(Jason, 12)

"Go away, Papa Samuel!" I tell Papa Samuel, who opened the door to my room when I didn't answer it.

"What's got you so grumpy?" He asks.

"You intruded on my space!"

"Jason," he says. "You never refuse to answer while awake, so I was worried. What's wrong?"

"Go away!"

"Not until you tell me what's wrong," he says. "You're never like this, and it's time for your morning training."

"I'm grounded!" I tell him. "It's the winter solstice! I failed! I'm not happy! I'm trying to figure out what I missed!"

"Is that why you're laying on your bed with your head hanging down?"

"I heard that letting blood rush to your head helps stimulate thoughts," I tell him. "I'm not doing training today! Let me sulk for today! I'm trying to figure out what I'm missing!"

"Jason," he walks over to me. "You failed the test, take the punishment with dignity."

"I will," I pout. "But at least let me sulk for today! I always get queasy on the winter solstice."

"You do?" He asks, and I turn over so I'm on my stomach and look at him. "You've never mentioned that before."

"The solstices and the equinoxes make the natural, ambient magics feel weird," I sit up and hold my stomach. "I always feel sick on them because of that. I don't wanna take my punishment until tomorrow. Double training might make me puke! Let me sulk!"

"Tell you what," Papa Samuel puts the back of his right hand against my forehead. "We'll do the training as promised for the punishment. I talk to Papa Michael, and if you start feeling like you're going to puke or pass out, or get dizzy, we'll lighten up and give you a break. How come you've never told us before?"

"It's always been easy to manage?" I ask as he pulls his hand away. "Don't you guys get queasy, too?"

"No," he answers. "That isn't a bad thing, though, so don't look so worried, Jason. It just means you're more sensitive to ambient magic than we are. Maybe when we were younger, we were sensitive enough and have forgotten that. It doesn't make you abnormal, and it doesn't mean there's anything to worry about."

"Okay," I look down. "Do I have to do double training today, though? I feel especially sick. It's even worse than normal."

"Your head feels fine," he says. "As I said, Jason, we'll stop if you start exhibiting worrying signs, okay?"

"Fine," I grump. "I'll put up with it. I still wanna figure out what I'm missing, though. You can't let me sulk for a day?"

"Let's make a deal," he tells me. "If you work with Papa Jared in your free time on this, and the two of you succeed by the spring equinox, so three months from today, then you'll be allowed off the property and sweets again, but the extra training will continue."

I frown. Why would he think that it would take three months for me to do it with Papa Jared? If Papa Jared knows how to do it, wouldn't that mean I solve it in… Papa Jared doesn't know how to make them, does he?

I squint at Papa Samuel.

"This test was impossible, wasn't it?" I ask. "You guys don't know how to do this, do you?"

"No, we don't," he admits. "But, Jason, it's important that we test you on things even we can't do. How can we push your limits if we limit you by our personal limits? Papa Jared has been doing enchantments into metal and powered by mana crystals for decades. He may be able to help you make it work."

"Meanie."

"Get dressed and come downstairs," he tells me. "We'll start on your training."

I nod, since it doesn't seem like he's going to relent, then he leaves. As soon as my door is closed, I change out of my nightshirt and into a vest and some pants, then join him in the magic training room, where he orders me to exert twice as much magic around me as we normally train.

Rather than only doing this three times, he has me do it six times. I'm pretty sure that makes this four times the training, not two times. I only start to feel more sick as time passes, which is not how it normally goes.

When we finish this part of training, Papa Samuel has me work on controlling how much magical power I use and fine-handling of my magic by having me light multiple wicks of candles without igniting other wicks and simultaneously hovering the candles I'm not igniting. There are twenty-five candles, and I'm to ignite twelve of them.

Mama Alyssa calls us for breakfast, so we head out there and eat, and after, Papa Michael has me put on a light jacket and join him outside for sparring. Even though it's freezing, we'll be removing our jackets soon enough.

Around ten minutes into the sparring and getting my butt kicked by him, I feel like I'm going to puke. The natural magics are in turmoil.

"Stop, stop!" I call out, turning to the side and puking.

"Jason!" Papa Michael pats my back as I puke onto the ground. "It's okay, bud."

When I stop puking, he helps me clean it off my mouth and chin, generating some water for me to rinse my mouth out with. As I do that, Papa Samuel comes out, looking like he's heading for Papa Jared's forge until he sees me.

"What happened?" He asks.

"I puked," I point at the pile of vomit. "I'm sorry, Papa Samuel. Natural magics are in turmoil, and it just happened, and I feel like I'm going to puke again."

"Natural magics," he frowns, looking to the sky. "I think I know why you're feeling extra sick today. Michael, there's a meteor with star iron drawing near the surface of Midlaris. It's likely to impact nearby, and I think our boy is sensing that. When combined with what I told you earlier, that must be affecting his young, immature body."

Should I be mad that he called me immature? Probably, but I'm feeling too sick to worry about that.

"What's star iron?" I ask, then start puking again. Papa Michael pats my back again. "Sorry, Papa Michael."

"It's okay," he tells me. "Let's go inside and see if Mama Elena has something that can help ease your nausea. Time to impact, Samuel?"

"Unsure," Papa Samuel answers. "I only just began sensing it a minute ago and came out to let Jared know immediately. Based on the direction it's passing, it may pass over us."

"I don't want it to," I complain. "It's only going to make me more sick, isn't it?"

"Michael?" Papa Samuel says.

Papa Michael nods, then leads me inside. Mama Elena is busy making potions for Harold to sell. These ones will help someone deal with the cold better, and will run for around four hundred varru on the market. I made some a few weeks ago for Papa Harold, and he bought them all.

"He's looking pale," Mama Elena comments as Papa Michael grabs a clay pot and hands it to me.

"Puke in there," he tells me, and I nod, creating a barrier of air over the surface so that while I can puke into it, the smell won't waft out of it and it the puke won't splash out. "Elena, do you have something for nausea? His queasiness got worse and he's begun puking."

As if on queue, I puke again, but not much comes out. I guess I finished puking up breakfast. My body heaves a few times, then stops.

"I can try," she says. "Do we know what's causing it? Will holy magic work?"

"Unlikely," Michael answers. "I was going to give it a try after you made a potion. It seems he's sensitive to natural magics, and according to Samuel, there's a meteor with star iron drawing near. That seems to be affecting our boy."

"Alright," she says. "Let me see if I can mix something up to help him."

For the next hour, I feel miserable as Mama Elena mixes up a couple potions. I think she's making a sleeping potion as well. That would be nice, I'm feeling even more sick, and I think I can actually sense the meteor, now.

"What's star iron?" I ask when Mama Elena hands me the potion.

It's dark green and kind of thick. I down it, and despite the color, it tastes sweet and delicious. At least the Mad Witch was nice enough to make it taste good even though I'm under punishment.

"A metal that can only be found in meteors," Papa Michael answers as the potion's effects start spreading through me immediately, my sick feeling lightening up a little. "It's durable and sturdy, excellent for weapons and armor. The only metals that can compare to it are mithril and godsteel, both of which are just as rare. There's also the legendary isivinite, but no one's found some in more than two thousand years. Star iron is coveted by smiths everywhere, as even a single item made from it, even a dagger, can sell for tens of thousands of varru because of its rarity. It's twice as expensive as mithril, and three-quarters the price of godsteel, as Papa Harold would tell you."

"Based on rarity or quality?"

"Both," he answers. "Star iron is rare because it only comes from meteors, and only a rare few. That makes it rarer than mithril, though its quality and uses are similar. The primary difference between them is that mithril resists enchantments and magic while star iron, while also resistant to magic, can hold enchantments easily if they're added during the forging process."

"I made something to let you sleep through this," Mama Elena holds out the other potion. "Do you want to take it?"

"Yeah," I nod. "Thanks, Mama Elena."

"Just remember this when you call me the Mad Witch," she tells me as I take the potion.

(Samuel, 75)

Jared and I watch the sky from atop our house. The meteor is a large one, and the amount of star iron in it must be immense. We follow its path through the sky and to where it lands somewhere near the mountains. Nearly one hundred miles from here, but I've been near there before.

"Are you ready?" I ask.

"Yes," Jared answers. "Are you sure you can take us that far?"

"If it fails, we can make several trips," I tell him. "Jason's spell is surprisingly easy to perform when I view it as a door and not a portal."

I open a gate to where I think the meteor landed, using a spot nearby that I've been to as the focus of the gate. I try there rather than blindly teleport directly to the meteor as I've been in that location before and thus can visualize it better.

When the gate opens, Jared and I step through, and I sense the energies of the meteor strongly. Jared and I make our way in the direction of it, finding that I was off by around two miles. Immediately, we get to work harvesting the star iron from the meteor, cutting the object into chunks and sending them into our dimensional spaces. Jared will smelt them in the forge and extract the pure star iron. The waste material will then be destroyed – it's likely what's causing Jason's state.

Star iron itself has no effect on natural magics, but the meteors they're in possess strong energies that conflict with our world's. That energy is what enables us to sense the meteors as they approach and know where they've landed. When the waste material is separated from the star iron, it takes on a dangerous, tainting quality and is nearly always destroyed to avoid ruining the land around it.

"Do you think Jason will be fine with us working it while he's at home?" Jared asks as we finish up.

"Possibly," I answer. "As long as you do it bit-by-bit and destroy the waste immediately. How much waste would you say there is?"

"Very little," he answers. "Compared to normal. This one was almost entirely the pure state, though it will still need smelting to remove what impurities there are. It's a shame Jason got sick, he would have loved the meteor."

"Yeah," I chuckle. "He'd probably have climbed all over it, declaring himself king of the meteor. Let's head back home."

I open up another gate, and Jared and I return home, stepping through into the family room. Jason's sleeping on the couch, a pillow under his head, a blanket draped over him, and a stuffed wolf and stuffed bear tucked under his right arm, his left bent with his hand under the pillow.

"He kept getting worse," Elena tells us. "So I fixed something to make him sleep. He drank it shortly after the potion for nausea, and will probably be out for awhile. How was the meteor?"

"It was a large one," Jared answers. "Bigger than the one we found forty years ago by about its size and half again. I'm going to start smelting it so I can extract the pure metal now, get started while he's out."

Jared leaves the house to work in his forge, and I look at Michael.

"I'm saving a chunk of it for him," I inform the warrior. "To be given at a later date. It isn't every day one can work with star iron, and he'll be happy to, even if it makes him sick. A smaller chunk shouldn't affect him as much, and I grabbed a chunk with as few impurities as possible to minimize risk. Once he's older and his body more mature, it shouldn't affect him as badly either. He's likely sensitive because he's still growing."

"Alright," Michael responds. "He would definitely like a sword made of it, I think. Despite being sick, his eyes lit up when he heard of its properties and rarity."

(Jason, 12)

I don't feel so good, but at least it's subsided for now. Mama Elena's potion worked well. I can feel whatever it is nearby, and it's bothering me, but it's weak. I sit up and rub my eyes, then walk up to my room and grab my boots and pull them on, along with a coat. Dressed for outside, I walk to Papa Jared's forge, where the source of this feeling is strongest. He's smelting metal, and as I watch, he destroys the slag using some sort of spatial magic.

The abnormal feeling disappears almost entirely.

"What was that?" I ask, and Papa Jared looks at me.

"Waste material from star iron ore," he answers. "It's probably why you're affected more than normal today."

"It got easier once you destroyed it," I nod. "So probably. I wanted to see what you were doing."

"The meteor," he says. "Contains a lot of impurities, unlike most iron meteors, so we have to extract the ore. If we don't destroy the waste, it causes problems for the environment."

"Okay," I look at the cooling metal. "It's pale yellow? Like gold, but lighter?"

"Yes," he nods. "That's star iron. It's a lot more durable than gold."

"Okay," I nod, then look around. "Do you know where Papa Michael is? I can't sense him with my scan."

"You're running one?"

"Almost always," I nod.

"He went hunting with Papa Samuel," Papa Jared answers. "Why don't you go and get some more rest? I'll try to extract all of this as quickly as possible."

I nod, then return to the house and wait for Papa Samuel and Papa Michael to return. When they do, Papa Michael wants me to do some martial arts, but only as much as I can handle.

"What's a Magi?" I ask, and both Papas give me stunned looks. "What?"

"We don't have a single book referencing those," Papa Samuel tells me. "And none of us would have mentioned it. Where did you hear that term?"

"I had a dream while I was sleeping," I answer. "In it, I was a Magi. They called me Magus Nolan."

"The Magi," Papa Samuel says. "Or Magus for singular, were a force of twelve magicians in ancient times. Magicians and warriors, to be precise."

"Like me?"

"Yes," he nods. "Until three thousand years ago, our world was a battleground between angels and demons. This isn't common knowledge, by the way. Very few people know about the ancient war. Demons are foul creature that come from the underworld. They could only be slain by angels, gods, and items blessed by said beings. Not even demon-forged weapons could negate their regeneration, which were the only things that could kill angels and incapacitate gods."

"The war," Papa Michael says as they both sit across from me. "Has an uncertain origin. What is known is that angels were messengers of the gods and often used humans as a means of conflict between their gods – at their gods' orders, of course. However, they also protected the humans under their gods, giving them blessed power and weapons to fight against demons with. Demons, on the other hand, would use, torture, enslave, and kill humans simply for existing or their own amusement. Naturally, these two conflicting things led to war at some point."

"The few records that exist of the war," Papa Harold enters the room. "Say that it lasted for thousands of years. Humanity was nearly eradicated in it. Then came the Twelve Magi. No one knows where their abnormal power came from, but they possessed the ability to kill angels and demons alike, even without blessed weapons."

"With their mysterious power," Papa Samuel says. "The twelve of them slayed all who led the war, whether angel or demon. They butchered armies of monsters and humans, and in the end, closed every last portal to the heavens and the underworld, before completely destroying the passages linking them to Midlaris."

"Ever since," Papa Michael tells me. "The worst things we've had to worry about are ogres, corrupted, and our fellow man. In the three millennia since, humanity has begun to prosper, and though many believe in the gods and attribute things to the gods…"

"Without the passages," I say. "And the portals, they can't actually do anything. Is that why you've only taught me about the gods, but not worshiped them?"

"Yes," he nods. "The gods are unable to communicate with us, to send their angels down. It stands to reason that our prayers cannot reach them. No one knows why the Magi sealed the heavens as well, for mankind was capable of war and conflict even without heavenly influence, and it means that even the gods cannot interact with us or grant blessings."

In my dream, Magus Nolan sealed them out of spite. Instead of fighting directly in the heavens, the gods decided to use humans for it. In a fit of spite, he sealed the heavens so that they couldn't receive prayers from the humans they oh-so-loved to use and leech off of. He gave them one big metaphorical middle finger with that.

"Alright," Papa Michael stands up. "Let's get back to your training, Jason. And remember – let us know when you're feeling sick."

I nod, then follow him back outside, where we train for two hours. He does slow down and lighten up when I feel sick, but he still pushes me hard. Papa Jared should probably only do that while I'm at the training fields, since the waste makes me feel sick.

When training ends, it's time for dinner, then Papa Samuel makes me focus on magical power training again. By the time I wash up and prepare for bed, I'm exhausted and just want to sleep some more.

(Samuel, 75)

Our boy seemed to dream about the War of Midlaris, which is interesting. Does he have some prophetic ability, then? A latent gift for the second sight? Or was it purely a culmination of the fluctuations of magical energies that granted him insight to the past? Certain special events have been known to induce visions in magicians. I myself received a fair few in my youth.

The most interesting thing about the vision, however, was that he seemed to understand what they said. Language has changed a lot since the war, and while we've taught him several, not just Varil Common, none of us have taught him the ancient tongue. None of us can, because it was forgotten many centuries ago, maybe even more than one or two thousand years ago. Only bits and pieces are known, and no one knows what they mean.

Either the dream he had was purely his imagination using terms he didn't know, possibly drawn from his past life in another world and had nothing to do with ours, or Jason dreamed of an event in the ancient war and understood their language with ease.

I kiss Jason's forehead after making sure he's tucked in and wish him happy dreams tonight, rather than dreams of wars. Then, I return to the others, who have gathered in the family room.

"To be honest," I say. "I had completely forgotten about the punishment we had promised Jason until he mentioned it."

The others confirm that they had forgotten as well. Since Jason is always trying to better himself or solve challenges, we'd entered into the mindset that he'd been working on it for the same reason, rather than the test I'd given him.

"I think we can conclude," Alyssa says. "That Jason handles pressure well, despite having never truly been under it before. Let us try again several more times if we can come up with more ways. Hopefully, we can find a way to anger him without violating our morals. We need to teach him to manage these things so that he doesn't explode."

"Especially after seeing the explosions he does in the training valley," I add. "He might literally blow things up."

"Or kill problems that arise," Michael adds. "Jason no longer hesitates when it comes to a hunt. I'm thinking of suggesting that the universities introduce their trainees to real combat at a younger age, possibly starting with hunts. That would help decrease the number of soldiers and slayers who get sick on their first hunt or snap under the pressure of it."

"A wise idea," I look at Harold. "Will you suggest that next time you head out?"

"I will," he nods. "What impact do you think the mana engines will have, if Jared and Jason finish it?"

"Quite a large one," Jared answers. "Being able to travel long distances quickly through these trains of Jason's would make communication easier, as well as transporting troops and goods."

"The latter of which can decrease the cost of goods," Harold nods. "Apples have high prices in some areas because it's not easy to grow them, and are impossible to acquire in others because they won't last the journey. That's in other countries, for the most part, but it's a good example. If a merchant could traverse that distance in a matter of a few days rather than weeks or months, they could deliver foods that normally couldn't be transported. It would change the economy, even if it would be expensive to start."

(Jason, 12)

Man, they took forever to stop talking and go to bed! Now that they're asleep, I sneak downstairs, using some air magic to mute any sound I make. My goal is the library, to see if Papa Samuel really did change the locking enchantment.

When I reach the door, I examine the enchantment. He did. Meanie. It looks like it's designed to unlocked as long as the person casting the unlock spell has a specific mana signature, and it probably is set to all of my papa's and mama's signatures, but not mine.

Grinning, I hold up the marble I brought with me and press it to the door while weaving my mana through it to create the unlock spell. For a few moments, it looks like it's going to work, but then it fails. Almost. I almost had it, and it's only the first day.

They won't keep me locked out forever. I just need to improve either my technique or the marbles. I designed them to register and keep a record of magical signatures, sort of like the cards that they use to verify ID's.

This marble has Papa Samuel's. Well, not this one specifically records magical signatures, it's copied Papa Samuel's from the one that does. Otherwise, me putting my magic into it would alter the signature, and it would have either both of ours or something weird. Or break.

Depends on which version of the enchantment I used. I'm not sure what the current one on the recording marbles would do, and I don't want to try it.

With the knowledge that I need to improve the spell a bit more, I make my way into the kitchen and to the counter, climbing onto the stool that I use to help when making potions or food. There are a few spells on the cookie pot, but nothing I can't handle.

I begin unweaving the spells protecting it so that the jar will not open. Foolish Papa Samuel, not locking it like you did the library.

"Eeek!" I cry out as I suddenly find myself being yanked by my feet and pulled up to the ceiling, the marble falling out of my hand in surprise. It's yanked to the ceiling, too.

He put a gravity spell on it, set to trigger the moment the spells were undone! I didn't see that one! I try to undo the gravity spell, but it just won't work! It's locked my feet onto the ceiling, and all of my attempts at fixing gravity or turning off the spell or disabling it fails!

"PAAAPAAA SAAAAMUEEEL!" I yell. "HEEEELP!"

A few minutes later, all of my papas and mamas are down here, giving me amused looks. I am so glad the gravity spell makes it so that the direction it flows is reversed in a localized area, otherwise, my nightshirt would have fallen down, rather than remaining as if normal.

"Someone tried getting in the cookie pot," Papa Samuel smirks. "I had that enchantment behind another, knowing you wouldn't catch it."

"Meanie!"

He does something to the pot, and the spell ends. I fall to the floor, and too late, I remember the marble, which Papa Jared catches and examines.

"Samuel," he holds it out. "I think our boy tried finding a way around your lock on the library."

"Before you punish me," I stand up. "At least give me credit for trying!"

In the end, they decide that my punishment is that all of my sweeping and mopping during the punishment period has to be done by hand – no magic. That's fine, I'll find a way into the library and cookie jar without getting caught.