The morning brought with it the unpleasant noises of a busy inn. Despite being on the third floor, I clearly heard the loud chatter of talkative scribes. The aptly named Scholar’s Delight Inn was a desirable inn often filled with traveling merchants, administrators, scribes, and, of course, wizards due to the many walls lined with bookcases and shelves showcasing a haphazard and random assortment of literature. I hoped that would make for a quieter stay, but the opposite held true this morning. I didn’t complain to anyone out loud, of course, but I did feel as though the straw-stuffed mattress, even if it was of high quality for an inn, lost in comparison to the comforts of my own bed. This served me as a reminder of the comforts I’d be foregoing. The breakfast, a warm well-made porridge with a side of day-old ham, lacked the care and attention of the meals my old servants prepared. This experience in a relatively upper-class lodging only made me hesitant about my decision to depart and apprehensive about the burdens that travel would entail. But my decision was made. I wouldn’t change it now. I dressed in a traveling robe, a thicker red material made of some kind of monster fur, a matching belt, and checked out.

The apprehensive thoughts stirred as I made my way to the western gate. On arrival, I met with my butler-no-longer Nisto, his wife Hertha, and their darling daughter for a pleasant but tear-filled goodbye. I entrusted them with a few letters, one of recommendation for work, one of recommendation to the Arcanum for testing when the girl grew old enough for it, and a third letter I instructed them to take to Dean Scot unopened should they run across any issues which could not be solved without a hand from a higher step of society. Certainly, my third letter was nothing that would prevent some noble from absconding with Hertha against her will, but it granted them the Arcanum’s support or protection against any lesser threat.

Walker and his sister Lilly silently joined by my side some time during the farewell. I’d reserved a room for them, but didn’t bother to even check if they used it. Walker was of the age that he should be responsible enough to meet me, especially if he wants to be my assistant. I motioned them into the carriage I would be riding in, and set about for one last look over the wagons.

Four covered wagons, filled with my furniture each pulled by a team of six horses. Another open back wagon pulled by a team of four horses carried traveling supplies in one large trunk. The rest of the wagon was rows of potted Asrid Flowers. Flowers whose large bright yellow petals and fragrant scent caught the eye of more than one passerby. An older model carriage, built for cross-country travel was pulled by a team of two horses, and the driver seemed a little better dressed and more refined than the others. That he’d prepared a cup of my favorite tea only spoke further to that regard. Finally, a team of three Tier 2 adventurers, two [Warriors] and an [Archer] on horse, joined as a protection detail. It was something that Nisto arranged upon request of the [Wagoneers]. I thought them unnecessary, but the expense seemed too small to argue. If it made my wagon drivers feel safer, then so be it. I certainly didn’t plan on standing any watch during the night for that purpose.

Satisfied, I finished my tea and joined Walker and Lilly in the carriage as we began to travel. The inside was entirely of a light brown wood except for two opposing bench seats. Those were thickly cushioned in a worn deep blue velvet. Soft but not firm. Both of my companions sat busy watching the city pass by from inside the glass windows. I didn’t bother looking, the shanty houses and mud hovels of fifth ring were nothing I desired to see. I personally enjoyed seeing the amazement on their faces when we passed through the city’s outer gate, though. The outer wall stood nearly two hundred feet tall, and the gatehouse rose another fifty feet above that. Made from the light blue stone of the city, but covered in an overly dark green marble elaborately carved into the forms of majestic roaring dragons, the Great Western Gate made for an imposing sight. The two open doors were made from thick dark brown timbers, pulled from some far-off forest where the trees grew tall and broad. Metal bands, untarnished by rust or dirt lined these massive doors. Standing proudly on either side, were high-level guards in gleaming chainmail backed by sporting dusk-orange cloaks. Their faces were hidden behind helms with animalistic masks and topped by feathered plumes of the same dusk-orange as their cloaks. Sharp, enchanted halberds held firmly in hand.

It’s been a long while since I saw any wearing that armor. Seeing it now only brought a feeling of disappointed regret that gurgled in the pit of my stomach. I pretended not to feel it. Instead, I closed my eyes and focused on another emotion. A certain kind of relief, the relief I felt now that all my major responsibilities were no longer burdens to carry. I was free to do as I pleased. I tried to hold on to that feeling and bask in it, but at some point, my attempt turned into an unplanned midmorning nap.

In the early afternoon, an errant beam of sunlight struck my eyes through the window. The small warmth of the day tried to lull me back to sleep, but the crick in my neck didn’t agree. Now awake, I took in the view out the window. We were currently passing a small village surrounded by fields. The land itself formed only flat plains, mostly grasslands with the occasional tree. Several other farmhouses were built apart from the village, sprinkling the land as far as I could see. In the distance, the two towers and temple of a monastery built with a white stone reflected the sun in such a way it seemed to glow with purity. Other than the monastery, the view stagnated into the monotonous. Vaguely, I listened in on the conversation between Walker and his sister Lilly.

“I don’t understand. What is the difference between a level and a skill level?” She asked, apparently a font of curiosity. Quite different from yesterday’s rampant excitability, but no less eager.

“As I said before, as a person gains experience in their class they level up their class. When a person practices a skill, they gain levels in their skill. What don’t you get?” Walker answered, annoyance clear by his tone. It seemed his patience was close to a limit.

“I just—I just don’t get it! Wouldn’t practicing a class skill earn you experience in your class?” Lilly asked.

I felt exasperation in her voice without even needing to look at her. I considered possibly explaining the topic. I’ve spent more than enough years teaching to know that the way Walker was going about it was not the best way for Lilly to learn. Perhaps I had erred in asking him to be the one to instruct her. After all, if they were siblings there would be friction, and this it might cause greater friction. However, him learning the patience needed to teach would be an invaluable tool for him later. For any mage, as well, patience seemed to create a dividing line between what allowed a mage to be good or to be great in our craft. What swayed me towards interrupting the most, however, was the fear I would be subject to bickering the entire trip. Surely, if I ordered them to be silent, they would be. However, that would benefit neither. With a sigh, I spoke.

“[Mage] Walker,” my voice cut in, and they both immediately quieted and sat up straighter.

“I’m sorry Master Fergus, I—” He began, but I waved him to silence.

“No, I find myself to be bored, and will provide some instruction.”

“Yes, master.” He gave a formal bow, the one taught at the Arcanum, at least the best he could from his sitting position. Should I tell him not to call me master? I’m no longer an instructor there. But perhaps he’s used to responding in that way, and it would do good for his sister to learn the appropriate ways of address early should she meet the testing requirements at the academy. No matter, a consideration for another time.

“I am glad you have already begun attempting to fill in the knowledge for your sister, the gap of two years would undoubtedly cause her to fall behind her peers, no matter her innate talents. The first step, I’ve learned, for any good instructor is not to provide any instruction but rather to assess what already is held by their student and, only after, to form a plan to add to that knowledge.”

With the dumbfounded look the young man gave me, I would assume that this hadn’t even crossed his mind. So, I turned from him towards Lilly, “Let me demonstrate. Lilly.”

“Yes. Um. Yes, master?” She asked, her eyes not meeting mine and her hand nervously clutching the edge of the seat cushion. Did I scare her? Well, that would be solved in time.

“Tell me of your studies at the orphanage. Can you read and write?”

“Yes, master.” This time, she spoke the title with a little more confidence.

“Arithmetic? Geography? History? Politics?”

“Master, I know arithmetic to the hundreds for adding and subtracting, and I’ve studied the Kingdom map they had, though it was old. I know the stories of Ellora. I don’t know if we studied politics—is that the church levels? Nun and paladin and cleric and priest, Master?”

Of course, they didn’t teach politics. Likely the nuns saw each youth as a tiny paladin waiting for its armored shell to grow in. Feeling disgruntled, I shook my head.

“No, it's not, but we will need to grow your foundation larger before starting on politics.” I turned back to Walker and counted a raised finger with each task decided, “Mr. Walker, I will assume some of her instruction until we arrive. When I am not available, you will further Ms. Lilly’s tutelage in mathematics. She should be multiplying and dividing into the thousands by our arrival. We will have to assess her reading level when we reach a permanent residence. She will likely learn some geography as we travel, so we will build on that. I’ll need to purchase a new map on our way. Now attend while I offer instruction on history.”

I returned to looking at Lilly, who made an eep, and looked down into her lap.

“Ms. Lilly, do you know the Ages?”

She nodded vigorously, “Yes, master.”

“What are they?” I asked, simply.

She took a deep breath. “We are in the Age of Wonder—”

“No, start at the first,” I corrected.

“I—um, I… okay. The first is the Age of Gods, then the second—” She seemed a lot less certain than before.

“Stop. I want you to tell me what you know of the Age of Gods. You may recite the Histories if they are all you know.”

“The first age, the Age of the Gods. The Old Gods were petty and vindictive. They fought and fought amongst themselves until the world began to break apart. Then, they used their very lives to bind it back together. Their bodies became the ley lines that empower magic now.” She looked up at me nervously, her blonde hair partly falling over her face.

“Is that what the church taught you?” I asked.

When she nodded, I realized that maybe this was more work than I originally planned. I would need to ask about all what the church taught to ensure I could correct as much of their meddling as possible. I could only imagine the bias they worked into the children had grown since I last checked.

“Then let us start at the names of the Ages. Each age ends with a cataclysm. It isn’t always known what causes that catastrophe, especially for the earlier ages. There are little to no records from those times. We assume that, because only the gods remain of the first age, that it was the gods that brought about the end of it. It is a fair assumption, but it is only one of two things we know are true about the first age. That only gods were left, and that there were no ley lines until the second age. Whether those gods were petty and vindictive? We only assume that because our gods now are petty and vindictive. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master.” At some point, she built up the courage to look at me while I spoke.

“Good, so tell me what you know about the second age.”

She cleared her throat and took up a position for reciting, “The second age is the Age of Giants. To continue their wars, the gods turned to creation, each making children after themselves. The greatest of these children were the giants. Beings so large, they stood taller than mountains. But with great size came great hunger, and these children of the gods threatened to eat the world itself. Some gods claimed this was a victory for their children, and some claimed that it was pyrrhic. So those gods warred again, and in the cataclysm, the giants were struck down.”

When she finished, she looked nervously at me, as if waiting for a correction. That wouldn’t do. I needed her confident in her knowledge, yet knowing when to question.

“Good, that is a fair enough account. We will work on what little else we know from the second age later. Tell me of the third.”

With a small smile of pride, she spoke again, “The third age, Age of Dragons. Though they did not compare to the giants at first, the dragons were powerful in their own right. They never stop growing with age, either in size or power. The dragons were the second children of the gods who threatened the world. Their growing power caused the gods themselves to become jealous and fearful. Some gods called for their destruction, some for limiting their growth, and some to send these children elsewhere.” She paused for a moment in thought before adding, “No one knows for sure if dragons are still part of this world or not, but after the war, no living dragon could be found.”

I was impressed she thought to add in her last line. It wasn’t part of the Histories but from another tome. To me, her interpretation of the account was more important than whether she could recite it or not. I could see Walker nearly squirming in his seat as if he wanted to chime in, but a raised eyebrow was enough to remind him he should be watching and listening. “Go on.”

The recitals continued like that, with guided questions at the end until we reached the sixth stage. There, Lilly seemed hesitant to speak, until gestured for Lilly to continue, “Next we have the—the,” She stopped, taking a look at my ears.

“Go on.” I would take no offense to whatever was said, I wasn’t even born at the time.

“The sixth age, the Age of Elves. The high elves, who, in their arrogance believed themselves above the gods. With great magic, they enslaved or killed the gods, one after another. At first, the gods were pleased, thinking their enemies were being struck down, but soon they realized that the elves were placing themselves above the very gods. Fearful of death, the Gods banded together and cursed their race, making them ugly and diminutive in mind and body, known now as goblins. Only the wood elves, staying true to tribal tradition, and the dark elves, hiding in the bowels of the earth, were not so cursed.”

After she stopped reciting her words, she seemed to think them through, “But that can’t be true, can it Master Fargus? I mean, you’re here, and you don’t look like a goblin or wood elf or dark elf to me.”

Her innocent look, clearly not trying to offend me in any way, warmed my heart. With a self-deprecating smile, I answered, “The high elves, for better or worse, were very good at record-keeping. That we know they enslaved gods is undisputable. What is our greatest proof of that?”

“The soul scrolls?”

“Correct. One of the first gods enslaved was the elven goddess of magic. Using her captured power, they created a method to better understand their own. Perhaps to better increase their own, too. The very same system that tells us our classes and levels and skills. You are not old enough to access it yet, hence your confusion earlier between skill levels and class level. As for myself, you need not worry. Remember, I am only half-elf. Half-human. Clearly not of goblin breeding. I will neither try to make you plant a tree nor kidnap you to the underworld. We can discuss my heritage some other time. What else can we learn from this account?” I really have no interest in speaking of my heritage at all after this, even if it is a natural thing to be curious about.

“Hey! I just got a quest!” She seemed excited.

“Free the Chained Goddess?” I asked.

“Yup, that’s it. How did you know?”

I wasn’t about to go into how useless the quest list was in the soul scroll. I don’t think I’ve looked at mine in fifty years, and I have no regrets on the matter. I made a dismissive gesture, “Everyone that has a soul scroll gets that quest. Everyone. I haven’t been able to find a single clue my entire life. Now, what can we learn from the Histories account of the sixth age?”

She seemed disappointed at my response, but it didn’t last long before she asked, “That arrogance is bad? That it is hubris to think yourself above the gods?”

Those answers sound like lessons from the orphanage. Likely a reflection of her religious upbringings, so I didn’t want to accept the answer, “Both good things that can be learned from this account, yes. But those seem obvious. What can we infer?”

I let her think a moment before she finally answered, “The gods can be enslaved and die.”

This time, it wasn’t a question. She seemed certain of her answer. Many concepts could be garnered from this passage, and what she’d said was certainly one of them. It truly seemed to come from her interpretation, which is exactly what I wanted.

“Excellent answer Ms. Lilly. Please be mindful that I am not advocating such a thing. I prefer myself in my current body.” I joked, which she answered with a polite giggle. It may have been a forced giggle, but I refuse to look further into the matter. “Please go on.”

I noticed she started looking a little worn out as she started her recital, “The seventh age. The Age of Dwarves. The dwarves crafted things of beauty and power, growing ever more skillful with each generation. Soon, the gods themselves coveted what the dwarves made, and fought amongst each other for these prizes. When the war was over, the dwarves had already hidden themselves away beneath the earth, refusing to ever lift their hands to make another thing of beauty.”

She seemed to reach a decision as she spoke her thoughts out loud, “So, the nuns said this was about being too envious of others and was a warning against coveting others things, but I think that it's about the dwarves hiding. That they could hide, I mean. That there are places people can hide from the gods.”

“Impressive answer Ms. Lilly,” I said with a prideful smile. I didn’t even have to prod for her to express her own line of thinking this time, an excellent sign. I could see she was getting tired now., “Last one, and then we will take a break. Pushing yourself can give you new heights to look from so long as you don’t push yourself too hard.”

“The eighth age, the Age of the Seafolk. Worshiping a new god, the seafolk banded together to wipe the other races from the planet and sink all lands into the ocean. Kingdoms and Empires fell. Strange unions of desperate peoples found themselves united in common cause. The land gods and sea gods warred, each united behind their respective races. Only when the sea gods thought themselves assured of victory, did they turn on each other. That was when the land gods struck. Few sea gods survived to flee, though those left on the surface were little more than refugees.”

I watched as she fell silent after her recital, deep in thought. Soon enough she looked up at me with clear bright eyes. “The seafolk worshipped a new god. That means there are new gods.”

While I could have pushed her down that line of thinking more, and debated the different sides of each step, this was enough mental exercise for the tired teenager. “Good. We will go further tomorrow. Take a break to consider what you have learned. And I don’t mean about the Histories. Mr. Walker, care to discuss what you learned?”

Walker straightened his sleeves before answering, “I think I understand what you wanted me to see Master Fergus. The method of guided questions seemed similar to how the other masters at Arcanum taught.”

“Good. You will practice this method when you instruct your sister from now on. Should she not understand, do not allow yourself to become frustrated. The blame for lack of understanding rarely rests with the student.”

I pulled a tome from my baggage and began reading it, a signal to my assistant that the conversation concluded. The book was a journal of a merchant captain who claimed a storm threw his expedition off course from the northernmost country of Ice Vale onto one of its coastal islands. It described an icy barren island and his interactions with a tribe of short, white-furred cannibals he called ‘frostlings’. I was more interested in the descriptions of the plants and creatures than his harrowing tale of escape. The idea that a people could adapt to certain climates wasn’t a new one, as the humans living on Sena’s coastline clearly demonstrated adaptions that would make them harder to detect in sand.

It was more the clear delineation between climates causing almost elementally suited adaptations that interested me. I held no intentions of kidnapping a village of humans to test the hypothesis, but perhaps goblins would do. They experienced a much faster breeding rate, after all. I couldn’t help but smile and consider other assorted experiments that would have been frowned upon in the city.

That first night of our journey, we camped in a clearing that seemed well used by travelers. It was not the experience I remember. Or maybe it was and I just grew too accustomed to the comforts of a city life. I used the excuse that my assistant needed to learn how to set up a tent to have the [Wagoneers] show him how. In the morning, the driver brewed me a whole kettle of the Asrid Flower tea and made it well enough. I tasked him with showing Walker and Lilly how to brew it now that I was confident the cup yesterday wasn’t a fluke.

It would take about two weeks travel at our caravan’s current rate to make it to our first stop, the city of Eiston. While most of the journey was similar to the first day, except for a reoccurring cold drizzle every afternoon, there were a few exceptions that stood out.

On the morning of the third day, which was not too long after we left the capitol, we passed one of the Kingdom’s Citadels. A three-story red brick castle and troop training grounds. While it was nothing of note, the twenty-foot-tall stone statue placed between it and the road was. I called for the entire wagon train to stop so that I could get a better look. General Ironfist. When I served under him, he was General Finewright, a second-born nobleman’s son. This man was singly responsible for the deaths of no less than a hundred thousand troops. Lives wasted without a care. Only a handful of my friends died in the battles leading up to the one he’s famous for. The largest battle of the war. The rest died to this bastard’s recklessness. The weeks following that battle consisted of me drinking myself stupid in taverns from early morning to late evening. It was in one of those taverns where I first met my friend Ram. That they created a statue to honor this bastard irked me to no end. Just seeing it made me feel physically ill.

That the statue looked no less than fifty years old and that no one alive but myself likely remembers his face, led to my decision. I defaced it, of course. A pig should have a pig’s face. It didn’t sit too well with the [Wagoneers], but they already had to talk me down from just destroying the whole darn thing with lightning. I wasn’t going to do nothing. Celebrated hero? Not on my watch.

This, of course, led me to having to explain my actions to, well, literally everyone else I was traveling with. I could have simply ignored it, but I felt that they should know more about the illustrious general’s real history. What I couldn’t have expected was that one of the songs about my exploits during that war to be still around. Back then, I was young and foolhardy. What powerful youth doesn’t dream of having songs sung about their courage? I certainly did. What I didn’t know at the time, though, was that for every one song you pay a [Bard] to write for you, they write three more in mockery.

I did keep a plain, neutral face throughout the whole song. I’ve heard far bawdier versions of ‘The Sparkling Hairs of Lightning Butt’ than theirs. I also felt they’d earned their time drinking around a campfire and singing such songs simply by tolerating my revision of a national monument.

On the sixth day of our journey, we were stopped by some highwaymen, thinking they were robbing a merchant caravan. When we first stopped, I kept tutoring Lilly thinking that our caravan was just taking an early night. It wasn’t until I heard the shouting between my hired adventurers and [Bandits] that I decided to take a look.

When I stepped from the carriage, I saw that a large tree trunk blocked the road ahead, and we were surrounded by more than a hundred of the thugs. The shouting was coming from the front of our wagon train, but I couldn’t see from the angle I stood. Naturally, that meant I used [Wind Manipulation] to get a better look. While my appearance stopped the arguing for a moment, a [Triple Cast: Chain Lightning] stopped it for good. After I cast the spell, I felt a little embarrassed. I’d forgotten I retired as an adventurer and didn’t hold any legal authority to slay bandits. Rather than deal with any official investigations, I let the adventurers take down the fleeing dregs and then offered to allow them to claim credit for any bounty.

Unfortunately, my offer meant that we stopped for the day to allow for looting the dead and burning the bodies. I wasn’t happy about the wait, but they wouldn’t be able to tell the story of my actions and claim the credit at the same time. I’d just weather it gracefully. Not that I saw anything that indicated any of my traveling companions were savvy enough in the peculiarities of the kingdom’s adventuring law to recognize what I did. I was also lucky Walker kept his sister in the carriage. I feared the sight of a man’s corpse may disturb her youthful exuberance, as she possessed an innocent naiveté. All in all, I acted in haste and regretted it.

On the eleventh day, we ended up camping with a long merchant train heading towards Sena City, the opposite direction we were headed. This group was nearly fourteen wagons, and four [Merchant]s with their families. At first, we didn’t interact more than a greeting, but when I saw the six waist-high children playing with toy swords and dolls, I couldn’t help but to do a little enchanting.

I did catch them by surprise. I waited until one boy lifted his sword to shout heroically to make it start glowing blue. All six children came to an abrupt stop in their play. His look of surprised wonder cheered my heart. It didn’t take long for the four boys and two girls to locate the source—really no one else was dressed in wizard fashion beyond me and my assistant—and beg for me to enchant more toys. I happily granted each of their requests, except for the lad that wanted a staff that shot ‘fireballs as big as the sun’. He received an enchanted stick that shot spheres of light instead, which was only a small disappointment.

As they say, doing good deeds never goes unpunished. When the [Wagoneers] in my train saw what I’d done, they all bought toys from the [Merchants] for me to enchant. For their children back home, they claimed. I wanted to turn them down, but I also knew that my furniture was in their care. While I doubt they would do anything so bold as to purposely drop it, I wasn’t about to risk my good couch on the off chance they would bump it into things. I had to limit it to two apiece, just so that I’d get some sleep that night. Perhaps I should open a toy shop in the future. I could pay a toymaker to do the carving and the enchantments were simple enough for even my assistant to manage. Something to consider for later.

We made good time after that, arriving at Eiston on the morning of the fifteenth day.