Aeon stood motionless for several long moments, his mind racing as he processed the results of Master Kellor's attack. The earthen projectile had vanished completely upon contact with his infinity barrier, but he had noticed dust and particles settling around the practice dummy despite the main attack's nullification.
Interesting, he thought with clinical detachment. The barrier is completely impermeable, but some particles still reached the target area.
This was crucial information about his attribute's mechanics. Looking more carefully at the scattered dust pattern, Aeon began to understand what had actually occurred. The earthen projectile hadn't been a perfectly solid construct—like most hastily formed magical attacks, it had been somewhat unstable, with small fragments breaking away during its flight toward the target.
The stone bullet began fragmenting before it reached the barrier, Aeon analyzed with growing understanding. Those loose particles followed ballistic trajectories that curved around the infinity field rather than being stopped by it.
He traced the dust patterns with his eyes, noting how they formed arcs that suggested the particles had traveled in parabolic paths around the edges of his barrier. The infinity field had created an impermeable zone that forced physical objects to find alternate routes to their destinations.
Complete impermeability, but with defined boundaries, Aeon realized. Anything that can't pass through the barrier must go around it, assuming it has sufficient momentum and the right trajectory.
This was both a strength and a limitation of his defensive capability. The infinity barrier could completely stop direct attacks, but enemies could potentially find ways to attack from angles that circumvented the protected zone entirely.
But what about living beings? How does the barrier interact with complex organisms?
The question was important for both defensive and offensive applications of his attribute. If infinity barriers could trap living creatures indefinitely, they would represent an incredibly powerful combat tool. But if living beings were treated as environmental effects and allowed to pass through, the defensive applications would be more limited.
Time for one more test.
Aeon scanned the edges of the training ground until he spotted what he was looking for—a small brown field mouse that had emerged from the underbrush, probably attracted by the scattered crumbs from students' midday meals. The creature was perfectly sized for his experiment and close enough to reach without disrupting the ongoing training exercises.
Moving carefully to avoid startling the mouse, Aeon approached until he was within range to create a barrier around the small animal. He focused his will and manifested a spherical infinity field roughly half a meter in diameter, completely encompassing the mouse within its boundaries.
Now let's see what happens.
The mouse initially seemed unaware that anything had changed. It continued sniffing at the ground, searching for food particles with the single-minded focus that characterized small creatures. But as Aeon watched, the animal's behavior began to shift in subtle ways.
When the mouse tried to move toward what it perceived as an interesting scent, its progress slowed dramatically as it approached the barrier's inner surface. Just like Aeon's own interaction with the infinity field, the creature could approach the boundary but never quite reach it, its movement becoming asymptotically slow until it was barely perceptible.
So living beings are affected by the barrier, Aeon noted with satisfaction. They're treated as discrete entities rather than environmental effects.
The mouse seemed confused by its inability to reach the edge of its transparent prison, turning in circles and attempting different approaches to escape. But every direction led to the same result—infinite distance that could be approached but never crossed.
The real question is sustainability.
Aeon observed the enclosed mouse carefully, monitoring both the creature's behavior and his own energy expenditure in maintaining the barrier. The infinity field required continuous magical input to sustain, and he could feel the drain on his attribute's power with each passing minute.
After roughly ten minutes of observation, Aeon began to notice changes in the mouse's behavior. Its movements became less energetic, and its breathing appeared slightly labored. The creature wasn't being harmed by the infinity field itself, but the enclosed space was finite and the air supply was gradually being depleted.
Limited by conventional physics rather than magical constraints, Aeon realized. The barrier creates an effectively closed system. Once the oxygen inside is consumed, any trapped living being would suffocate.
It was both a limitation and a tactical consideration. Infinity barriers could contain enemies indefinitely from a spatial perspective, but biological needs would eventually resolve the situation one way or another. The attribute was powerful but not omnipotent.
Enough for today.
Aeon dismissed the barrier around the mouse, watching the small creature scurry away with obvious relief at its sudden freedom. The experiment had provided valuable data about his attribute's capabilities and limitations, but the energy cost was becoming unsustainable.
The continuous use of his infinity power throughout the afternoon had drained his magical reserves more thoroughly than he had anticipated. Creating and maintaining barriers required significant concentration and energy, and he could feel the familiar fatigue that indicated he was approaching his current limits.
"Master Kellor," Aeon called, turning toward the instructor who was still standing in obvious bewilderment near the practice dummy. "I don't think I can continue for the day. My energy reserves are nearly depleted."
Master Kellor's Perspective
Master Kellor watched his most unusual student approach with a mixture of awe and growing fear that he was struggling to conceal behind professional composure.
What in the name of all the elements just happened?
The memory of his earthen projectile simply... ceasing to exist was going to haunt his understanding of magical theory for weeks to come. In fifteen years of magical instruction and five years of active combat before that, Kellor had never witnessed anything that so completely violated his understanding of how magical energy functioned.
Magical attacks could be deflected, absorbed, countered, or overcome—but they didn't just disappear. Energy had to go somewhere, had to be converted or redirected according to fundamental principles that governed all magical interaction. What Aeon had done was impossibility made manifest.
And he doesn't even seem surprised by it.
That was perhaps the most unsettling aspect of the entire demonstration. Aeon had requested the attack with calm confidence, as if magical nullification was a perfectly normal occurrence. He had observed the results with analytical interest rather than amazement, suggesting that such effects were expected rather than remarkable.
This isn't a child experimenting with a new attribute, Kellor realized with increasing alarm. This is someone who understands exactly what his power can do.
The implications were staggering. If Aeon could nullify magical attacks while remaining effectively invisible to other magic users, he possessed capabilities that could fundamentally alter the balance of magical combat. Defensive strategies that had worked for centuries would become obsolete overnight. Offensive magic that had dominated battlefields would be reduced to harmless displays.
And we've given him formal training. We're helping him develop these abilities.
Kellor watched Aeon move around the training ground, apparently conducting additional experiments that the instructor couldn't see or understand. The boy's movements were deliberate and purposeful, suggesting systematic testing rather than random exploration.
He's learning. Getting stronger. Understanding his limits and capabilities.
When Aeon had approached that small mouse near the treeline, Kellor had assumed the boy was simply taking a break from his magical practice. But the focused attention Aeon had directed toward the small creature suggested something more significant was occurring.
Another test. Another experiment. Another step toward mastering an attribute that defies comprehension.
The fear was growing stronger now, mixing with professional awe to create an emotional cocktail that Kellor found difficult to manage. He was witnessing the development of potentially the most powerful magical ability he had ever encountered, and he had no framework for understanding its ultimate implications.
What happens when he leaves Millhaven? What happens when others learn what he can do? What happens when he decides our interests no longer align with his own?
When Aeon finally approached to announce his energy depletion, Kellor felt a complex mixture of relief and renewed concern. Relief that today's demonstration was ending before anything more unsettling could occur. Concern about what tomorrow's training session might reveal.
"Of course," Kellor managed to say with forced professional calm. "Magical exhaustion is normal when exploring new applications of your attribute. We'll continue your development tomorrow."
If I can figure out how to train someone whose abilities exist outside every teaching method I've ever learned.
As Aeon nodded politely and began making his way back toward the village center, Master Kellor remained standing beside the practice dummy, staring at the faint brown discoloration that marked where impossible had become reality.
What have the elders brought into our midst? he wondered, feeling the weight of responsibility for training someone who might represent either salvation or catastrophe for their peaceful community.
And how do I prepare for tomorrow's lesson when nothing I know about magic seems to apply?