James was a few months away from turning nine while the territorial governor's office instituted new "security measures" across Blüthaven.
The timing was probably coincidental.
"All citizens with registered magical artifacts must report for inspection," the town crier announced in the square. "Any undocumented magical items will be confiscated. This is for your protection."
James, walking home from the market with his mother, kept his expression carefully neutral.
"Protection from what?" Eliza muttered.
—this is wrong, this feels wrong, why now after all these years—
"Maybe there's a threat we don't know about," James offered, playing the naive child.
"Maybe." But his mother's thoughts remained uneasy.
At home, Grayson was pacing in his study, papers scattered across his desk.
"They're requiring census updates," he said without preamble. "Every child between ages eight and thirteen needs to be documented. Names, addresses, estimated affinity manifestation dates."
"Isn't that the standard dear," Eliza said.
"Except they want it three years early. And they're cross-referencing with family histories. Looking for magical lineage." Grayson ran a hand through his hair. "Something's happening. I just don't know what."
James didn't really think much of what his father was saying and excused himself to his room. It all sounded not only boring but irrelevant to his own plans.
An hour later, Miranda arrived via the tree route.
"Did you hear?" she said, climbing through the window. "They're doing a census. My father says the governor's office is tracking magical families."
"I heard." James showed her the new components he'd acquired: more copper wire, a small gyroscope from a broken compass, three additional crystals. "We need to accelerate the timeline."
"Why?"
"Because if they're tracking magical families this closely, they might expand to tracking early manifestations. I'm eight and already using magic. That's unusual enough to draw attention if they investigate thoroughly."
"Can they detect that you're using magic?"
"Not unless they test me directly. But the more surveillance they implement, the higher the risk." James pulled out his schematics. "I'm moving the completion date up. Eighteen months instead of three years."
"Can you even do that?"
"I have to. The device doesn't need to be perfect, it needs to be functional. I can refine it after the test if needed." James started calculating modifications. "But I need more materials." He pointed at Miranda, "Faster acquisition my dear Miranda."
"I can increase scavenging," Miranda said after rolling her eyes at him. "But I'll need to be more careful. My father's on edge about the new regulations. If he notices missing components—"
"Then we find alternate sources." James thought for a moment. "The old factory district. East side of town. Been abandoned since before we were born. Probably full of scrap."
"Also probably dangerous. Vagrants live there. And I heard there are—"
"I can teleport us out if there's trouble."
Miranda considered this. "Fine. But we go during daylight. And you teach me some actual magic in exchange. Not just theories, practical application."
"You don't have an... you know what, I don't have time for this." James dismissed her.
"Then you can teach me the art of meditation or mental discipline, mana awareness... something... anything useful." Miranda crossed her arms and pouted her cheeks. "Equal partnership or I'm not risking vagrant assault for your copper wire."
James studied her. She was right, of course. He'd been treating her like an assistant instead of a partner. And if—when—she manifested an affinity, having proper training would make her significantly more valuable.
Also, she might actually stab him if he kept dismissing her requests.
"Deal," he said. "Meditation training starts today. Factory scavenging tomorrow."
They spent the afternoon in what James was starting to call "proper training." Not the rushed practice they usually did, but systematic instruction. He taught her breathing techniques, showed her how to sense mana flow in her own body, guided her through basic mental exercises that would build the discipline needed for magic.
Miranda was a diligent student when properly challenged. By evening, she could maintain a meditative state for five full minutes, impressive for someone without a manifested affinity.
"Good," James said. "When you develop powers, you'll already have the foundation. Makes everything easier."
"When, not if?"
"You'll manifest. Probably Eldritch, based on your natural mental acuity." James packed away his training notes. "Two years, maybe less."
—he sounds so certain, like he knows something I don't—
"I'm just observing patterns," James said, answering her unspoken thought.
"Still weird when you do that."
"You'll be able to do it too eventually."
They planned the factory expedition for Sunday, a day when both their parents expected them to be "studying" together. James spent Saturday working on the Soul Splitter, incorporating the new components.
The device was evolving beyond his initial designs. The copper wire now formed complex spirals around the crystal array. The gears from various broken clockwork pieces had been integrated into a regulation mechanism. And at the center, the perfect crystal Miranda had stolen from the magistrate's wife served as the primary anchor.
It was still ugly. Miranda was right about that. But it was a functional type of ugly. Utilitarian, where every component served a purpose.
James tested the latest iteration with a larger mana sample, not a soul fragment, but a significant chunk of his available energy. The device absorbed it smoothly, held it stable for ten minutes, then released it back without degradation.
"Progress," he muttered, documenting the results.
---
Sunday morning, at the factory district.
The area was exactly as depressing as James expected. Collapsed roofs, broken windows, rusted machinery scattered like industrial corpses. It was perfect for scavenging.
"This is definitely where people get murdered," Miranda observed.
"That's why I brought these." James showed her the ice daggers he'd formed. "Behold Miranda, crystalline blades of arrested winter... surgically honed cold for violence."
"You made magic knives."
"I made compact directed-projectile constructs formed from rapidly recrystallized water vapor."
"So, magic ice knives."
James was eight, but felt like strangling her in that moment.
They split up to cover more ground, staying within telepathic range. James found a partially collapsed workshop with intact wire spools, gearing systems, and, jackpot! a crate of quartz crystals, probably industrial cutting tools from before the factory's abandonment.
"Miranda, I found—"
Her spike of fear through their telepathic link made him teleport immediately to her location immediately.
She was backed against a wall by three men. They were vagrants, probably, or maybe just opportunistic thieves. One of them held a knife.
"Pretty thing like you shouldn't be here alone," the knife-holder said.
James appeared behind them in a small ice storm of teleported air displacement.
"She's not alone," he said coldly.
The men turned. Saw an eight-year-old boy, and started to laugh as tears filled their eyes.
James lifted all three off the ground with telekinesis and projected raw intimidation through telepathy. Not words, just the overwhelming sensation that continuing this confrontation would end badly for them.
The laughter stopped as fear and confusion flooded their faces.
"Leave," James said. "Now. Or we can test how well quartz crystals can cut flesh."
He released them and they ran screaming, not looking back.
Miranda stared at him. "That was—"
"That was nothing. Are you hurt?"
"No. Just scared. But James, you—" She gestured at where he'd been standing. "That level of magic. When did you learn that?"
"Been practicing." James helped her up. "You okay?"
—he just saved me, that was amazing and scary and—
"I'm fine," Miranda said aloud. "Thank you."
They gathered materials quickly after that, neither wanting to linger. By the time they left, James's bag was heavy with copper, crystals, and various mechanical components.
Back at the mill, they sorted the haul.
"This is good," James said, examining a particularly fine crystal. "Really good. This accelerates the timeline significantly."
"When you used magic back there," Miranda said quietly. "That was—"
"Like I said, it was nothing."
"You could've teleported us away immediately."
"And miss a chance to test combat applications? Inefficient." James smiled slightly. "Also, they were threatening you. That required correction."
—so he risked my life to test his fighting skills? On the other hand he was worried about me—
James busied himself with the components to avoid acknowledging that thought.
Over the following months, they established a rhythm. Weekdays: James attended school and practiced magic secretly. Weekends: Material gathering and device construction with Miranda. Evenings: Working alone on integration and testing.
The Soul Splitter took shape steadily. By James's ninth birthday, it was fifty percent complete. By autumn, seventy percent. By winter, approaching functional.
The territorial governor's surveillance continued expanding. Magical artifact registration. Family lineage documentation. "Routine" inspections of homes suspected of harboring unregistered items.
"This is messed up," Grayson said one evening, papers spread across the dinner table. "Political prejudice like this shouldn't exist in neutral territories. This level of scrutiny isn't normal."
"Should we be worried?" Eliza asked.
"I don't know. Maybe." Grayson looked at James. "Sweetheart, if anyone from the governor's office asks you questions about magic or affinity, you tell them nothing without your mother or me present. Understand?"
"Yes, Father."
—something's wrong, something's coming, I can feel it—
James felt it too. The territorial government was preparing for something. Tightening control. Building records.
He worked faster.
By his tenth birthday, the Soul Splitter was ninety percent complete. It just needed final calibrations and extensive safety testing.
Miranda manifested her affinity three days later.
James was at the mill, working on the device, when he felt her presence approaching. But something was different. Her mental signature had changed, become sharper, more defined.
She burst through the door, eyes wild with excitement and fear.
"James, I can—I just—there was this feeling and then—"
She demonstrated as a rock lifted off the ground, wobbling but definitely floating.
"Eldritch," James said, grinning. "Congratulations. You're officially a mage."
"I'm a mage," Miranda breathed. "Oh gods, I'm actually a mage. What do I—how do I—"
"You practice. Starting now." James set aside his work. "And you help me test the final component of the device. Now that you have an active Eldritch affinity, you can verify that the soul transfer mechanism works correctly."
"I'm not going to be your guinea pig." Miranda turned to face him.
"Of course not..."
Afterwards they spent the afternoon training. Miranda's telekinesis was still raw and needed sharpening. Her telepathy was barely manifested and she could sense thoughts nearby but not read them clearly yet.
"It'll develop," James assured her. "Give it time. You're ahead of schedule as is."
"How did you know?" Miranda asked. "You said I'd manifest Eldritch. You were certain."
James shrugged. "Pattern recognition. Your mind works in a way certain way and Eldritch affinity correlates with those traits."
—he really does see everything, understands everything, it's scary and awesome—
"Stop thinking so loudly," James said. "I can hear you from here."
"Sorry. Still getting used to—wait, can you teach me to shield my thoughts?"
"That's literally next on the training schedule. I do not want to have to listen to all that."
---
By the time spring arrived, Miranda had barely basic control over her Eldritch abilities. The Soul Splitter was complete, pending final tests. And the territorial governor's surveillance had reached new heights. For a place that was meant to be neutral, it sure didn't seem like it. There were random inspections, mandatory reporting of any unusual magical phenomena, and whispers of "security concerns" that no one would specify.
James turned ten and a half with eighteen months remaining until the Affinity testing.
The device sat on his workbench, looking like a mechanical nightmare but functioning perfectly in tests. He'd successfully stored and retrieved small soul fragments, tiny pieces of his magical identity dozens of times without incident. But tiny fragments were not enough to confirm if the device was truly ready. He'd have to experiment fully on the soul for his final test.
Miranda sat on his bed, wiggling her feet and asked: "So, you're really going to test that thing fully on yourself now?"
"What do you think?" James responded with a devilish grin that a ten year old shouldn't have.