James began his teleportation experiments the way any rational person would: by trying not to accidentally atomize himself.
He'd read enough about teleportation theory in his father's books to know it was the most dangerous of the Eldritch abilities. Telekinesis could drop something on your foot. Telepathy could give you a headache. Teleportation could scatter your atoms across three dimensions if you miscalculated even slightly.
"This is fine," James muttered, standing in his bedroom at midnight, staring at a spot exactly five feet in front of him. "People do this all the time. Well, not people. Mages. Highly trained mages. With years of practice and professional supervision."
He was eight and had neither.
"What could possibly go wrong?"
Everything. Everything could go wrong, and he'd made a list:
1. Partial teleportation (leaving body parts behind)
2. Telefragging (materializing inside a solid object)
3. Altitude miscalculation (appearing three feet underground or in midair)
4. Momentum conservation failure (splat)
5. Complete molecular disassociation (death, but faster)
"This is a terrible idea," he told himself. Then he tried anyway, because the alternative was waiting four years for the Academy to teach him after the test, and patience had never been James's strong suit.
He focused on the target spot, trying to understand what teleportation actually was. It wasn't just moving through space, that was walking. Teleportation was... discontinuous motion? Spatial folding? Temporary dematerialization?
The books had been vague on mechanism. "Will yourself to be elsewhere," one text had suggested helpfully. "Imagine space as flexible fabric, and pull yourself along it," another offered. "Just do it lol," was the gist of a third, which James suspected had been written by a blubbering buffoon who'd never teleported a day in their life.
James closed his eyes and tried to feel the space around him. If telepathy was opening doors in his mind, and telekinesis was extending his will outward, then teleportation should be... what? Redefining his relationship with location?
He focused on the mana inside him, specifically the Eldritch energy that powered his other abilities. Felt it flowing and it felt warm. Then he focused on the target spot five feet away and thought very hard about being there instead of here.
Nothing happened.
"Of course not. That would be too easy."
He tried again, this time physically stepping forward while trying to teleport, like maybe momentum would help. He just walked normally to the target spot like an idiot.
"I'm bad at this. And James should not be bad at anything."
Third attempt: James visualized the target location with obsessive detail. The wood grain pattern. The shadow cast by his desk lamp. The tiny crack in the floorboard. Made the destination so vivid in his mind it felt more real than his current location.
Then he pushed his will toward it, trying to force himself to exist there instead of here.
It felt like the world turned upsidedown for a moment.
James stumbled, suddenly dizzy, and looked down to find himself standing exactly three inches to the left of where he'd started.
"Three inches," he said flatly. "I just teleported three inches. Truly, I am a master of the mystic arts."
He mocked himself, the only person who he could tolerate mockery from... and maybe from his parents.
He tried again immediately, while the sensation was fresh. This time he appeared two inches backward. Then one inch to the right. Then, miracle of miracles, an entire foot forward.
Each teleport left him vaguely nauseous and completely exhausted. The mana cost was enormous compared to telekinesis, like the universe charged premium rates for warping space.
After an hour of practice, James could reliably teleport about two feet in any direction. He celebrated this achievement by immediately teleporting directly into his desk chair and nearly breaking his nose.
"Ow! Dammit!" He clutched his face, eyes watering. "Telefragging. Right. That's why we check the destination first."
He added a new rule: always verify the target location is empty before teleporting. Seemed obvious in retrospect.
By week two, James could teleport across his room. By week three, he'd worked up to the hallway outside his door. Progress was linear and frustratingly slow, but at least he still had all his body parts in their correct locations.
The real breakthrough came during a geography lesson at school.
Mr. Wendell was droning on about the Schism Scar's formation while James daydreamed about teleportation mechanics. Specifically, he was wondering: did he need to visualize the destination, or could he teleport to coordinates? Could he jump to a location he'd never seen if he knew its exact spatial relationship to his current position?
Without really thinking about it, James tried to teleport to the back of the classroom. Not visualizing it, just thinking "ten feet back, two feet left" and willing himself there.
He blinked.
And suddenly he was standing at the back of the classroom, twenty pairs of eyes staring at him in shock.
"Mr. Aldric?" Mr. Wendell's voice was strangled. "How did you—weren't you just—"
"Bathroom emergency," James said immediately, already walking toward the door. "Very urgent. Do not mind me."
He fled before anyone could ask questions, leaving behind a classroom full of confused students and one very bewildered teacher.
In the bathroom, James stared at his reflection and tried not to panic.
"Stupid. That was so stupid. Teleporting in front of witnesses. In the middle of class. What is wrong with you?"
His reflection didn't answer, which was probably for the best.
The problem was controlling when teleportation happened. He'd been daydreaming, not actively trying to jump, but apparently his subconscious had decided to test his theory without consulting his conscious mind first.
"Need better mental discipline. That's how you end up in a wall."
He spent lunch period in an empty classroom practicing control. Not the act of teleporting, he could do that now, but preventing accidental jumps. Building mental circuits that required deliberate activation rather than wandering thoughts.
It was like learning not to flinch. Your body wanted to react automatically; you had to train it to wait for conscious approval.
By the end of the school day, James had developed a mental switch: teleportation required him to consciously "unlock" the ability before it would activate. Safer, but it added a split-second delay that could be dangerous in emergencies.
Trade-offs. Everything had trade-offs.
That evening at dinner, Eliza brought up the incident.
"Mr. Wendell sent a note. Said you were at your desk one moment and the back of the classroom the next. He's concerned you might be sleepwalking. Or having... episodes."
James had prepared for this. "I zoned out. Daydreaming. Didn't realize I'd gotten up and walked. It's embarrassing."
"You didn't hear twenty children between you?" Grayson asked, skeptical.
"I was really zoned out. Geography is boring."
"Geography is fascinating," his father protested. "The Schism Scar alone—"
"Is literally a giant crack in reality, yes, Father, I know. I've heard the lecture."
—getting more secretive every day—
—should we push? Or let him come to us?—
—he's always been private, even as a baby, like he had thoughts he couldn't share—
James focused very hard on his dinner to avoid accidentally responding to thoughts he wasn't supposed to hear.
After dinner, he documented everything in his journal.
Teleportation: ACHIEVED. Range currently limited to ~15 feet, but improving daily. Mana cost: HIGH. Physical strain: MODERATE. Risk of self-destruction: CONCERNINGLY NON-ZERO.
Key discoveries:
- Visualization helps but isn't required
- Coordinate-based jumping possible
- Subconscious activation is the real danger
- Need mental locks to prevent accidental teleportation
Incident today: Jumped in front of class. Covered with bathroom excuse. Teacher suspicious but can't prove anything. Mr. Wendell is a fool, no surprise there. Must be more careful.
Current Eldritch progress:
- Telekinesis: COMPETENT (can move objects up to chair-weight)
- Telepathy: FUNCTIONAL (passive reception, limited projection)
- Teleportation: BASIC (short-range only, high cost)
Father mentioned three but a few books suggest four Eldritch abilities exist: TK, TP, teleportation, and... what? Books mention a fourth but are vague. Precognition? Clairvoyance? Dimensional shifting?
Need to research further. But overall: Eldritch magic is progressing faster than expected. Either I'm naturally gifted, or reincarnation provided advantages. Definitely both.
Three years, eight months until Affinity Test. Need to:
1. Perfect Eldritch control
2. Test other magical affinities
3. Develop test-cheating strategy
4. Avoid accidentally revealing abilities
James closed the journal and practiced teleporting around his room in short, controlled jumps. Each successful teleport was a small victory. Each time he didn't materialize inside a wall was cause for celebration.
By midnight, he could chain three teleports together. A short-range combat technique that would let him dodge attacks or close distance rapidly.
By 1 AM, he'd accidentally teleported into his closet and gotten stuck behind hanging clothes.
He finally collapsed into bed at 2 AM, exhausted but satisfied. Three Eldritch abilities were basically functional now and his magical education was years ahead of schedule.
Which was good, because he had a feeling he'd need every advantage he could get.
Downstairs, his parents were having a quiet conversation.
—he's special, Gray. Really special. And I'm worried of what that means.—
—we'll protect him. Whatever it takes.—
—but what if we can't? What if being special gets him killed?—
James heard this through his passive telepathy and felt something complicated in his chest. They weren't hiding sinister secrets. They were just parents, scared for their child, trying to keep him safe.
He should probably tell them he appreciated that.
But telling them would require explaining how he knew what they'd said in private.
And that would require explaining the telepathy.
Which would require explaining all of it.
"Later," James promised himself.
He fell asleep planning calculations for long-distance teleportation.
Tomorrow he'd start testing his other affinities, actually confirm if what he was feeling was real.
Tonight, he'd earned rest.
Even if his definition of "rest" involved dreaming about quantum mechanics.
Some things never changed, regardless of which life you were living.