The mage's idea of training was—unsurprisingly—insane.
"Sit still," he barked. "And *stop thinking about soup.*"
"I'm not thinking about soup!"
[You are. You're thinking about mushroom bisque. Again.]
Julian sat cross-legged in the middle of the cluttered tower, his spoon floating in front of him. Around him were lit candles, each balanced on wobbling stacks of books, scrolls, or live snails. Lira sat nearby, quietly cleaning her dagger and pretending she wasn't judging him.
"Now," said the mage, "you will silence your mind. Reach inward. Tap the thread of reality. Control thought... shape it."
Julian closed his eyes.
Blank mind. Clear focus. No distractions. Just—
Soup.
"Mushrooms again?" he muttered.
[Suggestion: picture something powerful. Urgent. Emotional.]
Julian tried. He imagined fire. A collapsing building. The surge of fear he felt when that cultist had nearly stabbed him.
The spoon glowed faintly. A breeze stirred the candles.
"Better," the mage grunted. "Now push. Focus into the spoon. It's your mental anchor."
Julian exhaled—and the spoon shot across the room like a missile, embedded itself in the wall, and exploded in a burst of glowing light.
Lira ducked behind a table. Blobby screamed from his pouch like a frightened squeaky toy.
The mage cackled. "Perfect! That's what I'm talking about!"
Julian stared at the hole in the wall. "Did I just cast a *spoon missile spell*?"
[It appears you bypassed traditional structure. You shaped raw thought into action.]
"Great. I'm accidentally dangerous."
[Correct. And unstable.]
The mage leaned over with wild eyes. "Do you know what that means, boy?"
"That I should never work in a kitchen?"
"It means magic isn't real."
Julian blinked. "Come again?"
"It's not fireballs. Not lightning. Not floating orbs and enchanted junk. That's all showy garbage. Magic is will. Perception. Belief. If you *think* hard enough—believe hard enough—you bend the world."
[Confirmed. Aldrion's older magic systems were entirely mental. The runes and rituals came later.]
Julian frowned. "So... magic is lying really hard until reality believes you?"
"Exactly!" the mage clapped. "And you, my boy, are a natural liar."
Lira looked up. "That checks out."
The mage stood and began rummaging through a drawer filled with silver stones and angry insects. "Here. Take this."
He tossed Julian a pendant shaped like a jagged eye. It hummed faintly.
"What is it?"
"Focus totem. Helps regulate mental surges. Won't stop your brain from catching fire, but it'll slow it down."
"Comforting."
[Low-grade limiter. It might prevent another spoon-based explosion.]
Julian slipped the pendant on. It tingled against his skin, like static.
The mage stepped back and scratched his beard. "You're dangerous. Untrained. And extremely likely to destroy things by accident."
"Awesome."
"And if I were a cult leader? I'd want you dead or under control."
Julian sighed. "We get that a lot."
The mage's face grew serious. "You're not safe here. Word will spread. Whatever you did at that ruin... it echoed."
[Confirmed. There are now three open magical tracking threads connected to your aura.]
Julian turned pale. "You're saying people are... *tracking* me?"
"Yes," the mage said. "And if you want to survive, you'd better learn to lie to the world *faster* than they can follow."
Julian stood, adjusted the pendant, and looked out the tower's crooked window at the storm clouds gathering over the cliffs.
"Alright," he said. "Let's break reality."
Blobby burped in encouragement.