Joel did his best to return to a normal routine after his mental breakdowns. Or, at least, to something resembling normal within that refuge that, day by day, was transforming into a small makeshift town. However, concentrating proved much more difficult than he had anticipated. His mind wandered easily, jumping from one problem to another, especially when the recent changes demanded constant decisions.

  The arrival of the new inhabitants had significantly disrupted the internal equilibrium. It wasn't just about space, food, or security, but something Joel considered even more important: education. In order not to interfere with the academic progress of the older children—those who had already been in a relatively structured program for years—he was forced to create a completely new course for the demihuman children. A program that would start from scratch, without assumptions or shortcuts, teaching the basics: English and elementary mathematics.

  At first, his idea was simple. He decided to leave that responsibility in the hands of their three experienced teachers: Liam, Ariel, and Alicia. They had already proven themselves capable, patient, and dedicated. But it only took observing them for a couple of days to realize the reality. They were already carrying too many responsibilities. Demanding more from them would not only be unfair but counterproductive.

  That's when Joel made an unconventional decision. Instead of assigning the education of the new children to the adults… he entrusted it to the older children.

  Guided more by instinct than strict logic, he ended up assigning four of the older children—children who were already approaching adolescence—to teach the newcomers the basics. It was an unorthodox approach, but also an opportunity. For them, it meant testing themselves, taking on real responsibility, and, incidentally, practicing their command of the Greek language in a practical, real-world context. For the shelter, it represented the beginning of something much bigger: a virtuous cycle that, in the long run, would be indispensable if they were ever forced to open more courses for newly rescued children.

  And to no one's surprise, the one who ended up leading that impromptu group of young teachers was Joel's favorite: Abigail.

  At just twelve years old, and after years of consuming Nana's potions, her appearance was far from that of a child. To anyone else, she looked like a young woman of fifteen or sixteen, self-assured and aware of the image she projected. Within the shelter, Abigail was a role model. The first to awaken her magical affinity, just a couple of months ago. Wind, first of all… and also the dimensional affinity copied directly from Connor.

  She always wore her brown hair impeccably styled and sported fashionable clothes that clashed with her surroundings, obvious gifts from Joel. She had cultivated, almost unconsciously, the image of the perfect woman: elegant, competent, and slightly conceited. A personality clearly inspired by certain anime characters that everyone watches, and one she embraced wholeheartedly.

  No one questioned her appointment as teacher. Everyone knew she was Joel's favorite and also the most intelligent. And, although few would admit it aloud, they also knew she was destined for something greater. The other girls had long since begun to imitate her attitude, her way of speaking, and even her walk. This phenomenon inevitably spread to many of the new demihuman girls, who saw in Abigail not just a teacher… but a role model.

  That wasn't to say that Ariel and Alicia weren't admired. But as adults, they were in a different category for the children, often seen as older sisters, surrogate mothers. One step below Joel.

  As for the five enslaved women, Joel eventually assigned them a clear and simple task: to care for and assist the children at the shelter. This meant taking charge of general cleaning, washing clothes, preparing meals, and attending to any daily needs that might arise. It was hard, repetitive, and perhaps thankless work… but they accepted it without the slightest complaint. They had been trained for years to perform these kinds of tasks, so it wasn't something that bothered them too much. Although for some, especially the warriors, it could be somewhat degrading, considering their glorious pasts.

  Even so, they couldn't hide their surprise at what they encountered as soon as they began their work. The shelter's kitchens were unlike anything they had ever seen before. The utensils, the ovens, the smooth cooking surfaces that didn't require a visible flame—everything was baffling. The same was true of the electric washing machines Nana had improvised: enormous barrels of reinforced wood, adapted with electric motors Joel had conjured. Crude machines in appearance, but incredibly efficient. Watching the clothes clean themselves, spinning and agitating without human intervention, left them speechless for long minutes.

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  Once they overcame their initial fear—that lingering dread of remembering that the shelter's inhabitants were, in essence, demons—they began to realize they were in a place completely different from anything they had imagined. Not only different from the fate of slavery they had expected… but different from the world itself.

  What Joel and the other adults called modern technology seemed straight out of children's fairy tales. Artifacts that emitted no magic whatsoever, yet performed impossible feats. Light bursting from tiny bulbs at the touch of a button, illuminating every corner of the shelter without torches or magic crystals. Electric stoves and ovens that heated food with absurd precision. Strange devices that played unfamiliar music, melodies without bards or visible instruments. Screens installed in the common rooms, displaying moving images as if they were permanent illusions. And video game consoles that many of the children handled with ease, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  All of this contrasted brutally with what they had known throughout their lives, even before falling into slavery. This wasn't a luxury… it was another reality.

  And yet, they adapted. At first, they forced themselves, driven by the need to survive and fulfill their roles. But soon, curiosity became the driving force. Observing, learning, touching, understanding. Each day brought something new that shattered their preconceptions, and this constant wonder gradually softened the rigidity with which they had arrived.

  Joel, for his part, did everything he could to keep his distance. He isolated himself from the others as much as possible, forced to open his emotional barrier on several occasions, knowing full well that he had to do so to decompress his mind.

  The second time he did it, the emotional blow was hard. An avalanche of sensations, memories, and thoughts violently overwhelmed him… but it was much more manageable than the first time. Painful, yes, but not paralyzing.

  When he closed the barrier again, a week later, the recovery was noticeably faster. His mind didn't take so long to recover, nor to sort out the internal chaos. That made one thing clear: it wasn't innate resistance, but rather practice and repetition that allowed one to control those side effects.

  However, the emotional burden of keeping the barrier open hadn't disappeared in the slightest.

  Joel knew it. He felt it in every interaction, in every thought that slipped through his fingers. He had become a functional idiot: impulsive, irritable, dangerously easy to provoke or move. He reacted with an intensity that wasn't his own, as if every emotion had been amplified and stripped of its filters. A single misplaced word was enough to ignite his anger, or the slightest gesture to shake him to his core.

  And then there was desire.

  He couldn't help but look lustfully at almost any woman who crossed his path, a primal and persistent impulse that felt as alien as it was shameful. But there was one particular case that completely threw him off balance: the elf woman, Ciliren. There was something about her that captivated him with overwhelming force, something that awakened impulses he found incredibly difficult to contain. He couldn't explain it. It wasn't just her beauty, or grace, or her exotic appearance. It was a visceral, irrational fascination, as if its mere presence disrupted what little remained under his control. That unsettled him more than any other symptom.

  Even so, not everything was a loss, because that state of emotional imbalance was accompanied by something Joel had not anticipated: an almost unbearable mental clarity and overflowing creativity. When he managed to focus, ideas flowed with incredible ease, linking together effortlessly, opening paths he hadn't even considered before. He experienced this firsthand when he began carving stone in his moments of distraction.

  Without intending to, his hands shaped true masterpieces. Brilliant sculptures, brimming with intention and detail, as if each chisel stroke were guided by something deeper than mere technique. There was no prior planning or sketches; he simply knew what to do. The stone obeyed, and the result left him speechless.

  But the inspiration didn't stop at the artistic. Soon, that same clarity extended to far more practical areas. The development of new weaponry emerged as a quiet obsession, fueled by both necessity and opportunity. For a long time, the ability to conjure weapons directly from his dreams had granted him an invaluable advantage, especially during his days on Myrrial. It was fast, flexible, and lethal.

  But it also had limitations, all too obvious ones. There was no point in conjuring a machine gun capable of firing a thousand rounds per minute if it took him several whole days to create the ammunition needed for it to function for barely a single minute. The equation was ridiculous, inefficient, unsustainable. And that's without considering the fact that many mystic warriors and level four or higher mages could withstand bullet impacts at medium and long range without much trouble. By then, ordinary bullets were nothing more than a nuisance.

  Only at close range, aiming for critical areas like the eyes, and using the most powerful ammunition he could conjure, was there any real possibility of taking down someone of level five… maybe six. A margin too narrow to rely on.

  The conclusion was inevitable. If he wanted to overcome these limitations, at least with the creation of his future army in mind, he needed to stop relying exclusively on conjuration. Joel had to manufacture his own weapons. Real, reproducible, and scalable systems. Weapons inspired by both the modern weaponry of his original world and the magic inherent in this one.

  And to do that, he needed to start with the basics. Something he had fortunately been preparing for years with Nana: the creation of a small industrial sector within the shelter.