Magic’s power cannot be underestimated. The Endless Wave can lift mere mortals above the limits of their body and senses, but it can also drive them into depths of the universe that cannot be parsed. Powerful enough arcanists can survive this look into the foundations of reality, but unprepared casters will die horribly. Stepping foot in shallow water without preparation can still knock you off your feet. At least a fast-moving stream is unlikely to turn you inside out.

  Targrin turned away from the dangerous shelf, and tried to push down the instinctive reaction to this trove of dangerous literature. Lucian had not seemed worried, and the open presence of the books implied that this world did not have the same… concerns about magic as his did. If he panicked, he might give something away, so he instead shrugged, perhaps a little too hard, and then turned away.

  As he went, though, he felt something tugging at his gut. A slight pull behind his belly button, he wasn’t sure what the feeling was. It was like… his core didn’t want to leave the shelf. Perhaps the few titles he’d read had already done something to him?

  Just something else to tamp down and ignore for now, he thought.

  He did another lap around the library, and then stepped to the History and Heraldry section. He skimmed the titles here, then had an idea.

  “Lucian. Where is my family history? I cannot find it here.”

  “Hmm? Oh, that’s odd.” Lucian set down the exam, stood, and walked over to stand next to the boy. After a few moments, he reached out, tapped a book, and pulled it out. “Ah, here we go. You must have missed it!”

  Lucian handed the book off to the boy, then went back to the table to finish grading the exam. Targrin did not follow immediately. Instead, he held the hefty text in his hand, turning it over to inspect the bindings, the wear and tear, and the cover.

  “The Ironhearts…” He said, low and quiet. He ran a thumb over the family crest embossed on the front of the book: a scarlet background, with silver and gold embroidery around the perimeter. Silver vines and leaves twist about the edges as well, trailing up into the centre of the crest, where they form a vague shape that Targrin cannot recognise. Perhaps a rune, or some representational symbol of another sort.

  The book itself was… pristine. New, even. There were no creases in the spine from repeated openings, and the page edges were all the slight off-white of fresh paper. No discolouration from time here. Either this was a copy, a recreation… or this family was new.

  He brought the book back to the table, sat, and began to read.

  ~

  It did not take long for him to finish the family history. There were only about thirty pages in this book, with the rest left completely empty.

  Herestan Ironhart was granted land and title by King Igris in the county of Tonshire, in the year 347. The King had many titles, but one of them was Almighty Ruler of the Blessed Nation of Halaser. It wasn’t a country Targrin was familiar with, so either he really was in some other world, or he was far, far from his homeland.

  Most interesting, though, was the family lineage.

  Herestan Ironhart was married to one Elwyn Ironhart, and a page of the book was dedicated to a portrait of the two. Herestan was a young man with blond hair and green eyes. He had broad shoulders, a well muscled build, and there was an edge in the set of his face that Targrin had seen before, in the eyes of men he’d led into battle… and in men he’d slain on the battlefield. He was a warrior, a fighter.

  Elwyn Ironhart was a bit younger, with soft, brown hair and hazel eyes. The same eyes Wulfric, Elva, and Eadrin all had. She was a lovely woman. Then again, Targrin had no way of knowing if this was at all accurate to either of the real Ironharts: portraiture was an artform first, a record of truth second.

  He also had no idea if they were alive, until he found their list of children.

  Elwyn and Herestan had three children: Wulfric, Elva, and Eadrin. Their birth dates were listed, but Targrin noticed that the family name was not listed next to any of these children. He had no idea if it was implied, or intentional. A quick skim forward found no further entries for any of the children, aside from this one reference.

  The birth dates for Elva and Wulfric were identical: Sunday the 30th, March, year 348. Eadrin’s was Tuesday the 3th, June, year 350. Targrin then assumed that the current year was around ten years after his own birth year. His thoughts, though, did not linger on that for long.

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  Elva and Wulfric are twins, and my elder siblings. I thought as much, but now I’m sure… He thought again of the strange encounter with Elva in the woods, and cupped his chin, thinking. She seemed odd. Wulfric is a bit of a fool, but a familiar one. I’ve known thousands of Wulfrics. But Elva… I will have to be careful with her.

  After a moment, he snapped the book shut and carried it back to the shelf, to slot it back into its place. His eyes roved, up and down the shelf, scanning titles, but… without more context he had no idea where to even start. Then, after a moment, he blinked, and snapped his head around, and marched over to the Court Documentation shelf.

  It took him about an hour, but finally he found what he was looking for: expense reports. The manor, this Ironhart home, had staff but not everyone lived here. Servants, guards, they needed some record of who they were, and how they were paid. He didn’t care about the details, but at last he had what he needed: the most recently completed report was for April, year 361. Unless reports were filed away a few months at a time and not month by month, then it must be May, 361. Eadrin turns eleven soon.

  ~

  When Lucian finished with the test, he set down the quill he was using and turned around in his chair to spot his charge. What he found was not a boy quietly reading. Instead… the young master was doing push-ups. The tutor frowned, confused, but before he could say anything, Targrin spoke up.

  “Are you finished then? I’ve other things I’d rather be doing.” Targrin’s voice shook a little, sweat dripping down his nose and limbs shaking as he pushed himself up again.

  Lucian’s mouth quirked and he stood, stretching, and said “I suppose we could… go over this test.”

  “No need. Simply tell me what I got wrong.” Targrin struggled, snarled, and dropped slightly. He planted a knee, then sat up, stood, and set about trying out a few squats.

  “Well yes, that is what ‘going over this test’ would entail. Could you come and-”

  “I’m busy here.”

  “Alright. You… did startlingly well. Some of your word associations and definitions were… interesting. I’ll need to assign you some more vocabulary work, but your math reasoning was exceptional. You were struggling with some of this last time, and… well… if I didn’t know better I’d assume you cheated somehow. If Wulfric had suddenly shown this kind of… growth, I’d have demanded he take it again. But I know you well enough, that isn’t something you’d do.”

  Lucian said it, cool and familiar… and goading. There was a pressure in the man’s voice that Targrin didn’t quite understand. He never paid much attention to children or how to interact with them, so he had no idea that Lucian was attempting to compliment Eadrin while also playing on his sense of decency to prompt him to come clean. Targrin simply shrugged.

  “I suppose it just clicked. Is that all?” Targrin was doing better with the squats than the push-ups and fell into a smoother rhythm.

  “Yes. I can take a hint, Master Eadrin. I’ll leave your assignments here and let you be.” Lucian did as he said and left the library. Targrin finished this light workout, skimmed these ‘assignments’ left for him, and wrinkled his nose. Everything but the vocabulary work he tossed in the trash, and the rest he left on the table, then left the library himself.

  Passing between the Warfare and Arcanerit shelves, he again felt that slight, twisting tug in his gut, and his eyes flicked to the latter shelf. He forced his eyes away and moved out into the manor’s halls.

  ~

  Dinner was had, and Targrin was quiet throughout. Cenric, Lucian, his two siblings, and he were the only ones present at the large dining table. Cenric and Lucian clearly were not servants, but they did not sit at the head of the table. Space at the ends was set with plates and cutlery, but no food was set there. Cenric and Lucian both sat to the right and left, respectively, of one of these seats, with Wulfric and Targrin on Cenric’s side and Elva on Lucian’s. There were not many empty seats: one on Targrin’s side and two on the other.

  Fascinating. After a few minutes, Targrin broke the silence.

  “When does father return?”

  “Ha! Little brother misses his dad?” Wulfric snickered and reached over to ruffle Targrin’s hair. Targrin’s eyes flared with annoyance, but he did nothing but reach up, smoothly, and push the hand away.

  “It will be another few weeks, Master Eadrin.” Lucian said, gentle. “I’m sure they’ll be home in time for your birthday.”

  Perfect. A few weeks was a timeline. They meant more than one: presumably both Master and Mistress Ironhart. And his birthday was soon. Then it must be mid May, or early June. Targrin nodded slightly at Lucian, then went back to eating. No one else spoke much, save Wulfric briefly discussing lessons with Elva. Apparently they were both learning, mostly, the same things as far as reading, mathematics, and history went. Cenric said nothing, and Lucian piped in on the twins’ conversation.

  Eventually, Targrin finished his food, and set to idly toying with his fork: twisting it around in his right hand, spinning it idly. It was something to do while the slight chatter continued and drew out the evening, but as the evening wore on, he felt the weariness of the day rising up. His eyes drooped, and he hissed, sat up, and shook his head.

  Almost as if on cue, servants arrived to clean up, and escort them all up to get clean and off to bed. Targrin got around not knowing where his room was by asking a servant to take a pitcher of lemon water up to his room, and then skulking about the kitchen, out of sight, until she carried it up. He followed her up, and slipped into the bedroom… and dove face first onto the nearest reasonably flat surface to fall into a deep, exhausted slumber.