The years that followed Arthur's first breakthrough flowed like a quiet, sunlit river. To the world and to his family, he was Ingwรซ's youngest son, a serene and unusually contemplative child who was growing into the effortless grace of his people. He was known for his quiet nature, his love of the gardens, and the strange, intense focus in his eyes. He was a sweet, if slightly odd, little prince.
They could not see the truth. They could not see the roaring furnace of ambition and disciplined effort that burned behind the placid mask of his childhood. Every day, his life was a study in careful deception. His days were for his family, for the lessons in song and history expected of a Vanyarin prince. But his mornings, his nap times, and the secret moments in between belonged to the Nexus. They belonged to the grind.
The training that had once been a clumsy, frustrating struggle became the central pillar of his existence. The Fรซa Harmonization Protocol was no longer an attempt to capture a single, fleeting thread of light. It was now a deep and placid state of being. In his hidden alcove, he could sit and simply open a channel within himself, allowing a steady, shimmering stream of energy from the Two Trees to flow into his spiritual core. It was a feeling of nourishment so profound, so complete, that it made the food he ate seem like tasteless dust.
His physical routine, the Physiological Foundation Routine, had transformed his body. What might have looked like a child's strange, graceful dance was a hyper-efficient system for perfecting his elven form. The Nexus had guided him every step of the way, creating a foundation of strength, balance, and coordination that was decades ahead of his natural development curve.
By his seventh year, the Nexus provided a progress report that confirmed the efficacy of his efforts.
[๐๐ญ๐๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฌ ๐๐ฉ๐๐๐ญ๐: ๐๐จ๐ฌ๐ญ ๐๐ ๐ ๐.]
[๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ซ๐ข๐ญ๐ฎ๐๐ฅ ๐๐จ๐ซ๐ (๐ รซ๐): ๐๐.๐% ๐๐๐ญ๐๐ง๐ญ.]
[๐๐ก๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ข๐จ๐ฅ๐จ๐ ๐ฒ: ๐๐ง๐ก๐๐ง๐๐๐. ๐๐๐ฎ๐ซ๐๐ฅ ๐ฌ๐ฒ๐ง๐๐ซ๐ ๐ฒ ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐๐ฅ๐ ๐๐จ๐ง๐ญ๐ซ๐จ๐ฅ ๐๐ซ๐ ๐๐ฉ๐ฉ๐ซ๐จ๐ฑ๐ข๐ฆ๐๐ญ๐๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐๐๐% ๐๐๐จ๐ฏ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ฌ๐๐ฅ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐๐จ๐ซ ๐ ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐๐ฃ๐๐๐ญ ๐จ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ ๐๐ ๐.]
The numbers were proof. The snowball was rolling, gathering mass and speed. But his physical and spiritual growth was only one part of his project. His mind, the mind of a man from a world built on the written word, yearned for more data. It was this hunger that led him to the great library of his grandfather's palace.
The library was a place of deep silence and ancient knowledge. It was not a place of dusty, decaying books. Here, lore was stored in many forms. There were vast scrolls of supple, ageless parchment covered in the elegant, flowing script of the Elves. There were crystals that, when held, would sing songs of the Elder Days. There were tapestries woven with shimmering thread that depicted the history of the world since its dawn.
It was here that Arthur began the next phase of his secret education. He did not ask for a tutor. Tutors were slow. Instead, he sat in a secluded corner with a simple scroll detailing a children's tale and gave the Nexus a command. Analyze this script. Deconstruct the language. Create a translation matrix.
[๐๐๐ค๐ง๐จ๐ฐ๐ฅ๐๐๐ ๐๐. ๐๐๐๐ง๐ง๐ข๐ง๐ ๐๐ฎ๐๐ง๐ฒ๐ ๐๐จ๐ซ๐ฆ-๐ฌ๐๐ซ๐ข๐ฉ๐ญ '๐๐๐ง๐ ๐ฐ๐๐ซ'. ๐๐ง๐๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ณ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ ๐ซ๐๐ฆ๐ฆ๐๐ญ๐ข๐๐๐ฅ ๐ฌ๐ญ๐ซ๐ฎ๐๐ญ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ ๐๐ง๐ ๐๐ซ๐จ๐ฌ๐ฌ-๐ซ๐๐๐๐ซ๐๐ง๐๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฐ๐ข๐ญ๐ก ๐๐๐๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐๐ญ๐๐ ๐๐ฎ๐๐ข๐จ ๐๐๐ญ๐...]
[๐๐๐ญ๐ซ๐ข๐ฑ ๐๐จ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ฅ๐๐ญ๐. ๐๐๐ ๐ข๐ง๐ง๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ซ๐๐๐ฅ-๐ญ๐ข๐ฆ๐ ๐ญ๐ซ๐๐ง๐ฌ๐ฅ๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง.]
The elegant symbols on the page, once meaningless art, now resolved into words in his mind. In a matter of weeks, he had used the Nexus to teach himself a skill that should have taken half a century to truly master. He became a voracious, silent reader. He devoured tales of the Valar and the making of the world. He consumed histories of his own people, the Vanyar, and the Teleri.
But he was inevitably drawn to the lore of the Noldor. They were the crafters, the scientists, the seekers of knowledge. Their scrolls were not just histories, but treatises on geology, metallurgy, and linguistics. It was the Noldorin section of the library where he found the writings of the one elf he was most fascinated and terrified by: Fรซanor.
He found a scroll detailing Fรซanor's theories on the nature of light and its relationship with crystalline structures. It was a work of staggering, breathtaking genius. Fรซanor wrote of things Arthur could understand from his past life's physics education, concepts like refraction and frequency, but he blended them seamlessly with the spiritual nature of Arda. He did not see a separation between science and magic; to him, they were one and the same.
Nexus, analyze the core principles of this document, Arthur queried, his heart pounding with intellectual excitement.
[๐๐ง๐๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ณ๐ข๐ง๐ ... ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ญ๐ก๐จ๐ซ'๐ฌ ๐ญ๐ก๐๐จ๐ซ๐ข๐๐ฌ ๐จ๐ง ๐๐ง๐๐ซ๐ ๐ฒ-๐ฆ๐๐ญ๐ญ๐๐ซ ๐ฌ๐ฒ๐ฆ๐๐ข๐จ๐ฌ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ฐ๐ข๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ง ๐๐ซ๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฅ๐๐ญ๐ญ๐ข๐๐๐ฌ ๐๐ซ๐ ๐ก๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐๐๐ฏ๐๐ง๐๐๐. ๐๐๐ง๐ฒ ๐ฉ๐ซ๐ข๐ง๐๐ข๐ฉ๐ฅ๐๐ฌ ๐๐ซ๐ ๐๐จ๐ง๐ฌ๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ง๐ญ ๐ฐ๐ข๐ญ๐ก ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ฉ๐๐ฌ๐ญ-๐ฅ๐ข๐๐'๐ฌ ๐ช๐ฎ๐๐ง๐ญ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ฉ๐ก๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ข๐๐ฌ, ๐ญ๐ก๐จ๐ฎ๐ ๐ก ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐๐ฉ๐ฉ๐ฅ๐ข๐๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง ๐จ๐ ๐ฌ๐ฉ๐ข๐ซ๐ข๐ญ๐ฎ๐๐ฅ ๐๐ฌ๐ฌ๐๐ง๐๐ ๐๐ฌ ๐ ๐๐๐ญ๐๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ญ ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ ๐ง๐จ๐ฏ๐๐ฅ ๐๐จ๐ง๐๐๐ฉ๐ญ. ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ญ๐ก๐จ๐ซ'๐ฌ ๐ฎ๐ง๐๐๐ซ๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ง๐๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ข๐ฌ... ๐ฉ๐ซ๐จ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐.]
Profound. The Nexus, in its own way, was awed. Arthur felt a deep, genuine admiration for the mind that had produced this work. And that admiration made him feel sick to his stomach. He knew the future. He knew that this brilliant mind, this shining star of the Elven race, would become a fire that consumed everything it touched. He was reading the early works of a tragic hero, a man who would create the greatest treasures and the greatest sorrows this world would ever know. It was a heavy burden, to admire the genius and know the horror of his destiny.
This knowledge cemented his path. He was not a savior. He was not a hero. He was an observer, a ghost from a future that these people could not imagine.
The culmination of his years of secret work came on his tenth birthday. The family was gathered in the sun-drenched gardens of the palace, a perfect picture of Valinorean peace. His father Ingwรซ, his mother Ilwen, his sister Lirien, and his two older brothers, Arion and Valerion, were all present. The day was for celebration and recreation, and it had been decided that it was time for Arthur to have his first formal archery lesson.
A master archer of the Vanyar, an elf named Lauron, was his instructor. He was patient and kind, his voice as smooth as polished wood. He showed Arthur the proper stance, how to hold the beautifully crafted bow, how to draw the string back to his cheek, how to breathe, and how to feel the arrow as an extension of his own will.
"You do not simply shoot the arrow, little prince," Lauron explained, his hands gently guiding Arthur's. "You guide it. You become one with the bow, the arrow, and the target. It is a meditation."
Arthur listened with perfect, polite attention, nodding in all the right places. His family watched with warm, encouraging smiles. It was a charming scene. Inside Arthur's mind, however, a very different process was taking place. As he nocked his first arrow and looked at the distant target, fifty meters away, he gave the Nexus a simple command.
Nexus, calculate the optimal solution for hitting the center target.
The world of gentle breezes and warm sunlight was instantly overlaid with a stream of cold, hard data in his mind's eye.
[๐๐๐ฅ๐๐ฎ๐ฅ๐๐ญ๐ข๐ง๐ ... ๐๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฏ๐๐ฅ๐จ๐๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ: ๐.๐ ๐ค๐ฉ๐ก ๐๐ซ๐จ๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ฌ๐ญ. ๐๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ข๐๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ: ๐๐%. ๐๐๐ซ๐ ๐๐ญ ๐๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ง๐๐: ๐๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ญ๐๐ซ๐ฌ. ๐๐๐ฃ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ญ ๐๐ฅ๐๐ฏ๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง ๐๐ฒ ๐.๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ซ๐๐๐ฌ. ๐๐จ๐ฆ๐ฉ๐๐ง๐ฌ๐๐ญ๐ ๐๐จ๐ซ ๐ฐ๐ข๐ง๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐ฒ ๐.๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ซ๐๐๐ฌ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ฅ๐๐๐ญ. ๐๐๐๐จ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐๐ง๐๐๐ ๐๐ซ๐๐ฐ ๐ฐ๐๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ: ๐๐.๐ ๐ค๐ . ๐๐๐ ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐๐ญ๐ ๐๐ซ๐๐๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ง๐ . ๐๐๐ฅ๐๐๐ฌ๐ ๐๐๐ญ๐ฐ๐๐๐ง ๐ก๐๐๐ซ๐ญ๐๐๐๐ญ๐ฌ.]
He ignored Lauron's advice to "feel" the shot. He did not need to feel. He needed to execute. His body, trained for years by the Nexus's routines, was a perfect instrument. He adjusted his stance by a millimeter. He drew the string back, his muscles calibrated to the exact tension required. He held his breath at the apex of the cycle. He waited for the thud of his own heart, and in the perfect silence between beats, he let the arrow fly.
It left the bow with a sound like a whispered word. It did not wobble. It did not waver. It flew in a perfect, silent arc, a silver streak against the golden light of Laurelin, and struck the exact center of the bullseye with a solid, satisfying thump.
For a moment, there was absolute silence. Lauron, the master archer, stared at the target, his mouth slightly agape. Arthur's brothers, who had been whispering jokes to each other, fell silent. Lirien let out a soft, delighted gasp.
Then, his father Ingwรซ began to clap, a slow, proud smile spreading across his face. The others quickly joined in, their praise and laughter echoing through the garden. But as Ingwรซ approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder, Arthur saw the look in his father's eyes. It was not just pride. It was a deep, penetrating curiosity. It was the look of a king, a wise and ancient being, who had just witnessed something that did not quite add up.
In that moment, a cold knot of dread formed in Arthur's stomach. In his desire to test his abilities, in the thrill of executing a perfect solution, he had made a catastrophic error. He had not acted like a child. He had not acted like a beginner. He had acted like a master. He had drawn a spotlight upon himself, and the gaze of the High King of all Elves was not one that could be easily dismissed.
Later that night, the celebrations over, Arthur sat alone in the quiet of his room. The thrill of the perfect shot was gone, replaced by the cold calculus of risk assessment. He replayed the scene in his head, analyzing the expressions on his family's faces, particularly the thoughtful, searching look his father had given him.
Nexus, he commanded, his voice a whisper in his own mind. Run a simulation. Calculate the probability of maintaining a low profile while operating at one hundred percent combat and skill efficiency.
The Nexus took only a moment. The answer was as stark and unforgiving as a line of code.
[๐๐ข๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐๐ญ๐ข๐ง๐ ... ๐๐ง๐๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ณ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฌ๐จ๐๐ข๐๐ฅ ๐ฏ๐๐ซ๐ข๐๐๐ฅ๐๐ฌ ๐๐ง๐ ๐๐จ๐ฌ๐ญ'๐ฌ ๐๐ฎ๐ซ๐ซ๐๐ง๐ญ ๐ฉ๐ซ๐จ๐๐ข๐ฅ๐. ๐๐๐ฅ๐๐ฎ๐ฅ๐๐ญ๐ข๐ง๐ ...]
[๐๐ซ๐จ๐๐๐๐ข๐ฅ๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ ๐จ๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ข๐ง๐ญ๐๐ข๐ง๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฅ๐จ๐ฐ ๐ฉ๐ซ๐จ๐๐ข๐ฅ๐ ๐ฎ๐ง๐๐๐ซ ๐๐ฎ๐ซ๐ซ๐๐ง๐ญ ๐ฌ๐จ๐๐ข๐๐ฅ ๐๐จ๐ง๐๐ข๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง๐ฌ: ๐.๐%.]
The number hung in his mind. He was an anomaly, and anomalies, by their very nature, attract attention. He now understood that his greatest challenge was not mastering his own power. It was mastering the art of pretending he did not have it. He had to be brilliant in secret, and perfectly, believably average in the light. This was the prodigy's dilemma.