Morning light bathed the modest dining room in a soft, honeyed glow. Twelve children sat hunched over wooden bowls, wolfing down their food like it might sprout legs and escape. Kaelion leaned silently against the doorway, arms folded, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
They devoured the meal with the kind of desperation that made you wonder how long it had been since any of them had eaten properly. The clatter of spoons, occasional muffled burps, and furious chewing created a kind of rhythm—chaotic, awkward, but deeply human.
He couldn't help the warmth that spread through his chest. Twelve kids, all eating under one roof. Disciples of the kitchen table, he mused. If I ever get crucified, I'm blaming irony.
The thought made him grin. Somewhere, somehow, his old parents would be proud. And his mother in this world—gods, she'd probably already seen this coming.
As the frenzy slowed and the kids leaned back, rubbing their bellies or sipping water, Kaelion cleared his throat. The room fell silent instantly. Twelve pairs of eyes turned to him.
"I want to know your names," he said, voice calm. "Where you're from. Anything you feel comfortable sharing."
Silence.
They hesitated, eyes darting between one another. Finally, the black-haired girl seated closest to him spoke, her voice low. "Maera."
Kaelion waited a moment, expecting more. But the look in her eyes said clearly: Don't ask.
She didn't trust him. Not yet. And she definitely didn't feel comfortable laying her past out on the table like a scroll for strangers to read.
He nodded once. "Alright."
The rest took their cue from her.
"Torren."
"Baela."
"Jace."
"Loras."
"Rina."
"Wes."
"Ella."
"Lara."
"Laenor."
Just names. No stories. They weren't ready. Or maybe they didn't think he cared enough to hear the rest.
Then came a small, trembling voice. "Jon."
Kaelion turned to the boy. Jon's sandy hair was tangled, his frame thin, and he couldn't meet anyone's eyes.
"My mother… she borrowed money. For me. I was sick. Really sick. She couldn't pay it back, so… she works now. At a brothel. Until the debt's gone."
His voice broke at the end, barely above a whisper.
Kaelion's chest tightened. The guilt on the boy's face wasn't just sadness—it was torment. He knelt beside him, speaking softly.
"You didn't choose to get sick. You didn't choose her sacrifices. But you can choose what you do with them. She gave you a chance—make it count. That's enough."
It looked almost comedic, seeing someone younger offering comfort to someone five years older. But it was enough. Jon sniffed, nodding quickly.
Then the final girl, Saera, waved both hands in the air. "Saera! I don't know who my parents are, but I used to sleep behind a baker's oven, and he said I talked so much I made the bread rise faster!"
That earned a few chuckles. Kaelion smiled. Her energy was contagious.
"Alright," he said, standing up. "Starting tomorrow, we do things differently. Wake up at six. Half of you help clean, the other half help cook. Classes begin at eight sharp. We end at three. After that, the day's yours."
Groans rippled through the room.
He continued, "I'll set out some extra mattresses tonight. Anyone who trusts me enough to stay—you're welcome to sleep in the side room. The school isn't ready yet, but we'll build it together."
He hadn't expected this yesterday. He'd planned to start slowly—recruit students one by one. But life clearly had other plans.
First disciples, he mused. Twelve of them. If I didn't know any better, I'd say I was building a religion…
"If I didn't know you better," Raphael quipped in his mind, "I'd say you've got a God complex. Or in this case… a Jesus complex."
Kaelion laughed silently. Don't tempt me.
Just then, the door swung open and his mother stepped in.
"Well, you've started a little cult, I see."
Kaelion grinned. "It's not a cult. It's… education."
She rolled her eyes. "The school building is yours. I finalized the purchase this morning. Needs fixing up, but it's standing. Stone walls and a roof—better than most."
He exhaled in relief. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. You'll be the one hammering nails."
She glanced over the children. "I'll take them around. Show them the house."
Their clinic had recently been moved to a building a block away—purchased with years of savings—and they'd upgraded to a four-bedroom house after scraping together enough coin.
Kaelion was left by the door, watching as twelve children scampered after his mother, curiosity blooming in their tired faces.
This is real. It's happening.
---
The carriage rumbled steadily toward the Citadel, its wheels clacking over the ancient stones of Oldtown. Kaelion sat beside Maester Author, the old man fussing with his sleeves as the city's greatest monument to learning came into view.
"You'll be tested," Author muttered. "Hard. Most of them don't want you here."
Kaelion looked over, curious.
"They see you as a commoner," the maester continued, tone curt. "A glorified apprentice. Doesn't matter how clever you are. The Citadel isn't fond of upstarts. Especially ones with ambition."
Kaelion arched a brow. "And you?"
"I expect you not to make a fool of me. And maybe… maybe I want to see what you can do."
Kaelion didn't answer. But he understood.
As the carriage slowed, he stepped out—and his breath caught.
The Citadel rose like an ancient titan. Its towers spiraled upward, linked by arched bridges and ringed with aged stone carved with thousands of years of history. Brass domes gleamed under the morning light, and flocks of ravens circled the skies. The air smelled of parchment, wax, and wisdom.
It wasn't just a building—it was a fortress of knowledge. And every brick whispered secrets.
Scholars passed with ink-stained fingers and bundles of scrolls. Apprentices hurried with candle-lanterns, their chain-links clinking softly.
Kaelion smiled as he looked up at the maze of wisdom.
Somewhere in here, he thought, is the truth. The source. The rules behind the magic they forgot—or chose to abandon. And I'm going to find it. Change it. Fix it.
He'd spent the better part of the last few years preparing for this moment. He'd always known—if he wanted to change the world, this was where he'd have to start.
Let Raphael handle the sparks. I'll handle the foundation.
Once he had the knowledge, he could build something real. A proper magic system. One that didn't just work—but endured. That made things better. Brighter.
Let them scoff.
He was one step closer now.
---
Author's Note:
Thanks for reading! Sorry for the late update—I had set it on a timer, but it seems it didn't post. Anyway, here's the chapter. I'd love to hear your thoughts, so drop your comments and votes. They help me understand what you're enjoying, and they really motivate me to keep posting. We're approaching Chapter 10—so I'd especially love to hear reviews as we near that milestone. See you Monday!