Chapter 27: Dangers

The corridor outside the auditorium was already filled with the low murmur of dispersing students.

Some walked quickly, eager to collect their class schedules. Others lingered in small clusters, still turning over the final name Miss Anastasia had spoken.

Lazarus and Madeline moved with the slower current near the wall, putting a comfortable distance between themselves and the denser groups.

Madeline kept glancing at him, the brightness in her golden-brown eyes tempered by residual curiosity.

"You said you know a little about Mr. Wish," she said once they were clear of the main doorway. "How bad is it? The professor made it sound like just saying the name was enough of a warning, but I can’t stop thinking about who this Mr. Wish person is..."

Lazarus was quiet for a few steps.

The sunlight filtering through the high windows of the Inner Court corridor painted pale rectangles across the stone floor. He watched them pass under his feet before answering.

"It is one of the clearest examples of why certain Historical Projections should never be treated lightly."

Madeline tilted her head, waiting for him to elaborate further.

"Mr. Wish was originally a Principality and Power," Lazarus continued in a calm, measured tone. "An existence capable of granting wishes. At some point it broke free of its original summoner’s control and became a Rogue Projection. After that, it continued granting wishes—but not freely. Every wish has to carry a degree of Potentiality. It has to be something that could reasonably come true through the natural flow of history or future possibility. If the wish violates that principle too severely, the cost is extracted from the wisher in ways they rarely anticipate."

Madeline’s steps slowed.

"What kind of cost?"

"Anything," Lazarus said. "Fortune, health, relationships, memory, lifespan... sometimes the very thing the person wished for is twisted until it becomes a burden. The more impossible the wish, the more creative and cruel the price tends to be. That is why older Historians sometimes call it the Monkey’s Paw. People keep wishing anyway, convinced they will be the exception."

Madeline’s expression had grown noticeably more serious. She hugged her notebook a little tighter against her chest.

"And that is only one example," Lazarus added. "There are other dangers that have nothing to do with specific Projections."

"Like what?"

"Corruption is the most obvious. Nameless Entities are drawn to concentrated knowledge given form. A Historian who grows careless with their summons can find the Projection itself becoming a doorway. Once a Nameless takes root, it can work its way back along the connection and into the Historian’s Mind’s World. From there, the process is rarely quick, but it is almost always permanent if left unchecked."

Madeline’s face had gone a shade paler.

"There is also the matter of madness," Lazarus continued. "Not every Historian who loses themselves is taken by a Nameless. Some simply absorb too much knowledge too quickly. Their Anchor cannot support the weight, and the mind fractures. Others stare too long into records that were never meant for human comprehension. Forbidden knowledge does not always need a Nameless host to damage a person. Sometimes the knowledge itself is enough."

They turned a corner.

The corridor grew quieter as more students peeled off toward the schedule distribution tables.

Madeline’s voice was smaller when she spoke again. "Is... is that common?"

"Less common than the stories make it sound," Lazarus replied. "But common enough that every Academy instructor makes certain you hear the warnings early. Most Squires who are careful, who advance at a steady pace, and who do not deliberately seek out the most dangerous records will never encounter the worst of it."

He glanced at her with deep meaning.

’I know my words are a little harsh, but Maddie needs to hear this early. She is a very curious person. It is an admirable quality for a Historian to have, but it can also lead to their destruction.’

Looking at Madeline now, the usual brightness in her eyes had dimmed, replaced by a clear, unsettled tension.

"You look worried." Lazarus mumbled.

Madeline forced a small, embarrassed laugh.

"A little. I knew being a Historian was dangerous. My father never hid that. But hearing it laid out like this... it feels heavier."

Lazarus stopped walking, and Madeline stopped with him.

"Listen," he said, his voice quieter but steadier. "Fear is useful. It keeps people from doing stupid things. But it should not paralyze you. The majority of Historians live full lives without ever facing an Apocalypse-class threat or a Rogue Projection like Mr. Wish. Many choose research paths, archival work, or teaching. Others join the Assault Teams but remain in the safer operational zones. There are entire careers built around supporting the front lines without standing on them."

He met her gaze directly.

"If you understand the risks, respect your limits, and refuse to let pride push you into situations you are not ready for, the odds of surviving—and thriving—are high. The ones who fall are usually the ones who ignore the warnings or convince themselves the rules do not apply to them."

Madeline searched his face for several seconds.

Whatever she found there seemed to settle something in her. The tight line of her shoulders eased. A small, genuine smile returned to her lips.

"You make it sound almost manageable."

"It is manageable," Lazarus said. "As long as you treat the power with the seriousness it deserves."

She nodded, the last of the visible fear draining from her expression. "Alright. I’ll remember that. Thank you... Laz."

Lazarus simply nodded and smiled.

"You’re welcome."

They resumed walking. The conversation drifted toward lighter subjects—class schedules, which instructor looked the most approachable, whether the cafeteria food would be any better than the temporary lodging rations.

By the time they reached the distribution tables, Madeline’s usual energy had largely returned. She collected both their schedules with a bright "I’ll see you at the next joint class!" before hurrying off to meet another acquaintance who had called her name.

Lazarus accepted his own thin folder of papers and stepped aside, out of the main flow of students.

For a moment he simply stood there, the corridor noise washing over him without truly reaching him.

’Safe careers...’

The words he had offered Madeline were true enough.

For most people, they were even wise.

But they were not words he could live by.

In his previous life he had watched friends and colleagues fall—some to corruption, some to madness, some to the simple, brutal reality of standing against forces that should never have been allowed to touch the world.

He had stood on the final battlefield and watched the Supreme Desecrator of Heaven and Earth nearly unmake everything they had fought to preserve.

He had died with the knowledge that humanity had survived only by the narrowest of margins.

And now, more than a thousand years later, he had returned to a world that felt thinner.

There were now fewer Historians and lower standards in the Academy.

Something fundamental had undoubtedly been lost in the Apocalypse, and the recovery had been incomplete.

Lazarus’s crimson eyes narrowed slightly as he looked down at the schedule in his hand without really seeing it.

’I did not return to this era to choose safety.’ The thought was quiet, but it carried the weight of four hundred years of memory.

’The number of high-ranking Historians is far too low. If another Apocalypse-class threat appears—or if something worse is already moving in the shadows—the current generation will not be ready.’

He folded the schedule carefully and slid it into his inner pocket.

’I need to surpass what I was. Legendary Rank wasn’t enough last time. It will not be enough this time either.’

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of his mouth.

’I wonder... just how far I can go.’