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[Dr. Aldric's Perspective] Before I settled in the peaceful village of Aramunda, my life followed a vastly different path. I served as a combat medic in the Royal Guard, stationed at the capital under direct service to the crown. Though I possessed little skill with blade or bow, my aptitude for healing magic earned me a place among the kingdom's elite protectors. For years, I fulfilled this duty with unwavering dedication, prepared to sacrifice my life for the Royal Family should circumstances demand it. Fortune smiled upon me, however, and I never faced such a test. When age and weariness finally convinced me to seek retirement, I found my way to this remote village, where I met my beloved Mary and eventually raised our children. The tranquility of village life brought me a contentment I had never known during my years of service. Days passed in comfortable routine - treating minor ailments, delivering children, mending broken bones - until one particular birth changed everything I thought I understood about the natural order. The child they named Ethan appeared healthy in every physical regard. The delivery proceeded without complication, and his parents, Marcus and Elena, welcomed him with appropriate joy. Yet from the moment I first looked into his eyes, I knew something was fundamentally different about this infant. No newborn should possess such awareness. The intelligence I glimpsed in his gaze belonged not to a child, but to someone who had already lived, already experienced the world in ways no infant could comprehend. Initially, I attributed this unsettling observation to my imagination - perhaps the stress of a difficult delivery had affected my judgment. Yet as months passed, my concerns only deepened. Ethan's development defied every standard I had learned during my medical training. He achieved physical milestones with unprecedented speed, mastering walking and basic self-care as soon as his small body permitted. His language acquisition proved even more remarkable, progressing from infant babbling to complex speech patterns in a fraction of the expected timeframe. By his second year, Ethan spoke with the vocabulary and comprehension of an educated adult. By his third, he had taught himself to read using whatever written materials he could access. By his fourth, he demonstrated an understanding of complex concepts that should have been far beyond his years. The pinnacle of my growing unease came during his fifth year, when he approached me with a request that chilled me to my core. "Dr. Aldric," he said with that unnaturally mature tone that never failed to disturb me, "I would like to learn magic. Could you teach me?" The request itself was not unusual - most children his age expressed similar desires. What concerned me was the calculating intelligence behind his eyes, as though he understood far more about magic than any five-year-old should. Following established protocol, I agreed to perform the standard ethernano evaluation that would determine his magical aptitude and classification. Such tests typically revealed minimal magical energy in children, barely enough to register on the most sensitive instruments. What I discovered in Ethan defied all precedent. The moment I began the evaluation, I felt it - a pressure so immense it drove me to my knees, stealing the breath from my lungs. The sheer quantity of magical energy contained within this child's small frame was beyond anything I had encountered, even during my years serving alongside the kingdom's most powerful mages. This was not a child standing before me. This was something else entirely, something whose true nature remained mercifully concealed behind the limitations of an immature physical form. The magical power I sensed lay dormant, sealed by what I could only assume were natural safeguards preventing it from destroying both Ethan and everything around him. Fear gripped me as I contemplated what might happen when his body matured enough to channel such enormous forces. The potential for destruction was beyond calculation. So I made a choice that has haunted me ever since. I lied. "I'm sorry, Ethan," I told him, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the terror coursing through me. "The evaluation shows no measurable ethernano within you. You have no aptitude for magic." The disappointment in his eyes was genuine, and for a moment, I almost reconsidered my decision. Yet the memory of that overwhelming pressure convinced me that deception was the lesser evil. Some powers were too dangerous to unleash, regardless of the vessel that contained them. [Ethan's Perspective] Dr. Aldric's pronouncement struck me like a physical blow. After years of observing the casual use of magic throughout the village, I had assumed that I too would possess at least some minimal ability. The complete absence of magical talent seemed impossible in a world where even children could manage simple spells. His words carried an air of finality that discouraged further questioning, though I noticed something unsettling in his demeanor during the evaluation - a tension that suggested he was concealing something significant. Nevertheless, I accepted his judgment with as much grace as my disappointment would allow. "I understand," I replied, though internally I resolved to find alternative means of accessing magic. I had read enough stories to know that extraordinary circumstances sometimes created extraordinary exceptions to established rules. The conversation ended there, leaving me to contemplate my apparently mundane future in a world where the extraordinary was commonplace. Several days later, Elena approached me with a simple request that would prove far more consequential than either of us anticipated. "Ethan, would you gather some apples from the grove? About a dozen should suffice for this evening's baking." The apple grove lay at the village's eastern edge, where cultivated trees provided fruit for the entire community. Though technically within the forest's boundaries, the area was considered safe enough for older children to visit unaccompanied. I agreed readily, grateful for any excuse to spend time away from the village's increasingly familiar routines. The walk through the grove provided welcome solitude, allowing me to process my disappointment about the magic evaluation while collecting the requested fruit. I had nearly filled my basket when an otherworldly presence announced itself with a distortion in the air itself. The creature that materialized before me defied easy description - a spherical central body surrounded by smaller orbiting spheres, with three unblinking eyes that fixed upon me with unmistakable malevolent intent. "Little one," the entity spoke, its voice carrying harmonics that seemed to bypass my ears entirely, resonating directly within my mind. "Little one found." Terror froze me in place as I realized the profound danger I faced. This was no domestic animal or village eccentric - this was something that had no business existing in the peaceful world I had come to know. Yet even in my fear, a spark of indignation flared. Whatever this creature was, whatever it intended, I would not face it passively. My previous life had ended in helpless victimhood, but this time would be different. "I don't know what you are," I managed to say, surprised by the steadiness of my own voice, "but I won't make this easy for you." The confrontation that followed would teach me truths about myself that Dr. Aldric's evaluation had failed to reveal - truths that would reshape my understanding of both my limitations and my potential in this strange new world.