Chapter 29 – Contained Brilliance
For months, Thomas never stepped beyond the boundaries of the orphanage grounds. No more rooftops. No more hidden alleys or distant city echoes. Every bit of his magic practice was now contained—tight, refined, like a spring coiled perfectly within his own space.
He respected Sister Mary's request. And more than that, he trusted her. If she said it was dangerous out there, it was.
So he adjusted.
His movements sharpened. Blink became muscle memory. Switch flicked like instinct. Echo glided over rooms like a breeze. He practiced in laundry rooms, empty hallways, and sometimes—after everyone had gone to bed—in the quiet stillness of the chapel attic.
Training became internal. Quiet. Focused. Nothing flashy.
But with less room to explore, and curiosity boxed in, he found himself turning toward another pursuit: knowledge.
It was an obsession as much as a discipline. Thomas had long been ahead of his peers, but now he accelerated with intention. With precision. The textbooks Sister Mary found for him were absorbed faster than she could replace them. Science, logic, literature—he consumed it all with the same silent intensity he gave his magic.
At just under eleven years old, he had completed and passed three GCSE-equivalent subjects: Mathematics, Science, and English.
As a private candidate.
With Sister Mary's written recommendation.
And the official documentation marked him as: Too young for A-Level track enrollment.
Sister Mary cried when she saw the results. Not out of surprise—she had always known—but out of something deeper. Pride, yes. But also sorrow.
"You've worked so hard, my boy," she said, brushing his cheek gently with her thumb. "Too hard."
Thomas only smiled. "I wanted to do this."
"I know," she said, voice thick. "But children your age… they shouldn't need to prove themselves like this. Not so soon."
But even with his advanced scores, his heart remained where it had always been: among the children of St. Theresia.
To them, Thomas was a mentor. A kind older brother. Never boastful. Never distant. He sat cross-legged on the carpet to explain fractions, or stayed after dinner to guide spelling exercises. He made diagrams on napkins and taught science using broken toys and cardboard models.
They adored him. And more than that—they followed him.
Not because he demanded it. But because he listened. He cared. He taught like someone who believed every single one of them could shine just as bright.
The once rowdy Johnny now waited patiently during lessons. Daisy had started using "Thomas says" as a permanent part of her vocabulary. Even the older teens came to him when they struggled—asking questions about tests, grammar, or life itself.
Thomas never acted like he was above them.
He was one of them.
And though his abilities—both magical and mental—could have isolated him, they never did. Because he chose connection. He chose kindness. And the walls of St. Theresia, while small in size, held the warmth of a family that saw him not as a prodigy… but simply as Thomas.
Just Thomas.