SECRET PREPARATIONS

Marcus woke with his head still buzzing from the night's research. The transition between worlds felt sharper lately, like stepping from a warm room into cold air. He sat up in the small Academy quarters, looking around at his sleeping family members.

Grandfather was breathing steadily, finally getting the rest he needed. The twins were curled up together on their shared cot. Tom was sprawled across his bed, one massive arm hanging off the side.

Marcus slipped out quietly and made his way through the Academy's early morning corridors. He had a list of materials to find, and he needed to get them without anyone asking questions.

The market district was already busy when he arrived. Vendors called out their wares, and the smell of fresh bread mixed with less pleasant odors from the livestock pens. Marcus pulled his hood up and started looking for what he needed.

Saltpeter. That was the tricky one. In his world, you could find it at any garden center. Here, he'd have to get creative. After asking around carefully, he learned that the tanners used it for treating hides. A silver coin bought him a small pouch with no questions asked.

Sulfur was easier. The alchemist shops had it for medicinal purposes. "For treating skin conditions," Marcus told the elderly shopkeeper, who nodded knowingly.

Charcoal was everywhere. He bought extra, claiming he needed it for drawing.

By midday, he had everything hidden in a small sack under his cloak. But as he walked back toward the Academy, doubt gnawed at him. What was he doing? These materials could make something that would change warfare in Valdris forever. Was he ready to be responsible for that?

If he could find Owen, maybe the missing foreman could provide a secure place to work, he thought.

The investigation meeting was scheduled for late afternoon in Master Thymon's private chambers. Marcus arrived to find the usual suspects already gathered. Alice with her ever-present writing materials, Sister Korra in her practical armor, Commander Cain looking gruff as always.

Master Thymon looked frailer than usual, but his eyes were still sharp. "We've confirmed the meeting location," he said without preamble. "The old mining supervisor's office near the abandoned eastern shafts. Tomorrow night."

Head Scribe Genevieve spoke up immediately. "Master, I must protest this course of action. We're talking about directly confronting unknown magical forces with minimal backup. The risk to Academy personnel is unacceptable."

Commander Cain shifted in his chair. "With respect, ma'am, sometimes you gotta take risks to win wars. We can't just sit here documenting while they plan our destruction."

"The Commander's right," Sister Korra added. "My scouts report increased enemy activity near all the major cities. Whatever they're planning, it's happening soon."

Alice looked thoughtful. "Both perspectives have merit," she said carefully. "The risk is significant, but so is the potential intelligence we could gather. Perhaps we could find a middle ground. Observe and document from a safe distance rather than direct confrontation?"

Marcus found himself nodding along, but inside he was conflicted. He had the materials for explosives hidden in his quarters. If things went wrong tomorrow, he could... but should he? The thought made his stomach twist.

"What's your assessment, Marcus?" Master Thymon asked suddenly.

Marcus startled. "I... well, I think..." He couldn't focus. His mind kept jumping between the hidden materials and the moral implications. "I'm not sure we have enough information to make the best decision."

It was a weak answer, and he knew it. Alice gave him a curious look. Marcus wasn't an expert on these situations. If he had a week, or at least a day, he could look things up in the modern world or ask around online. But what could he do when forced to make decisions on the spot?

The debate continued for another hour. Genevieve remained firmly opposed, Cain and Korra pushed for action, and Alice continued to play both sides diplomatically. Master Thymon finally called for a break to consider all options.

"We'll reconvene tonight for a final decision," he announced.

Marcus walked out of the meeting feeling frustrated with himself. When it mattered, when his friends needed his insights, he'd been paralyzed by his own internal conflict.

He needed air. And space to think.

The Academy courtyard was busy with afternoon training sessions. Marcus wandered past groups of students practicing magic, scribes copying texts, and maintenance workers going about their tasks.

That's when he heard the shouting.

A crowd had gathered near the eastern wall, and Marcus could hear Tom's voice rising above the commotion. He jogged over, then broke into a run when he saw what was happening.

Tom stood in the center of a ring of about twelve men. All refugees from the look of their worn clothes and lean builds. They were circling him like predators, and Marcus's heart jumped into his throat.

"Come on!" one of them shouted. "Show us this magic you keep bragging about!"

"Yeah, prove you're not just talk!" called another.

Marcus was still fifty yards away when the first man lunged at Tom. Then two more jumped in from different sides.

Tom moved like lightning. His fist connected with the first attacker's stomach, sending the man flying backward a good ten feet. He spun and caught the second by the wrist, lifting him clean off the ground with one hand. The third hesitated, then backed away quickly.

"Anyone else?" Tom asked, grinning.

Some of the watching refugees laughed and clapped. Others grumbled about it being unfair.

"Cheater!" one called out. "That's not a real fight if you're using magic!"

Marcus finally reached the group, breathing hard from his run. "Dude, what..." he gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Tom's face lit up when he saw his cousin. "Marcus! Perfect timing. I was just showin' my mining buddies what I've learned at the Academy."

"Your mining buddies?" Marcus looked around at the group of men, most of whom were grinning good-naturedly now.

"Yeah, we worked the same shift in the deep tunnels," Tom explained. "They didn't believe me when I told 'em about my training. Thought I was just braggin'."

One of the men, a stocky fellow with graying hair, stepped forward. "Gotta admit, Tom, that was impressive. But don't let it go to your head. Magic or no magic, you're still the newest guy on the crew."

The group laughed, and Marcus realized this wasn't a fight at all. It was more like... workplace hazing? Or maybe just friends testing each other.

"Don't tell Miss Harrigan about the sparrin'," Tom said to Marcus as the crowd began to disperse. "She keeps remindin' us that magic is for protection and betterment, not showin' off."

Marcus nodded, still catching his breath. "Your secret's safe. But Tom, be careful about who you demonstrate your abilities to. Not everyone's as friendly as your mining crew."

"I know, I know. But these guys... we look out for each other down in the tunnels. If somethin' happened to me, they'd be the ones tryin' to dig me out."

As they walked back toward the Academy together, Marcus felt a strange mix of pride and worry. Tom was growing stronger, more confident. But strength could be a target as much as protection.

And tomorrow night, they were all walking into a situation where they might need every advantage they could get.

Including the one Marcus had hidden in his quarters, whether he was ready to use it or not.

That night, unable to sleep, Marcus slipped quietly out of the Academy. The moon hung low over the city, casting long shadows across the empty streets as he made his way toward the edge of the refugee quarter. He kept to the alleys, heart pounding, every footstep echoing louder than it should.

He found Owen where he'd hoped. Leaning against the wall behind a shuttered tavern, half-hidden in the gloom. The older man looked up, eyes wary until he recognized Marcus.

"Owen," Marcus said, voice low but urgent, "I need your help. And you owe me."

Owen studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "You in trouble, lad?"

"Not yet," Marcus replied, "but I might be soon. I just need a place to work."

Owen's expression softened slightly. "Aye, I reckon I can manage that. There's a warehouse. Quiet spot, nobody asks questions." He pulled a key from his pocket. "Consider us even."

Marcus took the key, feeling its weight. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," Owen said, already turning to leave. "And don't come looking for me again."