17 - Training Arc-ish

THIRD POV

Thaddeus had one simple wish: a good nap—a blissful, uninterrupted moment of peace. But the universe, "fate", or maybe just his subconscious, had other plans.

Because instead of sweet, undisturbed sleep, he was once again dragged into the depths of his mind—straight into his presence of him.

The Doctor. (Not the one with the big blue time travelling box of course)

That old, worn-out version of himself. The one with too many regrets, too much wisdom, and an exhausting habit of appearing when Thaddeus least wanted to deal with him.

And there he was, unmasked this time, calmly sipping a cup of tea as if they were at some fancy afternoon gathering instead of the psychological battlefield that was Thaddeus' mind.

Thaddeus groaned. "Oh, come on! I didn't even use it this time! Why am I here? And more importantly, why are you drinking tea?"

The Doctor set his cup down with a soft clink and regarded Thaddeus with that same knowing, soul-piercing gaze.

"Because some things are inevitable, regardless of your choices." He took another sip, pausing dramatically, because of course he did. "And because it's Earl Grey. You should really develop better taste, by the way."

Thaddeus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, real deep. And what, exactly, am I supposed to learn from this forced therapy session?"

The Doctor exhaled slowly, folding his hands over his cane—because he naturally had one of those, too.

"You are neglecting your training."

Thaddeus scoffed. "Training? Do you mean the 'become an all-powerful, all-knowing mage with an existential crisis' kind of training? Yeah, hard pass."

"And yet, you'll find yourself back here, over and over again, until you take it seriously."

"Yeah? And what happens if I don't?"

The Doctor gave a sad smile, "Then history will repeat itself. And trust me, you don't want that."

That shut him up. For a moment, at least.

Because deep down, beneath all the sarcasm and bravado, Thaddeus knew... he was right.

"Good point," Thaddeus muttered, stretching his arms before settling into his usual—if you could call it that—meditation stance.

Now, when most people think of meditation, they picture something peaceful. Crossed legs, steady breathing, maybe some deep introspection.

Thaddeus? Oh, no. That was boring.

Instead, he levitated in mid-air, legs folded and arms resting weightlessly at his sides. His entire body was entwined in thin, golden runic chains that floated and shifted like living scripts, inscribed with an ancient language that even he only partially understood. His hair flowed as if submerged underwater, drifting with unseen currents. His breathing? Completely erratic—sometimes slow, sometimes rapid, mimicking the unpredictable tempo of his own magic. And then there were the floating shards of raw energy circling him like planets in orbit, unstable and shifting randomly between elements—ice, fire, wind, and something deeper, darker.

A mess, but a functional mess.

"I always forget time is a joke when I'm here," Thaddeus sighed, eyes flickering between gold and violet as he tried to center himself.

And for a moment—maybe a minute, maybe fifteen thousand ticking cycles of nothingness—it was fine.

Then, as expected, he broke.

"You absolute moron," the Doctor exhaled, and before Thaddeus could react, whack! The old man's cane slammed directly into the top of his head.

"OW—WHAT THE HELL?!" Thaddeus flailed, nearly throwing himself out of his own meditation.

The Doctor, unmoved, tapped his cane against the ground. "You are not letting your Primal Matrix circulate through your spiritual form properly. Instead, you're letting it run wild inside your body like an unsupervised toddler hyped up on sugar and bad decisions."

Thaddeus blinked, rubbing his head. "Okay, rude, but—"

"Do you want to die of Mana Poisoning? Because at this rate, that is exactly what's going to happen!" The Doctor cut him off, now fully in lecture mode. He paced back and forth, pointing at Thaddeus as if he were the biggest disappointment since decaf coffee. "You think you can just let raw energy roam unchecked inside you? That's not control; that's negligence! Do you even understand what happens when you overload?"

Thaddeus gave a slow shrug. "I mean, theoretically—"

"You combust, you idiot!"

Silence.

Thaddeus looked down at his arms, now faintly glowing with unstable energy, and back at the Doctor, who was glaring at him like a disappointed teacher ready to throw the whole student away.

"...Okay, so maybe I should actually listen to you this time."

"Maybe?" The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. "By the Aeons, I swear, you are a walking hazard. Do you like playing chicken with death?"

Thaddeus grinned. "Nah. Death's just not good at catching me."

The Doctor groaned. This was going to take a while.

---

It did take a while.

Because, of course, after the lecture came the training. And, as expected, Thaddeus got absolutely wrecked for the nth time.

At this point, the tally of his failures was starting to resemble a grocery receipt—long, painful, and making him question all his life choices.

The Doctor rubbed his temple. "At this rate, you should stop even considering going to Hogwarts. Even their dropouts would outclass you. Hell, you'd probably set yourself on fire before you could even wave a wand properly."

Thaddeus groaned, rolling onto his back after being thrown again by an explosion of his own doing. "I never said I was going, old man. I haven't even made up my mind yet."

"Well, make up your mind faster—preferably before you incinerate yourself. You even promised that Ol' Dumbledore you'll think about it," the Doctor said dryly, tapping his cane against the ground.

Thaddeus forced himself upright, shaking off the lingering sting of magical backlash. "Alright, again."

This time, he wove his fingers through the air, glowing sigils forming at his fingertips. Chain Ignition. A high-risk, high-reward technique—two runes of Runespark, connected by a thin, near-invisible beam of fire. Anything that passed through the beam? Instant detonation at both ends.

The burning glyphs hovered in the air, unstable but controlled. The fiery link between them shimmered, pulsing with raw power.

Thaddeus smirked. Now we're talking.

The Doctor, unimpressed, merely lifted a single hand. And in response—True Ice.

A brutal counter.

Where Runespark was fire in its most wild, most ferocious state, True Ice was absolute stillness. It was not just cold—it was a concept, the absence of heat itself.

And the Doctor wielded it like second nature.

A single, elegant motion of his fingers summoned Frostbind, a sub-form of Hydro magic that could freeze the moisture in the air itself, locking down movement before an opponent could even react.

Thaddeus had exactly one second to process that before the whole battlefield turned into a frozen wasteland.

The runes of his Chain Ignition flickered—then shattered. The fiery beam connecting them? Extinguished.

And then came the real pain.

The Doctor, moving with zero wasted motion, snapped his fingers. The frost that had crept into the ground exploded upward in jagged spikes of crystalline blue.

Thaddeus barely twisted out of the way in time, ice shards slicing through his coat, his magic thrown into disarray.

"Think fast, boy." The Doctor smirked, stepping forward like a predator closing in on prey. His cane twirled in one hand, lazy and relaxed, but Thaddeus knew better.

The old man was toying with him.

"Oh, screw you!" Thaddeus growled, rolling to his feet, fire sparking in his palms again.

The Doctor chuckled. "By all means—try again."

As the battle raged on—if it could even be called a battle, considering Thaddeus was mostly on the receiving end of magical humiliation—he cycled through spells in rapid succession.

Runespark? Countered. Frostbind? Ineffective. Earthen Pillars? ...Let's just say summoning jagged rock spikes against someone who freezes the ground itself was not his best moment.

Still, Thaddeus wasn't about to just accept the beating.

"You're seriously telling me you want me to go to Hogwarts?" He ducked under a wave of ice, rolling to the side. "Like, me? The guy who burned down a training field because he miscalculated a fire rune?"

The Doctor, effortlessly weaving his spells, sighed dramatically. "Oh, please. The castle itself has probably survived centuries of far worse students than you." With a flick of his wrist, a gust of wind kicked up, shoving Thaddeus backward. "Besides, it's an opportunity. One that most people would kill for."

Thaddeus, barely catching himself, scoffed. "Yeah? And what am I supposed to do? Wave a wand and hope for the best? Not my style, old man."

"Then adapt," the Doctor shot back. "You cling to this idea of what magic is, but magic is limitless—it is what you make it." He twirled his cane, runic symbols glowing along its length. "A staff may suit you better, sure. But you know what suits you best? Skill. And right now, your skill is laughable."

Thaddeus gritted his teeth, irritation sparking hotter than the embers in his palm. "Oh yeah? Well, this is practical."

With a sharp motion, he slammed his hands together, creating a rapid thermal shift—Runespark in one hand, Frostbind in the other. The contrast sent a concussive shockwave outward, blasting forward in a raw burst of energy.

For a second, it looked like it might actually do something.

Then the Doctor blinked—not in surprise, but in sheer disappointment—and casually raised a hand.

A barrier, so thin it was almost invisible, shimmered into existence.

The blast of opposing elements hit it—and dispersed, vanishing like a candle snuffed out in the wind.

A beat of silence.

Then, before Thaddeus could process what had happened, the Doctor flicked his cane.

A rune flared to life at its tip.

And then?

Boom!

A precise, perfectly measured force spell slammed into Thaddeus' face, launching him off his feet and into a very unfortunate meeting with the ground.

Flat on his back, ears ringing, and dignity in shambles, Thaddeus let out a groan.

"...You did that on purpose."

The Doctor leaned over him, smirking. "Oh, obviously."

Thaddeus groaned louder, covering his face. "I hate you."

"Excellent." The Doctor clapped his hands. "Now get up. We're doing it again."

The atmosphere shifted.

One second, the Doctor was smirking, teasing, practically toying with Thaddeus.

The next?

The air cracked with something deeper than magic—something heavier. A presence that pressed against reality itself.

Purple and violet energy bled from the Doctor's form, tendrils of raw power curling at his fingertips, flickering like embers yet colder than the void. His expression, once filled with amusement, hardened into something unreadable.

"Let me make something very clear, boy," the Doctor said, his voice smooth but carrying a weight that made the space between them shrink. "This is not about power. This is not about who can throw the biggest spell. This is about efficiency. About control. Because brute force?" He flicked a hand, and an unseen force slammed into Thaddeus' chest, knocking him back a step. "Is a child's game."

Thaddeus quickly rebalanced himself, gritting his teeth. "Forcibly training me is out of the question then?" He huffed, rolling his shoulders. "Why exactly?"

The Doctor didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he moved.

In an instant, the distance between them collapsed. The Doctor was suddenly there, right in front of Thaddeus, cane raised.

Thaddeus barely had time to react, throwing up a Frostbind wall—only for the Doctor to tap his cane against it. Just a tap.

The wall shattered like glass.

Thaddeus swore, jumping back and sending a Runespark arc at the Doctor's feet. The moment it touched the ground, flames erupted, spiraling upward in a controlled explosion meant to keep the Doctor in place.

The Doctor, unfazed, stepped through the fire. No hesitation. No burning. Just—through.

Thaddeus switched tactics. With a sharp motion, he slammed his palm against the ground, activating Earthen Grasp—a spell designed to summon stone hands from below to restrain an enemy.

The Doctor didn't dodge.

No, he let the hands grab him.

For exactly one second.

Then, with nothing more than a flick of his wrist, a pulse of violet energy disintegrated the spell—turning the summoned stone into nothing but dust.

That was when it hit Thaddeus.

"Shit." He exhaled sharply, watching as the Doctor advanced again, still not attacking, merely dismantling everything he threw at him. "I forgot you aren't even using Arcanum."

Because this?

This wasn't high-tier magic. This wasn't spell layering, rune forging, or anything remotely resembling raw power.

This was refinement. Precision.

The Doctor was barely exerting anything—no Arcanum, no complex formations—just the absolute mastery of his craft.

"Correct," the Doctor mused, adjusting his gloves. "And tell me, boy—how do you plan to surpass me if this is all you can manage?"

Thaddeus, now sweating, straightened his posture. He clenched his fists, the embers of his Runespark still crackling in his palm.

He took a breath.

Then, for the first time, he didn't just react.

He thought.

The Doctor had no interest in raw force. No interest in an extended match.

Which meant...

Thaddeus smirked. "Okay, old man. Let's change the game then."

And with that, he stepped forward—not to attack, not to cast—

But to feint.

Because if efficiency was the key?

Then, it was time to get creative.

Thaddeus blinked—disappearing from one spot and reappearing behind the Doctor in an instant.

It was perfect. Flawless. Clean.

And yet, before Thaddeus could even think of capitalizing on the moment, the Doctor simply turned his head ever so slightly, already aware.

"Now that's entertaining," the Doctor mused, his voice carrying the smooth, amused lilt of a mentor watching a toddler take their first wobbly steps. "Using my favorite technique. The one I developed."

Thaddeus exhaled sharply. "You don't own blinking."

The Doctor chuckled. "I don't own breathing either, yet I do it better than you."

Thaddeus gritted his teeth and blinked again. Left side!

The Doctor was already there.

Blink. Right side.

The Doctor casually took a step forward, dodging without even trying.

Blink.

Thaddeus reappeared upside down, slamming into the ground like a dropped sack of potatoes.

The Doctor sighed, adjusting his gloves. "Ah, yes. The fabled Blink Technique. Known for its elegance, speed, and, in your case, its remarkable ability to make its user look like a malfunctioning NPC."

Thaddeus groaned, pushing himself up. "Give me a break, I just started using it."

"And yet," the Doctor waved a hand lazily, "you wield it with all the grace of a concussed pigeon."

Thaddeus growled, narrowing his eyes. "Alright, old man, I got this now."

He blinked—attempting to reappear right behind the Doctor's blind spot.

Instead, he miscalculated.

Thaddeus blinked straight into a wall.

Face-first.

The Doctor didn't even try to suppress his laughter this time. "Magnificent. Truly, a display worthy of legend."

Thaddeus peeled himself off the wall with a groan, rubbing his nose. "I swear it wasn't supposed to go like that."

"Ah, yes, let me guess." The Doctor stroked his chin theatrically. "It worked in your head?"

"Yes!"

"Astounding. Perhaps you should fight your battles inside your head then, because out here, you are one teleport away from becoming a permanent stain on the floor."

Thaddeus huffed. "One more try."

Blink!

This time, he actually landed a step behind the Doctor without tripping over himself.

There was silence.

Thaddeus smirked. "Ha! See? Progress."

The Doctor did not turn around. He merely raised his cane and smacked it backward, whacking Thaddeus directly in the stomach.

Thaddeus collapsed onto his knees, wheezing.

"Truly," the Doctor mused, "an inspiring display of improvement. I almost hesitated that time."

Thaddeus fell onto his back, staring at the endless void of his mindscape. "I hate you."

The Doctor leaned over him, grinning. "Ah, but you needed this lesson. Otherwise, you'd be out there blinking straight into traffic like a lost housecat."

Thaddeus groaned, covering his face with his arm. "Fine. Teach me properly then."

The Doctor's smirk softened, just a little. "Finally, you say something sensible."

And so, the suffering continued.

Thaddeus, now bruised in places he didn't even know could be bruised, blinked once more, determined to nail this down. He disappeared from one spot and reappeared a few meters away, slightly off balance but still standing.

Progress.

The Doctor, arms crossed, observed like an art critic evaluating a child's finger painting. "Hmmm. Slightly less tragic. You almost looked competent that time."

Thaddeus groaned but didn't let up. He clenched his fists, summoning Runespark in one palm and True Ice in the other, his fingers crackling with the fusion of both elements. He had an idea—a stupid, risky, probably-going-to-blow-up-in-his-face idea.

He exhaled. Blink.

Reappearing mid-air behind the Doctor, he twisted, swinging both elements together—Runespark igniting into a fiery arc, True Ice forming jagged spikes in its wake.

The Doctor turned his head slightly. Then he sighed.

With an effortless flick of his cane, a pulse of raw force dispersed the attack like a candle in the wind.

Thaddeus blinked away before the counter could send him flying, reappearing on the ground, panting.

The Doctor raised a brow. "Not bad. Almost made me move."

Thaddeus grinned. "That was me holding back."

The Doctor smirked. "Ah. Then, by all means, try again. Let's see if you can do something that actually impresses me."

Challenge accepted.

Thaddeus blinked behind the Doctor, feinting left—then, before he even fully reappeared, he blinked again, circling around to his right side. As soon as he landed, he slammed his hands together, Runespark and True Ice colliding—sending out a shockwave of steam, heat, and frost.

For a moment, it looked promising.

For a moment.

Then the Doctor walked through it. Unbothered. Unscathed.

Thaddeus stared. "Are you serious?!"

The Doctor dusted off his sleeve. "Was that supposed to do something? Should I pretend to be impressed? I can, if it helps your self-esteem."

Thaddeus growled and tried again.

Blink—Runespark—True Ice—Boom.

The explosion rattled the ground, sending shards of ice and waves of fire outward in a synchronized blast.

The Doctor sidestepped it. Casually.

"Alright, that one should have hit you." Thaddeus narrowed his eyes.

The Doctor tilted his head. "Should it have? Because here I stand, perfectly fine, while you, dear student, are running dangerously low on mana."

Thaddeus blinked a few times, feeling the strain settle in. Damn it. He was getting better, but the Doctor's reaction speed—or rather, his lack of a need to react—was ridiculous.

"Alright," Thaddeus admitted, catching his breath. "I need a new strategy."

"Finally, a thought emerges." The Doctor smirked. "Care to use that underdeveloped brain of yours before you collapse from mana exhaustion?"

Thaddeus wiped the sweat from his brow. "One more round."

The Doctor hummed, intrigued. "I admire your recklessness. Proceed."

This time, Thaddeus didn't go straight for brute force. He focused on efficiency—chaining together his blinks with split-second spellcasting.

Blink. A small spark of Runespark was left behind.

Blink. A shard of True Ice was embedded in the ground.

Blink. A thin, almost invisible thread of frost linked them.

The Doctor's eyes flickered.

Good.

Thaddeus landed, hand raised.

Detonate.

The chain reaction ignited, fire and ice collapsing toward the center point in a sudden, pressurized burst.

For the first time since this started, the Doctor took a step back.

Just one.

But it was enough.

There was silence.

Then, the Doctor chuckled. "Now that... that was interesting."

Thaddeus, exhausted but grinning, wiped his hands off on his coat. "So, was that good enough, or should I start writing my will?"

The Doctor gave him an approving nod. "Keep this up, and you might actually survive this little quest of yours."

"That almost sounded like a compliment," Thaddeus teased.

"Don't push your luck." The Doctor smirked. "Again."

---

Thaddeus had been at it for what felt like an eternity. Weeks upon weeks of relentless training, countless spells cast, infinite failures, and only a few breakthroughs that barely kept him sane. Yet in the real world? A mere four to six hours had passed. The time dilation was brutal—he had lived through nine to thirty-one days in his mind while his body remained unmoved in reality.

And what was his reward for all that effort? A bitch slap.

Not just any slap, though. The Doctor, in his infinite wisdom and unparalleled pettiness, swung his cane through the air with the grace of a maestro, and in a fraction of a second, the entire landscape shifted. The sky twisted, the ground cracked, mountains rearranged themselves like chess pieces, and Thaddeus? He was sent flying like a ragdoll hurled into oblivion.

By the time the dust settled, he was sprawled out, staring at the sky, questioning every decision that had led him to this moment.

Then, the Doctor had the audacity to praise him.

"Good progress," he said casually, twirling his cane. "You're getting there. Still an absolute disappointment, but at least you're less of one now."

Thaddeus groaned, rolling onto his side. "So... does this mean you're finally gonna let me wake up and digest my so-called progress in peace?"

The Doctor leaned on his cane, unimpressed. "Oh, absolutely not."

With a snap of his fingers, runes glowed in the air, and a chalkboard appeared out of nowhere, covered in diagrams, equations, and lecture notes that made Thaddeus' brain short-circuit just by looking at them.

"Since you have so graciously neglected your training in the real world, I will now lecture you—thoroughly, meticulously, and without mercy—on every mistake you have made. And if you so much as yawn, I will reset this entire session and start from the top."

Thaddeus, still lying on the ground, let out the most exhausted sigh of his life. "I fucking hate it here."

Thaddeus barely had time to sit up before the Doctor, in all his smug, cane-twirling wisdom, delivered the final verdict.

"Now that you have successfully failed to meet the requirements," the Doctor declared, voice dripping with theatrical disappointment, "you are to do it ALL. OVER. AGAIN! But in the next session, of course. I wouldn't want to interfere with your little quest to save your friend's mother. Wouldn't that be tragic?"

Thaddeus, sprawled on the ground, let out the most pathetic groan humanly possible. "Oh, come on! Cut me some slack, old man—"

ZAP!

A crackle of purple lightning shot from the Doctor's fingertips, striking Thaddeus square in the chest and launching him five feet back. He coughed, smoke rising from his now slightly singed jacket.

"WHAT THE HELL, DOC!?" Thaddeus coughed, voice hoarse. "That's ABUSE! I'M REPORTING YOU TO—TO—uh... Whatever!"

The Doctor tapped his chin in mock contemplation. "Mmm... Yes, do let me know when you find that is. I'll be sure to file my own complaints about your sheer lack of competence."

Thaddeus shot him a glare, brushing soot off his clothes. "Real mature. But that still doesn't explain why we can't meet like this all the time. You clearly have no problem zapping me out of my nap whenever you feel like it—what's stopping you from just dropping in and training me 24/7?"

The Doctor's smirk faded slightly, "Because I'm only here for one reason, boy. I'm training you so you can survive. That's it. That's all. The moment you get strong enough to stand on your own, I'll be gone."

Thaddeus frowned, rubbing his chest where the lightning had hit. "Gone? What do you mean, gone? You make it sound like you're dying or something."

The Doctor sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Because I will be. I'm not your guardian angel, Thaddeus. I'm not even really 'me' anymore. I'm just... a fragment. A sliver of what I once was, trapped here, lingering only because I have unfinished business."

That didn't sit right with Thaddeus. His brow furrowed. "That doesn't make any sense—if you're me, then how do you not remember anything? How do you not know what the hell happened to us?"

The Doctor gave him a sideways glance, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "Because I am not you. I was you. And 'was' is a very different thing from 'am.'"

Thaddeus opened his mouth to argue, but the Doctor wasn't finished. He leaned on his cane, eyes gleaming with a strange mix of amusement and melancholy.

"The past lives we leave behind are just that—past. I have no memories beyond the time I lived as the Doctor. No recollection of what came before or after. I don't know how our story ends, and I don't know how it began. I only know what happened when I was me, and when I was me, I made sure to leave something behind. A shadow, a remnant, a voice in your head that would kick your sorry ass into gear when you needed it most."

He gestured toward Thaddeus with his cane. "That's why I'm here, boy. Not because I'm some all-knowing guide. Not because I have answers. But because I was once standing exactly where you are now, and if I can make sure you don't screw up as badly as I did? Then maybe... you'll do better than me."

Thaddeus felt like a thick fog. He swallowed. For the first time since their meeting, he didn't have a smartass remark.

"So what happens when I don't need you anymore?" he asked quietly.

The Doctor chuckled, though there was something almost sad in it. "Then I vanish. And you take the next step alone."

For some reason, that made Thaddeus more unsettled than any of the Doctor's previous roasts ever had.

The Doctor exhaled slowly, and then he looked at Thaddeus—really looked at him.

"Listen." His voice had dropped to something quieter. "I've made a lot of mistakes. More than I can count. So for once, just—shut up and hear me out."

Thaddeus did as he was told.

"The reason I became the Doctor," the man continued, "was because the world we 'might've' grown up in was beyond saving. It no longer gave mercy to those who deserved it. It crushed the weak. It devoured the hopeful. And it forged people like me—people who had to become something else just to survive it. But, of course..." The Doctor's voice took on a sharp edge. "'He' was always there. Watching in the dark. Waiting." Thaddeus stiffened. There was something in the way the Doctor said it.

"Waiting for what?" Thaddeus asked cautiously.

The Doctor's violet gaze flickered with something unreadable. "Waiting for you. Waiting for The Thaddeus to meet his prophecy."

Thaddeus frowned. "Prophecy? Oh, great. Let me guess. Some cosmic fate bullshit that says I'm supposed to be the chosen one, save the world, blah blah blah—"

"No." The Doctor cut him off, voice flat. "It was never about saving the world."

He took a slow breath before reciting, his voice taking on the cadence of something ancient, something etched into time itself:

"Wait a moment—what sort of cheat code are you muttering under your breath there?" Thaddeus asked, leaning back with a faint smirk.

---

"By the claw of the Shattered Star, their resolve shall be gnawed,

bone-deep, as roots strangle the tombs of kings forgotten.

Those bound by blood or vow shall be reaped by the Sickle of Silence,

their voices drowned in the well where light goes to die.

Their sanity shall unravel, thread by thread,

upon the Loom of the Forgotten God—its warp: lament, its weft: teeth.

A crown of hollowed eyes shall weigh upon their brow,

and in its black reflection, they shall see the rot they become.

For they are the blade honed by fate to scourge the crawling rot,

the 'cleansing' wrought not in fire, but in the sigh of collapsing worlds.

All they cherish shall curdle to ash in their grasp,

for the 'parasites' they purge... are their own trembling hands.

When the moon drowns in its own black blood,

they shall tread the ash-choked plains where time's river runs dry.

There, at the Hollowed Throne, He awaits—

the One Who Waits in the Wound.

His voice: the crackle of spines unspooled.

His gaze: the void where hope is rent, screaming, from its husk.

To meet Him is to know the lie of 'ending'—

for His hunger is eternal, and His feast... has only just begun."

Thus speaks the Blackened Crown. Pray it is not heard.

---

A chill crawled up Thaddeus' spine. Not because of the words themselves—but because they felt familiar. Like an old whisper at the back of his mind.

"So, what?" Thaddeus tried to keep his voice steady. "That's it? Just a fancy way of saying I'm doomed?"

The Doctor tilted his head slightly, an unreadable smirk tugging at his lips. "Depends. Do you believe in fate?"

Thaddeus clenched his jaw. "No."

"Then prove it." The Doctor's voice was calm, steady. "Break the prophecy."

Thaddeus scoffed. "Oh yeah, no pressure or anything."

The conversation shifted into something heavier—something neither of them wanted to fully admit but knew was inevitable.

"Alright, then tell me," Thaddeus crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "Who the hell is 'Him'?"

The Doctor leaned on his cane, shaking his head with a tired chuckle. "I wish I could give you an answer. I really do. But if I knew, do you think we'd be having this conversation?"

Thaddeus exhaled sharply. "Great. So you're saying I'm stuck with some mysterious, all-powerful asshole watching my every move, and I don't even get to know his name? Fantastic. Just what I needed."

"I'm saying," the Doctor interrupted, "that I am just a fragment of who I was at a certain point in our old life. I don't have all the pieces. And whatever happened after me—after I stopped being the Doctor—well, that's where things get interesting."

Thaddeus furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

The Doctor studied him for a moment before tapping his cane against the ground, sending small ripples through their surroundings. "I mean that you—this you—shouldn't even exist."

Thaddeus blinked. "Excuse me!?"

"Think about it," the Doctor continued. "You're a newer, younger, and somehow even more stubborn version of me. But why? What came after me? What was so catastrophic that it warranted a reset?"

The words settled in Thaddeus' chest like lead.

"You're saying... I'm here because something happened to the version of us after you."

The Doctor nodded. "And that 'something' was big enough to not just end a life, but restart it."

"That's just great," Thaddeus muttered, rubbing his temples. "So some outside force hit the reset button, and now I'm here, in this world, with zero context and an old ass prophecy that says I'm screwed."

"Yep."

"And 'He' is probably the reason why I ended up like this?"

"My best guess? Yeah. He got involved."

Thaddeus groaned. "I swear, every time I think I'm getting answers, I just get more questions."

The Doctor chuckled, shaking his head. "Welcome to the grand mystery of your existence, kid."

Thaddeus frowned, crossing his arms. "Alright, but here's another thing that's been bothering me—why can't I use other elements? I mean, if I'm supposed to be some great reincarnation of my past self, shouldn't I be able to handle more than just Runespark and True Ice?"

The Doctor let out a knowing sigh, tapping his cane against the floor. "You think you should, but reality doesn't work that way, kid. Your current physical form just isn't built for it. Not yet, anyway."

Thaddeus raised an eyebrow. "Not built for it?"

The Doctor nodded. "Your body isn't conditioned to withstand the side effects of wielding multiple elements at a constant rate. Unlike my body back when I was in your shoes, which had already evolved to sustain them. You're still raw—unrefined. You think throwing fire and ice around is impressive? Imagine layering gravity, storm, and abyssal magic on top of that. Your nervous system would short-circuit before you even finished a spell."

Thaddeus winced at the thought. "That explains why every time I go overboard, I end up with splitting headaches, burns, frostbite—or worse." He rubbed his arm, remembering a particularly nasty incident with an attempted lightning spell that left him convulsing for hours. "And that's just with Runespark and True Ice."

"Exactly," the Doctor confirmed. "You're forcing raw power through a body that isn't optimized for it. It's like trying to run a high-voltage current through a frayed wire—something's going to break, and it's you."

Thaddeus groaned, tilting his head back. "Guess I'm stuck with two elements while you got to be the magical equivalent of a Swiss Army knife? That's not fair."

The Doctor chuckled. "Kid, if life was fair, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Do you want more elements? Then evolve. Adapt. Survive long enough for your body to catch up. Until then? Get used to the migraines."

Thaddeus muttered something under his breath before sighing in defeat. "Fine. I'll work with what I have. But just so you know, I'm still salty about this."

The Doctor smirked. "Oh, trust me. I can feel it."

"Looks like time's up... " The Doctor's voice distorted, flickering between clarity and static. His smirk remained, relaxed, almost smug, as he took a seat on a jagged rock. The wind howled through the dreamscape, a signal that their conversation was about to be forcibly cut short.

Thaddeus narrowed his eyes. "What do you—"

And just like that, the world around him shattered like a pane of glass, breaking into fragments of light before plunging him into darkness.

Then—

A dull, rhythmic clattering. The faint hum of an engine. The cold press of metal against his cheek.

Thaddeus groggily blinked awake, disoriented, his mind still half-caught between worlds. He was lying against the side of a train cart, the vibrations of the tracks humming through his body. The cool night air seeped in from the cracks in the old steel, and outside the window, endless stretches of open land rolled past under a sky littered with stars.

For a moment, he just breathed. Let himself adjust. The Doctor's words lingered in his mind, faint as an echo—garbled, incomplete. Something about evolving. Something about time running out.

"Great," he muttered, rubbing his temples

He shifted, turning toward the others. Percy and Annabeth were asleep on the opposite side of the cart, leaning against each other without realizing it. Cute. He'd give them about five minutes before Annabeth woke up and shoved Percy away in embarrassment.

And then there was Grover.

Grover, who was flirting with one of the goats.

Thaddeus stared. Blinked. Stared again.

"Nope."

He shut his eyes, turned away, and decided he was not awake enough to process that right now.