I spent 1st of May fully armed, patrolling around the Akadem together with all possible Teachers, Mentors, Protectors, Guardians and other responsible members of this educational-social-economical organization. I also saw lots of divinations, prophesy ceremonies and otherwise really bizarre rituals being performed as the wizards pooled together all available resources. All because the 1st of May, being the Beltane, locally Là Bealltainn, was estimated (by some very experienced, respected, powerful, influential etc etc old geezers and bats after lots of shouting, spitting and as I had heard, at least four cases of fork stabbings) to have greatest psychoresonance peak within the Zeitgeist that formed a sort of a dominant part within the concepts currently shared among the...um, intelligent species of the world. That being said, I guess that having a diplomat father got me really precise in avoiding possible discriminating remarks. Racism was old and familiar, however speciesm had potential to add a whole new dimension into the idea of tolerance, yup.

I kept walking through the endless passages, routinely directing a part of my attention to train energy-matter manipulation while simultaneously thinking about my dad, who I guessed was now having the time of his life trying to introduce advanced political concepts to some Norwegian trolls.

Attempt number one hundred thirty-five thousand eight hundred eight. Maintaining volume and density. Normal frequency increased by twenty. Energy shift at dimensional angle thirteen. No changes.

Attempt number one hundred thirty-five thousand eight hundred nine. Maintaining volume and density. Normal frequency increased by twenty. Energy shift at dimensional angle fourteen. Energy dissipation, object degradation. Fail.

...

Attempt number one hundred forty thousand sixty-nine. Maintaining volume and density. Normal frequency increased by ninety-nine. Energy shift at dimensional angle fifty-six. Draw weakening. Return to angle fifty-four.

Then, after tens of thousands of adjustments, between my fingers glittered a pellet of clear steel, without a hint of red. Finally, I found a way to separate my energy from the matter I had fused with. I already had some ideas how that could be used, as long as I could come up with a way to deal with the high energy losses during the process.

---

“Hello, Mentor Ward.” - I was greeted by a patrolling member of the Committee. Arthur Wiseman had described me most persons of importance, however I had never talked to this perpetually exhausted-looking woman. Her wide, flowing robe, that looked more like dress, was nevertheless immaculate and literally screamed “classic gets never old, especially if it is a mantle worn by a wizard”.

I stopped while she approached, and greeted in response: “Good evening, Lady Eartha.”. The fact that she was at least a century older than Arthur while appearing to be of similar age, placed her into ‘old, experienced, do not engage’ category of people.

She nodded, a small gesture full of precisely trained angles, motion speed and other details of aristocratic etiquette: “Keep up the good work. Apparently we got lucky this time. And the world, too. I just got a word from old fogeys that unless something happens right now, we have time until Oidhche Shamhna, now that most people know not of Lùnastal.”

I made all the appropriate response noises to keep the conversation respectable. Privately, however, I was speechless how a 400-years old granny labelled somebody as ‘old fogey’. Well, she did not use ‘thee’, ‘dost’ and other archaisms as did some of the other old mages, but it still felt somewhat surreal. Luckily, more people arrived and she switched her attention elsewhere.

Nothing happened the next day either, and the mood in the Akadem gradually relaxed. Meanwhile, while researching the process of energy-matter combination, I lost a palm length of my hair that apparently doubled as an energy reserve. In return, I got the trick of maintaining the changed structure of the matter. Unfortunately, that did not let me rearrange the atomic structure, so my initial idea of simple alchemy and transmutation of elements did not bear fruit. But manipulations like purification, restructuring and such provided enough possibilities to be worth the invested time and energy.

---

Two days later, I arrived to the gym a bit earlier than the time we agreed on. There was, however, a minibus with bundles of gear visible through the rear windows. Max held a map in his hands while Robert was having a smoke. We had a small talk while waiting for Peter, his wife Andrea, and a few others. I knew everyone except Andrea, so bored Robert appeared to feel the need to fill me in. What was curious, that in MacEwen couple, Andrea was the one to enjoy hunting. And that actually she was the boss of our Maître d’arms, firmly keeping him under a true matriarchal control.

Soon the rest of the people arrived - both MacEwens, Christopher aka Chris, Mike, Oscar, Dolores aka Dolly and Gregory aka Greg. Most people were actually active hunters and carried guns. The rest practiced archery, and had high quality bows or crossbows. Greg even brought a few boar spears.

Everyone had a weird look when I presented an 18th century hunting crossbow. Well, it was one of the antiques Matthew had dug up in my Manor, and was in pristine condition due to heaps of magic piled onto it. As a side effect, when I tried it out, it made a steel bolt fully bury into the solid basalt wall of the cave. Thanks to the fancy gold and silver etchings on steel limbs, I passed it off as a fancy, but fully functional replica.

The others piled into the bus while discussing the awesomeness of legal hunting so close to the city, thus leaving me the front seat next to the driver. We set off westwards, aiming to reach the bridge that would get us across the Firth of Forth, the combined estuary of multiple rivers north from Edinburgh. The descriptions I had heard about the area - new species of animals, changes in landscape and disappearances of people - matched well the wizards’ theory that the the integrity of the world, “the reality”, was getting progressively unstable further away from major centers of population.

The surroundings looked normal until we got out of the densely built-up area, which took twenty or so minutes. However, soon after we crossed the bridge over the River Almond, the trees flanking the road became much larger than before and cast large shadows over the whole area. The road itself, actually being a major highway connecting multiple cities, felt now constricted due to all the massively overgrown shrubs spreading out their arm-thick branches.

Occasionally, clusters of buildings could be seen through the vegetation that suddenly returned to normal, and major fields provided unobstructed view towards oddly-shaped hills and patches of suspiciously primeval-looking woodlands that were supposed to have almost disappeared completely from Britain. At first, the town of Queensferry was a welcome return to civilization, but soon it revealed a depressing sight, with its run-down streets scarred by numerous acts of vandalism, each mark starkly standing out among the grey wisps of fog that slowly rose from the river. The chatter in the car died off as everyone warily observed the surroundings.

Even the Forth Bridge, that looked like an ominous scene from Silent Hill because of the thick fog hiding the water below, felt more pleasant that the town we had left behind. Everyone stayed silent, except for Mike and Max who kept adding markings to the map in their hands. After the bridge, the scenery repeated itself - bleak, depressing towns, small villages and hamlets separated, if lucky, by fields and moorlands, or if unlucky, increasingly dense wild woods.

Finally, after an hour or so of driving, we reached a valley with a lake surrounded by gradually growing hills that gradually became real mountains in the distance. Here, the trees were already larger than they should, but still provided enough space for our van to pick a smaller branch road.

Robert, who was driving, looked around suspiciously: “Is here okay?”

From behind, Chris, a retired policeman-now smith, agreed: “Looks bad enough, sure.”

Robert swerved the car towards the spot where steep slope managed to keep the greenery in check. He opened the door and jumped out, stopping by the bushes that almost reached the hood.

After a few seconds, I raised my hands.

---

Without turning my head, I slowly pronounced: “I doubt this is robbery. Therefore, when?”

The voice of Chris sounded from behind: “When this was planned? Or when did we suspect you aren’t human?”

I hummed slightly: “Both options sound interesting enough to ask. However, I must point out that I kind of AM a human.”

Oscar next to Chris snorted: “Sure, human, without any blemishes, skin pores and fingerprints? Don’t bullshit, we checked with high zoom camera and stuff!”

I countered: “Everyone is different. Now, I kind of doubt that you, mister Murphy, suddenly started smoking pot, forcing you to wear sunglasses indoors.”. I had noticed that his energy was bluish-azure and strongly concentrated around his eyes. Now I knew how it worked - something similar to supervision or so-called “eagle sight”. He was likely scared by the changes he was experiencing, but he was being rude.

I smiled, hoping that in rearview mirror I would not look too creepy: “First, I just need to say that if I really wanted to do something, that nice IZHMASH product behind my headrest would not stop me. Therefore, even if my medulla oblongata is such an attractive target, how about you at least put safety on?”

A chorus of voices behind me responded: “No way.”

“Alright, considering that you did not pull the trigger immediately, we are not in actual disagreement.” - I just kept talking. I was not really sure what would happen if I took a close shot at the base of my skull with a 12-gauge semi-automatic grandkid of Kalashnikov. My skull also had foramen magnum, a hole at its base, and I did not want to risk having a ‘lucky’ shot reach my mind core.

The silent agreement in the bus let me go on: “So, Mister Hughes here has improved his eyesight, I believe within last half a year or so. And I seriously doubt he is the only one”

Over the few months, I could see that in some people, energy was becoming more vibrant. The colours, that had something to do with the soul’s affinity to Words, did not change, but the energy started to behave differently. I had observed that mostly in Akadem, but ordinary people also showed distinct energy metamorphoses.

As the others listened to me, I continued: “And more, if someone thinks this is something completely new and unknown… That is wrong.” - at that point I decided it was time to share the feeling of having to deal with a snowballing pile of revelations - “Some people had more time and opportunities, so their changes are not just limited to sensitive eyesight. Even more so - the real, non-Harry-Potter magic has existed for thousands of years, and by the last century, its users had almost completely isolated themselves. Now, however, Scottish coasts are besieged by sea monsters and I would not be surprised if an ent popped up from the bushes right now. For that reason, those of the governments which are not completely ignorant, employ certain specialists. Like me. ”

I slightly turned my head: “Once again, now that I have mentioned that I work for Her Majesty et cetera et cetera, at least aiming the gun away from me would be much appreciated. I would be able to show a proof then.”

“No tricks, man.” - but the muzzle moved a little to the side. Now my ear fell into the target zone.

Well, I could have turned my armour into thin threads and infiltrate through the seat behind me to block the barrel, but that carried the risk to cause more misunderstandings. Letting them have the feeling of control made the people relax a bit.

I carefully took out my bureaucratic amulet that I kept carrying around ‘just in case’ after it proved useful with soldiers on the beach.

“And how do I know that’s yours?” - enquired Chris: “It got no photo, no NIN, that is just a contract. We got no FDE.”

“What?” - asked previously silent Dolores.

Chris shot her a glance: “Who. Forensic Document Expert.”

I shrugged: “Well, I am Victor. From Scandinavia, too. Want to ask anything to check?”

“No need.” - said Peter: “His sword routine is really similar to the dude who should be his teacher. That sequence of warming moves that shifts through stances, dead giveaway. Unless they kept meeting during international seminars, he is from Denmark.”

That was not enough for Oscar: “Still, what is he? Some kind of wizard then? Avada Kedavra, all that?”

Otherwise calm Gregory made a facepalm after hearing Oscar. My superior hearing caught an almost soundless whisper: “Sure, go ask a possible wizard if he can kill people, genius.”

I consciously showed a small smile but refuted: “Nope. I suppose, to show my goodwill I will say that in Jewish culture, I am known as ruach.”

“Hmm, ‘spirit’ in hebrew.” - nodded Max. He had majored in history, he had said, right.

I twirled my hands while still keeping them up: “Which is as good word as any. Mostly human, though. I can tell you that stuff you learn from myths and fantasy is quite often interpreted or translated wrong. Therefore, be careful - not every sphinx will ask you the riddle and so on.”

I could not admit that I had no idea about what I was, right?