James turned eight three months after the Schism story and the explanation of the branches. It was at this moment he decided to get serious about his secret training.
The kind of training that involved making a marble float across his room at two in the morning while his parents slept, completely unaware their son was already developing the Eldritch affinity.
It was going moderately well.
"Focus," he muttered to himself, staring at the marble positioned on his desk. He'd marked the wood with chalk lines, creating a grid and applying scientific methods to measuring his progress. Victor Morningstar's scientific mind meeting James Aldric's magical gift. "Mana flows through the body, extends through will, manifests as force. Simple."
He pushed harder, imagining his will extending like invisible fingers, wrapping around the marble, lifting—
The marble shot across the room and embedded itself in his wall with a thunk that definitely, without question woke up his parents.
"Shit," James whispered, then froze. He was eight. He wasn't supposed to know that word. Quick... think of eight-year-old excuses for holes in walls. Termites? Spontaneous wood decay? Tiny earthquake localized entirely within his bedroom?
There were footsteps now in the hallway.
James dove into bed, pulled covers up to his chin, and tried to look like a child who'd been sleeping peacefully and definitely hadn't just committed accidental property damage via supernatural means.
The door opened, revealing Grayson who stood there in his nightshirt, hair sticking up at odd angles and looking exactly like a man who'd been woken at an unreasonable hour by suspicious noises.
"James? Everything alright?"
"Sleeping," James mumbled, eyes closed, the picture of innocence.
"I heard a noise."
Grayson was quiet for a moment and James could feel his father's eyes scanning the room, probably noting the desk lamp still burning, the books spread everywhere, the chalk grid on the desk, and, great, the marble-sized hole in the wall.
"Did something hit your wall?"
"Termites," James said immediately. "Very aggressive ones."
"Termites."
"They're getting worse. Climate change, probably. Should get that checked."
Another pause. Then Grayson sighed the sigh of a father who knew he was being lied to but was too tired to excavate the truth. "We'll discuss this in the morning. Go to sleep. And actually sleep this time."
"Yep. Sleeping..."
The door closed as James waited until the footsteps retreated, then sat up and glared at the hole in his wall.
He then got up to retrieve the marble and saw that It had actually penetrated half an inch into the plaster, which was concerning.
He needed control. James would not succeed through brute force, but through mastery so complete that every action achieved exactly its intended effect.
James spent the next week practicing in smaller increments. Nudging the marble. Rolling it. Spinning it in place. He discovered that telekinesis wasn't like lifting something with your hands. It was like... thinking at objects until they just moved.
The mana cost was interesting too. Moving the marble slowly barely tired him. Launching it at wall-penetrating speeds left him winded and shaky. There was a direct correlation between velocity and energy expenditure, which meant telekinesis obeyed some version of physics even if it was applied through supernatural means.
Good, he thought. Rules mean systems. Systems can be mastered.
By the end of week two, he could move the marble anywhere within his room without looking at it. Could make it orbit his head while he read and catch it mid-fall without touching it.
Control was improving. But he needed to test limits.
"This is a terrible idea," he informed himself one night, standing in his room at midnight, looking at his desk chair.
He tried to lift the chair anyway.
The mana drain was immediate and intense, like someone had opened a tap in his chest and his energy was pouring out. The chair wobbled, rose an inch off the ground, then dropped back down with a thud while James gasped for air.
"Okay," he wheezed. "Mass matters. Good to know."
He tried again, this time using both hands even though the gestures were unnecessary, just psychological scaffolding for his intent. The chair rose smoothly this time, floating three feet off the ground.
James held it there, arms extended like a low budget wizard, feeling the mana flowing out of him in a steady stream. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. His arms started shaking not from physical effort but from the mental strain of maintaining focus.
At forty-five seconds, he set the chair down carefully and collapsed into it, breathing hard.
"Definitely... need practice," he muttered. "Also... possibly... a better workout routine."
The door opened without warning and James jerked upright.
Eliza stood there with a glass of water, looking concerned. "Sweetheart, I heard thumping. Are you—" She stopped, staring at him. "Why are you sweating? And why is your face red?"
"Exercise," James said quickly. "Night exercise. For health."
"You're eight."
"Starting early. Building habits. Character development."
His mother crossed the room and felt his forehead with the back of her hand. "You don't have a fever, but you look exhausted. What are you really doing up here?"
James considered his options. He could lie, but his mother had a supernatural ability to detect dishonesty that rivaled actual magic. He could deflect, but that only delayed the interrogation. Or he could tell a partial truth.
"Practicing," he said finally. "Concentration exercises. Mental discipline stuff."
Eliza sat on his bed, patting the space beside her. James joined her reluctantly.
"Practicing for what?" she asked gently.
"The Affinity Test. It's in four years, but I want to be ready. Want to be good at whatever affinity I have." He looked down at his hands. "I don't want to be weak."
It was true enough. Just... not the complete truth.
His mother was quiet for a moment, then pulled him into a hug. "You're already strong, James. Stronger than you should have to be at your age. You also need rest."
"I'll rest when I'm ready," James said, then realized how that sounded coming from an eight-year-old. "I mean... I'll go to bed earlier?"
"You'll go to bed now," Eliza said firmly. "And tomorrow, we're going to have a conversation about healthy boundaries and the importance of being a child occasionally."
James allowed himself to be tucked in like he was five instead of eight. It should have been infantilizing. Instead, it was... nice. Comforting in ways he couldn't quite acknowledge without feeling vulnerable.
"Mom?" he said as she reached the door.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
Eliza smiled, something sad and knowing in her expression. "Always, sweetheart."
After she left, James lay in the dark and stared at his ceiling. He'd made progress on telekinesis, significant progress. But he'd also learned something else.
His mother knew he was hiding something. She didn't know what, but she knew. And she was choosing to let him have his secrets, trusting that he'd come to her if he truly needed help.
That was dangerous. Trust was a weapon people could use against you. But it was also...
"Damn it," James whispered to the darkness. "I'm getting attached again."
The marble on his desk floated up without him consciously willing it, orbiting slowly in response to his emotional state. He watched it spin, this tiny piece of matter obeying his will, and felt a surge of satisfaction.
He had telekinesis. Basic, unrefined, but functional. One branch of Eldritch magic partially mastered.
Only five more branches to go. Plus all of technomancy. Plus whatever else he'd need to survive in a world that executed people for being too gifted.
"Four years," he told the orbiting marble. "Four years until the test. Better make them count."
The marble settled gently back onto his desk, and James finally, actually went to sleep.
Tomorrow he'd start on telepathy.
Tonight, he'd earned some rest.
Even if being a normal child felt more exhausting than practicing magic.