For four days I searched the doorways of Lightning magic from the comfort of a couch and with a glass of wine in hand. I knew how I appeared to the others, a wizard sipping wine and gazing blankly as if I had no concerns at all. I found and learned several powerful spells, though whoever had created them had given them presumptuous names.

[Heaven’s Descent] was a fifth-tier spell that called nearly three dozen lightning strikes to hit the earth. It wasn’t the ideal spell, as it was nearly impossible to designate a particular target, but an area was feasible. Against a sea of hydra, it would do wonders. The truly magnificent part of the spellcrafting in it was how it was constructed. The framework was created in a way that I could pour as much mana as I wanted into it, and the result would be more bolts summoned. This placed it potentially much higher than the fifth-tier. The downside was that it could only be used once a week at most, as it pulled on the natural forces of lightning in an area and left it dry afterward.

[Finger of the Heavens] was another fifth-tier spell, an improved of [Call Lightning], which summoned one singular powerful lightning strike on a chosen place. It was five times as powerful as call lightning because it was essentially five casts of the spell woven together. The name, though, left much to be desired.

I had been in the process of extracting the framework that weaved the bolts together from the latter and trying to apply them to the former in the hopes of being able to make my own sixth-tier spell. While the doorways provided by my Authorities were excellent showing me existing magics, the spells I could view were limited to only the fifth-tier. I didn’t know if that would change if I ever ascended to the sixth-tier, but I held hopes it would.

Yet, my research, still incomplete, was interrupted by my seneschal, who was wearing a new tunic and trouser set of yellow that matched the robes I hadn’t changed in four days. In fact, now that I considered it, it also matched the robes my apprentices wore and I had seen much more yellow in the clothing of those whom I had met with when I returned.

With a bow, his words brought me back to the present, “Pardon the interruption, my lord. There is a guest who arrived claiming a matter of utmost urgency.”

The interruption was an annoyance, but I didn’t expect my seneschal to interrupt for me just any random villager, “Who is the guest?”

“A mage claiming to work for Baron Froom.”

I sighed. Alred had mentioned his wife’s coming death when we last spoke, and he hadn’t attended the Wilchrest wedding. Likely, he was as subsumed by working to evacuate as many people as he could as I was in preparing defenses, and it was something related to that. Although… he was working in a new field of magic and he may have discovered something. That thought excited me, and I jumped up from the couch with new enthusiasm.

“Well? Lead on!” I said with a grin.

The moment I arrived on the first floor of my tower to greet the mage, I knew I wouldn’t be receiving any good news. The man who greeted me was the same fellow Froom had sent to stand in his place at the wedding, though he appeared much more worn. Stelk’s eyes were wrinkled with worry, and his brow furrowed as he paced back and forth before my curved table in deep thought. He didn’t even note our arrival, but Fentworth cleared his throat and announced me.

“Presenting Lord Nemon Fargus,” Fentworth called, my seneschal’s voice and actions still at the height of propriety. I gave the man an appreciative glance, as I entered the room and nodded to my guest.

Stelk stopped in his pacing, and turned to bow low as he said a formal greeting, “Good day, Grand Master.”

“Good day,” I answered. It wasn’t the first time I’d been called grand master, that was an affectation from the other teachers at the Arcanum. It was the first time I’d heard it in several years, though, and was reminiscent of times not long ago when my worries were much fewer.

Skelt rose to stand, and I took in his appearance more closely. His red robes were worn but clean, and I could see little frays around the green cuffs where the fabric was beginning to thin. Likewise, his hair was clean and pushed back, as if he ran his hands through it rather than brush it. Stubble grew on his cheeks and chin, evidence of shaving recently but not in the past week or so.

“Please sit,” I offered, my hand gesturing to the seat before him. I sat in my own chair, across the table and to the left of the stone stool he had taken. He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a hand to forestall him. Turning to my seneschal, I called for food and wine.

It was several moments of silence between us while we waited. I could see his impatience in how he carried himself: a finger tapping, a knee bouncing, his face making assorted expressions without any care of discipline. Soon, the food and wine arrived, cups of strawberry wine with a platter of grilled fish the same as breakfast this morning and cuts of tender, freshly cut cheese. Not enough to be considered a meal on its own, but enough to fill a hungry stomach or two until lunch.

Stelk ignored the food and drink. Instead, after it arrived, he bowed his head once while he looked up at me with imploring eyes. “Grand master, I am a disciple of Lord Froom, and I have come to beseech your aid. He has taken to drink heavily in his mourning of Lady Froom’s passing, and has given us no further instructions.”

“Go on,” I said calmly, though now I was beginning to feel worried as well. Alred had adventured for many years, and he must have had experience with dealing with loss. To throw himself into the bottles—what was he thinking? I reached for a glass of wine, but Stelk placed both hands flat on the table and leaned forward.

His words came out with all the sense of urgency he felt, the intensity of his emotions clear on his face. “We have not been able to get through to him. All he does is drink. None of us. His disciples are ignored. His retainers are ordered to carry on, as if whatever they were doing before, they should keep doing. His followers, many of who have known him for years and settled his lands, only to move and resettle the plane are disregarded. We know what is at stake, but we are at a loss for how to proceed without his guidance. I implore you—beg you—to help him so that he can once again lead us!”

I leaned back as I stroked my beard in thought, but I already knew my answer. How could I decline?

“Very well. I shall ready to depart after we eat,” I answered.

The man gaped at me as if he didn’t expect assent. I picked a slice of cheese to nibble on while he came to his senses. It only took a moment for him to look chagrinned. “Grand master, I apologize for my outburst.”

I waved the cheese at him, “No need. I can see you care for your mentor very much.”

“I do. He has taught me everything. I must also confess that I wasn’t ready for your quick agreement.” Stelk spoke, yet his eyes were now on the plate of food and his tone full of shame, “Master once said you were mule-headed. He called you the most stubborn man he’d ever met. I thought I would need to spend days convincing you.”

I nodded, “That sounds like something Alred would say.” In fact, it was one of the more pleasant things I expected the man to say about me.

“The quartz needed to build the portal won’t arrive until tomorrow. I—I planned to build it while you were considering the matter,” The mage grimaced, still not looking at me.

I picked up a piece of the fish and chewed on it slowly while I thought. The mage kept his head bowed while I did, as if awaiting a reprimand. Though part of me did want to reprimand the man, I suspected that the pressures of the coming End of our Age affected many people in different ways. That, and if he was Alred’s disciple, it should be up to Alred to judge the matter.

“Very well. We will depart when you are prepared. I have other matters to attend to. Mister Aide, if you would, find some quarters for our guest?”

My seneschal bowed in response, as I moved a piece of the cheese across the plate in thought. It was as I was thinking, I heard the front door open and someone tactfully cough to announce their presence. When I glanced up, Pyl was standing there with a happy face.

“Lord Fargus, are you available?” he asked, nearly giddy with excitement.

“For?” I inquired.

“To view my greatest work! To see through the mirror that looks down upon the plane of death. To call upon those who have departed,” he said with an infectious grin.

I couldn’t help but smile in return. I had already been interrupted once, and I did have a moment or two.