Chapter 25 – Threshold
A lot had happened over the past two years.
Thomas sat quietly on the back porch of the orphanage, watching the younger children play on the grass. Their laughter echoed through the yard, full of life and warmth. But his thoughts were elsewhere—focused inward, settled deep in a place few boys his age even knew existed.
He had changed.
His ability to Blink—to teleport instantly—had evolved far beyond what it once was. Now he could shift to any location within the city, as long as he had seen it before, whether in person or through a photograph. A single breath, and he could move from the rooftop of the orphanage to the alley behind the bakery three blocks away. Silent. Seamless. Untraceable.
His Echo skill had grown sharper as well. With deep focus, he could now sense and visualize hidden spaces within a full kilometer radius. He could "see" through walls, into closed rooms, beneath floorboards, even track airflow in pipes and ventilation shafts. When he closed his eyes and reached out, the world responded with patterns and soft vibrations—like whispers returning to his call.
And then, there was the newest power.
It had emerged during one of the most terrifying moments of his life—when he had redirected a bullet mid-air.
He called it SWITCH.
Unlike Reach, which pulled objects into his hand, or Blink, which moved him, Switch allowed him to instantaneously relocate any non-living object—whether moving or still—from one point to another within a short range. No contact necessary. No line of sight. Just intent, and precision.
It was as if the space between two things simply folded and reversed, and the objects swapped places.
He could make a ball jump from the floor to a shelf, or cause a book and a cup to trade positions in mid-air.
Strengths:
– Instantaneous
– Works on moving objects
– Silent and undetectable
– Precise control of starting and ending points
Limitations:
– Only works on non-living things
– Range is limited to about five meters
– Fatiguing with repeated use
– Requires deep concentration; distraction may cause misfires
Thomas trained in secret—usually at night, in the old storage room behind the chapel. He drew chalk circles, marked distances, and tested his limits like a quiet scientist obsessed with discovering the rules of his own universe. Each success brought a small smile to his face. Not of pride—but of understanding. It felt like he was recovering pieces of himself, fragments of a deeper identity.
But he didn't only grow through magic.
He also studied—diligently and with enthusiasm. With support from Sister Mary and some older volunteers, he completed his primary school equivalency exam. His test results were remarkable, scoring above average in mathematics, logical reasoning, reading comprehension, and general sciences. His essays were neat, thoughtful, and insightful for his age. He had no magical advantage in this; it was his mind, his discipline, and his hunger to learn.
Sister Mary had once told him he didn't need to rush—he was still young. But he loved it. Learning gave him focus. Structure. Meaning.
What he loved even more… was helping.
He was no longer just a child in the orphanage—he had become a pillar in it.
He helped teach the younger children to read and write, to count, and to think. He became a sort of little teacher, patient and kind. He told stories after dinner, organized simple games that taught logic and memory, and sat with the quietest kids during the darkest nights.
He also took on chores when he could. Washing dishes. Cleaning floors. Sorting donations. Helping Sister Mary organize files or deliver supplies. It made him feel part of something real. Not as an obligation—but as a choice. He loved the way Sister Mary smiled when things went smoothly. He loved hearing the staff laugh as they worked. He loved walking through the halls and knowing he was useful.
This place… was no longer just a roof. It was family.
And now, there was one last thing he needed to do.
He had held it in for so long—his powers, his strangeness, his secrets. Not because he didn't trust Sister Mary. He trusted her more than anyone in the world.
But he had been afraid.
Afraid of what she might feel. Afraid she'd be burdened. Afraid she'd worry too much, or that it would change how she saw him.
But not anymore.
As the afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the kitchen, Thomas stood just beyond the doorway, watching Sister Mary hum quietly while preparing food. Her presence was calm and certain, like a lighthouse in fog. Familiar. Steady. Kind.
And now, he was ready.
This time, there was no doubt in his chest. No hesitation in his breath.
He would tell her.
Everything.