The thought made his stomach turn.
I’m not accessing memories at all. I’m the one in the driver’s seat. I’m the one creating them. Everything the future Arros did, every choice, every action, that’s going to be me making those decisions...?
The paradox threatened to break his mind.
Was there ever an original Arros? Or had it always been Finn, sent back by Madoc, living this life and creating the very memories he’d later glimpse in Brambleton?
A bootstrap paradox. A closed causal loop.
He set down the spoon, his appetite was now gone entirely.
Then what’s the point? If I’m just stumbling through this blindly, making it up as I go, learning nothing I didn’t already know—
No. Wait.
Finn forced himself to think more carefully.
The Brambleton memory had shown mastery. Profound mastery. Arros — future Arros, the version from that memory — had wielded Error with such level of precision that bordered on superhuman, and was practically supercomputer-level.
So somewhere between now and then, I figure it out. I become that.
Which meant the point wasn’t to observe. It was to experience. To live through whatever trials and discoveries led from confused fifteen-year-old to the being who could casually obliterate Calamity-class threats.
The path existed. He just had to walk it.
Even if every step would be his own.
Finn looked down at his hands again, these small, pale hands that didn’t belong to him but were his now. For however long this lasted.
How do I even begin?
.
.
.
The next two days passed in a haze of adjustment.
Finn barely left his room. His mother checked on him periodically, concerned about his quiet withdrawal, but he assured her he was fine. Just tired. Still recovering from the Awakening.
In truth, he was adjusting.
Everything about this body felt wrong. It was too small, too weak, too young. His muscle memory was off. At times he’d reach for things and misjudge the distance because his arms were shorter. He’d stand and feel unbalanced because his center of gravity had shifted.
And then, there was also magic...
Finn sat cross-legged on his bed late at night, extending his awareness toward the dense mana surrounding him. In his own time — as an Ossuarist — he’d never been able to sense this at all. But now it was unavoidable.
He tried the simplest exercise he remembered from his parents’ instruction back in his original timeline. Drawing mana inward, cycling it through his body, and pushing it back out.
The mana came eagerly. Too eagerly. It flooded into him like water through a broken dam, and he had to actively resist to keep from being overwhelmed.
Control, he reminded himself. Arcanists in my time spent months to years learning basic mana manipulation before moving on to spells... But here...?
Here, with this density, even a novice could accomplish basic effects with minimal training. The mana wanted to be shaped. It practically begged for intention to give it form.
Finn held his hand out toward the cup on his bedside table. The same cup that had skittered away when Arros first Awakened.
He focused. Visualized pulling the cup toward him. Projected that intention through mana...
The cup jerked backward, skidding away from him across the table.
Finn stared at it, then smiled wryly.
Error. Of course.
And it wasn’t a fragment anymore. There was no separate entity he had to consciously activate. This was just... him. His natural attunement. His concept made manifest through raw mana instead of fragment mechanics.
And it inverted results. Made reality respond incorrectly to his intentions.
He tried again, this time intentionally visualizing pushing the cup away.
It slid toward him.
He nodded slightly with a small smile.
I can work with this.
.
.
.
Three days after Awakening, Finn’s mother declared him well enough to travel. She and his father — a quiet, bookish man who’d barely spoken during Finn’s recovery — escorted him to Master Elwes’s home at the village edge.
The old Arcanist was exactly what one would expect. Ancient-looking, bearded, with eyes that had seen too many winters. His house smelled of herbs and old parchment, cluttered and untidy from random concocting sessions spurred by moments of sporadic inspiration.
"So you’ve Awakened," Master Elwes said without preamble. "Let’s see what we’re working with."
The testing was straightforward, almost similar to even the same Finn had been put through in his own time. Master Elwes produced a series of crystals, each attuned to different elements. Fire-red, water-blue, earth-brown, air-white. He had Finn hold each one while he muttered assessment spells.
None of the crystals responded. They remained inert in Finn’s hands.
"Curious," the old man muttered. "Try this one."
He produced a crystalline sphere containing what looked like a miniature lightning storm. Finn held it.
The lightning surged toward the sphere’s surface, drawn to his touch — but then scattered, dispersing into incoherence the moment it tried to interact with him.
Master Elwes’s eyebrows climbed higher.
Next came a small magical beast in a cage — some kind of rodent with overgrown incisors that glowed faintly. Beasts naturally avoided or approached Arcanists based on elemental affinities or beast taming affinity.
This one did both. It surged toward the cage bars when Finn approached, then recoiled violently, then surged forward again. Like it couldn’t decide whether he was prey or predator.
Finally, Master Elwes brought out a low-grade artifact — a ring that was made specifically for this purpose. One that should react with scalding heat to the slightest trace of control, and therefore show that the wearer had the affinity to influence artifacts.
Finn slipped it on his finger.
The ring flickered. Hot, then cold, then hot again, unable to settle on a temperature.
"Extraordinary," Master Elwes breathed, removing the ring carefully. "I’ve never seen attunement like this. It’s as if all the tools can’t decide how to categorize you."
He looked at Arros’s parents, then back at Finn.
"Your son isn’t attuned to any element. But he’s also attuned to all of them. Or rather..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "...everything is drawn to him as if he’s compatible, but then the interaction fails. Inverts. And produces unexpected results."
Finn kept his expression neutral, but internally he knew what exactly was going on. This matched his Error nature perfectly. Of course standard tests wouldn’t work. He made reality malfunction.
"Is that dangerous?" his mother asked, with worry clear in her voice.
"Not necessarily. But it’s unusual. Extremely unusual." Master Elwes stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I’ve heard of similar manifestations before, though never personally encountered one. Arcanists whose power operates on principles of negation or reversal."
He looked at Finn directly.
"You’ll need specialized training. My methods won’t work, they’re designed for elemental attunement. But..." He trailed off, considering. "Let me call in a favor."
.
.
.
The favor, it turned out, was to a Master-rank Arcanist who made recruitment rounds through the outer provinces.
"She’s scheduled to pass through in two weeks," Master Elwes explained after sending off a messenger bird. "House Valeris employs her to scout for exceptional talent. And you, young man, definitely qualify."
Finn’s father spoke for the first time, looking uncomfortable. "House Valeris? That’s one of the Great Houses. Surely they wouldn’t be interested in a village boy—"
"They’re interested in talent," Master Elwes interrupted. "And your son has it in abundance. This is an opportunity most families would kill for."
He turned to Arros’s mother and his expression softened.
"I still owe you for what you did for my Elara. Saving her from that fever when she was young. This..." He gestured vaguely. "This barely begins to repay that debt. And truthfully, I’ll be compensated well for bringing your son to House Valeris’s attention. So I still very much owe you."
Finn watched the exchange with detached interest. These people — Arros’s parents, Master Elwes — they felt distant. Like characters in a play. He knew he should feel something about leaving home, about being recruited by a Great House, about any of this.
But he didn’t.
There was only a hollow numbness where emotions should be.
And underneath that, a grim determination. One that bordered on obsession:
I just need to focus on finding defining moments. Experience them. Become strong enough that one of them triggers the tether and pulls me back to my own time...
Besides that, everything else is just... noise. Chains that will serve only to pull me down if I allow them the slightest chance...