Legends are safest when they are agreed upon as extinct.

  That was the comfort surrounding the word archmage.

  Yes, they had existed. Yes, they had ended wars. Yes, they had once stood outside crowns and empires alike.

  But they had vanished.

  And vanished myths were convenient.

  The only human magic left in the world now belonged to black sorcerers — fractured men and women who tore power from corruption. They bound themselves to twisted currents, burned their own souls hollow, and wielded that ruin like a weapon. Terror cells prized them. Rogue kingdoms funded them.

  Black magic consumed.

  Mana listened.

  That difference had once defined the archmages.

  Now it was a footnote in history books.

  Or so the world believed.

  The estate outside London did not look like myth.

  Stone walls softened by ivy. Long stretches of disciplined green. A library older than most minor kingdoms.

  Thomas's father adjusted his spectacles as Ellie stepped inside that Saturday morning.

  "Professor," she greeted solemnly.

  He inclined his head. "Student."

  "This is purely academic support," Thomas said lightly. "Physics and chemistry enrichment."

  "Of course," Elara replied evenly.

  Across the room, Thomas's mother hid a smile behind her tea cup.

  Queen Nalaris stood near the window, watching.

  "You've told her not to mention this?" Nalaris asked quietly.

  "Of course," Thomas replied.

  "And you?" Thomas's mother asked Elara.

  "She is not to tell her father about controlled shifting exercises," Elara said smoothly.

  The two grandmothers exchanged a look.

  Then both laughed.

  "It appears secrecy is a family tradition," Thomas's mother said dryly.

  Ellie noticed.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The first lesson was harmless.

  Vectors. Momentum. Energy transfer.

  "Force," Thomas's father said, drawing on the board, "is direction applied over time."

  "And if something resists?" Ellie asked.

  "You adjust the angle."

  Mana stirred faintly — not commanded. Acknowledged.

  Outside in the orchard, Queen Nalaris guided Ellie through lycanthropic control.

  "Three stages," Nalaris explained.

  "Human form — the anchor."

  Ellie closed her eyes. Wolf ears emerged. A tail unfurled.

  "That is shift form," Nalaris said calmly. "Speed preserved."

  "And full form?"

  "Strength over speed. Taller. Denser. Used rarely. Mostly by males who enjoy spectacle."

  Ellie grinned.

  "They lose speed?"

  "Yes."

  "So they show off?"

  "Precisely."

  Across the garden, Thomas's mother watched both lessons with immense satisfaction.

  She knew far more than anyone suspected.

  In the library later, Ellie paused near a restricted shelf.

  "About archmages?" she asked softly.

  "They are myth," Thomas's father replied evenly.

  "Were they good?"

  "Some were."

  "What happened?"

  "They stepped away."

  "Why?"

  "When you can reshape kingdoms, the only ethical choice is restraint."

  Ellie absorbed that carefully.

  Outside London, black sorcery surged. Rogue cells burned corrupted sigils into their skin, forcing power that devoured them slowly.

  Elara received the report that evening.

  "They are increasing recruitment," she said quietly.

  "Fools," Nalaris muttered.

  Black magic tore.

  Mana conversed.

  Over the following weekends, lessons deepened.

  Fluid dynamics became mana theory without being named as such.

  "Water seeks equilibrium," Thomas's father said. "So does everything else."

  Ellie placed her hand above a bowl. The surface trembled.

  "You invite," he reminded her.

  Outside, Nalaris corrected her stance in shift form.

  "Speed comes from alignment."

  Ellie blurred across the grass, returning breathless and laughing.

  Later, Elara knelt before her.

  "You cannot tell your father about full-form training."

  "He is human," she added.

  Later still, Thomas crouched beside her in the greenhouse.

  "You cannot tell your mother about advanced mana theory."

  "She worries," he said lightly.

  Across the terrace, both grandmothers nearly fell over laughing.

  "They are exhausting," Nalaris said.

  "They are adorable," Thomas's mother corrected.

  One evening Ellie felt something wrong along the currents.

  Thin. Corrupted. Black sorcery residue.

  "It doesn't sound right," she said.

  Thomas's father closed his eyes.

  Mana stirred gently in response.

  "Yes," he agreed.

  Together they listened.

  In London, a rogue ritual destabilised unexpectedly. Their spell collapsed before completion.

  They blamed incompetence.

  They did not know equilibrium had been nudged from afar.

  At dinner, Queen Nalaris set down her fork.

  "I will step down within the year," she said calmly.

  Elara froze.

  "The pack requires new blood. I will remain advisory."

  "And then?"

  "I will accept your mother-in-law's offer."

  Thomas blinked. "Offer?"

  "A private security firm," Thomas's mother said smoothly.

  "For clients."

  Ellie brightened. "Will you both work together?"

  "Yes," they said in unison.

  "And you will not tell anyone why."

  Ellie nodded solemnly.

  Later, in the library, Thomas's father placed a warm coin into Ellie's palm.

  "A reminder," he said.

  "That mana is not yours."

  "It isn't?"

  "It belongs to the world."

  "And I borrow it?"

  "You converse with it."

  "Like inviting people into a kitchen?"

  He smiled faintly.

  "Exactly."

  That night, driving home, Elara murmured, "They will notice eventually."

  "Notice what?" Thomas asked.

  "That she is not like the others."

  "She is exactly like herself," Thomas replied softly.

  Behind them, the estate returned to quiet.

  The world still believed archmages were extinct.

  It believed only corrupted humans wielded magic now.

  And somewhere between physics lessons and shifting drills,

  between abdicated thrones and corporate empires,

  a myth remained myth.

  Not because it lacked power.

  But because it preferred quiet.