The door clicked shut behind him, and Oryth stood in the center of his dormitory room, still holding The Mindflow Archive in both hands like it might dissolve if he let go.
He'd been careful on the walk back. Not running, not obviously eager, just walking at a normal pace with the book tucked under his arm. But now that he was alone, the restraint fell away. He sat at the desk, opened the cover, and began reading.
The first chapter was exactly what he'd expected from the clerk's initial sales pitch—meditation, mindfulness, the importance of quieting the mind. He skimmed through it, impatient, until the writing shifted into something entirely different. Then his eyes moved faster, his attention sharpening.
What the clerk had discovered was deceptively simple. When he'd pushed mana to his brain in his second year—not just enough for basic enhancement, but a deeper, more sustained flow—he'd felt something he'd never noticed before. Tiny channels branching off from the main pathways he was already using. They were clogged, barely perceptible, like veins that had never been used. And they seemed to lead somewhere deeper, into parts of his brain that ordinary mana manipulation never touched.
Pushing mana through these channels was painstaking work. The clerk described it as trying to unclog pipes that had been sealed for years—slow, difficult, often frustrating. But the results had been transformative. His memory improved. Not incrementally, but fundamentally. He could recall things he'd studied weeks ago as clearly as if he'd just read them. He could remember conversations verbatim. Details he'd previously overlooked became obvious.
The book emphasized that the process was boring, repetitive, and required more patience than most people possessed. The clerk had nearly given up multiple times. But every small breakthrough, every newly opened pathway, brought with it a rush of vivid memories—things he'd forgotten, things he'd never realized he'd stored. And once those pathways were open, they stayed open, giving him permanent access to his full memory capacity.
He'd graduated from the academy with ease not because he was talented, but because he could recall everything he'd ever studied on demand.
Oryth read the entire book in one sitting.
When he reached the end, he sat back in his chair, staring at the wall. The clerk had documented the entire process in painstaking detail. The optimal mental state for beginning. The specific technique for detecting the hidden channels. The warning signs to watch for. The incremental approach that prevented the intense pain that came from pushing too hard.
And the book had one crucial caveat: the process would be different for everyone. The clerk's experience was a map, not a guarantee. What worked for him might need adjustment for someone else. But the fundamental principle—that the hidden channels existed, that they could be opened, that doing so would unlock access to deeply stored memories—appeared to be universal.
If I can do this, Oryth thought, if I can access all of my memories from both lives...
The possibility was overwhelming. He could recall his previous life's education in its entirety. He could remember Mia's face clearly—not just fragments, not faded impressions, but every detail. Their conversations, their moments together, everything he'd been terrified of losing when he died in that hospital bed.
He forced himself to breathe. The temptation to start immediately was almost unbearable, but he knew better. He'd just spent hours reading, his mind full of new information and restless energy. The book stressed the importance of mental clarity, of approaching the work with patience and calm. Starting now would mean poor progress at best, frustration at worst.
He needed to move first. Clear his head.
He put the book down carefully and stood. A change of clothes, something suitable for training. He'd been meaning to explore the training grounds properly anyway.
---
The training grounds were busier than he'd expected for a late afternoon.
Students clustered in small groups around various stations—spell practice targets, obstacle courses, an archery range in the distance. Most were engaged in magical practice, elemental spheres appearing and disappearing. A few were deep in conversation, probably discussing spell modifications.
He found an open area near the edge of the grounds and started his routine. Stretching first—the familiar sequence Davan had drilled into him—then basic exercises: push-ups, squats, lunges. The movements were automatic, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing. He was aware of eyes on him occasionally, but he ignored them.
He moved to more complex drills after a while. Practice forms with an imaginary weapon, footwork patterns, the kind of flow training Davan had emphasized as essential for combat readiness.
"Alright, I have to ask."
He turned. Selene had appeared behind him, a slight smirk on her face. She'd changed out of her exam clothes into something more practical.
"What are you doing?" she continued. "Everyone else is comparing spells or practicing their casting. And you're... doing stretches?"
"Physical training," Oryth said, straightening. "You should try it sometime. Builds character."
"Character." She savored the word. "That's what you're calling it." She circled him slowly. "I suppose it makes sense. If your spellcasting is as mediocre as your exam score suggested, you'd need something to fall back on."
"My exam score was above average."
"Barely."
"It was solidly above average."
She waved a hand dismissively. "Details. The point is—" she gestured at the training grounds around them, "—everyone here is trying to establish their reputation. You're doing push-ups."
"I'm not trying to establish anything," Oryth said. "I needed to clear my head."
"Restless." She considered this, then smiled. "Well, hopefully your physical abilities will make up for your lack of talent in casting magic."
He felt a genuine smile tug at his mouth. "At least I won't need to rely on someone else to protect me while I cast."
She stared at him for a moment, something shifting in her expression. Then she gestured toward the weapon rack. "Can I join you? I'm curious about those 'matters' you're apparently so good at handling."
"You want to spar with me," he said slowly. "After making fun of me."
"I'm making fun of you because it's enjoyable," she said brightly. "That's different." She was already moving toward the rack. "Dummy swords. No real risk."
He shrugged. "Sure."
They retrieved practice swords—wooden, blunted, lighter than real blades but similar enough in shape and balance for training purposes. Selene tested the weight of hers with a few experimental swings.
"Ready when you are," she said.
They circled each other for a moment, then she moved. The first exchange was exploratory—both testing speed and reactions. She was fast, her footwork solid, her attacks clean. He parried, blocked, gave ground when necessary.
"You're not bad," she said, stepping back. "For someone who spends most of his time doing stretches."
"I had a good teacher."
She moved in again, faster this time, the tempo increasing. He matched her speed, meeting each attack with clean defense.
Then she shifted gears.
The sudden increase in speed caught him completely off guard. Her attacks came faster, more fluid—quick enough to overwhelm someone less prepared. She was pushing her limits, clearly trying to find his breaking point.
Before he could adjust, her wooden sword connected lightly with the side of his head—a glancing blow, barely more than a tap. His foot caught on an uneven patch of ground at the same moment, and he went down in a controlled tumble.
Selene's eyes went wide. She dropped her sword immediately.
"Oh gods, I'm so sorry—are you okay? I didn't mean to—"
He waved her off from the ground, rubbing the spot where she'd hit him. "It's fine. Really." He looked up at her. "You're fast. And that was good—clean strike. You're really skilled."
She stared at him for a moment, uncertainty flickering across her face. "You didn't see it coming?"
"Not at all." He got back to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes. "Though I might have slipped too. Hard to say." He grinned. "I'll blame the ground either way."
She laughed at that, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "You're blaming the ground for my hit?"
"Absolutely." He shrugged. "But you're fast. Really fast. That was impressive."
She picked up her sword, studying him with a curious expression. "You're not just saying that?"
"Not at all. That genuinely caught me off guard." He paused. "You're fast and skilled. That's not easy to deal with."
She seemed to accept that, then grinned. "Well, lesson one stands. Watch your footing." She offered him a hand. "I can teach you that too—if you have money."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Also, my offer to give you magical lessons remains open," she added. "I'm very generous like that."
"Of course you are." He finished brushing the dirt off his clothes. "At this rate, I'll need to find a job just to afford all your lessons. Maybe after all that spending in the market today, I'll actually have to. Could always become a street performer."
She laughed at that. "And you'd probably make more money than from your spellcasting."
"That's what I'm counting on."
She was quiet for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. "So you're training in magic and physical combat? Most people pick one."
He paused. "I figure it's better to have options. Can't always rely on magic."
"That's... actually a good point." She tilted her head, studying him. "Most people don't think like that. They focus on what they're good at and ignore everything else."
"I've seen what happens when you only have one skill," he said, and the words came out flatter than he'd intended. "It's not pretty."
She looked at him for a moment, something unreadable in her expression. Then the lightness returned. "Well, keep at it. You might actually become competent someday."
"I'll try."
She glanced at the sky. "It's getting late. I should head back."
She started walking away, then paused and looked back.
"See you tomorrow. Don't be late."
And then she was gone, leaving Oryth standing in the training ground with dust clinging to his clothes and the confused stares of several students still focused on him.
---
The room was quiet when he returned, evening light casting long shadows. He bathed quickly, washing off the dust and sweat, then settled on the edge of his bed with The Mindflow Archive open to the practical section.
He closed his eyes and channeled mana to his brain—the familiar rush of enhanced perception, the world sharpening to crystalline clarity.
Then he pushed deeper, past the surface enhancement, searching for the smaller channels the book described. For a long moment, nothing. Just the familiar pathways he'd been using for years. But he persisted, trying to sense beyond the obvious routes.
And then, faintly, he found something.
A pathway, narrower than anything he'd encountered before, leading away from the main channel into unknown territory. It felt clogged, resistant, like a tunnel sealed for years. He tried to guide mana into it—nothing. The blockage held.
He remembered the book's warning. The process was slow, and pushing too hard would only cause intense pain. You had to work gradually, carefully, letting the channels open at their own pace.
He focused on a single point in the blockage, working gently at the resistance rather than trying to blast through. The sensation was strange—like unclogging a pipe with a thread, slow and delicate work that required intense concentration. When he pushed too hard, a sharp spike of pain lanced through his skull, forcing him to ease off immediately.
Progress was almost imperceptible. But it was progress.
He worked for what felt like hours, making incremental gains, enduring the occasional flare of pain when he got impatient. The pathway slowly began to open—and then, finally, it gave way. Mana flowed through it freely for the first time.
And then he felt it.
A memory surfaced, unbidden. He was there, experiencing it again as if for the first time. Sunlight streaming through tall windows, casting warm rectangles across a wooden floor. The smell of chalk dust and old textbooks. A voice explaining something, though the words were already fading. He could feel the smooth wood of the chair beneath him, hear the faint scratch of a pencil from somewhere behind him. His gaze drifted to a window, watching a bird hop across asphalt between parked cars.
His original world. His original life. He was living it again, if only for a moment.
The image faded almost immediately, slipping back into whatever hidden recess of his brain it had emerged from. But it had been there, solid and real, for just a moment.
He sat in the darkness, heart pounding.
It had worked. The process worked. He'd only made the barest beginning, only opened a single pathway, and already he'd glimpsed his previous life. If this was the result of a single success, what would sustained effort achieve?
He read the book's guidance again, absorbing details he'd skimmed in his initial reading. The clerk had emphasized that the process varied from person to person. The fundamental principle was the same—finding and opening the hidden channels—but the specifics could differ significantly. For the clerk, the only known benefit had been enhanced memory. The book mentioned nothing else, but Oryth couldn't help wondering if there was more to discover.
He set the book aside and began his nightly ritual—depleting his mana core to its limits, pushing himself to exhaustion. The discipline was automatic by now, a habit so ingrained that it felt wrong to skip it.
When he finally lay down, sleep took him quickly.
---
He woke to sunlight streaming through a window, soft and warm, filtering through familiar curtains. The bed beneath him was familiar too. The sheets, the pillows, the warmth of another body beside him.
He didn't think about it. Didn't question it. This was just a morning like any other. He was home. He was with Mia. This was his life.
He stretched, feeling the familiar ache of a good night's sleep, and glanced over at the other side of the bed. Mia was turned away from him, her dark hair spread across the pillow, the curve of her shoulder visible above the blanket. He smiled, content just to see her there, and slipped out of bed as quietly as he could.
The kitchen was exactly as he remembered—the creaky floorboard in the hallway, the way the refrigerator hummed, the familiar weight of the pan in his hand. He moved on autopilot, making her favorite breakfast: eggs over easy, toast with butter, a cup of tea with just a splash of milk.
He carried the tray back toward the bedroom, a smile already forming on his face.
But when he pushed the door open, the bed was empty. The sheets were rumpled where she'd been lying, the indentation of her body still visible, but she was gone.
His smile faltered. He was about to call out for her when he felt arms wrap around him from behind. Warm, familiar arms. She pressed herself against his back, her face against his shoulder, and he felt her breath against his ear as she leaned in close.
"Wake up."
And then the world dissolved.
He woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in his dormitory bed, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. The room was dark, the window showing only the faint glow of the academy's night lights. No kitchen. No apartment. No Mia.
Just him, alone in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar world.
He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to slow his breathing, trying to convince himself it had just been a dream. But the memory of her arms around him lingered, the warmth of her body against his back, the whisper of her voice in his ear. He'd been so close. He'd been able to feel her.
And then she'd told him to wake up.
He sat there for a long moment, forcing his breathing to steady, forcing his heart to slow. The dream had felt so real. He could still smell the tea, still feel the weight of the tray in his hands. For those brief moments, he'd been home. He'd been happy.
He closed his eyes and let the memory wash over him. How was she doing? Was she okay? Had she moved on, found someone else, built a new life without him? Or was she still grieving, still carrying the weight of what they'd lost?
He hoped she'd moved on. He hoped she was happy, even if it meant she'd forgotten him. The alternative—that she was still hurting, still waiting for someone who would never come—was too painful to consider.
He stayed in bed until the first light of dawn crept through the window, then forced himself to get up. He had things to do today. A uniform to order. A market to explore. A strange girl to meet.
The routine helped. Shower, dress, the familiar motions of starting a new day. By the time he left his room, the dream had faded to a dull ache in his chest, something he could carry without it overwhelming him.
---
He submitted his measurements at the administration building without incident. A clerk noted the numbers, promised the uniform would be ready in a few days, and sent him on his way.
It was only as he stepped back outside that he realized the problem. They hadn't agreed on a meeting place. He'd assumed they'd run into each other somehow, but the academy grounds were large, and he had no idea where she'd be.
He found a bench along the path that led toward the market and sat down. If she was coming, she'd be walking this way. He'd wait and hope.
Since he had time, he closed his eyes and turned his attention inward. The initial pathway he'd opened the night before remained fully accessible. But the adjacent channels, the ones he'd tried to work on while waiting for Selene, were still stubbornly closed. He pushed mana against them, trying to guide it through the resistance, but nothing gave way.
He was still working when he heard footsteps approaching and opened his eyes. Selene stood over him, a bemused expression on her face.
"Meditating on a bench? That's a new one."
"I wasn't meditating. I was... waiting."
"On a bench. With your eyes closed. Looking very peaceful."
"It's a technique I'm developing. For patience."
She laughed. "Right. Well, are you coming, or do you need more time to develop your technique?"
He stood, brushing off his clothes. "Let's go."
They walked toward the market, the morning air cool and fresh. The conversation was easy—she teased him about his 'meditation,' he deflected with sarcasm, they fell into a rhythm that felt almost natural.
"So what's there to eat around here?" she asked as they walked. "I'm hungry, and you owe me."
"Some food stalls scattered around. I didn't get to try everything yesterday, but there was a bakery that looked promising."
"Then lead the way."
They wandered through the market's winding paths, discovering the various stalls and shops together. It was a different experience from his solo exploration—she pointed out things he'd missed, asked questions about the goods on display, and generally made the whole thing more enjoyable than he'd expected.
Eventually, they came across a small bakery with displays of cakes and pastries that looked almost too perfect to eat. Selene examined the selection carefully, eventually settling on something filled with cream and glazed with honey.
"This one," she declared.
Oryth paid without complaint. The price was reasonable—not cheap, but nowhere near the astronomical sums the magic books had commanded.
"Thank you," she said, taking a bite with obvious pleasure. "This is exactly what I needed."
They found a bench near the fountain and sat, watching the market's morning activity. The scene was vibrant—merchants calling out their wares, children running between the stalls, the general hum of commerce and community.
"So," Selene said, finishing her pastry and turning to look at him with that sharp, assessing gaze. "What are your plans after the academy? Most people either join the king's military or inherit their family's title. Having a mage as a successor raises a noble house's standing quite a bit."
Oryth considered the question. He'd thought about it plenty, but he hadn't voiced it to anyone yet.
"Adventuring," he said. "I want to explore the old ruins. The ones from before the Collapse, from the old human kingdoms."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's dangerous. Most people who go into those ruins don't come back."
"I know." He shrugged. "But there's knowledge in those places. Magic, history, things that were lost when everything fell apart. Someone needs to recover it."
"And you think that someone should be you?"
"Why not?" He met her gaze. "I'm training in magic. I'm training in combat. I'm not planning to be helpless if something goes wrong."
She was quiet for a moment, studying him. Then she shook her head with a slight smile. "Just don't go alone, alright? I bet somebody will end up having to save you in the end."
"Noted." He grinned. "I'll make sure to have a rescue party ready." He paused, then asked, "What about you? What are your plans?"
She was quiet for a moment, her expression shifting to something more thoughtful. "My parents want me to take their place in the future. Inherit the title, manage the lands, all of it." She paused, and there was something heavier in her voice now. "I probably don't have much to say about that. It's expected."
"That sounds... suffocating."
She looked at him, surprised by the honesty. Then she let out a breath. "It is. Sometimes." She glanced away. "I think I envy you a bit, you know. Your future is open. You can go anywhere, do anything. Mine... it's already written." She let out a hollow laugh. "It's funny. Most people here would kill for what I have. A title, lands, security. And I'm sitting here jealous of the guy who wants to walk into ruins full of things that want to kill him."
"Maybe you could—"
She cut him off, shaking her head. "Anyway, let's not dwell on that. It's depressing." She stood abruptly, brushing off her clothes. "Come on. I want to see the rest of the market before the day ends."
He blinked at the sudden shift, then stood as well. "Alright. Lead the way."
They spent the rest of the morning exploring the remaining stalls, the conversation lighter now. She seemed determined to enjoy herself, and he followed her lead, letting the earlier heaviness fade.
When they'd seen everything, they walked back toward the academy together. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows across the path.
"Thanks for today," Selene said as they reached the edge of the academy grounds. "It was... nice. Better than sitting in my room alone."
"Thanks for dragging me out," he replied. "I probably would have just stayed in and read."
She grinned. "See? You need me."
"Maybe I do."
She turned toward the dormitories. "See you around, Oryth."
"See you."
She walked away. He watched her go for a moment, then turned toward his own building.
He hadn't expected to make a friend here. Hadn't expected anyone to take him seriously when he talked about his plans. But Selene had—and she'd been honest with him about her own situation.
---
Once back in his room, Oryth didn't waste any time. The conversation with Selene was still fresh in his mind, but the book on his desk pulled at his attention with greater urgency. He sat on the edge of his bed, closed his eyes, and turned his attention inward.
The initial pathway he'd opened the night before remained fully accessible. But the adjacent channels were still stubbornly closed. He pushed mana against them, trying to guide it through the resistance, but nothing gave way.
The work was grueling. Progress was non-existent—each attempt ending in the same frustrating failure. The resistance was stubborn and unyielding, like trying to force water through a pipe choked with sediment. No new memories surfaced. Just the dull ache of effort with nothing to show for it.
He pushed for hours, but nothing changed. The channels remained closed, the pathways blocked. The mental exhaustion was immense—comparable to the early days of discovering his mana core, when every pathway felt like pushing through stone. But at least then he could feel himself making progress. Now, it felt like he was banging his head against a wall.
This is what the clerk meant, he thought bitterly. Boring, repetitive, frustrating.
He remembered the book's warning clearly now. The clerk had nearly given up multiple times. Had spent weeks making almost no progress. The process wasn't supposed to be quick or easy. It was supposed to be a grind.
Still, the lack of progress stung. He'd hoped for another breakthrough. Instead, he got nothing but pain and frustration.
Frustrated and mentally drained, he decided to clear his head with physical activity. He changed into training clothes and headed to the training grounds. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows across the open space. Most students had already left for the day, leaving the grounds mostly empty.
He worked through his routine mechanically—stretching, then basic exercises, then practice forms with a wooden sword. The familiar motions helped settle his mind, gave him something to focus on besides the frustration of his stalled progress. His body responded automatically, years of training making the movements fluid and precise.
After a while, he stopped, breathing hard. The physical exertion had helped clear his mind. He headed to the cafeteria for a quick dinner, eating mechanically, his thoughts still churning with what he'd read and what he was trying to accomplish. He barely tasted the food, too consumed with the work ahead.
Back in his room, he meditated for a while longer, though it was more out of stubbornness than hope of immediate progress. The channels remained stubbornly closed. He pushed mana against them, hoping for something—anything—to give way. Nothing did.
Finally, he performed his nightly depletion—the familiar ritual, the steady drain of his mana core until nothing remained. Then he lay back, staring at the ceiling, preparing himself mentally for tomorrow.
The progress was slow. Really slow. He'd only managed to open a single pathway. The rest remained closed, stubborn and resistant. The outcome wouldn't be visible too soon. But for the first time, meditation had some logic backing it up—at least for him. He'd never have thought to push deeper into his brain's mana pathways on his own. The clerk's accidental discovery had opened a door Oryth never would have found, even if it was going to take far longer to walk through it than he'd hoped.
Maybe there's more to this than just memory, he thought, reaching for the book again to review the clerk's pointers. Maybe the clerk simply didn't discover other uses. Maybe these channels do more than enhance recall, and he never found out.
He read until the words blurred, then set the book aside. The academy year would begin soon. Classes, instruction, the slow accumulation of knowledge that would help him grow stronger. And with the Mindflow Archive, he might finally recover everything he'd lost.
He closed his eyes and let sleep take him, the promise of the hidden pathways still waiting—even if they remained frustratingly out of reach.