On the weathered wooden desk, books brimming with precious knowledge lay open once more.
The fundamental rules, laws, and mysteries of magic leapt from the pages, drawing their reader into a world of dreamlike wonder.
Lost in absolute focus, Soren slipped into a state beyond self and surroundings.
Every noise faded as though banished to another world entirely, leaving only the ancient wisdom flowing between the pages, settling quietly into his mind.
Magical Theory contained no specific spells or casting techniques.
Instead, it read like an encyclopedia that laid bare the underlying logic of how magic operated.
The deeper he read, the more his soul resonated with the knowledge.
A warm current surged through his body, unlocking potential he never knew existed.
His magic, once formless and intangible, now seemed to have gained its most basic framework, giving him a new handle on his own power.
In that moment, comprehension struck: the key to casting spells lay not merely in mastering technique, but in deeply understanding the rules that governed the world itself.
He sank into that revelation, forgetting time entirely.
Outside the window, night crept in unnoticed.
Children who had spent the day running wild returned to the orphanage, clustering in small groups after dinner to trade gossip.
Today’s hot topic needed no guessing: “The dark wizard Soren has mysteriously moved out of the dorms.
Probably got adopted.”
According to the kids who had stayed behind during the day, a middle-aged man in black had visited the orphanage.
Gloomy-looking, the sort of face that screamed not a good person.
Soon after, Soren walked into the dorm carrying bags and hauled away his belongings.
Everyone agreed: adoption was the only explanation.
Honestly, no one was shocked.
Orphans grew up fast, and every kid here understood that a child like Soren, smart, good-looking, and healthy, was prime real estate.
Whenever families came to adopt, Soren was always their first pick.
Later on, Ayla joined him at the top of that list.
The only reason neither had been adopted before was their own stubborn refusal to leave.
With the orphanage’s resident tyrant on his way out, the other children felt a complicated mix of envy and barely concealed glee.
Without Soren raising the bar, maybe the next family to visit would pick one of them instead…
Of all the children, only Ayla seemed distant.
She sat among the girls’ circle, but her expression was far away, her heart churned by something she could not name.
Soren is leaving…?
If he gets adopted, she probably won’t see him again…
She hadn’t realized until now just how much weight the boy who sought her out, who protected her, carried in her heart.
Human joys and sorrows rarely overlap, and the chatter of orphans meant nothing to Soren.
Right now, learning was his one true love.
Buried in classic texts, romancing knowledge, single-minded and content.
Time slipped away like a discarded mistress, retreating into the night without ceremony.
At some point, the noise in the orphanage faded as staff made their rounds.
Only the office and work areas still glowed, like scattered stars against the dark.
As the night deepened, even those lights winked out one by one.
The orphanage settled into peaceful darkness.
Tap…
Tap…
Tap…
One in the morning.
Deliberately softened footsteps echoed through the dark corridor.
Director Brent, her graying hair pinned in a classic English updo, approached Soren’s door.
She lowered the lantern in her hand, illuminating the neat tray left outside.
Most of the food had been eaten, but a generous pile of baked beans remained untouched.
Still such a picky eater…
She silently condemned the repeat offender, then glanced to the left.
Light spilled through the gap beneath his door.
This late, and the diligent little thing was still studying.
She raised her hand toward the wooden door, ready to remind him, as the director, that sacrificing rest for study was counterproductive.
But in the second before her knuckles met wood, her hand stopped midair.
A veteran orphanage director understood all too well what orphanhood meant in this era.
No family to stand behind you, no relatives to lean on.
Carving out a place in society was exponentially harder than for ordinary children.
Every cohort produced kids who chased shortcuts into bad ends, or crumbled under reality’s weight and gave up on themselves.
Soren was different.
Bright, hardworking, disciplined.
Possessed of a resilience and rationality that rivaled most adults.
And now, he held an invitation to a school of magic.
Director Brent’s thoughts swirled.
In the end, she bent down, picked up the tray, and walked away in silence.
She had made up her mind.
For a child as self-possessed as Soren, the best help she could offer was to leave him alone.
Tap…
Tap…
Tap…
The footsteps faded.
In the sleeping orphanage, only Soren’s light burned on, a candle flame against the dark.
Time continued its steady march. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
It might have been a century, or merely the blink of an eye, but fatigue and burning eyes finally caught up with Soren, dragging him out of his absolute focus.
He blinked, disoriented, and found the night outside pitch-black, the darkest hour.
A glance at the wall clock confirmed it.
The hour hand pointed straight right.
Three in the morning.
No wonder he was exhausted.
Bedtime had come and gone.
The magic of a biological clock was remarkable: the moment he registered that sleep was overdue, crushing drowsiness flooded in like a tide.
He yawned three times in rapid succession.
He looked down at the book, barely a quarter of the way through, and shook his head with lingering reluctance before closing it gently.
The most fundamental knowledge was also the most important.
Those dense technical terms and abstract descriptions posed a real challenge for a first-year wizard starting from scratch.
Every few pages demanded a pause for thought, cross-referencing against insights he had gathered through years of solitary exploration.
That was what devoured so much time.
No, that was the wrong way to think about it.
So little time, more like.
In the foundation stage, no amount of effort or time was wasted.
After finishing the first pass, he absolutely planned to reread it twice, three times, endlessly, until the text was worn into his memory.
The thought that school started in under six weeks stirred a visceral urgency.
He wanted to sit back down and push forward.
He seemed to recall reading somewhere that a person could survive without sleep for weeks before dying.
The limit was something like that, right?
Just as temptation flared, another yawn pried his jaws apart in stern protest.
“Haah…”
“Fine.
Studying is mental work.
Overdoing it defeats the purpose…”
Soren stopped hesitating.
He headed for the washroom, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, changed into pajamas, and climbed into bed.
Most people would struggle to sleep in a new room, but he carried a system-certified rapid-sleep technique.
Head on the pillow, lights out, eyes closed.
Before stray thoughts could stir up trouble, his brain had already plunged into deep sleep.
Outside, the night, which had been waiting with impatient hunger, finally swallowed the last trace of light in the orphanage.