“Nice weather we got today, innit?” Jessica said with a smile that told John everything he needed to know.

He didn’t deign these words with an answer. Though stuck in a child’s body, he had by no means sunk to their level. His mental maturity made that impossible.

“I know right? The overcast clouds are as beautiful as always,” Ronnie responded in his stead.

The two children looked at each other and shared a laugh. Soon, that damned marble joined in, filling his head with a droning laughter.

Exasperated, John threw his hands up in the air. “It’s been a week and a half! I can’t believe that you guys are so childish!”

Jessica stuck her tongue out at him, whilst Ronnie tried but failed to suppress his laughter.

“Yeah, whatever,” John mumbled. He sat down on his bed and closed his eyes.

Not willing to put up with them anymore, he searched for the mental tug in his mind, and soon enough he found himself in a dark space illuminated by an omnipresent white fog.

In the middle of it was a small point of light from which a slow but steady trickle of aether flowed in. It quickly dispersed into all directions, providing him with about as much aether generation as all of his current creations combined. Irritating as the marble might be, it certainly did have its uses.

John shifted his gaze away from it, focusing on bright ball of fire burning right next to it. He checked its aether generation, clicking his tongue when he realized that it was still wasting almost as much as it created. The net gain was minimal, but at the same time it was a very valuable resource in battles. The worst thing about it was that the aether rate was simply impossible to improve. The only way to do so would be to pump more aether into it, making them hotter. But that brought about the same result as creating more flames!

It didn’t even make sense to begin with. A self-sustaining fire? What was it burning on? Why did it automatically redirect the aether it was creating to its continued existence? Why the hell did the logs of wood he had placed in it not catch fire unless he willed them to?

It was absolutely ridiculous. Well, the very notion of some strange space in your mind where you could will things into existence was quite ridiculous to begin with. Most of his attempts to decipher its secrets had gone to waste, and the few insights he had gained didn’t exactly help him either.

He sighed and descended from his lofty position, finally landing on the cold marble floor on the bottom of the circular space. On the ground were various mangled and misshaped metal parts haphazardly strewn about. With a simple mental wave of his hand, his previous attempt at recreating a pistol dissolved into pure aether. At the same time, a golden throne shot forth from its remote corner of the core, slowing down until it gently came to a halt at just the perfect height to sit down.

Resting his buttocks on the pre-heated cushions, John started pondering once again.

It was theoretically possible to replicate a gun. Very much so, even, as his creation of the wooden plank had clearly demonstrated. It wasn’t a problem of the structure. Though energy weapons were far outside his reach, ancient slug-throwers shouldn’t have been a problem at all. With their designs branded into his brain, it should have been an easy task to rise to prominence through the use of this antiquated but nevertheless deadly weaponry.

But, as always, the devil laid in the details. Frowning, he squinted his eyes as he focused as hard as he could on the mental image of a pistol barrel. Aether rushed in from all corners to form a rough outline of his mental image, but that was already the full extent of his capabilities.

Outwardly, it looked nearly identical. Much better than his first attempt, which was a mangled piece of metal, at least. However, many small things, like the fine grooves on its insides or the occasional bump and bob in its design, were simply wrong.

No matter how much John strained his mind, it was nearly impossible to remove these small blemishes. It rebelled and fought back at the very thought of such an endeavour. What was worse that he couldn’t alter its shape after the creation, not without the use of brute force. He could control it, for sure, but that was the extent of his abilities.

John rolled his eyes. Having delegated the creation of guns into a side-project, he dissolved the failed experiment. He looked up, towards the giant rectangle of water silently hovering in the air, directly above him at the ceiling.

He let his mind wander, and within a moment, the water deformed as if gripped by gigantic hands. It stretched and expanded, pulsing like a heart for a moment before turning into a transparent knight in full-plate armour. A sword and shield manifested in its hands, the creation causing the watery knight to shrink by a full fifth.

Next, the fireball exploded into a fiery giant, almost as tall as tall as the space was big. It engulfed close to everything, including even the travel provisions and mostly unused games lying off in some corner, before shrinking down to just double the size of the knight. The smaller it shrunk, however, the more blinding its light became. By the time it stopped, it was too bright to look at with normal eyes.

With but a mental command, the two elemental creatures began to duke it out with each other.

Water boiled and fire was extinguished with every exchange. They battled back and forth, across the entire core and even into the invisible barriers.

The aether in the air rapidly vanished from the space, shrinking with every movement they made. Before it could completely run out, though, John stopped the two giants in the midst of their clash. He cradled his head in his incorporeal hands as he felt a headache coming on.

“That’s what you get for playing around like that.”

“Not. Now! Headache is killing me.”

“So you don’t even have an excuse to use up an entire day’s worth of aether for your little games?”

Feeling the pain slowly recede, John looked up to the aether fountain caught between the two frozen combatants. “Look, even I get bored at times, okay? I need to destress. This goddamn schedule of running around from place to place, cleaning my ass off all day isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I first came here.”

“Sure, weather boy.”

“Nice try. Now shut up and let me recover.”

He subsequently blended out all attempts of the marble to contact him, focusing on using what little was left of the aether to shift the two giants back into their original forms.

One hell of a headache later, he was finally done. The watery rectangle was back where it should be, as was the fireball. Whilst he was at it, he also organized the scattered rations and games back into their corners. By the end of it, however, he had almost depleted the entirety of the aether contained in his core. There wasn’t even enough for a short meditation session anymore.

Once he was sure that everything was alright again, he massaged his temples. “Note to self: Repress stupid thoughts and use more productive methods to destress.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, waiting for time to pass.

Slowly but surely, white fog trickled in from the aether-fountain and all the various objects he had created, filling the space with a faint white sheen once again. Pointing his right index finger downwards, John directed all the created aether towards the marble floor beneath him.

White fog rushed in from all directions, past and through him. Square centimetre by square centimetre, it formed into flawless white marble. Thanks to the aether fountain, this went quite a bit faster than it should have, accelerating the positive cycle of aether generation by a fair amount.

For reasons he had discussed far too often without a clear conclusion, the fountain kept pace with his improved aether generation, doubling it to the…particle, strand, Aetherion, or whatever the hell people used to count it.

This feeling of constant progress was immensely satisfying, almost as good as meditating and without the same amount of focus needed. Were it not for the fact that all the aether in the world would be useless to him if his channels weren’t strong enough to handle it, he would probably be spending all day and night in here.

After an unknown amount of time passed, he could feel a tremor through his mental link.

Following it without hesitation, the first thing John saw when he opened his eyes was a golden dragon emblazoned on a pure white back. His teacher was standing in front of the window, his unseen visage probably staring at the bustling streets below. His broad shoulders were squared and his back ramrod straight. There was a certain majesty in that elderly figure John had barely noticed before, one that radiated unwavering steadiness like a fire would heat.

Then he noticed Ronnie to his left and Jessica to his right, both doing their best to meditate but obviously failing to do so, and the spell was broken. The indomitable warrior turned into an old coot with an omnipresent smile und unfathomable abilities. Awe drained out of him, to be replaced with the complex mixture of feelings he felt for him.

“Teacher?”

Greg turned around, his trademark smile plastered on his face like the mask he hoped it to be. “Ah, and here I was thinking that you’d never wake up. Don’t worry, I’m not here on serious business, only to tell you that you should probably fulfil your assigned tasks if you haven’t done so already.”

A bolt of lighting shot through John’s head. Shit! George’s letter!

Seemingly satisfied with John’s reaction, the old man nodded. “Well, if you don’t need anything else I’ll be on my way.”

Within a moment, he was gone once again, leaving a panicking old man caught in a child’s body and two actual children behind.

It would be quite a few stressful hours until John would be able to fall asleep.

Somewhere, far off in the distance, a horn rang. And then another one. And another one.

John’s eyes shot open with blinding speed, with his mind being not too far off.

Before he could do anything, an irresistible force grabbed him by the collar and threw him to the ground. His right shoulder hit the ground with a dull thud, followed by the rest of his body. Fortunately, it was strengthened enough not to incur too much damage.

Another two thuds echoed right next to him. Ronnie and Jessica were similarly lying on the ground. Both seemed to be just as confused, but even more alert than he was.

The horns blared again. This time, they were much closer. And louder.

Old instincts took over, and John crawled to the window, searching for something, anything to barricade it. They were in plain sight. The entire room could be picked out by snipers if-

“John! What the hell are you doing?” Jessica shouted whilst looking around with eyes wide open.

“Th-the windows! I must-” John stammered, but stopped himself in time. What was he doing here? He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m – okay, I guess.”

“To all children! Gather in front of the building! Don’t panic! Don’t push!” came the voice of a woman from downstairs.

The trio shared a glance, quickly dressing before rushing down.

They joined the loud crowd that had gathered below. Children were gathered in the middle, with fully armoured soldiers forming a circle around them. Further ahead stood their teacher, standing prouder and taller than ever. A large metallic staff was rammed into the ground before him, with one hand casually gripping it and the other directing one soldier after another, each shooting off to their own tasks.

John easily slipped into the middle, where the unrest was quickly growing with every blaring horn. Hushed whispers were everywhere, with every child seeming to have a theory of their own. Figuring that anything else would be a waste of time, John tapped the breastplate of the closest soldier and asked him what was going on.

“The beasts are attacking,” she said.

The entire crowd of children stopped simultaneously. John could hear teeth cracking from next to him. When he looked, he realized that it was Logan, frozen stiffer than any statue could ever hope to be.

What was going on? What beasts?

Greg ripped the staff out of the ground and turned to face them, his amber eyes containing a hint of steel in them. “Don’t worry, my children. The people of Frumentum fear no one! How can we hope to defend our lands when our warriors freeze up at the sight of lowly beasts?”, he hollered, loud enough to make John’s earsring.

That was enough to calm the crowd. The whispers and hushed conversations stilled as the old man continued standing there, shouting orders and gathering information. A few minutes later, he put a hand on his chin and looked downwards, contemplative.

It snapped upwards again in but a second. “Stay put and wait for my return. If I hear of any trouble you caused,” he said, the hint of threat palpable in his voice, “There will be hell to pay.” Greg turned to face one the soldiers surrounding them. “Go make sure that everyone is gathered here. I’ll check out the situation on the walls.”

The man saluted and sprinted off. Greg looked over them once more, seemingly counting them with his eyes. Satisfied, he turned once again and jumped to the roof of a nearby building, from whence he shot off towards the ramparts, far above the throngs of moving metal that had formed below him.

Somehow feeling more threatened than ever before despite the undoubtedly experienced and tough men and women around him, John took a deep breath. Then, he concentrated on that little tug in his mind. A mass of aether bulged out of it, barely within the amount his channels could handle, before finally exiting from his right palm and manifesting as his trusty halberd.

It was still completely wooden, something he was of a mind to change sooner rather than later, and heavier and harder than any natural wood had a right to be. Once it landed in his hands, his furiously beating heart began to calm.

No matter who or what came at him, he would have the ability to at least protect himself.

It seemed like the people around him were of the same mind, as more and more weapons kept showing up, as well as the occasional suit of armour that had definitely not been included in their curriculum.

Looking around for familiar faces, John quickly found Ronnie standing next to Jessica, Andrea and an armoured Logan. He approached without hesitating for a moment, pushing his way through other cliques that seemed to have instinctively formed.

“John! You damn dimwit, come over here quickly, who knows when something could show up!”, Logan whispered as loud as his vocal cords allowed him to.

Looking at the soldiers surrounding them, John smiled. “What’s the stress for? We’re in the middle of Camp Verdant.”

Andrea, Logan and Jessica shushed him with a venomous look. “Shut up if you don’t understand,” Andrea hissed. She waved the massive spiked club in her hands around threateningly. “Just – Come here and join us.”

Just at that moment, the ground trembled. The entire crowd of children tumbled, hitting each other and the surefooted soldiers alike. Just as it seemed to have calmed down, a faint cacophony of booms and bestial roars came from beyond the great walls that suddenly didn’t seem quite as reassuring anymore.

After getting an elbow to the face, John was scrambling to remain upright, but was finally knocked down by some other kid ramming into him from behind. Dirt and grass and numerous weapons rammed into him, as well as the bodies of what felt like his entire class. The high-pitched screams around him were deafening, but what topped it all was a roar that penetrated him to the core.

“Well well, looks like some bigshot amongst beasts has arrived. It seems to be duking it out with your teacher, by the way.”

“Endless seas above,” John heard one of the nearby soldiers mumble as he pushed and shoved his way up the writhing pile of warm human flesh.

By the time he had managed to fight his way out, the sky in the direction Greg had run off to was burning a bright, endless and fiery crimson.

And John simply stared at the terrifically terrifying spectacle, frozen in the middle of standing up. Booms and screams, roars and the clacks the metallic sabatons of half-lit soldiers and warriors hitting the ground, more shadow than man in the dark, as well as the fire in the distance and the flickering lights barely visible over the walls interweaved into an ominous spectacle.

It was impossible to rip one’s eyes away from this surreal scene. And in John’s mind, past and present seemed to interweave until he could have sworn that he heard the impossible sizzling of energy beams melting a target right next to him into molten mush.

A hand landed on his shoulder and roughly turned him around. He came face to face with Ronnie, who didn’t seem quite as pressured or afraid as the rest. And they simply stared at each other for a moment, both searching for something they didn’t find in the other’s face.

The moment was quickly broken as the tremors became weaker and the rest of the children got up. This time, there was nary a whisper. Only silent awe and perhaps a pinch of fear.

John didn’t know how long it took for the fight to end. It may have been minutes, but it could just well have been hours. By the time it did, however, he and the other children had already put on more layers of clothing due to the penetrating chill of the dark night.

Gradually the noises started to die down. Small groups of injured soldiers were constantly being transported back on stretchers. They carried their fallen, bloody and often unconscious comrades to the field hospital as quickly as their feet allowed them to.

And then, slowly, came the uninjured soldiers, who returned with bruises and dents half-dried bloodstains on their armours. Their faces were grim and their conversations hushed, quieting immediately once they noticed their group and only resuming once they were out of earshot.

Then came the warriors and the bulk of the troops, dragging massive carcasses of various predatory beasts through the streets. They left blood and entrails in their wake, slowly but surely transporting their loot to what John presumed to be massive halls where they would be butchered and processed.

Their teacher came back quite a while after the battle had died down, unarmed, with his hair somewhat singed at the ends and a certain stiffness in his gait. He had changed garments, and when he walked by there was a smell of flowers around him which John certainly didn’t recall being the case before.

The old man brushed any and all questions about what happened outside off, simply ordering them to get some rest before they’d set off first thing tomorrow morning.

Too tired to even question the happenings of the day anymore, John simply crashed onto his bed. As if a dam had been broken, John’s eyes lost focus once they touched the pillow.

Questions could wait until tomorrow. For now, it was time to sleep.