James discovered why the Affinity Test was impossible to cheat while eavesdropping on his father's conversation with a visiting scholar.
He wasn't supposed to be listening. He was supposed to be in bed. Instead, he was crouched at the top of the stairs, telepathy wide open, absorbing every word.
"—Mkyr'aan Soul Gems are the only reliable method," the scholar was saying. Dr. Helen, a specialist in magical artifacts and a guest lecturer at the academy James couldn't remember the name of. "They don't measure what you can do. They read what you are."—
—"But surely there's room for error," Grayson argued. "No test is perfect."—
—"These are. That's the problem." Dr. Helen sounded tired. "Soul Gems were created during the convergence era, when magic and science worked together. They use principles from both disciplines. Quantum entanglement married to soul-binding rituals. When you stand in the testing circle, the gems read your essential nature. Your soul's blueprint. You can't hide from them any more than you can hide from yourself."—
James's eye went down and narrowed in deep thinking.
—"What about people with dual affinities?"— his father asked.
—"The gems detect all of them. Display them simultaneously. Which is why dual-affinity individuals are so closely monitored and highly valued at the same time. The gems prove they're anomalies." A pause. "There's a reason the Dominion and Imperium both agreed to use Soul Gems for testing. They guarantee no one slips through categorization."—
—"Effective system. After the Schism, both sides needed certainty. Mkyr'aan Soul Gems provide it."—
James stopped listening and retreated to his room.
He'd been planning to suppress his mana signatures. But if the test read his soul itself, suppression was meaningless. The gems would see everything. If he had a dual affinity: Eldritch and Elemental, that would still draw unnecessary attention he didn't need, but at least it was something the Magic Dominion could overlook. Anymore than that would risk pruning or experimentation.
Which meant he was screwed.
Unless.
James sat at his desk and really thought about his situation. He had multiple affinities. He was also, and this was the weird part, still capable of scientific thinking. The books said mages lost their aptitude for scientific calculations and logic as they developed magical abilities. Something about mana rewiring neural pathways, making abstract reasoning harder.
But James could still do calculus. Could still think in physics terms and solve engineering problems while simultaneously practicing telekinesis.
Why?
He pulled out his journal and wrote:
Hypothesis: My reincarnation, or something about having two lives' worth of memories, has protected my brain from the mana's normal effects. I can use magic without losing scientific capability.
This is supposed to be impossible.
Which means the Soul Gems won't expect it.
An idea formed in his head. It was a brilliant one of course, as all ideas James had.
The Soul Gems read what you fundamentally are. But James was something that shouldn't exist: a mage who could still think like a scientist. His soul's blueprint included both capabilities, which violated every assumption the testing system was built on.
What if that violation was the key?
---
Saturday, at the mill. Miranda arrived looking smug.
"Got news," she said. "Soul Gems. Found out why they can't be tricked."
"Already know. They read souls, not mana. Eavesdropped on my dad's conversation with Dr. Helen. And now that I think about it, they are called soul gems, should have been obvious." James waved her to sit. "But I have an idea."
"Does it involve certain death!?"
"Possibly."
—trying to sound dramatic like James—
"Hmmm," James grunted. She was only eight so she had a free pass at the mockery.
"So what's the plan?" Miranda asked.
James pulled out his notes. "The Soul Gems read what you fundamentally are. Problem: I'm fundamentally multiple things that shouldn't coexist. I'm a mage who can still dabble in science."
Miranda blinked. "Wait. You can still do math? But mages can't—"
"Exactly. Mages lose scientific thinking as they develop magic. It's documented, consistent, universal." James grinned. "Except in me. I can calculate projectile trajectories while throwing ice. Can solve equations while teleporting. My brain works both ways simultaneously."
"That's impossible."
"Yes. Which means the Soul Gems won't know what to do with it." James tapped his notes. "The testing system is designed for normal mages. But I'm something else. Something the system wasn't built to detect."
Miranda leaned forward, interested now. "You think you can confuse the gems?"
—he's going to try it regardless, might as well be supportive—
James ignored her thoughts and continued. "I am."
"How?"
"With Science dear cretinous Miranda."
"I don't know what that means but it sounded like an insult." Miranda folded her arms.
"It was." James pulled out a new notebook, completely blank, ready for engineering diagrams. "The Soul Gems read your soul. All of it. Can't be blocked, can't be fooled, can't be suppressed. So I won't try any of that."
"Then what—"
"I'll split it."
Miranda stared at him. "Split your soul."
"Temporarily. During testing only." James started sketching. "Think of your soul like... data storage. Everything you are, stored in one location. The gems read that location completely. But what if most of your soul wasn't there during the reading? What if you could transfer portions of it elsewhere, temporarily, then recombine after testing?"
"That sounds incredibly dangerous."
"That's because it is." James drew a circle, then several smaller circles around it. "I need to build something. A device that can house fragments of a soul temporarily. Keep them intact, stable and retrievable. During testing, I transfer all my affinities except one into the device. Gems only read what's left, a single affinity. Test ends, I reintegrate everything, no permanent damage."
"You want to build a soul storage device. Out of what? Magic?"
"Science. Magic. Both." James grinned. "That's the beautiful part. I'm the only person who can build this because I'm the only one who can think in both disciplines."
Miranda looked at his sketches. They were crude designs mixing circuit diagrams with ritual symbols. "What would you even call something like that?"
James thought for a moment. "Soul Splitter Transference Matrix Reactor."
"That's the worst name I've ever heard."
"James does not name things wrong."
"It sounds like you're trying too hard to sound smart."
Miranda studied the designs more carefully. "How long would this take to build?"
"Three years. Maybe more. I'm eight, working with scraps, and inventing an entirely new field of magitech engineering." James started a materials list. "I'll need components. Lots of them. Copper wire, crystal fragments, anything that can store or conduct energy. Both magical and electrical."
"Where are we getting that?"
"Junkyards. Trash heaps. Your father's office probably has broken equipment." James looked up. "Can you gather scraps? Stuff people won't miss? I'll do the same. We pool resources."
"I'm going to get so many splinters."
"Splinters? You'll be part of building something impossible. First ever magitech soul manipulation device. We'll be making history. And you're worried about splinters?"
"Yeah." Miranda sighed but pulled out her own notebook. "What do you need first?"
"Copper wire. As much as you can find. And any crystals, even cracked or cloudy ones. They don't have to be gem-quality." James added to his list. "I also need tools. Small screwdrivers, pliers, anything for precision work."
"My older brother has tools. I can 'borrow' them."
"Perfect." James felt excitement building. "So. Operation Soul Splitter begins now. Gather materials, I'll handle the rest."
They spent the rest of the afternoon planning. Miranda would focus on material gathering. She was better at acquiring things without drawing suspicion, being naturally charming in ways James absolutely was not. James would handle research and design, diving deeper into both magical theory and engineering principles.
"One question," Miranda said as they were packing up. "What happens if you can't recombine your soul after testing? Like, what if the device breaks or the transfer fails?"
James was quiet for a moment. "Then I'm stuck as a partial person. Missing pieces of who I am. Probably dying slowly as my soul realizes it's incomplete."
"That's horrifying."
"Yes. Which is why I have three years to make absolutely certain the device works perfectly." James rolled up his sketches. "I'll test it extensively. Small transfers first. Tiny pieces of mana, not actual soul fragments. Build up gradually. By the time I use it for real, I'll know it works."
"You better." Miranda's expression was serious. "Because if you die doing this, I'm going to be very annoyed."
They parted ways, Miranda heading home while James teleported back in short jumps, mind already racing with calculations. Soul binding required understanding consciousness at a fundamental level. Energy storage needed both magical and electrical principles. The integration of the two would require innovation no one had attempted since before the Schism.
In his room that night, James started a new journal specifically for the project:
Project: Soul Splitter Transference Matrix Reactor
Goal: Temporary soul fragmentation during Affinity Testing
Timeline: 3 years
Materials needed: Copper wire, crystals, binding agents, conductive materials, ritual components, radio coils, car batteries, lot of batteries.
Theoretical framework:
- Soul operates on both quantum and magical levels
- Can be partitioned like data on a drive
- Requires stable storage medium
- Must maintain integrity during separation
- Reintegration must be seamless
Challenges:
- Never been done before
- Working with scraps
- Limited tools
- Can't let anyone know what I'm building
- One mistake = permanent soul damage or death
James closed the journal and looked at his hands. In three years, these hands would build something impossible. Would create technology that bridged magic and science in ways no one had managed since before the Schism.
And would either save his life or end it spectacularly.
"Three years," he told his reflection. "Better get started."
Tomorrow he'd begin gathering materials and start sketching detailed schematics as he dives into research about soul composition and energy storage.
People would deem this impossible. But to James, impossible was just another word for "hasn't been done yet."