Part 1 — Trial and Error
The room was quiet again.
Not the peaceful kind.
Just the kind where nothing interrupts your thoughts—and that becomes the problem.
Adrian sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the wall like it had personally wronged him.
"...Alright," he muttered, "let's do something stupid. But, like... controlled stupid."
A pause.
"...preferably."
He leaned back, exhaling slowly.
Seven days.
That was the number he'd landed on.
If his theory was right—
If the timing lined up—
Then seven days here should equal roughly one day back on Earth.
Which meant—
"...I've basically got overtime on reality," he said quietly.
A beat.
"...that feels illegal."
No runes appeared.
No glowing confirmation.
Just that same faint awareness sitting behind his thoughts.
Watching.
Waiting.
"...Right," Adrian nodded once. "So we test it the old-fashioned way."
Trial.
Error.
And ideally, not dying.
He stood up, stretching slightly.
His body still felt... different.
Not wrong.
Not exactly.
Just—
Tighter.
More responsive.
Like something under the surface had been... rearranged.
He flexed his fingers.
There it was again.
That slight delay.
That almost invisible stretch before everything snapped back into place.
"...yeah," he muttered, "still not normal."
He grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
"Step one," he said, pulling it open, "figure out what I can actually do on purpose."
The forest didn't feel as hostile this time.
Still dangerous.
Still wrong.
But not unfamiliar.
Adrian walked between the trees at a steady pace, eyes scanning, posture relaxed—but not careless.
"...okay," he muttered, "no lakes today. We've learned our lesson."
A pause.
"...mostly."
He stopped in a small clearing.
Open enough to move.
Covered enough to not get jumped immediately.
Good enough.
"...alright," he said, rolling his shoulders once, "magic."
That word still felt weird.
He held out his hand.
Focused.
Not forcing it.
Just... remembering.
Heat.
Pressure.
That moment from before—
The runes flickered faintly behind his eyes.
Not fully forming.
Just reacting.
Then—
A spark.
Small.
Weak.
Gone.
Adrian blinked.
"...cool," he said flatly. "Great start."
He tried again.
This time, pushing a little more.
Not enough to force it—
Just enough to guide it.
The air around his hand warmed.
Faintly.
Then—
A flicker.
A small burst of flame appeared—
Hovered for half a second—
Then collapsed into nothing.
"...okay," he nodded slowly, "progress."
He lowered his hand, thinking.
"Not instant. Not stable. Needs... something."
He glanced down at his hand again.
"...intent worked before."
A pause.
"...and stress."
He looked around the clearing.
Nothing immediately trying to kill him.
Which was inconvenient.
"...alright," he sighed, "guess we're doing this the slow way."
The next hour was... not impressive.
Adrian stood in the clearing, repeatedly trying to summon the same thing.
Over.
And over.
And over.
Most attempts ended the same way:
A flicker.
A spark.
Nothing.
At one point—
A small burst of flame appeared in his palm—
Hovered—
Then shot sideways and hit a tree.
"...okay," Adrian said, watching the smoldering bark, "so it's got opinions. Good to know."
He rubbed his face.
"...this is going to take a while."
Day two was better.
Not dramatically.
But enough to notice.
The flame appeared more often now.
Still unstable.
Still inconsistent.
But it stayed longer.
Hovered closer to his hand.
Responded—slightly—to his focus.
Adrian stood there, arm extended, staring at the flickering flame hovering just above his palm.
It pulsed.
Wavered.
Like it couldn't decide if it wanted to exist.
"...yeah," he muttered, "same."
The flame collapsed.
He exhaled slowly.
"...alright. Again."
Day three.
The first real change.
The flame didn't just appear.
It formed.
Not perfectly.
Not cleanly.
But it gathered.
Compressed.
Pulled inward—
Like something was shaping it.
Adrian's eyes narrowed slightly.
"...okay," he said quietly, "that's new."
The fire coiled into a rough sphere in his hand.
Unstable.
Edges flickering wildly.
But—
Contained.
For a second.
Two.
Then—
It burst apart.
Gone.
Adrian stared at his hand.
Then nodded slowly.
"...alright," he said, "we're getting somewhere."
By day five—
It clicked.
Not perfectly.
Not smoothly.
But enough.
Adrian stood in the clearing again, arm raised, focus sharp.
He didn't force it.
Didn't rush it.
Just—
Pulled.
Heat gathered instantly.
Not slow this time.
Not hesitant.
Fast.
Responsive.
The air around his hand shimmered—
Then—
It formed.
A sphere of fire hovered just above his palm.
Not huge.
Not overwhelming.
But stable.
Contained.
Dense.
It pulsed faintly—
Like a heartbeat.
Adrian stared at it for a moment.
"...okay," he said quietly.
A beat.
"...that's actually working."
He turned his hand slightly.
The sphere shifted with it.
Followed.
Controlled.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
"...huh."
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"...alright," he said, "that's definitely going on the useful list."
The sphere flickered—
Wavered—
Then collapsed.
Gone.
Adrian lowered his hand slowly.
"...and that's the downside."
He exhaled.
"...still burns out fast."
Day six—
Refinement.
Less about creating it.
More about consistency.
He practiced:
Summon → hold → release.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Each time—
It got faster.
Cleaner.
More reliable.
Still inefficient.
Still draining.
But usable.
Adrian stood there, summoning the fireball once more.
It formed quickly now.
Almost instantly.
Hovered in his palm.
Stable.
Controlled.
He watched it for a second.
"...alright," he muttered, "that's close enough to 'on command.'"
He closed his hand.
The fire collapsed immediately.
Gone.
"...yeah," he nodded, "I can work with that."
Day seven—
He pushed it.
Of course he did.
Because that's how this always went.
"...just a little more," Adrian muttered, raising his hand again.
The fire gathered instantly—
Formed—
Stronger this time.
Brighter.
Denser.
Adrian narrowed his eyes.
"...okay," he said slowly, "that's new."
The heat spiked.
Sharply.
Too sharply.
The sphere trembled—
Unstable.
The runes flickered—
— Output Increasing —
— Stability Decreasing —
Adrian frowned slightly.
"...yeah," he said, "that's usually how that goes."
The fireball pulsed violently—
Then—
He released it.
It shot forward—
Fast—
Slamming into a tree with a sharp burst of flame.
The impact scorched the bark, blackening the surface instantly.
Adrian stared at it for a moment.
Then exhaled.
"...okay," he muttered.
"...note to self—don't overdo it."
He rolled his shoulder slightly.
Fatigue hit.
Not overwhelming.
But noticeable.
"...right," he said, "so still inefficient."
A pause.
He glanced at his hand again.
Flexed his fingers.
Still responsive.
Still... not entirely normal.
"...yeah," Adrian said quietly.
"...this isn't going to stay simple, is it?"
The forest didn't answer.
Of course.
It never did.
Adrian turned, heading back toward Stonehollow.
Seven days.
Test complete.
Magic—
Partially under control.
Still rough.
Still incomplete.
Still dangerous.
But—
His.
"...alright," he muttered under his breath as the trees thinned.
"...that's one problem slightly less terrible."
A beat.
"...probably replaced by a worse one."
He stepped back onto the road leading to town.
And for once—
Nothing immediately tried to kill him.
"...huh," Adrian said.
"...that's new."
Part 2 — The Whizziest Wizard
The transition was smoother this time.
No disorientation.
No collapsing sense of reality folding in on itself.
Just—
A shift.
Adrian blinked.
Apartment.
Same room.
Same ceiling.
Same faint crack in the corner that he'd stared at way too many times already.
"...okay," he muttered, sitting up slightly, "that's becoming a pattern."
He looked toward the clock.
Paused.
Then leaned forward.
"...no way."
Barely any time had passed.
Minutes.
Not hours.
Definitely not days.
Adrian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.
"...alright," he said quietly, "that's real. That's actually real."
Seven days.
For this.
He leaned back again, staring at the ceiling.
"...yeah," he muttered, "that's either incredibly useful... or a terrible idea waiting to happen."
A pause.
"...probably both."
The smell of food pulled him out of his thoughts.
Of course it did.
He stepped into the kitchen.
His grandmother was already there, moving like she always did—steady, practiced, completely unaware that her grandson had just spent a week in another world.
"...morning," Adrian said.
She glanced over.
"You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep," he replied.
Which, technically, wasn't even a lie anymore.
She studied him for a second.
Then nodded.
"Eat something before you leave."
Adrian grabbed a piece of toast.
"...actually," he said casually, "I might be working overtime today."
She frowned slightly. "Overtime?"
"Yeah," he shrugged, "might be late. Maybe back tomorrow."
She gave him a look.
"...Don't skip meals."
Adrian raised the toast slightly.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
A pause.
"...I've got a reputation to maintain."
She snorted softly.
"Go."
The storage unit was exactly where he left it.
Which was still unsettling, in a very quiet way.
Adrian stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"...alright," he said, rolling his shoulders slightly, "round two."
He didn't hesitate this time.
Didn't overthink it.
Just—
Focused.
Intent.
Clear.
Simple.
"I'm going back."
The runes formed instantly.
— Return Path — Available —
"...yeah," Adrian muttered, "that's getting easier."
He stepped forward.
The world folded.
Stonehollow greeted him like nothing had changed.
Same streets.
Same noise.
Same underlying tension of a place that knew it was one bad day away from becoming a problem.
Adrian walked toward the guild hall, hands in his pockets.
"...alright," he muttered, "seven more days. Let's not make this one worse than the last."
A beat.
"...or at least not immediately."
The guild hall didn't quiet completely this time.
But it dipped.
Just slightly.
Enough to notice.
Adrian stepped inside, scanning the room.
Same faces.
Same glances.
Still careful.
Still watching.
"...yeah," he muttered under his breath, "that's not going away anytime soon."
He made his way toward the counter—
"Ah! There he is!"
Adrian stopped.
Slowly turned.
"...I'm already concerned."
The man approaching him looked like someone who had read too many books about wizards and decided to become one out of spite.
Robes.
Bright.
Unnecessarily detailed.
A staff—because of course there was a staff.
And a grin that suggested he enjoyed being exactly this dramatic.
He stopped in front of Adrian, placing a hand on his chest.
"Benjamin Dazzle," he declared proudly, "Stonehollow's whizziest wizard."
Adrian stared at him for a second.
"...that's not a real title."
Benjamin didn't miss a beat.
"It is if you believe hard enough."
"...I don't."
"That sounds like a personal problem."
Adrian exhaled slowly.
"...right. This is happening."
Benjamin leaned in slightly, lowering his voice—but not his energy.
"I hear you've been using magic."
Adrian raised an eyebrow.
"...I hear people talk too much."
"Details," Benjamin waved it off. "Point is—fellow mage."
A pause.
"...that's generous," Adrian muttered.
Benjamin pointed at him.
"Ah! Humble. I like that."
Adrian didn't respond.
Mostly because he wasn't sure how.
Benjamin straightened.
"So," he continued, "how would you like to join me on a Scar hunt?"
Adrian blinked.
"...you say that like it's a casual activity."
"It is if you're prepared," Benjamin said confidently.
"...and are we?"
Benjamin smiled wider.
"That's what makes it fun."
Adrian looked at him.
Then at the door.
Then back at him.
"...I'm starting to see why people don't volunteer for this."
Benjamin clapped his hands once.
"Excellent! That's a yes."
"...that wasn't a yes."
"It had the energy of one."
The forest, again.
Adrian was beginning to suspect he lived here now.
"...alright," he muttered, "what's the plan?"
Benjamin twirled his staff.
"We train."
Adrian blinked.
"...before the part where we get eaten?"
"Precisely."
"...good. Priorities."
They stopped in a clearing.
Benjamin planted his staff into the ground.
"Magic," he began, pacing slightly, "is not just power. It's structure. Control. Understanding the elements and how they interact."
Adrian folded his arms slightly.
"...and I'm guessing I'm currently failing at all three."
Benjamin pointed at him again.
"Rapidly improving at all three."
"...that doesn't sound better."
Benjamin crouched, scooping up a handful of dirt.
"Earth magic," he said, "is about shaping what already exists."
He gestured toward a nearby patch of damp ground.
"Sand. Water."
The earth shifted.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The soil thickened.
Darkened.
Turned—
Mud.
Adrian watched carefully.
"...okay," he said, "that makes sense."
Benjamin smiled.
"Good. Now you try."
Adrian crouched.
Picked up some dirt.
"...alright," he muttered, "sand, water, and questionable life choices."
He focused.
Not forcing.
Just—
Guiding.
The ground responded.
Slowly.
Clumsily.
The dirt darkened—
Then collapsed back into itself.
"...yeah," Adrian said flatly, "that tracks."
Benjamin nodded.
"Again."
Day three.
It held.
Barely.
Adrian stood over a small patch of mud, hands slightly raised.
The substance trembled—
Then lifted.
Unstable.
Shifting.
But—
Formed.
"...okay," he muttered, "that's something."
Benjamin clapped once.
"Excellent! Now—shape it."
"...that sounds like a bad idea."
"Do it anyway."
Day five.
The structure formed faster now.
Cleaner.
Still rough.
Still inefficient.
But functional.
A lump of mud rose—
Wrapped around a small rock—
And hardened slightly.
Then—
Cracked.
Fell apart.
Adrian exhaled.
"...almost had it."
Benjamin nodded.
"You did. Now do it again."
"...I'm noticing a theme."
Day seven.
It worked.
Not perfectly.
Not cleanly.
But enough.
Adrian raised his hand.
The ground responded faster now.
Mud formed—
Lifted—
Wrapped around a target Benjamin had set—
And closed.
Encasing it.
Rough.
Uneven.
But solid.
Adrian stared at it.
"...huh."
Benjamin beamed.
"Earth Coffin."
Adrian nodded slowly.
"...needs a better name."
"It does not."
"It really does."
Benjamin studied him for a moment.
Longer this time.
"...you don't cast like a normal mage."
Adrian glanced at him.
"Yeah," he said, "I've been getting that a lot."
The sun dipped lower.
Training done.
For now.
Benjamin rested his staff over his shoulder.
"So," he said, "ready for the hunt?"
Adrian looked at the forest.
Then at his hands.
Fire.
Earth.
Both—
Working.
Not perfect.
But usable.
"...yeah," he muttered.
"...that's probably a bad sign."
Part 3 — Time Doesn't Lie
The transition back was... easy.
Too easy.
Adrian barely felt it this time.
One second—forest.
Next—his room.
Same position.
Same air.
Same faint crack in the ceiling that was starting to feel like a personal checkpoint.
"...okay," he muttered, blinking once, "I don't like how normal that's becoming."
He sat there for a second.
Then immediately turned his head toward the clock.
Focused.
Measured.
Waiting.
"...no way."
Barely any time had passed.
Again.
Not even close.
Adrian leaned forward slowly, elbows on his knees.
"...alright," he said quietly, "that confirms it."
Seven days.
is 1 day on earth.
He let out a slow breath.
"...yeah," he muttered, "that's not just useful. That's dangerous."
A pause.
"...also incredibly convenient."
He rubbed his face.
"...I'm going to regret this later."
The smell of food hit him again.
At this point, it felt like a constant.
Adrian stood up and stepped into the kitchen.
His grandmother was already there, like she always was—moving around with that same steady rhythm that made everything else feel... normal.
Grounded.
Real.
She glanced at him—
And paused.
Just for a second.
"...you're up early again."
Adrian grabbed a glass of water.
"Yeah," he said casually, "couldn't sleep."
She didn't respond immediately.
Just... looked at him.
Longer than usual.
Adrian noticed.
Of course he did.
"...what?" he asked.
She narrowed her eyes slightly.
"You've lost weight."
Adrian blinked.
"...have I?"
"Don't 'have I' me," she said, crossing her arms slightly. "You have."
He looked down at himself.
Subtle.
But—
Yeah.
His shirt sat differently.
Looser around the middle.
Less weight pulling at it.
"...huh," he muttered, "that's new."
She didn't look amused.
"Are you eating properly?"
Adrian leaned against the counter, completely calm.
"Of course I am."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Then why are you getting thinner?"
Adrian shrugged slightly.
"...working more, I guess."
Not entirely wrong.
Just missing a few details.
Like the part where he was spending a week fighting for his life in another world.
She studied him again.
Still not convinced.
"You're not skipping meals?"
Adrian shook his head.
"Nope."
A pause.
Then, with perfect timing—
"...I mean, you've been feeding me for years," he added dryly. "This doesn't just disappear overnight. I've got reserves."
She stared at him.
Then huffed softly, turning back to the stove.
"...just make sure you're eating."
"Yes, ma'am."
Back in his room—
The quiet returned.
Adrian closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment.
"...alright," he muttered, "so that's confirmed."
Time difference.
Real.
Consistent.
Useful.
Dangerous.
All at the same time.
He pushed off the door and walked toward the mirror.
Stopped.
Looked.
Really looked.
The change wasn't dramatic.
Not yet.
But it was there.
Less bulk.
More definition.
His shoulders still wide.
Frame still solid.
But—
Cleaner.
Leaner.
"...yeah," he said quietly.
"...that's not normal."
Not natural.
Not at that speed.
Even with "working more."
He flexed his hand again.
Watched that slight delay.
That almost invisible stretch.
"...and you're still doing that," he added.
A pause.
"...great."
The runes flickered.
Faint.
Subtle.
Not fully forming.
Just—
Present.
Adrian stared at them.
"...you again."
No response.
Of course.
There never was.
He exhaled slowly.
"...alright," he said, pushing himself away from the mirror, "let's think this through."
Time advantage.
Training acceleration.
Physical changes.
Magic development.
All stacking.
All increasing.
Faster than normal.
Faster than safe.
"...yeah," he muttered, "this is either going to work really well..."
A beat.
"...or go very wrong."
He grabbed his coat again.
Already moving.
Because staying still wasn't helping.
Thinking too much wasn't helping.
Testing had.
Training had.
So—
That's what he'd keep doing.
He paused at the door.
Hand resting on the handle.
"...alright," he said quietly.
"...next step."
A small exhale.
"...don't make this worse."
A beat.
He opened the door.
"...or at least not immediately."