I threw myself completely into the research.
Days became an indistinct sequence of attempts, notes, and hypotheses that never quite made it to testing. My workspace was already overtaken by sheets of paper, runic diagrams, and improvised calculations. Ideas layered over other ideas, paths started and abandoned halfway through.
And still… nothing.
I felt like I was close. That I was on the right path.
But I wasn't making progress.
Time passed like that for days.
Maybe weeks.
I lost track.
"You're burning yourself out."
Elena's voice pulled me back.
I looked up. She was standing at the door, watching me. There was concern on her face—not hidden, not subtle.
And fatigue, too.
"What is it that's consuming you?" she asked again, stepping closer.
I hesitated for a moment.
But then I realized something unsettling.
She wasn't just worried about what I was doing.
She was worried about me.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair.
"I don't know what I'm missing," I admitted. "I'm sure I'm on the right track… but I can't move forward."
She sat beside me, in silence.
And then I explained.
I talked about the runes, the hypotheses, the concept of space, expansion, what I was trying to build—a solution, a contingency plan, something that would guarantee safety if everything went wrong.
When I finished, she was staring at me, her eyes slightly widened.
Not because she didn't understand.
But because she understood too well.
"You're doing this because of the Empire… aren't you?" she asked quietly.
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
She already knew.
The silence that followed was brief.
"Don't you think you're rushing things?" she continued.
I frowned, confused.
"What do you mean?"
She tilted her head slightly, as if organizing her thoughts.
"Weren't you the one who said that, in magic, understanding is everything?"
Her words hit me directly.
No detours.
"Then why are you trying to create something you yourself said you don't understand?"
This time, I had no immediate answer.
The feeling was strange.
Uncomfortable.
But not because she was wrong.
Because she was absolutely right.
She continued:
"You're trying to start from the end."
I remained silent.
"Focus on the basics," she said, more firmly now. "Understand space first. Manipulate it afterward. Only then try to create something new."
The simplicity of the logic was almost irritating.
And completely unavoidable.
I ran a hand over my face and, without thinking, let my forehead fall against the table.
A dull sound echoed through the room.
Days.
Maybe weeks.
Wasted, going in circles.
All because I was too focused on the goal… and not on the path.
I let out a small sigh, my forehead still resting against the wood.
"Right," I murmured.
When I lifted my head again, I already knew what I had to do.
Start over.
The months that followed were… different.
Slower.
More methodical.
More efficient.
I abandoned the idea of pushing forward on impulse and began studying space the way I should have from the start.
Observation.
Modeling.
Controlled testing.
Small advances.
And, little by little… I began to understand.
Not completely.
But enough.
After nearly a year, I finally reached a critical point.
I managed to introduce coordinates into teleportation.
I still can't structure this as a direct spell—the complexity is too high for mental execution. Runes are still necessary as support.
But that's no longer a problem.
In fact… it became an opportunity.
Inspired by old ideas—structures that allow controlled travel between points—we developed something new.
My father, Gilbert… and I.
The first teleportation gate.
We built the structure using a metallic alloy I refined myself. I discovered deposits of bauxite in the region and, with the help of magic, processing the material was trivial. The result was a combination that was lightweight, durable, and ideal for runic conduction.
The gate has a rotating disc.
A simple mechanism, but functional.
It allows adjustment of three coordinates within the runic set, aligning the destination with precision.
That's when I ran into a fundamental problem.
Coordinates… relative to what?
After several attempts, I reached an inevitable conclusion.
They had to be relative to the planet's core.
If I used an absolute reference… the system would become unstable. The planet is in motion—rotation, translation—even if I don't have direct confirmation in this world, everything suggests the same rules apply.
Without a fixed internal reference point, any destination would become imprecise.
Or worse.
Dangerous.
Solving this required… a somewhat unconventional approach.
Risky.
Perhaps reckless.
I tried again what I had done before with the earth element.
But this time, I didn't seek connection.
I sought an answer.
I formulated a question.
And along with it, I sent my own memories—everything I had developed about coordinate systems, spatial references, positional relationships.
It was… strange.
Different from the first time.
There was no flood.
No pain.
Just… a return.
Information.
Clear.
Direct.
Organized.
That was when I realized something.
What I had accessed before…
Was not a mind.
Nor a spirit.
It was more like a system.
A repository.
Something that processes, organizes… and responds.
A computer.
The first time, I had tried to absorb everything at once.
As if I were trying to download an entire library into my own mind.
Now… I made a query.
Specific.
Directed.
And I received an answer.
Precise.
Silent.
And functional.
I remained silent for a long time afterward.
Looking over my own notes.
Reorganizing everything in my mind.
If this is correct…
Then I'm not just manipulating magic.
I'm accessing something far greater.
Something structured.
Something… that was already here long before me.
And for the first time since I began this research…
I truly felt like I was starting to understand.