He’d spent weeks observing Mara’s healing rituals, noting how her mana wove through tissue like golden thread. When he asked why she couldn’t simply “mend” a fractured bone instantly, she’d frowned.
“Mana isn’t a hammer—it’s a loom. Healing requires aligning with the body’s song.”
Elric’s aura proved even more perplexing. During sparring matches with Lilia, his strikes blurred with unnatural speed, yet he insisted, “It’s not magic, lad—just focus!”
But Liam craved structure. In his past life, energy obeyed equations: F=ma, E=mc2. Here, power flowed through intention and metaphor.
The attic grimoire became his Rosetta Stone.
He discovered it while hiding from Lilia’s “stealth training” (which involved pelting him with acorns until he learned to “feel the wind’s whispers”). Buried beneath moth-eaten tapestries, the brass-bound tome gleamed with eerie familiarity.
Applied Thaumaturgy: Bridging Natural Philosophy & Mana Dynamics—the title alone made his hands tremble.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Inside, equations danced alongside spell diagrams:
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Mana output (Ψ) = Intent (I) × Environmental Resonance (R)
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Aura efficiency peaks when ω (willpower frequency) aligns with target mass
Marginal notes in cramped English confirmed the author’s origins: “Day 327: Successfully stabilized a mana reactor using platinum-runic alloys. The Church’s hounds are closing in. Must relocate lab.”
“Granddad Alaric’s madness,” Elric grunted when Liam brought the book downstairs. “Mum said he vanished when Papa was a boy—chased off by Inquisitors for ‘heretical engines.’”
Lilia traced a blueprint of a mana-powered loom. “This could triple our weaving speed. Why’s heresy bad again?”
Mara palmed a crystal sketched in the margins—a multi-faceted gemstone labeled “Aetheric Capacitor v.4.” “The Church claims mana is the Goddess’s breath. To bottle it…”
“Is to challenge divine authority,” Liam finished. His engineer’s mind raced. Alaric hadn’t just bridged worlds; he’d built a framework to systematize magic.
The family convened a council that night, the grimoire spread across the hearthstone.
“We could burn it,” Elric muttered. “Keep you safe.”
“And lose this?” Lilia stabbed a page detailing aquifer-locating spells. “The south well’s drying up. This could save the village!”
Mara’s healer instincts warred with caution. “Knowledge is a scalpel—it saves or kills based on the hand that wields it.”
All eyes turned to Liam.
“Alaric hid this for a reason,” he said slowly. “But he also left clues. See?” He pointed to a star chart scrawled on the back cover. “These constellations match the carvings in the Holy Grove’s standing stones. He wanted someone to find this—someone who understood both worlds.”
Elric groaned. “You’ve got that look—the one where you’re about to drag us into trouble.”