Chamberlain Finch returned as Evan was attempting to drink from a goblet that kept trying to refill itself. Every time he took a sip, the liquid level rose again. It was like drinking from a magical, mildly passive-aggressive fountain that had decided he wasn't hydrated enough and was going to fix that whether he liked it or not.
"Lord Carter," Finch said, his tone suggesting Evan had personally offended him by continuing to exist. "The Guild of Arcane Arts has sent an assessor. They wish to... evaluate your magical resurgence."
"Resurgence?" Evan set down the goblet, which immediately overflowed in protest, spilling wine across the tablecloth. The tablecloth sighed—actually sighed—and the wine stains rearranged themselves into an abstract pattern that looked almost intentional. "I didn't know I had magic to resurge. I thought I just broke things. That's not magic, that's just me being me."
"Your family line is known for powerful, if unpredictable, magical talent. Your... episode three years ago necessitated the restorative coma."
Evan processed this. "Let me get this straight. I had magic, it did something bad, I took a three-year nap, and now I'm back with upgraded destructive capabilities and absolutely no memory of any of it?"
"That is... a crude but accurate summary."
"Great. So I'm basically a magical hazard with a trust fund and a really comfortable bed I destroyed."
Finch's eye twitched again. Evan was starting to find it endearing. "The assessor is waiting in the Blue Parlor. I would advise—"
"Not breaking anything? Too late. The bed's already a memory. The tablecloth has opinions about wine. I'm pretty sure I heard the chandelier whimper when I walked past it."
"Perhaps... try anyway, milord."
The Blue Parlor was, unsurprisingly, blue. Every shade from pale sky to deep midnight covered the walls, the furniture, the rug, even the curtains. It was like being inside a crayon's fever dream. A young woman with sharp eyes and sharper cheekbones stood in the center, holding a clipboard that glowed faintly with its own light.
"Lord Carter," she said, her voice crisp as fresh paper. "Lina Moore. Arcane Assessment Division, Third Class. I'm here to measure things. Please don't move much."
"Evan," he said. "Recently awake, prone to breaking things, also why is everything blue? Is this a style choice or a statement?"
"The color is magically inert. It provides a neutral background for readings." She produced a crystal from her pocket—a perfect sphere that floated in the air above her palm, spinning slowly. "Please stand still. This won't hurt. Probably."
"Probably?"
"The crystal is very sensitive. If you have strong magic, it might... react."
"Define 'react.'"
Lina ignored him. The crystal floated toward Evan, orbiting him like a curious satellite. It hummed softly, a note that climbed in pitch as it circled.
HMMMMMMMMMMM.
The hum got higher. And higher. Until it was just shy of painful, a frequency that made Evan's teeth vibrate in their sockets.
Lina's eyes widened. She scribbled on her clipboard. "Fascinating. The resonance frequency is—"
The crystal cracked.
Not loudly. Not violently. Just a soft sigh, like a bubble popping, and suddenly the sphere was just a collection of glittering shards drifting to the blue rug.
"...Huh," Evan said. "Sorry about your spinny thing."
Lina didn't look upset. She looked fascinated—the kind of fascinated that usually preceded someone saying "interesting" a lot and taking notes. "Fascinating," she repeated. "It didn't shatter from overload. It... synchronized with your aura and couldn't maintain cohesion. The frequencies matched too perfectly."
"In English?"
"You vibrated it apart by standing there. Like an opera singer breaking a glass, except you weren't even singing. You were just... existing."
"That sounds vaguely obscene."
From the doorway, Emma's voice floated in: "He has that effect on things. And people. I'm still deciding if it's a talent or a curse."
Lina ignored her, producing another device from her apparently endless supply of magical gadgets. This one was a series of interconnected rings that floated in a complex orbit around each other, spinning in patterns that hurt to look at directly. "Try to touch the central ring. Just reach out. Don't focus. Don't intend. Just... touch."
Evan reached out. The rings sped up, their orbits becoming a silvery blur that hummed with building energy. When his finger was an inch away, they all stopped dead—frozen mid-spin, hovering perfectly still in the air.
Then, one by one, they dropped to the floor with soft metallic pings.
Lina scribbled faster. "Fascinating."
"I'm starting to think that's your only adjective," Evan said.
"It's a fascinating one," Emma added helpfully.
Lina finally looked up from her clipboard. Her eyes held none of the fear Evan had seen in the servants. Just pure, unadulterated curiosity—the look of someone who'd just discovered a new species of bug and wanted to take it home and study it. "Lord Carter, your magical signature is... unprecedented. It doesn't just exceed known categories. It laughs at them, sets them on fire, and uses the ashes to write rude words on the walls of reality."
Evan considered this. "So what you're saying is... I'm special."
"I'm saying you're a walking anomaly that could rewrite fundamental laws of magic. But 'special' works too. You want a gold star? I'll give you a gold star. Just please don't vibrate apart any more of my equipment. This stuff is expensive."
Finch, who had been hovering in the doorway with the expression of a man watching his house burn down while simultaneously calculating insurance premiums, cleared his throat. "The... implications?"
"Are enormous, complicated, and above my pay grade," Lina said. "I'll need to consult with the Guild Council. In the meantime..." She looked at Evan. "Try not to unravel the fabric of reality before we can study you properly. Keep a diary. Note what breaks and how. We'll want data."
"Make it sound so easy," Evan muttered.
As Lina packed her remaining equipment (most of which was now either broken or behaving strangely), Emma sidled up to Evan.
"So," she said. "Walking reality-unraveler. That's new for the family. Usually we just get consumption or dramatic dueling scars. One cousin literally drowned in a puddle because he was too busy writing poetry about the moon to watch where he was going."
"Glad I could bring some variety to the family dysfunction."
"Oh, this is much better than consumption. At least you're interesting to watch. Consumptive cousins just cough and look tragic. You break physics."
Evan looked at the broken crystal on the blue rug, the dropped rings, the general air of magical confusion that seemed to follow him like a particularly confused puppy.
"I have a feeling," he said, "that 'interesting' is going to be the understatement of the century."
"You have no idea," Emma said cheerfully. "Welcome to nobility, cousin. Try to enjoy the ride before you accidentally destroy it."
***