Chapter 30 – A Question Without an Answer
With everything he had accomplished—magical or otherwise—one question inevitably began to rise. It came from Sister Mary, from a kind-eyed social worker, even from the older children who looked up to him.
"So, Thomas… what do you want to be when you grow up?"
At first, he laughed it off. It felt like such a simple question.
But it wasn't.
That night, as he sat by the window of his room, legs tucked beneath him and a half-read book forgotten on the bed, the question returned. He whispered it aloud to the silent room.
"What do I want to be?"
He had never truly considered it. His focus had always been on doing his best. On growing stronger, smarter, sharper. His goals were never shaped around a title or a career.
Back in his previous life, things had been clearer. In that world—one ruled by arcane monopolies and corrupt nobles—he'd had no magic, no noble blood, no power. So he had pursued wealth. Ruthlessly. Strategically. With money came leverage. And with leverage, he could shape policy, pull strings, and protect what he cared about.
That was how he survived.
But now… here? In this world?
He had magic. A type of magic no one else seemed to understand.
He had intellect. Education. Compassion.
So what should he become?
An inventor? A scientist? Someone who fuses magic with the innovation of the modern world?
The possibilities spun around him like constellations waiting to be mapped. But they all felt… distant. Detached.
He stared out the window at the orphanage grounds below. The courtyard. The faint, warm light of the dining hall. The sound of children laughing just beyond the hallway.
And there it was. The one answer that mattered.
He wanted to protect this. Not just the building. Not just Sister Mary. But everything they had built together. The people. The love. The fragile safety that so many had tried to destroy.
He didn't know what job would come from that. What title. What path.
But if his magic meant anything—it meant he could choose.
And he would choose to protect. To strengthen. To grow alongside the family he had finally found.
As his thoughts drifted deeper into themselves, a sudden tapping sound interrupted him.
Tuk. Tuk. Tuk.
Thomas blinked. Then turned toward the window.
A bird.
No. Not a bird.
A large, serious-looking owl was perched on the sill, staring at him with golden eyes. Its beak tapped again against the glass.
In its talon, a letter.
Thomas opened the window cautiously. The owl flapped once, entered his room like it owned the place, dropped the envelope on his lap, then flew out again into the night.
The envelope was heavy. Cream-colored parchment. The ink was an unusual green, almost shimmering. He turned it over.
And paused.
Written in elegant handwriting:
Mr. Thomas Space
Top Bunk, North Corner Room, St. Theresia Orphanage
London, England
He frowned.
That wasn't just his room.
That was the exact placement of his bed.
Who… would even know that?
He sense with Echo. No pranksters hiding in the hallway.
The other kids did like to play tricks—but this?
This was… different.
This was precise.
He ran his fingers across the seal on the back—deep red wax with a curious symbol. A crest. A shield. A lion… a badger?
Thomas narrowed his eyes.
Whatever this was, it wasn't a joke.
It was an invitation.
But to what?