Chapter 9 – Reach
Three years had passed since Thomas first entered the old iron gate of St. Theresia Orphanage.
He had grown—not just in height and age, but in the quiet gravity behind his eyes. The baby fat had faded from his cheeks, replaced with a sharper frame and an alertness that made Sister Mary often pause when she looked at him, as though searching for the boy beneath the old soul.
But Thomas was more focused on something else—something only he knew.
That morning, in the unused toolshed hidden from view behind the ivy-covered fence, he had done it.
He stood facing a small stone that sat innocently on a wooden shelf. For weeks, it had taunted him—just slightly out of reach, resting in a crack too narrow for his fingers to fit through.
He extended his hand toward it, palm up.
And with a breath—
pop.
The stone vanished from the shelf and appeared in his palm.
Not with a glide. Not with a pull.
But with a jump. Instant and clean.
Teleportation.
He stared at it for a long moment, then closed his fingers around it.
"I'll call you… Reach," he whispered, voice trembling not with fear, but with awe.
This wasn't a trick. This wasn't sleight of hand. This was space magic. His second true spell.
It hadn't come easily.
Unlike Blink—which had burst from him during that terrifying fall—Reach had required patience. Countless hours of trial and error. Imagining the object not moving, but being somewhere else. He had failed more times than he could count.
But today… it worked.
Reach – Object teleportation through intent-based targeting. Line of sight required. Effective range: ~5 meters. Mass limit: light. Repeat tests.
He wrote the note carefully in his hidden notebook, just below his entries about Blink.
And then he smiled.
Life at the orphanage moved on. But Thomas was beginning to see it differently.
Something was off.
Children disappeared.
It wasn't obvious at first—St. Theresia was full of comings and goings. But the longer Thomas lived there, the more he noticed. It always happened the same way: children aged six to ten. No fanfare. No farewell. Just… gone.
No one mentioned it.
Not even Johnny, who usually noticed everything.
One morning, a boy named Eric—older, funny, a little loud—was simply not at breakfast.
Thomas waited two days. Then asked.
"Where's Eric?"
Johnny blinked. "Maybe he got adopted?"
Thomas asked Sister Mary later that week, while folding hand towels beside her.
"Sister… where do the children go when they disappear?"
Sister Mary paused for half a second too long before smiling.
"Well, usually they're adopted. Sometimes transferred to other homes. I'm not always told. Miss Catherine manages those cases."
"Catherine?" he echoed.
She nodded. "She handles the children once they turn six. Paperwork, interviews, potential families… all of it. You'll be speaking with her once you turn six too."
Thomas's hands froze.
Soon, he'd be six.
He wouldn't stay in the nursery. He wouldn't be with the little ones. Or with her.
He swallowed hard.
"I… I'd still like to help, though. With the little ones. Even if I have to move rooms."
Sister Mary looked at him, eyes suddenly glassy.
"You'd do that?"
He nodded, voice low. "You do so much. And they still need someone to look after them."
Her lips curved gently. She reached out and placed a hand on his cheek.
"You're something special, Thomas. I don't say that lightly."
He smiled back, but it didn't reach his eyes.
That night, as he lay in bed, his mind spun.
Catherine.
Transfers.
Vanishing children.
His sixth birthday was fast approaching.
Later that week, he sat alone in the back of the orphanage garden, where weeds had claimed the soil and wild vines covered the stone walls. He brought a few small stones—each with a different weight or texture—and began testing again.
He placed a smooth pebble on top of a broken brick wall, three meters away.
He stared at it.
Remember how it feels, he told himself. Not flying. Not moving. Just changing location. Instant. Simple.
He reached out his hand.
pop.
The pebble appeared in his palm.
His grin was instant.
A few more repetitions confirmed the limit—just under five meters. But with enough focus, he could do it again and again. As long as he could see it, as long as it was small, he could make it jump into his hand—or drop it elsewhere with a reversed intent.
The thrill of progress raced through his chest.
He finally had two spells. Blink. And now, Reach.
Both space-based.
Both unique.
Both his.
But his studies weren't only magical.
Sister Mary, after noticing his unusual focus, had begun lending him books from the orphanage's tiny library. She taught him how to read fluently—first simple stories, then more complex texts. Science. History. Language.
He devoured them all.
By the time he was five, Thomas could solve puzzles and read advanced material far beyond his age. He mastered fractions, learned basic chemistry, and even dabbled in old mythology.
He loved it.
But most of all, he loved applying it.
One evening, as he read a book about magnetism, he noticed how the diagrams showed field lines and invisible forces pulling objects across space.
He looked at the stone on the table.
"What if Reach isn't pulling," he murmured, "but replacing the space it occupies with the space near me?"
He jotted the idea down immediately.
Magic wasn't just force. It was logic. Structure. Form.
He couldn't help but wonder: were there more principles like that, hidden within the mechanics of space?
If Blink could move himself… and Reach could move objects…
What came next?
That night, he sat by the window, knees tucked under his chin. Stars blinked gently overhead, like ancient eyes watching.
He whispered to the wind, "One day, I'll master all of it. I'll find out where those children went. I'll protect the people who care about me. Like Sister Mary. Like Johnny. Like Daisy."
And slowly, he closed his fingers.
The stone appeared again in his hand.
Reach.
Chapter 9 ends.