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Two days blurred together in sweat and numbers. Following the Nano's regimen, Darius strained his body past its limits—push-ups, sit-ups, laps around the cracked orphanage yard. Buckets sloshing with water, broom handles weighted with stones—anything that could build strength. Each motion logged and analyzed by the silent presence inside him.
By the second night, the results stood plain.
[Status
Age: 11
Height: 139 cm
Weight: 30 kg
Stamina: Moderate
Magical Energy: Slightly increased
Condition: Healthy ]
The difference was unmistakable. His bones no longer ached, his movements had grown fluid, his breath recovered faster. And beneath it all, the faint spark of magic stirred—restless, waiting.
On the third morning, a knock rattled the front door—measured, deliberate.
The matron's voice carried irritably through the hall. "Kael! Someone here for you."
Darius's stomach tightened as the children turned to stare. Rising from his mattress, he followed the matron's brusque wave toward the entrance. A tall woman stood waiting—robes impeccably pressed, hair pinned with precision, posture straight as iron. Her gaze, sharp and assessing, landed on him immediately.
"I am Professor Minerva McGonagall," she said. "Might we speak in private?"
The matron's lips pressed thin, but after a moment she huffed, stepping aside. "Fine. Don't take too long."
Darius trailed McGonagall into a quieter corner. Seeing her so close sent a ripple through him. McGonagall. A character I watched in films. But this—this isn't a screen. She's real. The strangeness of it unsettled him, though he masked it with practiced calm.
Her voice broke through his thoughts. "You should already have received your letter from Hogwarts. Have you not?"
Darius hesitated, then nodded. "I did. I… thought it was some kind of prank." He forced a shrug, acting casual. "Magic isn't exactly something people believe in."
Her stern expression softened, just slightly. "I assure you, Mr. Kael, it is no prank. You are a wizard."
He tried to hold her gaze, but doubt flickered across his face. "That's… a hard thing to take on faith."
McGonagall inclined her head. She withdrew a slender object from her sleeve and with a smooth flick, a scrap of paper from a nearby table folded itself into a crane. Its wings fluttered once, hovering before settling gently into his hand.
The sight froze him. No tricks. No illusions. Real.
"This is elementary magic," McGonagall said firmly. "At Hogwarts, you will learn to control such power responsibly. Without training, magic is dangerous. With it, you may shape a future."
The words lodged in him. He swallowed hard. "…So it's real."
"Yes." Her eyes stayed steady on his. "Tomorrow morning, I will return. We shall go together to Diagon Alley for your supplies."
Her gaze lingered, measuring his composure, before she turned back toward the matron with the same deliberate poise.
When the hall fell quiet again, Darius stared at the paper crane, its folds impossibly precise. His pulse still raced when the Nano's voice intruded, clinical and calm.
[Energy emission detected. Flow recorded. External object observed projecting and directing energy. Unknown word sequence registered: "Wingardium Leviosa."]
His breath caught. "You… already logged it?"
[Affirmative. Energy classification: unknown. Analysis available. Proceed?]
A thrill shot through him. "Yes. Analyze it."
[Analysis complete. Energy flow mapped. Repetition and imitation possible through controlled vector alignment.]
His pulse quickened. He whispered the strange words, feeling the awkward rhythm in his mouth. As he followed the mapped current—imagining it threading from his chest to his fingertips—warmth shimmered faintly along his hand. Not enough to lift the crane. But enough to prove a beginning.
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That night, when the orphanage finally quieted, Darius settled cross-legged on his mattress, the paper crane resting before him. His palms were clammy, heart still thudding.
[Training protocol available. Would you like to begin?]
"Yes," he whispered.
The Nano hummed softly. [Initial attempt: baseline energy vectors recorded. Success probability: low.]
Darius whispered the strange words again, focusing on the flow the Nano had mapped. The crane didn't move.
[Observation: flow alignment insufficient. Adjustment suggested: concentrate core-to-fingertip continuity, moderate energy output.]
He took a deep breath, threading the energy from chest to hand as precisely as he could. The crane twitched—barely. He exhaled, frustrated.
[Feedback: minor lift detected. Reward: 5%. Continue iteration.]
He tried again. This time, he visualized the current as lines of light flowing from his chest, through his arm, into his fingertips. The crane quivered, lifted a fraction, and dropped.
[Analysis: improved vector alignment. Success probability rising: 15%. Adjustment: stabilize hand and sustain flow longer.]
Minutes stretched into an hour. Sweat dampened his hair, but each failure sharpened his perception. The Nano recorded every tremor, every surge of warmth, every failed attempt.
[Pattern detected: tremor magnitude correlates with crane instability. Micro-adjustments advised.]
Darius focused on minimizing his hand tremor, imagining the flow as a calm river, steady and continuous. The crane rose, wobbling less, hovering for several seconds before descending.
[Reward: 40%. Energy flow control increasing. Suggested reinforcement: sustain lift duration and focus on stability.]
He wiped sweat from his brow, lips dry. Again, again, again—each repetition slightly better. Tremor reduced. Energy steady. He whispered the words more naturally, letting the syllables guide the flow rather than forcing them.
[Iteration 12: crane lifted two inches, hovered steadily for ten seconds. Reward: 75%. Energy control approaching basic mastery.]
Darius's chest heaved. He grinned at the crane, which fluttered gently before settling.
[Iteration 15: crane floats consistently. Baseline mastery achieved. Reinforcement: maximum. Continue practice optional.]
He slumped back, exhausted. The Nano's voice broke the silence:
[Alert: magical energy reserves depleted. Recommend rest and recovery before next exercise.]
Sweat-soaked and trembling, Darius traced a finger along the crane's delicate folds. He had done it. Not perfectly, not effortlessly—but the flow had bent to his will.
(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
For the first time, Darius could feel the magic as a tangible tool—not a dream. And tomorrow, McGonagall would return, and the door to that larger world would open wider.