It had been a few days.
No owls.
No Ministry knock.
No polite, ominous request for cooperation.
I wasn't sure whether I should feel relieved—or deeply concerned.
The magical world didn't forget things like me.
It misplaced them for a while… then came back with questions and chains.
The Codex updated again.
No warning. No fanfare.
Just a pressure behind my eyes, and that familiar sensation of something rearranging itself—like reality quietly shifting furniture inside my skull.
I focused.
Nothing.
No spell.
No incantation.
No wandwork diagram.
"What?" I muttered. "That's it?"
The Codex wasn't showing magic anymore.
It showed movement.
Lines. Curves. Breath paths traced through the air. Footwork. Rotations. Weight shifts. A translucent body overlaid with airflow patterns—pressure, release, redirection.
Martial arts.
Not wizard martial arts.
Something closer to air-bending.
I stared at it for a long moment.
"…I think you're broken," I told the empty room.
According to its own description, the Codex was supposed to teach me spells. Wandless, sure—but still spells. Structured magic. Something recognizable.
This?
This looked like a monk punched a physics textbook and called it enlightenment.
"Are you sure," I asked slowly, "that this is the Harry Potter world?"
No response.
"Because last I checked, people here wave sticks and shout Latin. Where's my wand? Where's my magic?"
Silence.
I rubbed my face with both hands and exhaled hard.
"Damn it."
The realization crept in slowly—then hit all at once.
This wasn't a mistake.
This was me.
My dying wish.
Adventure. Freedom. Motion. A path without rails. Like Luffy—forward no matter what, consequences be damned.
I let out a humorless laugh.
"So I really did screw myself, huh?"
No neat system.
No cheat spells.
No safe progression.
Just a body that had to move—or break.
"Fine," I muttered. "Then I'll get stronger."
Not magically.
Functionally.
I stood.
The Codex didn't tell me what to do.
It showed me how not to stop.
A knock broke my thoughts.
Three sharp taps. Familiar.
"Kyle?" a voice called. "It's me—Mira!"
I groaned softly. "Yeah?"
"Mom and Dad are calling you."
I rolled my shoulders and stood carefully. The world steadied—slowly, like it respected the effort.
"I'm coming."
As I reached the door, the Codex flickered once more.
Not instructions.
Just confirmation.
Downstairs, the atmosphere was… heavy.
Seated across from Lorraine and Ed were two men.
One I recognized immediately—the priest who had been with us that day.
The other…
Old. Tall. Lean.
His presence pressed into the room like winter air seeping through cracks. His eyes were sharp, measuring—not hostile, but unforgiving.
"Okay," I said carefully. "I'm here."
The priest smiled gently. "Morning, Kyle. You can call me Jack."
He gestured to the man beside him.
"And this may sound strange, but this is Father Malcolm. Senior exorcist."
Father Malcolm never looked away from me.
"He wanted to speak with you."
I met his gaze without flinching.
He studied me the way surgeons studied X-rays.
"You are one miracle of a boy," he said at last.
I tilted my head. "I'm honored you find me special."
He shook his head immediately.
"No. Not special."
The word carried weight.
"You are something this world needed," Malcolm continued. "I don't know how you came by what you have—but after seeing you, I'm certain of one thing."
He leaned forward.
"You were placed here for balance."
The room went silent.
"How old are you, boy?" he asked quietly. "Tell me the truth."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"You don't feel five. You feel… younger."
I inhaled sharply.
Looked at Lorraine.
At Ed.
Then sighed.
"I'm three."
The reaction was immediate.
"What?!" Lorraine shot to her feet. "How—what did this to you? Are you okay?"
Her hands were already reaching for me, panic and fury tangled together.
I knew then I couldn't keep hiding.
So I told them.
About waking in the middle of a ritual.
About being bound. Watched. Prepared like an offering.
About hiding what little power I had.
About the ritual failing.
About running.
By the time I finished, the room felt colder.
Father Malcolm crossed himself slowly.
Ed's jaw clenched tight enough to crack stone.
Lorraine knelt and pulled me into a fierce, shaking hug.
"No one," she whispered, voice breaking, "is ever touching you like that again."
Father Malcolm finally spoke.
"This changes things." He looked around the room. And remembered the talk before coming here "Beneath a cathedral older than its own faith, a door that officially did not exist unlocked itself.
Stone ground against stone.
A man in a black coat stepped into the chamber, rain still clinging to his shoulders. His hair was grey at the temples, eyes sharp with the exhaustion of someone who had buried too many truths.
Malcolm Cross checked the report again.
SUBJECT: KYLE PRINCEAGE: VARIABLE (PHYSIOLOGICAL DISCREPANCY CONFIRMED)STATUS: LIVING ANOMALY
He exhaled slowly.
"Non-magical sensitives," he murmured. "Faith-reactive suppression. Reality-stable."
One of the archivists shifted. "Sir… the Ministry has noticed."
Malcolm smiled without humor. "Of course they have."
"And Hogwarts?"
"That too."
He tapped the page once. "Prepare the acceptance writ."
The archivist hesitated. "Into which division?"
Malcolm didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he said, "Do you know why monsters fear holy ground?"
The archivist shook his head.
"Not because of faith," Malcolm said. "But because faith moves. It adapts. It doesn't freeze into rules."
He looked up.
"This boy doesn't freeze either."
He signed the paper.
DEPARTMENT OF EXTRANORMAL INTERVENTION & FAITH-ADJACENT THREATSPROVISIONAL AGENT STATUS — CONDITIONAL
"Pull favors," Malcolm continued calmly."Old instructors. Broken ones. The kind the Ministry buried because they hit too hard and asked too few questions."
"And the boy?" the archivist asked.
Malcolm's gaze hardened—not unkindly.
"No coddling," he said."No safety illusions.If he breaks, we'll know he was never meant to stand."
A pause.
"…And if he doesn't?"
Malcolm folded his coat over his arm.
"Then God help whatever comes next."" He finished remembering.
I looked up at him.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "It usually does."
And somewhere deep inside me—
The Drum beat once.
Steady.
Expectant.
Malcolm straightened, as if he felt it too. Then he exhaled—and let the mask drop.
"I won't lie to you," he said. "Or to them."
His gaze never left me.
"You are our best chance."
The words landed like iron.
"What you faced was a Level Two manifestation," he continued. "A possession that escalated beyond containment. Nearly everyone involved are supposed to die with few I really mean few survivors or none."
Lorraine stiffened.
Ed's knuckles went white.
"We are losing ground," Malcolm said. "Level Three threats are appearing more frequently. Intelligent. Organized. Predatory."
A pause.
"Faith alone is no longer enough."
His eyes returned to me.
"You didn't repel the entity," he said. "You overwhelmed it."
"Not with ritual. Not with invocation."
"With presence."
"I want you," he said quietly, "to become a Guardian of this world."
Guardian.
"A barrier," he continued. "A warning. Something the dark learns to fear."
Responsibility settled into my chest—heavy and unavoidable.
"As long as you exist," Malcolm said, "they will know this world is not unguarded."
"No."
Lorraine's voice cracked like a gunshot.
"No," she repeated, stepping between us. "Absolutely not."
"He is a child," she said, shaking. "You're talking about turning him into a weapon."
"I'm talking about survival," Malcolm replied.
"You're talking about sacrificing him," she snapped, "so others don't have to bleed."
Ed stepped forward.
"You don't get to decide that." he said flatly. "Not after what he's already been through."
Malcolm spread his hands. "I am not blind to the cost."
Lorraine laughed—short and bitter.
"Then you're choosing to ignore it."
She turned to me, knelt, and gripped my shoulders.
"Kyle, look at me," she said softly. "You are not a tool. You are not a symbol. You are not a line of defense."
Her voice cracked.
"You are a boy who deserves a childhood."
The room went silent again.
I looked at her.
Silence.
I broke it.
"I don't want to be a weapon."
Lorraine exhaled.
"But I won't pretend I can walk away."
Malcolm's eyes sharpened.
"I was hunted before I could speak," I said. "Bound before I understood fear."
"If monsters are coming anyway… I'd rather be standing than hiding."
Lorraine's expression shattered.
Malcolm bowed his head slightly.
"I won't force you," he said. "I swear it."
I met his eyes.
"I'll work with you," I said calmly. "But I'm not your slave."
"And my faith isn't yours."
"I believe in the universe. Air. Water. Sun. Motion. If you think only your god is real—then we walk different roads."
Malcolm smiled faintly.
"Good," he said. "Religious arguments are for people who don't understand gods."
"I've seen exorcists from every faith," he continued. "Their power works when they believe."
"I don't care who you worship. I care what you can do."
"And I'll protect you as long as I breathe."
He straightened.
"We'll train you."
"You'll have breaks. Low-level cases. Enough to acclimate."
I looked at the Warrens.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
From the stairs, Mira waved.
Maybe goodbye.
And somewhere deep inside me—
The Drum beat again.
Training had begun.