The village square was packed with people by the time Notch and Sly got back from the forest.

  Torches flickered against the encroaching dusk, casting long shadows across the dirt-packed ground. The usual evening quiet had been shattered by dozens of worried voices, all competing to be heard over one another. Bodies pressed together—farmers still smelling of soil, mothers clutching children, elderly villagers leaning on walking sticks.

  Notch wanted to mind his own business and head home. Slip past the crowd unnoticed, get the Hoppers to his mother, figure out what to do about the footprints he'd seen.

  But his parents were in the thick of it.

  He spotted his father's broad shoulders near the center, his mother standing beside him with Mira clinging to her skirts. Whatever this was, it was serious enough to drag the whole family out.

  "What happened?" Notch pushed through the crowd toward them, one hand absently stroking the elegant serpent coiled around his shoulders.

  Elara turned at his voice, relief washing over her features—then immediately twisting into revulsion. "N-Notch?" Her voice pitched higher. "Why are you holding that thing?"

  "She's my new friend," Notch said with such innocent sincerity that it almost sounded reasonable. Then his expression shifted, taking on a smugness that definitely didn't belong on a twelve-year-old's face. "I asked a question first, though."

  Garen barely spared him a glance, too focused on the makeshift platform at the square's center. "The nobles sent the Grimm Order to deal with that pesky predator. They already swept the forest and are about to give the news of the search."

  The Grimm Order. Even Notch's merged memories recognized that name—elite soldiers and mages who handled threats beyond local militia capabilities. Rare sightings in backwater villages like Draymoor. Their presence alone meant something had escalated.

  A man climbed onto the poorly crafted wooden beam that served as the village's speaking platform. Mid-forties, maybe older. Grey at the temples even in torchlight. The uniform was immaculate—pressed dark fabric with silver insignia—but his face told a different story. Deep lines bracketed his mouth. Exhaustion shadowed his eyes. The job must take a heavy toll on someone.

  He cleared his throat. The crowd fell silent immediately, that particular hush that comes from equal parts respect and fear.

  "Due to reports of a predator sighting, the Grimm Order has been deployed to deal with said threat."

  His voice carried well, trained for exactly this kind of address. He paused, adjusted his collar—a nervous tell that seemed out of place on someone wearing that uniform.

  "A large part of the forest was destroyed, with the predator being nowhere to be found." Another pause. "It's very likely that someone—or multiple individuals as strong as members of this Order—clashed with the beast. The outcome is uncertain."

  Notch held back his laughter. Barely. His shoulders shook slightly, and Sly stirred against his neck, tongue flicking as if sensing his amusement. Multiple individuals as strong as the Grimm Order. Right. Just one twelve-year-old with catastrophically broken powers, actually.

  "The threat is gone now. Rest assured." The man's tone shifted, became more formal. Official. "However, there is a mandate that has been passed along for all of you."

  He paused again. Definitely a habit.

  "Everyone must take an affinity test."

  The reaction was immediate. Sharp intakes of breath. Muttered curses. Mothers pulling children closer. The faces of villagers filled with dread—that deep, bone-tired kind of fear that came from understanding exactly what this meant.

  Notch didn't understand.

  "Why?" An old woman a couple feet in front of him pushed forward, her weathered face contorted with distress. "Why must we?"

  "Calm down, old woman." The soldier's patience was clearly wearing thin. "Only the children have to do it. The number of personnel available has drastically reduced due to skirmish wars with northern tribes and the increasing number of mana beasts from the eastern territories."

  He spoke faster now, the words clipping together. "In short, it's a bad day for everyone. The affinity tests will commence in three minutes."

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  The crowd began to disperse immediately, parents corralling children, voices rising in worried discussion. Notch looked at his parents with genuine confusion. This was the first time something he didn't know about was happening. The game had never featured mandatory affinity testing in starter villages—it was always player choice.

  "It's nothing, son." Garen's voice was gruff, but there was something protective in it. He placed a heavy hand on Notch's shoulder. "They just want to see if you're any good with magic or combat. See if you have potential."

  "And if you do?" Notch asked.

  His father's jaw tightened. "Then they take you. Train you with them."

  Elara added quickly, her voice strained, "But we aren't really mage material, so you have nothing to fear. Our bloodline is... ordinary."

  Notch said nothing.

  They didn't know. Couldn't know. He'd pulled off feats similar to a triple-digit level archmage that afternoon—created pure condensed mana that should have killed him, manifested weapons that cost more mana than his body should contain, forcibly evolved a Lesser Wyvern into a Greater Pureblood. Ordinary didn't begin to cover what he wasn't.

  ---

  The lines formed quickly.

  Three stations, each manned by a mage holding a crystal orb roughly the size of a human head. The orbs sat on simple wooden pedestals, but even from a distance, Notch could see them humming with latent energy. His enhanced perception picked up the mana signatures easily—standardized testing artifacts, probably mass-produced.

  Children shuffled forward nervously. Most were between eight and fourteen, the typical age range for affinity manifestation. Some cried. Others stood stone-faced, trying to be brave.

  Notch watched two tests before his turn came.

  First kid—a boy maybe ten years old. Hand on orb. Incantation spoken. The orb glowed a dull brown for three seconds before fading. Earth affinity. Low grade. The mage marked something on parchment, waved him away.

  Second kid—a girl around thirteen. Same process. The orb pulsed orange, brighter than the first. Fire affinity. Medium grade. The mage's eyebrows rose slightly. She was marked differently, told to wait to the side.

  Notch began mentally restricting his mana as much as his twelve-year-old body could manage. Imagining walls around his core. Dampening the flow. Trying to make himself appear as unremarkable as possible.

  His turn came too quickly.

  The woman at his station looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, robes slightly rumpled. She'd probably been testing children in villages for weeks. Her expression suggested she'd rather be literally anywhere else.

  "Name?" Her tone was pure bureaucratic monotone.

  "Notch Dryk." Garen answered for him, standing protectively close. Notch was too busy trying to subtly shift Sly further around his back, out of direct sight. The snake cooperated, sliding beneath his collar with practiced ease.

  "Place your hand on the orb." The woman gestured without looking up from her parchment. "Then say 'Victicius.'"

  Victicius. The standard activation phrase for affinity testing.

  It struck Notch then—people needed incantations to use magic here. Verbal components. Proper pronunciation. The game had automated all of that, handled the mystical aspects behind the scenes while players just pressed buttons.

  But he'd been casting without a single word. Pure intent and visualization. No chants, no phrases, no verbal components at all.

  He was truly an anomaly.

  Notch raised his hand slowly, fighting every instinct that screamed at him to run. His palm hovered over the orb's smooth surface. Up close, he could see faint runes etched into the crystal, pulsing with diagnostic magic.

  Then another realization hit him like cold water.

  The magic he'd performed in the forest—the black flames, the pure mana constructs, the reality-bending power—none of it matched any known element from the game. Not fire, not water, not air or earth. It was something else entirely. Something that probably shouldn't exist.

  What would happen when he touched that orb?

  His fingers made contact with the cool crystal surface.

  "Victicius," he said quietly.

  The orb began to react.

  With a low hum, it glowed a dull red—weak, barely visible even in the dimming light. The color pulsed once, twice, then faded to nothing.

  "Fire affinity. Poor grade." The mage's voice was completely bland, already dismissing him as she scratched notes onto her parchment. She waved him away without looking up. "Next."

  Notch exhaled slowly. The suppression had worked. He'd managed to choke down whatever monstrous power lurked in his core and present himself as nothing more than another mediocre village kid with barely enough talent to light a candle.

  Relief and disappointment warred in his chest in equal measure.

  ---

  The walk home was quiet at first.

  Garen kept glancing at Notch, his weathered face cycling through surprise, pride, worry, then settling on something that looked almost like wonder.

  "My son could actually be a mage?" He finally said aloud, voice thick with emotion. "That's incredible!"

  Notch wasn't particularly pleased. Not because of the poor grade—that was intentional, necessary even—but because the implications were sinking in now, becoming real. He'd have to leave this already struggling family behind. Travel to the capital for training. Abandon them when they needed every pair of hands they could get.

  "So that means I'll have to leave you guys behind?" The words came out smaller than he intended, genuinely uncertain.

  "My, my." Elara's voice carried that particular teasing lilt mothers reserved for embarrassing their children. "Is Notch afraid to leave his mommy?"

  "Nooooo!" Heat flooded his face. He looked away, flustered.

  "There'll be no one to help Dad on the farm if I go." He tried to redirect, to make it about practicality instead of emotion.

  Garen and Elara exchanged glances. Something passed between them—surprise at their son's thoughtfulness, recognition of how much he'd changed in just a single day.

  Then they laughed. Not mockingly, but with genuine warmth.

  "We'll be paid handsomely for a child mage, my dear." Elara adjusted her grip on the half-asleep Mira, shifting the girl's weight against her shoulder. "It's compensation from the kingdom for contributing to their forces."

  "Though it won't be as much since you got a lower grade." Garen pushed open the door to their house, old hinges creaking. "The higher your ranking, the better we're paid. Trainees don't receive wages themselves—the families do."

  "Oh." Notch nodded slowly as he passed through the doorway. "That's good then."

  At least his presence here, even his departure, would have value. Would help them survive.

  "Yup, it'll help with a lot of payments." Garen's voice wavered slightly. He stood in the doorway, backlit by the last rays of sunset, and looked at Notch with eyes that had gone suddenly wet.

  "Look at my son. All grown up." He paused, using the back of his hand to wipe his face roughly. "Helping pay bills even when he isn't going to be around."

  The silence stretched for a heartbeat.

  "Just... do your best, Notch." Garen's voice cracked. "And stay safe."

  He pulled Notch into a hug—sudden, fierce, smelling of soil and sweat and the particular scent of hard work. His arms were strong, callused hands gripping tight.

  Elara joined moments later, one arm around both of them while she balanced Mira with the other. The little girl stirred, refusing to go to bed without getting her share of this family hug. She wrapped her small arms around Notch's leg, squeezing tight.

  Even Sly got involved, the serpent's head emerging from beneath Notch's collar to nuzzle against his cheek.

  Till Elara noticed.

  "That thing is still here?!" She recoiled, breaking the embrace. "Absolutely not. That creature is not sleeping in this house!"

  She stormed off toward the bedroom, muttering about reptiles and reasonable boundaries and why did her son have to befriend something with scales.

  Garen chuckled quietly, ruffling Notch's hair. "She'll come around. Give her time."

  Mira yawned, finally allowing herself to be carried to bed.

  Notch stood in the small house—his house now, really—and felt the weight of what was coming. Departure. Training. A life he hadn't asked for but couldn't avoid.

  But for tonight, at least, he was home.