant and vast, like thunder trapped in a cathedral.
"It's not perfect. But it has what I want."
A pause. The eyes narrowed. Something in that ancient gaze shifted. Recognition, maybe. Or amusement.
"I hope you fulfill your role, boy."
The eyes closed.
The darkness collapsed.
"UAH—!"
Alphonse ripped his head from the water with both hands braced against the basin's rim. Water streamed down his face, into his mouth, soaking the front of his tunic. His lungs heaved. His heart hammered against his ribs.
He staggered backward. His boots slipped on the wet stone and he nearly went down before catching himself on a column.
The temple was back. The stained-glass light. The silence. The fountain.
Adeleine stood where she'd been standing before. Hands folded. Grey eyes watching him.
"It's not common for someone to react like that to the process," she said. Her voice carried no judgment. Only observation. "But it wasn't the worst. Some faint. One man from the southern provinces vomited on the Oracle's basin itself. And a merchant's son, I won't name which family, urinated on the temple floor."
"That's..." Alphonse wiped water from his eyes. "That's very comforting. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He couldn't tell if she was being sincere or dry. The mask over her face hid everything below the eyes.
His breathing steadied. His heartbeat slowed. The terror of those golden eyes was already fading, replaced by something else. Something electric.
Because floating in his field of vision, translucent and blue, glowing faintly at the edges like a screen made of light, was a window of text.
[ Status Page ]
Profession: Sorcerer (Hidden) — Patron: The Hidden One
Magic Alignment: Mind Control (Hidden)
Health: 10 / 10 Mana: 1,000 / 1,000
Strength: 1 Dexterity: 1 Constitution: 1 Intelligence: 6 Charisma: 8 Wisdom: 4
Alphonse stared at it.
How unbalanced, was his first thought.
The original Alphonse's memories supplied the context. Each stat ranged from one to ten. One represented a baseline human. Ten approached something beyond human. Demigod territory. The kind of number that appeared once in a generation, if that.
His physical stats were catastrophic. Strength one. Dexterity one. Constitution one. A single punch from a fighter could kill him. An arrow, a sword stroke, a fall from a horse. Any of it could end him before he had time to blink.
Yet his mental stats told a different story. Intelligence six. Charisma eight. Numbers that would make a university professor jealous and a politician weep with envy. Wisdom four — not brilliant, but workable. The analytical mind of a thirty-three-year-old man crammed into a young body that had always been clever.
Then there was his Mana.
One thousand.
He knew, from the borrowed memories, what that number meant. A standard [Mage], freshly classified, might start with fifty or sixty. A talented one, eighty. The most gifted prodigy in a generation might crack one hundred.
He had ten times that.
I could cast all day, he thought. Burn through spell after spell and never run dry.
But what truly held his attention was the one at the top.
Sorcerer.
He'd never heard the word before. Not in this body's memories, not in any book the original Alphonse had skimmed. It wasn't [Mage]. It wasn't [Warlock]. It was something else entirely. Something the world had either forgotten or deliberately buried.
[Mind Control]. Not [Fire]. Not [Water]. Not [Earth] or [Lightning] or any of the classical elemental alignments that filled the textbooks and the academy rosters.
Mind Control.
The implications hit him like a fist to the sternum.
He looked at Adeleine. The question was already forming on his lips. What's a Sorcerer? What does Mind Control mean? Who is the Hidden One?
He stopped himself.
Something held him back. A feeling. A warning pressed into his consciousness.
Don't ask.
He reached out with his hand instead. Extended his index finger toward the glowing text of his [Profession].
His fingertip touched the word Sorcerer.
The letters shivered. Then dissolved. Then reassembled, the blue screen expanding.
[ Profession: Sorcerer ]
Your soul is bound to The Hidden One. He will grant you limitless powers. You can use a unique alignment to control weaker minds.
However, your class and alignment must remain hidden from the world. If anyone discovers them, you will die.
To those who see your Status Page, you will appear as a [Mage] with a [Fire] alignment.
Alphonse read it twice.
Then a third time.
If anyone discovers them, you will die.
Not "you will be punished." Not "there will be consequences." You will die.
Phew. He exhaled through his teeth. Good thing I didn't ask.
He looked at Adeleine again. She was watching him with those pale grey eyes. She'd seen hundreds of people stand before the Oracle. She knew the look. The dazed silence of someone reading their status page for the first time, trying to reconcile who they thought they were with what the universe had decided they actually were.
"What do you think of your [Profession]?" she asked.
Alphonse arranged himself. Let a flicker of surprise cross his face, followed by cautious satisfaction. The expression of someone who'd received good news but wasn't sure he deserved it.
"It's good," he said. "But I'm still figuring it out." He paused, rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't expect to be a [Mage]."
Adeleine's grey eyes softened above her mask. A small nod.
"I understand the feeling," she said quietly. "When I stood before the Oracle, I expected [Merchant]. My father's profession. His father's before him. I'd spent my childhood in the counting house, learning ledgers and trade routes." She glanced toward the fountain. "Instead, I received [Priestess]. I spent the first week crying."
"And now?"
"Now I stand in a temple and watch other people have the same crisis." The faintest crinkle at the corners of her eyes. A smile hidden behind the mask. "It gets easier."
Alphonse studied her for a moment longer than necessary.
He dismissed his status page with a thought, and the blue screen folded itself into nothing.
But before it vanished entirely, he touched his Magic Alignment.
The text expanded one final time.
[ Magic Alignment: Mind Control ]
Magics Known:
Fire Spark — Mana Cost: 10 Release small flames from your hands. Range: 3 meters. Useful for lighting campfires and intimidating peasants. Not much else.
Mind Connection — Mana Cost: 100 Establish a psychic link with another person. While connected, you can sense their surface emotions and strongest active thoughts. Range: Line of sight. Duration: Until broken by distance, obstruction, or the target's willpower.
Mind Influence — Mana Cost: 100 Requires an active Mind Connection. Push subtle suggestions into the target's thoughts. The target will experience these as their own ideas. Effectiveness scales with your Intelligence and Charisma versus the target's Wisdom and willpower. Cannot force actions that fundamentally violate the target's nature. Can erode resistance over time.
Three spells, Alphonse thought. Only three.
He'd expected more. A classified [Mage] typically received between five and eight starter spells, depending on their alignment and the Oracle's assessment of their potential.
Then again, he wasn't a [Mage]. He was a [Sorcerer]. Different rules. Different patron. Different game entirely.
Looking at the three spells he did have, quality over quantity seemed to be the operative principle.
[Fire Spark] was the decoy. The visible, performable magic that would let him pass as a standard [Fire Mage] without arousing suspicion.
The other two were the real weapons.
[Mind Connection]. Read emotions. Hear surface thoughts. A window into someone's head.
[Mind Influence]. Push suggestions. Plant ideas. Erode resistance.
Together, they were a lockpick and a skeleton key.
He dismissed the screen. Thanked the Hidden One, silently, and turned toward the temple doors.
"Thank you, Adeleine."
"May the Oracle's light guide you, Alphonse."
He paused at the threshold. Looked back.
"If I have questions," he said, "about my [Profession], about what comes next. Can I come back?"
"The temple is always open." Her grey eyes held his. "I'm always here."
He nodded once and stepped into the sunlight.
The brightness hit him like a slap. He blinked, shielding his face with one hand, and descended the broad stone steps toward the carriage.
Sophie had her entire upper body hanging out of the window. Her golden hair caught the wind, and her face was a knot of barely contained anticipation.
"How are you, Al?" she called before he'd even reached the cobblestones.
He opened the carriage door and climbed in, dropping onto the padded bench across from her. Water still dripped from his hair, darkening the collar of his tunic.
"I'm fine. Just a little wet."
"And?" She leaned forward so far she was practically in his lap. "What was the result? What did you get?"
Alphonse met her eyes. Held the pause for exactly one beat longer than necessary.
"[Mage]," he said. "Just like you."
Sophie's face exploded with joy. Her mouth fell open, her eyes went wide, and she made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a squeal.
"But my specialty is [Fire]," he added with a grin.
"That's amazing!" She grabbed both his hands. Squeezed them hard enough to hurt. "Al, that's amazing! We can train together! I'll talk to Master Gereon, he can adjust the schedule, and we can practice in the courtyard—"
She was off, words tumbling out faster than thought.
But Alphonse noticed the flicker. Brief, quickly hidden, but there. A shadow that passed across her face like a cloud across the sun.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"Sophie."
She bit her lip. Her grip on his hands loosened.
"I'm happy," she said. "I really am. It's just..." She dropped her voice, though there was no one to overhear them through the carriage walls. "What happens when Father finds out?"
The question hung between them.
"He won't," Alphonse said.
She searched his face.
"Once we get home," she said, her smile returning, "I want to see what you can do."
"Me too, sis. Me too."
The coachman's whip cracked. The carriage lurched forward, wheels grinding over cobblestone.
As the convoy pushed through the market square toward the western gate, Alphonse's gaze drifted to the window.
There.
Standing outside a bakery near the gate, its windows steamed with the smell of fresh bread, were Lucius and Madeleine.
They weren't alone. Two figures stood with them, just inside the bakery's entrance, visible through the open door. An older couple. The man was a broader, harder version of Lucius. The same ruddy complexion, the same small eyes. Lord Heinrich von Hohenberg. Alphonse's uncle. The Baron's brother.
Beside him, a woman. Tall, thin, with sharp features and an expression that suggested she'd tasted something sour approximately thirty years ago and never recovered. Lady Elara von Hohenberg. Lucius's mother.
Elara noticed the carriage first. She raised a hand and waved. A graceful, practiced gesture, the kind that looked warm from a distance but carried no actual warmth.
Heinrich didn't wave. He turned his head and watched the carriage pass with a flat, appraising stare. His eyes found Alphonse through the window, held for a beat, and then dismissed him. A flick of the gaze.
Alphonse smiled. Tipped his head in a polite nod.
Uncle Heinrich. Married to Elara for twenty-six years. Third son of the previous Baron, passed over for the title in favor of my father. Still bitter about it. Still scheming.
Lucius. His only son.
Interesting.
Outside, Lucius was red-faced, gesturing at the carriage with barely contained fury. Madeleine stood two steps away from him, arms crossed, the body language of a woman who had not yet forgiven and did not intend to any time soon.
Let's see.
He kept looking at Lucius.
[Mind Connect]
Nothing happened.
The carriage kept moving. The distance between them was growing. Twenty meters. Thirty.
[Mind Connect]
Nothing. No sensation. No feedback. Just silence.
[Mind Connect]
His jaw tightened. The carriage was pulling away. Another thirty seconds and they'd be past the gate.
Am I doing it wrong? he thought. Is there a gesture? A word? A—
He stopped. Took a breath.
The spell description said line of sight. I have line of sight. It said range limitations based on distance and obstruction. There's no obstruction. So what's missing?
He looked at Lucius again. Concentrated. Pushed.
Nothing.
He shifted his gaze to Madeleine.
Ding.
The sound wasn't audible. It resonated inside his skull. A small blue notification flashed at the edge of his vision.
[ Mind Connection established ] Target: Madeleine Clairmont Status: Active Mana drain: 2/sec
A thread of mana materialized. He couldn't see it with his eyes, but he could feel it. A line stretching from some point behind his forehead to somewhere far behind him, where Madeleine stood. It hummed faintly, like a plucked string.
Seconds later, her thoughts hit him.
Not all of them. Not a flood. Just the loudest ones. The thoughts that burned brightest, fueled by the strongest emotions.
'Is he an idiot? How could I have gotten engaged to this man?'
The disdain was vivid. A living thing, hot and acidic, coating the thought like bile. Alphonse could feel it. Not just hear the words, but experience the emotion behind them. Madeleine's frustration, her resignation, the particular flavor of contempt that came from being smarter than the person you'd been contractually bound to spend your life with.
He waited for more. Held the connection, letting the thread hum.
Nothing else surfaced. Her other thoughts were quieter, deeper, submerged beneath the noise of her irritation.
The carriage passed through the gate. The thread stretched. Thinned. He felt it weakening, the mana drain increasing as the distance grew.
Finnaly it snapped.
[ Mind Connection severed ] Reason: Target out of range Mana spent: 38
Alphonse leaned back against the padded bench. His eyes unfocused, processing.
It didn't work on Lucius. But worked on Madeleine.
Why? Lucius had a combat [Profession]. [Axe Specialist]. Higher physical stats, probably higher Constitution. Did that translate to mental resistance? Or was it something else? Willpower, stubbornness, the sheer density of his skull?
Madeleine was unclassified. Or if she was classified, it was likely something non-combat. [Merchant], maybe. [Accountant]. Lower defenses. Lower awareness.
Weaker minds, the Hidden One's description had said. You can use a unique alignment to control weaker minds.
Lucius's mind wasn't necessarily strong. But his [Profession] might grant him passive resistance.
I need to test this more. Map the boundaries. Figure out who I can reach and who I can't.
His gaze slid to Sophie.
She sat across from him, chin propped on her fist, watching the countryside roll by through her window.
The temptation was immediate.
One thought. One push. [Mind Connect] and he'd be inside her head. He'd feel what she felt. Know what she thought about what happened in the bath. Know if she was confused, or guilty, or aroused, or all three.
Yet, he stopped himself.
Sophie was a [Mage]. A talented one. Her mana sensitivity was off the charts. If he opened a connection, she might feel it. A tickle at the edge of her consciousness. A whisper she couldn't quite place. A thread of foreign mana brushing against her own.
If she felt it, she'd investigate. Mages were trained to identify magical intrusions. It was basic curriculum.
If anyone discovers, you will die.
He unclenched his jaw. Let the spell dissipate. Pulled his mana back into himself like reeling in a fishing line.
Not yet. Not until I understand exactly what I'm doing.
He turned back to the window.
"You're quiet," Sophie said.
"Just thinking."
"About your new spells?"
"About everything."
She smiled. "You'll have plenty of time to figure it all out. We're home soon."
The mansion appeared on the horizon. Its towers caught the late-afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the fields.
They pulled into the courtyard. Sophie hopped out first, practically skipping.
"I need to report to Mother," she said, already half-running toward the main entrance. "She'll want to know about your [Profession]. And I have lessons with Master Gereon at four." She turned, walking backward, pointing at him. "Tonight. You show me [Fire Spark]. Promise."
"Promise."
She disappeared through the doors.
Alphonse stood in the courtyard for a moment, alone except for the stable hands leading the horses away. The evening air was cool against his still-damp hair.
He had plans for Sophie. And plans for his mother. And plans for the barony, and the Baron, and the cousin who wanted to break his face.
But all of that required understanding. Foundations. Knowledge he didn't possess.
He turned and walked into the mansion. Past the entry hall. Past the second-floor corridor where the family quarters lay. Up the narrow stone staircase to the third floor.
The library.
The door was heavy oak, like everything else in this house, reinforced with iron bands that had gone green with age. He pushed it open.
The room beyond was vast. Two stories of shelves rising to a vaulted ceiling, connected by a narrow iron mezzanine. The books numbered in the thousands, leather-bound, cloth-bound, some so old their spines had crumbled to dust and been replaced with crude stitching.
Alphonse began with the index. A leather ledger, thick as his forearm, chained to a reading stand near the entrance. It cataloged every volume in the library by subject and shelf number, written in a cramped hand that required squinting.
He ran his finger down the entries. [Professions]. [Classifications]. [Oracle Records]. [Magical Theory].
For hours, he searched. Pulled books from shelves, scanned tables of contents, flipped through chapters on common [Professions], rare [Professions], legendary [Professions]. He found detailed entries on [Mage], [Paladin], [Berserker], [Enchanter], [Beastmaster]. Dozens of classifications, each with histories, notable practitioners, stat distributions, and known skill trees.
No [Sorcerer].
Not a single mention.
He expanded his search. Folklore. Mythology. Religious texts. Histories of the First Age.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Until, wedged between a water-stained treatise on crop rotation and a book of children's hymns, he found it.
A thin volume. Barely fifty pages. Bound in dark leather so old it had gone almost black, with no title on the spine. He almost missed it entirely.
He opened it to the first page.
Uncommon and Forgotten Professions of the Known World.
He flipped through the pages, scanning headings. [Shaman]. [Blood Knight]. [Void Walker]. [Spirit Caller].
Page thirty-seven.
[ Sorcerer ]
Not much information is available.
It is a magical profession, distinct from [Mage] in origin and function. Where a [Mage] draws power from internal mana reserves shaped by study and discipline, a [Sorcerer] receives power from a higher being and channels it through a bond that transcends the mortal plane.
The Sorcerer is granted powers to complete a mission determined by their Patron. The nature of this mission varies. It may be revealed at the time of classification, or it may unfold gradually over the course of the Sorcerer's life.
Historical records of Sorcerers are sparse. Those that exist suggest the profession is extraordinarily rare, appearing perhaps once every several centuries. Most known Sorcerers have been lost to history, their deeds either unrecorded or deliberately erased.
The reasons for this erasure are unclear.
That was it. The entry ended. No notable practitioners. No skill trees. No stat recommendations. Just a paragraph and a half of vague, cautious language that raised more questions than it answered.
What could my mission be? Alphonse thought, staring at the page.
The Hidden One hadn't told him. The status page didn't mention it. The Oracle's golden eyes had simply assessed him, declared him adequate, and vanished.
"I hope you fulfill your role, boy."
Role. Not mission. Role.
The distinction nagged at him. He filed it away.
He closed the book and was about to return it to the shelf when he heard it.
A sound.
Faint. Muffled. Coming from below.
He froze. His eyes swept the library. Empty. The door was closed. No one else had access to this floor at this hour. The servants cleaned in the mornings, Sophie was with Master Gereon, and his mother should be in her office reviewing accounts.
The sound came again. Soft and breathy. Almost musical. Almost...
A moan.
Alphonse set the book down silently on the reading table. He stood and moved toward the source, his boots making no sound on the thick carpet that ran between the shelves.
The carpet ended. The floor beneath was hardwood, old planks fitted together with the craftsmanship of a previous century. Near the far wall, where the shelves gave way to a dead-end alcove, several of the planks were warped. Buckled slightly. Gaps visible between them where the wood had contracted over the decades.
He knelt.
Pressed his ear to the floor.
"Hmmm..."
He looked at the planks. One was looser than the others. He hooked his fingers under the edge and pulled, gently, silently, dragging it sideways by half an inch. Then an inch. Then two.
A gap opened. Warm air rose through it, carrying steam and the scent of soap.
He looked down.
The library's alcove sat directly above the second-floor bathing room. The gap in the floorboards gave him a clear view of the space below. The dark stone floor, the steaming basin, the shelf of towels and clay jars. And his mother.