The Gentleman's Agony

Two months after the repair procedure, Silas discovered something disturbing about the bond.

It was growing stronger.

Not just emotionally stronger, though that was happening too. The bond was becoming more powerful magically, capable of channeling more energy, distributing greater costs, connecting them at deeper levels.

And with that power came danger.

The first sign came during a routine training session at the Royal Academy. Silas was demonstrating the Shared Bond technique to a group of advanced students, showing them how to establish and maintain the connection, how to distribute costs evenly, how to prevent overload.

It was a lesson he'd taught dozens of times before, using simple spells to illustrate the principles. Nothing complicated, nothing dangerous—just basic magical theory put into practice.

But when he cast the demonstration spell—a simple illumination that should have created a soft glow in his palm—something unexpected happened.

The spell amplified. What should have been a gentle light became a blinding flash that filled the entire lecture hall. What should have cost a mild headache became a wave of power that knocked several students off their feet. What should have been completely under control became something wild and dangerous.

Silas cut off the spell immediately, but the damage was done. The students were staring at him with a mixture of awe and fear, and Elara—who had been observing from the back of the room—was looking at him with concern.

"What was that?" she asked through the bond.

"I don't know. The spell was supposed to be simple, but it became something else."

"It felt like you were channeling ten times the normal amount of power."

"I was. But I didn't mean to. It just... happened."

They cut the demonstration short and returned to the palace, where the magical theorists examined the bond.

Professor Vex was the one who delivered the news, her expression a mixture of fascination and concern.

"It's evolved," she said, studying the readings from her instruments. "The repair didn't just fix the damage—it fundamentally changed the bond's structure. It's more efficient now, capable of channeling significantly more magical energy with less cost."

"Is that a problem?" Elara asked.

"It could be. The bond is designed to have limits, to prevent users from casting spells that are too powerful or too dangerous. But your bond seems to have bypassed those limits. Theoretically, you could cast spells of almost unlimited power."

"That sounds dangerous," Silas said.

"It is. Because power without limits is power without control. If you're not careful, you could accidentally cast a spell that destroys everything around you."

Professor Vex pulled up a chart showing the bond's energy capacity before and after the repair. The difference was staggering—the repaired bond could handle ten times the magical throughput of a standard Proxy bond, maybe more.

"How do we prevent that?" Silas asked.

"Practice. Training. Learning to control the bond's new capabilities." The professor looked at them seriously. "But you also need to understand something. The bond has made you both incredibly powerful. More powerful than any mage in the kingdom, possibly more powerful than any mage in history. That kind of power attracts attention, and not all of it will be friendly."

She was right. Over the next few weeks, Silas noticed people looking at him differently. Not with the pity or contempt he'd grown used to as a Proxy, but with fear and calculation. They saw him as a threat, a weapon, something to be controlled or eliminated.

And some of them decided to act on that perception.

The attack came during a state dinner, when Silas and Elara were surrounded by nobles and dignitaries. It was supposed to be a celebration of the reforms' success, a chance for supporters to gather and congratulate themselves on their progress.

But it became something else entirely.

A group of mages—hired assassins, Silas realized later—launched a coordinated magical assault. They'd been disguised as servants, positioned throughout the dining hall, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The attack was sophisticated, well-planned, designed to overwhelm through sheer force. Six mages casting simultaneously, their spells coordinated to hit from multiple angles, their timing perfect.

Against a normal target, it would have been devastating. Against Silas and Elara, it was merely annoying.

Silas reacted instinctively, reaching through the bond to Elara and channeling their combined power into a defensive spell.

What happened next was beyond anything he'd intended.

The defensive spell didn't just block the attack. It reflected it, amplified it, and sent it back at the attackers with devastating force. The assassins were thrown across the room, their bodies broken, their magical reserves completely drained.

And Silas felt nothing. No cost, no pain, no consequence. The bond had distributed the magical expenditure so efficiently that it was barely noticeable.

The dining hall fell silent. Everyone was staring at Silas, and he could see the fear in their eyes. He'd just killed six people with a casual gesture, without even trying, without even feeling it.

He was a weapon. A living, breathing weapon of mass destruction.

And he had no idea how to control it.

Silas first noticed it during a routine magical demonstration at the Royal Academy. He and Elara were showing a group of students how the Shared Bond system worked, casting simple spells to illustrate the distribution of costs.

But when Silas cast the spell, something unexpected happened.

The magic was amplified. What should have been a simple illumination spell became a blinding flash of light that filled the entire lecture hall. What should have cost a mild headache became a wave of power that knocked several students off their feet.

Silas cut off the spell immediately, but the damage was done. The students were staring at him with a mixture of awe and fear, and Elara was looking at him with concern.

"What was that?" she asked through the bond.

"I don't know. The spell was supposed to be simple, but it became something else."

"It felt like you were channeling ten times the normal amount of power."

"I was. But I didn't mean to. It just... happened."

They cut the demonstration short and returned to the palace, where the magical theorists examined the bond.

"It's evolved," the head theorist said, studying the readings from her instruments. "The repair didn't just fix the damage—it fundamentally changed the bond's structure. It's more efficient now, capable of channeling significantly more magical energy with less cost."

"Is that a problem?" Elara asked.

"It could be. The bond is designed to have limits, to prevent users from casting spells that are too powerful or too dangerous. But your bond seems to have bypassed those limits. Theoretically, you could cast spells of almost unlimited power."

"That sounds dangerous," Silas said.

"It is. Because power without limits is power without control. If you're not careful, you could accidentally cast a spell that destroys everything around you."

"How do we prevent that?"

"Practice. Training. Learning to control the bond's new capabilities." The theorist looked at them seriously. "But you also need to understand something. The bond has made you both incredibly powerful. More powerful than any mage in the kingdom, possibly more powerful than any mage in history. That kind of power attracts attention, and not all of it will be friendly."

She was right. Over the next few weeks, Silas noticed people looking at him differently. Not with the pity or contempt he'd grown used to as a Proxy, but with fear and calculation. They saw him as a threat, a weapon, something to be controlled or eliminated.

And some of them decided to act on that perception.

The attack came during a state dinner, when Silas and Elara were surrounded by nobles and dignitaries. A group of mages—hired assassins, Silas realized later—launched a coordinated magical assault, trying to overwhelm them with sheer force.

Silas reacted instinctively, reaching through the bond to Elara and channeling their combined power into a defensive spell.

What happened next was beyond anything he'd intended.

The defensive spell didn't just block the attack. It reflected it, amplified it, and sent it back at the attackers with devastating force. The assassins were thrown across the room, their bodies broken, their magical reserves completely drained.

And Silas felt nothing. No cost, no pain, no consequence. The bond had distributed the magical expenditure so efficiently that it was barely noticeable.

The dining hall fell silent. Everyone was staring at Silas, and he could see the fear in their eyes. He'd just killed three people with a casual gesture, without even trying, without even feeling it.

He was a weapon. A living, breathing weapon of mass destruction.

And he had no idea how to control it.

"Clear the room," Elara ordered, her voice steady despite the shock Silas could feel through the bond. "Everyone out. Now."

The nobles fled, leaving Silas and Elara alone with the bodies of the assassins.

"Silas," Elara said quietly. "What just happened?"

"I defended us. But I didn't mean to kill them. I just wanted to stop the attack."

"You did more than stop it. You obliterated them."

"I know. I felt the power flowing through the bond, and I couldn't control it. It was too much, too fast, too strong."

Through the bond, he felt Elara's fear—not of the assassins, but of him. Of what he'd become, of what the bond had made him capable of.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I would never hurt you."

"I know that. But Silas, you just killed three people without even trying. What happens if you lose control? What happens if the bond amplifies a spell beyond what you intended?"

"I don't know. But we need to figure it out, because this power—it's not going away. If anything, it's getting stronger."

They spent the next several days working with the magical theorists, trying to understand and control the bond's new capabilities. They practiced casting spells at different power levels, learning to modulate the flow of energy, developing techniques to prevent accidental amplification.

But it was difficult. The bond wanted to amplify, wanted to channel maximum power, wanted to make every spell as strong as possible. Fighting against that instinct required constant vigilance and control.

"It's like trying to whisper when your natural voice is a shout," Silas explained to Elara one evening. "The bond's default setting is maximum power. Anything less requires active effort."

"Can you maintain that effort indefinitely?"

"I don't know. Maybe. But it's exhausting, and if I get distracted or emotional, I might lose control."

"Then we need to find a way to limit the bond's power. To put safeguards in place that prevent accidental amplification."

"The theorists are working on it. But they're not optimistic. The bond's structure is too complex, too unique. Any attempt to limit it might damage it again."

"So we're stuck with unlimited power and no way to control it."

"For now, yes."

Elara was quiet for a moment, and through the bond, Silas felt her processing the implications.

"Silas, I need to ask you something. And I need you to be honest with me."

"Always."

"Are you afraid of what you've become?"

It was a good question. Was he afraid? He had the power to level cities, to kill thousands with a thought, to reshape reality itself if he pushed the bond hard enough. That kind of power should terrify him.

But it didn't. Because he'd spent fifteen years being powerless, being used, being hurt without the ability to fight back. Having power—even dangerous, uncontrolled power—felt like freedom.

"No," he said honestly. "I'm not afraid of the power. I'm afraid of losing control of it. I'm afraid of hurting people I don't mean to hurt. But the power itself? That doesn't scare me."

"It scares me," Elara admitted. "Not because I think you'll misuse it, but because I know what power does to people. It corrupts them, changes them, makes them think they're above the rules that govern everyone else."

"I'm not going to let that happen."

"How can you be sure? Silas, you have more power than any person should have. How do you know it won't change you?"

"Because I have you. Because the bond connects us, keeps me grounded, reminds me that I'm not alone and I'm not invincible." He took her hand. "Elara, you're my moral compass. As long as we're connected, as long as you're there to remind me what's right and what's wrong, I won't lose myself to the power."

Through the bond, he felt her absorbing his words, weighing them against her fears.

"Promise me something," she said.

"What?"

"Promise me that if you ever feel yourself losing control, if the power ever starts to corrupt you, you'll tell me. You'll let me help you before it's too late."

"I promise."

"And promise me that if I ever think you're becoming dangerous, if I ever believe the power is changing you for the worse, you'll listen to me. You'll trust my judgment even if you disagree with it."

That was a harder promise to make. Because Silas knew that power did change people, did warp their perceptions, did make them think they were right even when they were wrong. And he knew that if Elara ever thought he was becoming dangerous, she might be right even if he couldn't see it.

But he also knew that she needed to hear the promise, needed to believe that he would listen to her, that he valued her judgment above his own instincts.

"I promise," he said.

Through the bond, he felt her relief and gratitude.

And he felt his own determination to keep that promise, no matter how difficult it became.

Because Elara was right. Power did corrupt. And the only way to prevent that corruption was to have someone you trusted, someone who could see you clearly, someone who would tell you the truth even when you didn't want to hear it.

Elara was that person for him. And he would be that person for her.

Together, they would navigate the dangers of unlimited power.

Together, they would stay human despite the temptation to become something more.

Together, they would remember that power was a tool, not a goal, and that the real measure of a person wasn't how much power they had but what they chose to do with it.

It was a difficult balance to maintain. But they would maintain it.

Because the alternative was unthinkable.

End of Chapter 22