Aaron drifted, weightless. The void stretched—formless, silent. Yet his hands were there: sharp, solid, casting no shadow. Sight without light. A trick.

  “The serene void. The first step on the path. The entry to magic and mastery.” A voice, deep and resonant, shattered the silence.

  Aaron turned—except he hadn’t. Reality had shifted around him. The green-robed mind mage stood there. Mundane. Out of place. What did I just do? Why is he here? Where is here?

  “Yes, this is the state your friend struggled to reach. You’re here. Congratulations.” The mage tilted his head. “I’ll teach you a basic—” he smiled faintly, “foundational defense tactic.”

  He waited. Heat built in Aaron’s chest. Slow. Sharp. No. He wasn’t playing student. If you can read thoughts, good. Then hear this: Fuck you. Explain it plainly or don’t bother.

  Silence. The mind mage shook his head. “Your thoughts bleed like water through your fingers. I’d have to blind myself not to read them.”

  Shit. The heat didn’t fade. Stay calm. Focus.

  Another pause.

  “I prefer Socratic Questioning. May I employ it? It will make this easier,” the mage said, voice smooth—but his eyes watched Aaron like a blade waiting to strike.“

  I decided to trust you, not like you. And Socratic questioning? That survived this far into the future? Or is it a different technique, and my language skill just translates it?

  Aaron sighed. I’m acting like a petulant child. He closed his eyes. Focused on his breath. In. Out. In. Out.

  Time passed—indistinct. He felt calm. Lighter.

  “You possess more basics than expected. I won’t need to speed up your mind to levels risking brain damage.” Wait. What?

  “You what? Speed up minds? Risk brain damage?” Aaron snapped, his calm shattering. Mind mages can just make themselves smarter? Well—faster. But that’s practically the same thing.

  “Yes. And I’ll teach you later. Shall we move on to shielding your mind?” The mage’s slight frown didn’t hide his impatience.

  “How fast are we thinking right now?” Aaron asked, sheepish. I’m learning magic. I should pay attention. But—mindreading? Shouldn’t that horrify me? But... I’m just relieved I don’t have to kill someone right now. It doesn’t feel real. I’m dissociating—again. Like back home. Fuck.

  “Five times faster than normal.” Aaron nodded. Time’s running away. And I have magic to learn.

  The mage stayed neutral. “This location won’t do. We need a focus.” He clapped. The sound cracked like a gunshot. Light exploded—blinding.

  Aaron flinched. Betrayal? Is this how you kill someone in their mind? Combat stance. Step back. Distance. Vision returned slowly.

  The void had changed. Beneath them lay a round platform—no, a pillar—of dull-glowing glass. Six steps across, vanishing into the infinite dark below.

  “I won’t say what this is. Or why. Think of it as a shadow—a blueprint. It will serve you as an initiate.” The mind mage gestured grandly. Light glinted off the glass platform. No time to think.

  “This,” he said, voice steady, “will become the seat of your magic.”

  “Magic is metaphor,” he continued, pacing. “Not energy. Not a force. Thought made real.”

  Aaron frowned. “Then why not pick any metaphor? Why do some work better than others?”

  The mage’s eyes gleamed. “Because some ideas flow with reality. Others resist. A mage bends—or breaks.” A smile tugged at Aaron’s lips. I’m learning magic.

  “Now—mindshields. You’ll hear nonsense: walls, thorny hedges, metal spheres. None would hinder me. Why?”

  Aaron paused. Power? No—if it were just power, any barrier would do. What unites a wall, hedge, and sphere? They all enclose. Defense. But static defenses fall—break under pressure or get bypassed. What beats a wall? Climb over. Break through.

  “Because you can go around or through them? Through’s probably easier.”

  The mage smiled. “Correct. Why?” My answer or my thoughts?

  “Both,” the mage said, smug. God damn it. This is getting annoying.

  Wait—he mentioned building, growing, enclosing. All slow. All static. Static defenses break. So the real defense must move.

  “Because static defenses crumble under sustained attack,” Aaron muttered, brow furrowed. What else? He pursed his lips. Come on…

  Then—clarity. Warmth bloomed in his mind. “You use deception and offense for defense!”

  The mind mage’s smug smile returned. “Correct. But you forget: sensing the opponent is crucial. What I use is both simpler and far more complex. Can you guess my metaphorical construct?”

  Does he know I’m close? Or is he bluffing? Focus, Aaron. He’s literally in your head. Paranoia won’t help.

  “Indeed.” Ugh…

  Sense. Attack. Deceive. One idea. No static walls. Something alive? No—hedges are out. Subtle. Not brute force. It must adapt, and reshape its surroundings.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Air? Too fragile. Needs containment. A bubble? Same flaw—breachable. It must stay with me.

  A flash of memory—the starry void of space. “Light,” he blurted.

  The mage tilted his head. Wrong? Or playing games? “Not in that way. Not while I teach. Unseemly.”

  Aaron scowled. Fine. Not light. But something emitted. A laser sphere for detection—Lidar, perhaps.

  But deception? Blinding? Sunglasses? No. Light drains energy. Too costly.

  Think. I need something stable. Emitted. Persistent.

  Gravity? Weak. Impractical. The nuclear forces? Too short-ranged.

  What remains? A force—silent, unseen. Repelling. Attracting. Shaping without being shaped. “Magnetism,” he whispered.

  The mind mage grinned. “Now you’re thinking like a mage.”

  The mage nodded, voice dropping to a serious tone. “Heed this lesson well. All powerful magic acts with the laws of the universe, never against them.”

  A mischievous smile touched his lips. “Meditate on why the first trial for a mage is to roll a rock over slopes.”

  So magic isn’t a universal law—it works alongside them?

  I need to ask Theon about that trial. There’s more to it.

  With a lazy wave, four metal rods appeared. One shimmered with golden crystals. The others gleamed in silver hues: one glittered sharply, another shone like polished steel, and the last bore the dull pitting of iron. No idea what the first three are.

  “These are more concrete blueprints,” the mage said. “Normally, you’d absorb materials. What I give you now is unstable—good for a few years. We’ll get proper ones later.” So mages build things—with their minds?

  “Niobium and titanium,” he gestured at the glittering metals. “They’ll form a torus. But you’ll need two more concepts: electrical charge and stillness of matter—cold.”

  He pressed the rods into Aaron’s hands. They swelled into spheres the size of his head—weightless and impossibly smooth. “Press them together. Will the metals to merge. Think of heat—force the fusion.”

  Aaron tilted the spheres. They clung to his skin, refusing to fall. Concept. Not metal. In this place, everything’s an idea.

  He imagined heat—not radiating outward, but within. Heat means movement.

  The spheres glowed red, blazing with internal light—still solid. No. Movement breaks bonds. Liquefy the lattice.

  He visualized atomic grids shattering, particles bouncing free. The metal liquefied, glowing dimly. A furnace’s breath seemed to brush his face—yet his hands felt nothing.

  “I am stabilizing the attributes of matter,” the mage said. “A trick you’ll learn as an apprentice. Now—combine and shape them.”

  Aaron guided the liquid spheres together. Perfectly round, defying gravity. Mix. Fuse.

  They swirled into one. “Good. Now—will it into a ring.”

  Aaron pulled his hands apart. The metal resisted—stretching like molten honey. The core hollowed, edges smoothing, reforming. The structure pulsed—alive.

  Then, with a final shift, it locked into place: a perfect, gleaming torus, spinning weightlessly in the void. “Cool it. Form a perfect crystalline structure. Think of this.”

  With a wave, the mage summoned a glowing lattice—spheres of matter held at constant distances, a flawless repeating pattern.

  Aaron frowned. He willed the metal to solidify. It rippled. Heated. The mage tilted his head. I’ll show you.

  A memory surfaced—sugar crystals. As a child, he’d grown them with a wooden stick in the glass—a seed.

  The seed. Aaron focused. One atom—niobium—locked at the core. He added titanium, piece by piece.

  After what felt like hours—only a lattice of a hundred atoms. Pathetic. I need to automate this.

  He melted the sphere. Chaos. Disorder reigned. Melting needs heat. But if I freeze the seed… For a moment—silence. Stillness.

  Then—the liquid metal folded inward, collapsing around the cold center. A smaller torus remained, shimmering with crystalline facets, reflecting and distorting his face. “Very well done. Now—cool it until no atom moves.”

  Aaron nodded. Cold. Stillness. Condensation formed. Frost bloomed. Ice coated the ring—appearing from thin air. “You’re projecting an atmosphere. A common mistake. Imagine emptiness—but keep the ice.”

  Aaron obeyed. The air retreated—crack—snapping into the void. But how do I maintain it? The metal holds cold—can it anchor more?

  He envisioned the ring, seated in emptiness. Crack. The air snapped again.

  The mage smirked. “I’ll spare you more trouble. Your ideas were close—but you forgot the lesson.”

  The lesson… “Go with nature’s tendencies?” The mage inclined his head.

  Nature abhors a vacuum. Unless… “I need a pressure vessel.”

  “Correct. Iron and cobalt. They serve as both vessel and manipulator of the field.”

  Aaron let the frozen ring hover. He melted the metals—willed cold into the center. The core expanded, pushing the metal outward until it could encase his torso. Now to split it.

  The halves fell apart, neat as a blade slicing fruit. “Wrap them around the torus. Leave a gap—watch the center.”

  Aaron obeyed. The hollow shell floated around the ice-clad ring. “Next—lightning. Force it through the ring until it sparks at the sphere.” Lightning. How?

  He raised his hand. Lightning—crackling, violent, drawn from the ring itself. A boom—apocalyptic and deafening.

  Aaron screamed, flung backward. Blind. I should be blind. Mental note: never get hit by real lightning.

  “You can’t be physically harmed here,” the mage said, voice calm. Not physically. That’s... ominous.

  Aaron blinked his vision clear. The mage held the construct aloft. Then—a pull. Subtle, deep. An awareness of vastness. “Yes. The field. Now—crystallize the sphere. I’ll show you what it can do.”

  Aaron focused. Seed at the center. He visualized the lattice locking into place. The hollow sphere crystallized.

  They stood atop a glassy pillar in endless dark. At its center floated a dark metal sphere, wide as Aaron’s outstretched arms. “Well done. Care to guess—”

  The mage’s smile faded. His gaze sharpened. “Something’s coming.”

  Aaron stiffened. “We must have triggered it.”

  Then, a grin—wolfish, dangerous. “Nothing motivates a student like a deadline. Learn the field’s defenses—fast.”

  A shiver ran down Aaron’s spine. The void thickened. Not with darkness—with presence.

  The air felt wrong. Dense. Movement stirred—jerky, unnatural.

  A shifting thing, barely tangible at the edge of perception.

  And it was coming for him.

  +++ Shout-Out Time +++

  As always, this chapter was edited using the mighty Infomancy Analyst Spell called ChatGPT.

  Upload schedule: Mon/Tue/Wed/Thu/Fri 4:47 PM EST / 10:47 PM CET → Each chapter is 1500 +/- 500 words long.

  What do you think of Aaron's decisions? Would you have done the same?

  Comment below, Like, Favorite or Recommend. It really helps. Thank you :)