Albion took a slow, deep breath, forcing the trembling in his hands to settle. The lingering chill of Amon's presence retreated into the dark corners of his consciousness, leaving only the weight of the moment behind.
He looked at Juvia, then shifted his gaze toward Sheila, who was standing a short distance away, watching him with silent, sharp intensity.
"My magic... it is called Codex Magic," Albion began, his voice quiet, measured, and stripped of all deception. "It is an innate type."
He held up a small hand, extending his index finger into the air between them. To Juvia and Sheila, his hand appeared empty. But in Albion's sight, the world was crisscrossed by an intricate web of pale blue, glowing strands.
Codex Magic was, at its absolute core, an information-based magic centered around comprehending the fundamentals of the world. Upon its awakening, the caster gained the sight to perceive Information Threads—invisible strands of magical data extending from every object, structure, and living creature.
At the heart of Codex Magic lay a single governing principle:
The greater the user's understanding of a target, the greater the influence they can exert over it. Information was not power in itself—information was simply the price required to wield it.
"I can see... threads," Albion explained, his fuchsia eyes tracing a strand connected to the stone wall beside Juvia. "Pale blue lines. They carry information about everything. When I touch them, I analyze what the target is."
"Analyze?" Juvia echoed softly, her tone encouraging him to continue.
"Yes," Albion nodded. "Physical composition. Magical properties."
This process of Analysis formed the foundation of his magic. Once a target's information was gathered, it flowed directly into the Archive—a permanent mental vault within his mind. The Archive possessed flawless, absolute recall. Knowledge stored within it never faded, deteriorated, or degraded over time.
Once a target was thoroughly understood, it became Registered. A registered target no longer required re-analysis; its Information Thread could be re-established instantly, unlocking the magic's true application: Reconfiguration.
"Once I analyze something completely... I registered it," Albion continued, his voice steadying as he explained the mechanics he knew so well. "Then... I can manipulate it. I can push objects. Pull them. Or levitate them."
Sheila's eyes narrowed slightly. "Manipulate objects? You mean telekinesis?"
"In practice, yes," Albion replied simply. "Objects. Weapon trajectories. Or... even people. That said, I have not used it on living targets."
Through Reconfiguration, Codex Magic allowed Albion to physically interact with its thread. Yet, the magic carried strict, unyielding boundaries.
Knowledge did not equal mastery. Acquiring the framework of a sword technique through Analysis did not magically bestow the years of muscle memory and physical conditioning required to execute it. Codex Magic accelerated learning, but it could never replace practical training.
"It sounds amazing, Albion," Juvia said, a warm, polite smile spreading across her face. "It is such a clever magic. Why were you afraid to tell us?"
Albion's head dropped slightly, his eyes shadowing over. "Because... it hurts," he whispered.
Juvia's smile faltered, replaced by quiet confusion. "Hurts?"
The true danger of Codex Magic lay within its strain on the mind. Overloading the brain with excessive data causes him strain. The strain began with blinding headaches and constant ringing in his ears. What happened after was a mystery even to him.
The limit was strictly dictated by the complexity of the target's thread. Simple inanimate objects—a stone, a blade, a pipe—possessed thin, manageable threads. Complex constructs or living beings possessed more than one thread of data. In his mind, Albion could hold a maximum of three simple targets at once—such as three swords or three rocks. Alternatively, he could hold one complex target—such as a living human or a complex magic item. Attempting to register even a tiny pebble while holding a high-tier target would trigger an immediate mental backlash.
"Holding too much information... hurts my mind," Albion said, his words direct and painfully honest. "If I try to analyze something too complex... I feel the mental burden. It causes me to act... differently."
He didn't look at Sheila, but his mind flashed back to Amon's haunting words. And beneath the physical danger lay the magic's ultimate psychological curse: Permanent Memory.
Because the Archive never forgot, every piece of data remained preserved with perfect clarity. For an ordinary person, traumatic memories dulled over time. For Albion, every injury, every failure, every cruel word, and every terrifying moment remained as raw, vivid, and agonizingly fresh as the exact second it occurred.
The endless accumulation of unfading pain was a constant, crushing psychological burden.
"My mind... never forgets," Albion whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet stone hallway. "Every bad experience... stays forever. It never goes away."
Silence fell over the corridor.
Sheila stood motionless, taking in the small boy standing before them. She took a slow drag from her cigarette, exhaling a quiet ribbon of smoke.
"...I see," Sheila said, her tone level and unreadable. She paused briefly. "Can you perform a demonstration? A simple one."
"I will," Albion replied, his fuchsia eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at her. "If you explain where you obtain those cigarettes."
The lingering tension between them evaporated instantly, replaced by Albion's usual observational bluntness.
Sheila's expression remained unbothered. "I believe I told you previously: imagination."
"Then you can use your 'imagination' to visualize my magic."
Sheila paused, her brow twitching faintly. "...I forget how exceedingly disrespectful you can be."
Juvia clapped her hands together softly, speaking in a gentle, pleading tone. "Please, Albion? I would really like to see your magic."
Since he was the only other child in the guild possessing an innate magic, Juvia's curiosity was genuine. She wanted a point of reference for her own abilities.
Albion's gaze shifted to Juvia. He paused, processing her request, before offering a small nod. "Very well."
Sheila let out a long, quiet sigh. "Fascinating. Why do you yield to Juvia's requests so readily, yet refuse mine?"
Albion looked back at Sheila, his expression entirely neutral. "Because Juvia does not smell like cigarettes."
Sheila stared at him, caught off-guard. She turned her gaze to Juvia. "Be honest. Do I smell?"
Juvia waved her hand politely, though her tone was completely earnest. "Oh, no, of course not." She leaned in slightly and whispered, "...Yes. You kind of do."
Sheila sighed again, floating slightly off the ground into a casual levitation. She let her cigarette slip from her fingers, letting it fall onto the water below.
Albion watched her closely. 'Does she actually care about our opinion? Sheila is different from the others in Phantom Lord.'
It made him curious about her—not merely as an mage, but as a person. She appeared to possess a soft spot for children.
Turning to Juvia, Albion asked softly, "What is the nature of your relationship with Sheila?"
Juvia's cheeks flushed a faint pink. She clutched the plush seal tighter in her arms. "Sheila is my guardian."
"A caretaker?" Albion clarified.
Juvia nodded. "Yes."
"I see..." Albion exhaled a quiet breath, his dark hood slipping down his shoulders to reveal his hair.
'So she has someone looking after her too,' Albion thought, a brief, bitter shadow crossing his mind. 'I wish... someone like Sheila had cared for me when I was smaller, instead of her.'
Focusing back on the hallway, Albion raised his hand toward an exposed iron pipe running along the stone wall.
Juvia watched his empty hand curiously.
'Right. She cannot see the threads,' Albion reminded himself. He curled his fingers inward, as though gripping an invisible cord.
"Analysis."
The instant his palm closed, a shockwave of sub-zero ice spiked straight behind his eyes. He winced, sucking in a harsh breath as his vision went momentarily white—not from physical pain, but from the sheer, violent velocity of data forcing its way into his consciousness.
It felt like diving headfirst into a frozen lake, every nerve ending in his brain screaming from the sudden plunge.
Iron.
The word echoed in his mind, heavy and rigid, accompanied by the density of crystalline atomic grids. Right alongside it came the bitter, jagged grit of carbon.
He perceived it all instantly. Deep within the 3.5-millimeter wall, a tiny, jagged spiderweb of structural stress hummed with tension.
The phantom arctic chill vanished as fast as it came, leaving his head throbbing and the pipe's complete anatomical blueprint burned into his Archive.
Albion let out a quiet groan. "I will never grow accustomed to that sensory input."
With a subtle flick of his fingers, the iron pipe tore free from its wall brackets with a sharp crack.
It hovered in mid-air, spinning smoothly along its axis. Albion gestured with his hand—up, down, tracing a tight circular arc. The heavy iron pipe obeyed seamlessly, floating around his frame like an extension of his own limb.
Juvia's blue eyes widened in quiet amazement. To her, it appeared as though he were manipulating the object through pure will.
The pipe eventually settled at his side, floating motionless an inch off the floor.
"Because of how my magic functions, I now permanently retain the structural memory of this pipe," Albion explained, his tone analytical. "And by extension, all structural variations identical to it."
Juvia clapped her hands together politely. "That is remarkable, Albion. You are like a living library."
A faint, almost imperceptible smug smirk touched the corner of Albion's lips. For a fleeting moment, he looked like what he was—a five-year-old proud of his accomplishment.
Sheila floated beside them, her legs crossed mid-air in a relaxed position. "Who instructed you in the foundations of magic?" she asked, her voice calm and deliberate.
Albion paused, weighing his words before answering. "I taught myself. I only learned the basics earlier today."
"You taught yourself?" Sheila repeated smoothly, her sharp gaze locking onto him. "Without a master?"
"Yes," Albion said. "My magic made comprehending the texts simple."
As Juvia began asking gentle questions about his time in the guild's library, Sheila remained silent.
'Self-taught?' Sheila thought. 'I have spent my entire life around mages, and I have never encountered a five-year-old capable of comprehending the principles of magic and casting a spell on the exact same day without instruction. He isn't lying either.'
Her gaze flicked to Juvia. 'Juvia is an exceptional prodigy, but even she required guidance to structure her Skywater Magic. Albion's talent is... abnormal.'
Midway through answering one of Juvia's questions, Albion suddenly winced.
He stumbled backward, a low groan escaping his throat as he clutched his head with both hands. The levitating pipe wobbled violently before crashing onto the stone floor with a loud clang.
Juvia gasped softly, stepping forward. Before she could reach him, Sheila lowered herself from the air, stepping directly in front of the boy. She placed her gloved hands firmly over his temples.
"Where is the pain?" Sheila asked, her tone entirely level and sharp. "Explain."
Albion forced his breathing to slow, the sharp throbbing in his skull gradually dulling. "I am fine... It is simply the feedback from my magic. A drawback. I have overused it today."
Sheila released a quiet breath. Realizing her hands were still resting on his head, she pulled them back instantly.
"I apologize," Sheila said softly, her voice devoid of its usual dry edge. "I forgot your aversion to physical contact with adults."
Albion froze. He stared silently at Sheila's gloved hand. Slowly—hesitantly—he reached out with both of his small hands and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.
"I do not mind..." Albion muttered, his voice dropping so low it was nearly lost in the quiet corridor. "If it is you."
Using his small frame, he lifted her hand back up and placed it firmly back onto his hair. Sheila's eyes widened. Even Juvia blinked in silent surprise.
"You are... the only adult I trust," Albion added, looking down at the stone floor as a faint flush of embarrassment warmed his cheeks. "So... I do not mind. At least... I think I don't."
Sheila stared down at him. The strict, unyielding posture she always maintained softened just enough to be noticeable. A faint, genuine smile touched her lips as her gloved fingers gently caressed his head in a quiet, motherly rhythm.
"I am grateful," Sheila said softly. "Truly."
Albion stayed perfectly still beneath her hand, his fuchsia eyes soft. An unfamiliar, radiating warmth expanded within his chest—a feeling completely alien to the cold logic of his mind.
'What is this sensation?' Albion thought, leaning faintly into the touch. 'It feels... like being wrapped in something warm. It is... pleasant.'
'I wish... I had felt this much sooner.'