[FIVE YEARS LATER]
"Rin! Get down from there right now!"
I looked down from the roof of our manor, my legs dangling over the edge three stories above the courtyard, and grinned.
"But Mother, the view is so much better up here!"
The woman who'd given birth to me—Seraphine Valdris, Lady of House Valdris—stood in the garden below, hands on her hips, equal parts exasperated and terrified.
"You're going to fall!"
No, I'm not.
I could see the exact trajectory I'd need to take. The distance from the roof to the stone below: 9.4 meters. Wind resistance: negligible. Optimal landing angle: 47 degrees. Required force to absorb impact without injury: minimal.
The math played out in my head faster than thought.
But I didn't tell her that.
Instead, I stood up—balancing on the edge with perfect precision—and spread my arms wide like I was about to take flight.
"Rin Valdris does not fear heights!"
"RIN!"
I laughed and hopped backward, landing softly on the stone tiles.
Too easy.
---
[THE PRODIGY]
By age five, I'd become something of a legend in our household.
Not because I was gifted with magic—quite the opposite, actually.
I had no Mana Core. No ability to cast spells, manipulate elements, or channel divine energy like everyone else in this world.
According to the Church, I was a Null.A defect. A mistake of creation.
But that didn't stop me from being *better than everyone else.
I could read at three. By four, I'd memorized every book in Father's library—histories, arcane theory, combat manuals, even poetry (though I'd never admit to enjoying that last one).
I spoke four languages fluently. Could calculate complex mathematical equations in seconds. Could predict people's movements before they made them.
And I was bored out of my mind.
---
"Young Master Rin?"
I glanced up from the book I was pretending to read—some dry text about the Seven Circles of Arcanum—and found our head maid, Elira, standing in the doorway of the study.
"Hmm?"
"Your father has requested your presence in the training yard."
I perked up immediately.
Finally.
I closed the book with a snap and hopped off the chair, stretching lazily.
"Tell him I'll be there in five minutes."
"He said immediately, young master."
I grinned. "Then I'll be there in three."
---
[THE TRAINING YARD]
Father—Velkor Valdris, head of House Valdris and a Fifth Circle Archmage—stood in the center of the training yard with his arms crossed, watching me approach.
He was a mountain of a man. Broad-shouldered, stern-faced, with silver-streaked black hair and storm-gray eyes that always seemed to be calculating something.
He'd never been warm. Never smiled. Never called me "son" without it sounding like a title rather than affection.
But he respected me.
And in this world, that mattered more.
"You're late," he said flatly.
"By thirty seconds." I stopped in front of him, hands in my pockets. "Hardly worth mentioning."
His eye twitched—just slightly.
*Got him.*
"Your mother tells me you were on the roof again."
"She worries too much."
"She worries because you act like gravity is optional."
I shrugged. "Gravity and I have an understanding."
For a moment, I thought he might actually smile. But instead, he just shook his head and gestured toward the training dummies lined up across the yard.
"Show me."
I blinked. "Show you what?"
"What you've been hiding."
My grin faded.
Ah.
So he knows.
---
[PERCEPTION LIMIT — ACTIVE]
The world sharpened.
Everything slowed—not because time itself changed, but because my mind was processing faster than reality could move.
I could see the individual fibers in the training dummy's fabric. The microscopic gaps in the wood. The flow of air currents around it.
Distance: 12.3 meters. Structural weak points: seventeen. Optimal strike trajectory: calculated.
I didn't move.
"You've been watching," I said quietly.
"I'm your father. It's my job to watch."
"And?"
"And I know you're not normal, Rin." His voice was calm. Clinical. "You have no Core. No mana. No divine blessing. And yet..."
He stepped forward, his presence imposing.
"You move like someone who *sees the world differently."
Perceptive.
I met his gaze evenly.
"Maybe I do."
"Then show me."
---
I sighed and pulled my hands from my pockets.
"Fine. But don't blame me if you get scared."
I walked toward the training dummy—slowly, casually, like I was taking a stroll through the garden.
Perception Limit: Full activation.
The world exploded into data.
Every molecule. Every vibration. Every invisible thread of cause and effect.
I could see the *structure* of reality itself—the framework that held the dummy together, the space between atoms, the limits of its physical form.
And I could see how to break it.
I stopped three meters away and raised one hand.
"Spatial Limit," I murmured. "Layer Two."
---
[INFINITY]
The air around the training dummy warped.
Not violently. Not explosively.
It was subtle—like watching glass bend under pressure.
The dummy didn't move. Didn't shake. Didn't react at all.
And then—
It stopped existing.
Not destroyed. Not shattered. Not burned.
Erased.
The space where it had been was perfectly smooth, perfectly clean—like the dummy had never existed at all.
The air around it shimmered faintly, distorted by the absence.
Father stared.
"What..." His voice was barely a whisper. "What did you just do?"
I lowered my hand and turned to face him, grinning that cocky, lazy grin I'd perfected over the last five years.
"I removed its limit."
"Its... limit?"
"Everything has a boundary, Father. A point where it begins and ends. I just... erased that point. Without the boundary, it can't exist."
I could see the gears turning in his head. The disbelief. The fear.
"That's impossible."
"And yet." I spread my arms. "Here we are."
---
[THE MIRROR SPEAKS]
That night, alone in my room, I stared at the ceiling and felt the familiar pull.
The Infinite Mirror.
It appeared in my mind—vast, ornate, reflecting countless versions of myself across infinite possibilities.
One of them stepped forward.
This one had my face, but his eyes were older. Colder. His white hair was longer, tied back, and his expression was carved from stone.
> "You're showing off," he said flatly.
I shrugged mentally. "He asked."
> "You think you're safe because you're strong. You're not. Strength makes you a target."
"Let them come."
The reflection's expression didn't change.
> "You sound like me. Before I lost everything."
I felt a chill run through my soul.
"What happened to you?"
He smiled—bitter, broken.
> "I became God. And God is always alone."
The mirror shattered.
---
[THE CHURCH RETURNS]
Three days later, they came again.
I was in the garden, lying on the grass with my hands behind my head, staring at the clouds, when I felt them.
Five mana signatures. Stronger than before.
Third Circle. Fourth Circle. And... Fifth Circle. Three of them
I sat up slowly, my casual expression never faltering.
The gates opened, and five figures in white-and-gold robes strode into the courtyard.
The leader was different this time—a man, tall and severe, with platinum hair and eyes like molten gold.
Archbishop Corvan Ethris.
Sixth Circle. One step below divinity.
And he was staring directly at me.
"Rin Valdris," he said, his voice resonating with divine authority. "The Church of Order has questions for you."
I stood up, brushing grass off my trousers, and smiled.
"Sure. But fair warning—I'm really good at dodging questions I don't like."
His expression didn't change.
"This is not a game, child."
"Everything's a game, Archbishop." I tilted my head, still smiling. "You just don't know the rules yet."
---
Mother and Father arrived, both pale.
"Rin, go inside—" Mother started.
"He stays," the Archbishop interrupted. "We need to understand what he is."
"He's a child," Father said sharply.
"He is an Anomaly." The Archbishop's golden eyes never left me. "And anomalies threaten the balance of the world."
I felt it then—the shift in the air.
The other four priests spread out, forming a circle around me.
A containment formation.
Oh.
They're not here to ask questions.
They're here to seal me.
---
[THE TEST]
Golden light erupted from the priests' hands, and intricate runic circles bloomed in the air around me—divine seals meant to bind, suppress, contain.
The Archbishop raised his hand.
"By the authority of the Seven Lights, we—"
"Yeah, no."
I didn't move. Didn't flinch.
I just looked at him—and activated Perception Limit.
The world slowed to a crawl.
I could see every thread of mana in the formation. Every weak point. Every flaw in the divine structure.
Pathetic.
"You know what's funny?" I said casually, even as the golden chains closed in. "You think your gods gave you power."
The chains stopped—hovering inches from my skin.
The Archbishop's eyes widened.
"But you don't even know what power is."
I raised one hand.
Spatial Limit: Activate.
---
The chains didn't break.
They bent.
Space itself warped around me, folding, twisting—and the divine seals collapsed inward, imploding silently into nothing.
The priests stumbled back, gasping.
The Archbishop stared, his composed mask finally cracking.
"What... what are you?"
I smiled—lazy, confident, untouchable.
"Me? I'm just a kid."
I took a step forward.
"But if you try that again..."
The air around me shimmered, distorted by invisible force.
"I'll show you what happens when you piss off someone who can see the edge of the world."
---
Silence.
The Archbishop's hand trembled—just slightly.
And then, without a word, he turned and left.
The other priests followed, pale and shaken.
---
Father walked up beside me, his expression unreadable.
"You just threatened an Archbishop of the Church."
"Yep."
"They'll come back."
"Probably."
"And they'll bring an army."
I shrugged, grinning.
"Let them."
---
But that night, alone in my room, I stared at my hands and felt the weight of it all settling in.
I'm five years old.
And I just made enemies of the most powerful organization in the world.
The Infinite Mirror flickered in my mind.
And a hundred versions of myself whispered:
> "Welcome to the edge, Rin."
>
> "It only gets lonelier from here."