Michael and Brennar stood where they had gathered the orphans the day before. Nearly twenty kids formed a loose semicircle, some eager, some nervous, all watching Michael with wide eyes.

  “Good,” Michael said. “We have some new faces here.”

  His complexion had improved after food, water, and a few hours of rest, but a faint hollowness still lingered beneath his eyes.

  He faced the children, expression steady.

  “Today… is your first test.”

  A portal opened at his feet. Flat against the ground like a mouth of pure black swallowing the light. It gave no hint of what lay beyond. Even Brennar’s brow tightened at the sight of it.

  “This is for those of you who want to be warriors,” Michael said. “Or maybe even mages. You need courage. If you can take this step, you’ve passed the first requirement.”

  The children shifted uneasily. A few swallowed hard.

  Michael raised a hand before panic could spread.

  “To be fair,” he added, “you shouldn’t be the first to try.”

  He nodded at Brennar.

  The knight straightened, then exhaled and hopped forward. He vanished instantly into the darkness without a sound. A few kids gasped.

  Michael looked at them. “He’s fine. Who’s next?”

  Silence stretched for a moment-until a small hand lifted. The same boy who had helped Michael find more orphans stepped forward. Jaw trembling, he squeezed his eyes shut and jumped.

  Gone.

  That was enough. The tension cracked, and one after another, children gathered their courage and stepped-or stumbled-into the portal. Some moved with determination, others with their faces screwed up in fear, but they went.

  By the end, ten had crossed.

  Michael closed the floor portal, leaving the remaining children staring at empty stone.

  He kneeled to meet their eye level.

  “For the rest of you, there is no shame in staying. Not everyone needs to fight. Valoria needs builders, painters, scholars, carpenters, and herbalists. People who make life possible. If that’s your path, you’ll still learn. You’ll still matter.”

  Michael rose and opened a new portal. This one vertical, like a doorway cut into space. He stepped through and back out again, then kept half his body in the portal so they could see it wasn’t dangerous.

  The brave boy who had gone first reappeared on the other side of the courtyard, waving at them. “It’s safe!”

  That broke the last bit of hesitation.

  One by one, the remaining children approached and stepped through the standing portal, disappearing into the space beyond.

  And when the last small figure passed through, Michael finally let the portal close behind them.

  On the other side, they were at Michael’s training grounds behind his house. At the table were the familiar boxes that smelled like heaven to the children.

  “Ok, first of all, have some lunch. Then Brenard will be in charge of guiding the boys to the barracks, and the girls will follow this maid to the guest rooms you will share while the other building is under construction.” Turning around to a newly opened portal, he said, “I have other matters to attend to.”

  The days blurred into a steady rhythm after that.

  Over the next week, Michael split his time between the orphan program and the Tower Master’s lessons, moving back and forth through portals as easily as walking through doorways. His mornings were spent drilling Common, and afternoons teaching English in return. And with Intent Speech guiding the meaning behind every exchanged word, the progress was staggering.

  Phrases that once twisted his tongue now fell into place naturally.

  Grammar that should’ve taken months to untangle made quite sense after only a few repetitions.

  Sometimes, when he tried a new word, the intent settled into his mind like a puzzle piece clicking home.

  By the end of the week, he could hold a whole conversation in Common. His accent was still rough, and he couldn’t write yet, but he could communicate.

  But he was more amazed that he was now learning more than just Intent Speech from the Tower Master. After telling Nelius about magnetism and its relation to lightning, he finally went on to teach Michael. He was able to use mana to control existing phenomena and objects. If he had to describe it, it was like telekinesis. Saying what he wanted to happen like a spell through intent speech, yet the mana did not stop at just his voice.

  “Wind,” he whispered in English.

  A soft draft stirred the surrounding air, lifting the edges of his shirt. Michael grinned despite himself.

  I’m actually doing magic. Real magic.

  The thought alone made his chest feel too small for how excited he was.

  He was officially a Tier One mage now. It wasn’t much-just a controlled breeze, the ability to hover palm-sized objects, and enough finesse to stir water in a cup. Fire, however, was another story; trying to direct mana into flames felt like trying to grab smoke with bare hands. And lifting water the way he lifted rocks?

  Nearly impossible.

  Like drinking soup with a fork.

  Still, progress was progress.

  And he wasn’t just a mage anymore. He’d reached Tier One in aura as well. That part thrilled him less. All it meant was that he was a little tougher, a little sturdier, and slightly less terrible as a sparring dummy. But Brennar had promised the next tier would be different.

  Stronger reinforcement. Real physical gains.

  Michael exhaled, letting his mana spread through his body-still uneven, but far better than before.

  He was finally moving forward on every front.

  Except with his wallet.

  On Earth, earning a lot of money without the IRS noticing was nearly impossible. He didn’t even mind paying taxes, but how was he supposed to explain suddenly showing up with bags of gold? Or a steady stream of valuables that didn’t match any paycheck, job history, or bank trail?

  He was already on the government’s radar thanks to the missing terrorist situation.

  If he suddenly started dumping gold coins into the economy, alarms would go off so fast his portals wouldn’t save him.

  And the worst part?

  There was no loophole, no clever trick, no easy way to hide wealth on Earth without getting interrogated by someone with a badge-or worse, someone with a clearance level so high that the paperwork didn’t exist. At least none that he was willing to risk his parents’ association.

  Michael rubbed the side of his head.

  The safest thing for them is to know as little as possible.

  It hit him then how thoroughly he’d boxed himself in by thinking like Michael Diaz instead of Arcanist M. He’d been worrying about banks, taxes, and paper trails as if he were still bound to a single country, a single identity. With portals, borders were a suggestion at best. He didn’t need to move gold through systems that demanded names and IDs when he could step into any nation in the world and leave the same day without a trace. Gold didn’t ask questions-people did, and most of them stopped once the price was right. Offering it at a discount, twenty percent shaved off in exchange for discretion, turned curiosity into silence fast.

  Still, he hadn’t been completely reckless. Under his real name, he continued selling only small amounts-just enough to cover rent and food, nothing that would ever trigger attention or force him back into a job he couldn’t afford to hold. Behind the scenes, though, the mask handled the rest. Those trades were rougher, colder, and sometimes outright hostile at first, but gold had a way of smoothing edges.

  Showing up at stores that bought gold wearing a mask, a full suit, and gloves was beyond suspicious. So he made sure to come in holding a couple of gold coins in one hand and a small silver ingot in the other. A few times, he was denied service or searched by a security guard, who found nothing on his person except the coins, the ingot, and the mask, which seemed glued to his face.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Slowly, methodically, he sold larger quantities under his hidden persona until he had a reserve of clean, untraceable capital set aside for emergencies. The remainder he kept as it was-wealth in its oldest form-stacked quietly as gold and silver, patient, waiting, and answerable to no one but him.

  But for the things he needed in Valoria, he already had an appointment scheduled with Elom. The letter he’d left the merchant last time requesting a .50-caliber sniper rifle, an assault rifle, a dozen handguns, some other lower-tech weapons like a few compound bows and crossbows, and enough ammunition to feed all of them, was finally due for a response that very night.

  Standing in the training grounds, with Tower Master Nelius by his side, he was ready to collect his order.

  Using the tiny spy portal to view ahead of time before opening the big one, he could see the miracle of modern technology as the grassy clearing where he had left the portals was already a scientific research building, and a road was paved towards it.

  Man, how much money did this guy spend to get this done so quickly?

  The portals were inside a sealed chamber, all in white, with what he assumed were different types of sensors and cameras pointing at them. Beside them was a pallet where the boulder used to be, which was supposed to be what Michael asked for.

  And a group of researchers was behind a window built into the room’s walls, presumably for protection.

  At midnight, Mike opened a full-sized portal directly above the pallet-a two-meter circle of absolute darkness. Blue, ethereal tendrils slipped through the void like searching fingers, coiling around the wooden frame, the wrapped crates, and every box stacked on top.

  The air hummed as the tendrils tightened.

  Then, with a smooth, effortless pull, the entire pallet lifted off the ground and vanished into the portal, swallowed whole in a matter of seconds.

  Michael brushed aside some straps and packing material until a stark white envelope stood out against the black crates. He picked it up, tore it open, and unfolded the letter inside.

  Elom’s handwriting was clean and precise, but the tone…

  Yeah, that was definitely him.

  It read:

  Arcanist M.

  Your order is ready-everything you listed, to exact specifications. Before we continue, though, we need to talk. Your request was… interesting. Not difficult, but very specific. The mix of heavy weapons, sidearms, ammunition-and a printer, of all things-suggests someone innovative, resourceful, but without access to our technology.

  Not saying you’re technologically challenged, far from it, more like you’re highly knowledgeable in some other areas.

  And that’s fine. Honestly, it’s intriguing. But before I keep supplying items on this level-especially weapons and rare equipment-I need some clarity. Not your name, not your background, not where you came from.

  Just your intentions.

  -Elom Nusk

  Michael lowered the letter, feeling a tightness settle in his chest.

  So he wants a meeting…

  A direct one. He wants to know my intentions.

  He could set the terms-Elom’s letter made that clear-but answering without revealing himself was the real challenge.

  If he wanted more equipment, more trading, more supplies… a meeting was probably necessary.

  But exposing his real identity?

  Not a chance.

  He exhaled slowly, thinking.

  I can go as Arcanist M in full cover. And if I speak in Common with Intent Speech, there’s no way he’ll recognize my voice. As long as I control the situation, I can have the meeting without giving anything away.

  A few seconds later, a small portal about the size of a baseball opened in front of him, who was still looking at the white room from behind the safety of the glass.

  “Are you willing to come alone?” The portal asked Elom, whose head flinched backward, startled.

  “Yes,” answered Nusk after a few seconds that felt like an eternity.

  “Then I will pick you up here tomorrow at the same time.” The weird voice said, and the meaning seeped into the ears of those close to the portal as it shut.

  “Nelius,” Michael said as he saw the portal close on his end, “do you have those lie-detecting Translation Crystals? I don’t really need the translation part if you have something like that.”

  “If it is just for lie detection, I do have some I could spare, but remember they break when you lie, so try only to use them on important questions.” Explained Nelius.

  “Thanks, I would appreciate it if you could give them to Dallen,” Michael pointed at his butler. “As always, thanks for your help.”

  “My pleasure, what are some lie-detecting artifacts compared to the truths of reality?” said the grateful Mage as his staff hit the floor and disappeared like a lightning bolt through the ground.

  I could’ve just opened a portal for him. He really does like showing off, Michael thought before turning to the Head Butler.

  “Have the servants move the rest of this to storage, and inform the king that his firearms have arrived. I can demonstrate them the day after tomorrow at the earliest-earlier if he insists.”

  He lifted the two most significant cases, the ones shaped unmistakably large enough for the sniper rifle and assault rifle, and slipped them through a portal to his apartment.

  The butler bowed deeply, silent and composed, as if Michael’s request had already been understood from the moment he spoke.

  Later that night, Michael stood still as Dallen adjusted the final seams of the new black suit.

  It fit perfectly-tailored, sharp, unfamiliar in a way that made him feel like he was stepping into a role rather than wearing clothes. The fabric was matte, unadorned, designed to draw no attention to itself while somehow commanding it, anyway. A white shirt. A simple black tie. Black leather gloves.

  When the butler stepped back, Michael reached for the mask.

  It was smooth and featureless, and now he had Nelius personally upgrade it to make his voice sound slightly deeper, just enough to sound like a different person. Once it settled into place, the person staring back at him in the mirror wasn’t Michael Diaz anymore. No age. No emotion. No tells.

  He took a slow breath and spoke a single word in Common, letting Intent Speech shape it, testing the tone, the weight. The voice that answered him sounded calm, deliberate, and a little unfamiliar.

  Perfect.

  Michael now stood in a chamber sculpted entirely from stone-Astrum’s work. The walls, floor, and ceiling appeared to be carved from a single, uninterrupted mass, seamless and unyielding. A stone desk rose naturally from the ground at the center, flanked by two identical chairs fused to the floor as if they had been carved there rather than placed. Four softly glowing crystals occupied the corners of the room, their light steady and calm, casting faint reflections across the polished stone.

  “It’s time,” Michael said.

  A portal opened before him, its dark surface rippling once as he added firmly, “Come in.”

  A second later, Elom Nusk stepped through.

  He was a middle-aged man with a confident, relaxed posture, suggesting he was used to walking into rooms where everyone waited for him. His dark hair was slightly unruly, brushed back but refusing to stay perfectly in place, and faint lines at the corners of his eyes hinted at long hours spent thinking rather than resting. He wore a tailored jacket over an open-collared white shirt, the look effortlessly formal without trying too hard.

  Elom paused for half a heartbeat after crossing the threshold, eyes sweeping the stone chamber, the glowing crystals, the impossible architecture. Instead of alarm, curiosity lit his expression-sharp, analytical, and unmistakably intrigued.

  Then his gaze settled on Michael.

  A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, not noticing that the silent portal had just closed behind him.

  “Take a seat,” Michael said, gesturing calmly toward one of the immovable stone chairs.

  Elom gave it a brief tug, eyebrow lifting when it didn’t budge, then adjusted himself and sat with a faint, amused huff. His eyes continued to roam the room-taking in the seamless stone, the glowing crystals, the space that felt at once primitive and utterly impossible.

  At the center of the stone desk sat five small spheres arranged in a pyramid-four resting in shallow indentations, one balanced perfectly atop them. Each marble was translucent, glasslike, and faintly luminous.

  “Please hold one of these in your palm,” Michael said evenly.

  He lifted a finger and pointed to the top sphere.

  The marble rose smoothly into the air, drifting toward Elom without a sound. It stopped inches from his hand, then settled gently into his open palm, its soft blue glow warming the stone-lit room.

  Elom’s gaze locked onto it, sharp and intent.

  “It’s nice to meet you at last,” Michael said.

  “You can call me Arcanist.”

  Elom straightened as the marble settled into his palm, its faint blue glow reflecting in his eyes.

  “Elom Nusk,” he said evenly. “Thank you for the invitation… Arcanist.”

  Michael gave a slight nod.

  “What have you learned of the portals I left in your care?”

  “They are impossible by my understanding,” Elom replied. “No detectable power source. No machinery. No radiation we can identify. Whatever sustains them doesn’t behave like matter or force.”

  He paused, then continued more carefully.

  “They’re also spatially locked, not to fixed coordinates in space, but fixed relative to the nearest major mass. In this case, Earth. Even with the planet’s rotation and orbital motion, they don’t drift.”

  The crystal remained unchanged.

  Elom explained, “They don’t resemble a typical wormhole, which would appear more spherical to the human eye. Instead, yours are nearly like walking through a door, and each face of the portal is like its own wormhole,” adding, “They don’t just shorten the distance between locations. For as long as they exist, those two points… might as well be adjacent.”

  “Great analysis.” Said Michael, now grateful to Elom for doing his homework for him.

  He let a brief silence stretch, just long enough to reset the balance of the room.

  “You were the one who asked for this meeting,” Michael continued calmly. “So I’ll ask you directly.”

  Michael leaned back slightly, gloved fingers resting together.

  “What do you think warranted contacting me?”

  “And more importantly-what questions do you have?”

  The crystal sat quietly in Elom’s palm, unbroken, waiting.

  Elom was quiet for a moment.

  “I’ll be honest,” he said. “My first concern was whether this was the opening move of an invasion. Not necessarily hostile-but uncontrolled. One person with this ability is fascinating. More than one would be… destabilizing.”

  He glanced down at the crystal, then back up.

  “And yet here we are, having a conversation-despite you clearly not speaking my language.”

  A faint smile tugged at his mouth.

  “How are you doing that? I don’t mean the translation effect-I mean the precision. This isn’t a crude conversion. It’s contextual. It resembles something I theorised by sharing what you are thinking instead of slowly coding thoughts into words, then having the other person decode them and hopefully get what you thought.” Pausing for a second, “Though my idea requires an implant in the brain.”

  Then his expression sharpened again, curiosity turning technical.

  “And one more thing,” Elom said. “What happens if a portal closes while something is inside it?”

  His gaze never left Michael.

  Michael didn’t answer immediately.

  Instead, he extended one gloved hand into the open air. A portal silently formed around it, swallowing his arm up to the elbow. A moment later, he withdrew it-and placed a small object onto the stone table.

  A toy car.

  Elom recognized it instantly.

  “Before we continue,” Michael said evenly, “did you bring any recording devices of any kind?”

  “No-” Elom began.

  The crystal shattered.

  The sharp crack filled the stone chamber. Elom froze, eyes snapping down to the fragments in his palm, confusion flashing into fear.

  Michael raised a finger. Another crystal floated gently from the desk, settling into Elom’s open hand.

  “Worry not,” Michael said calmly. “Just let the pieces fall.”

  The shards clinked softly against the stone floor.

  And the room went very still.