Stepping through the shadows, there was the normal moment of disorientation that Qube had learned to associate with teleportation. Once that cleared, she was standing in a snowy field, staring at the rugged mountains before her. She’d expected a single Wizard’s Tower, perhaps built with the same reckless disregard for gravity as Definitely Bad Guy’s back in Cobbletown.

Instead there were half a dozen towers, all different heights with a wide range of practicality. They formed a rough semi-circle surrounding a big, imposing Wizard’s Tower that seemed to dominate over the others.

The whole area was enclosed with massive pillars of rock, like teeth erupting from the earth, or meteoric spears that had been plunged into the ground.

A single path of trodden-down snow wound its way to the central tower, with smaller tracks splintering off from said tower’s entrance. The snow was softly but continuously falling, which raised the question of who had tread this path? Sure, there wasn’t a lot of snow, but the fact that it was falling at all implied that someone must have recently walked this path; otherwise, it wouldn’t look so compact. Were Wizards and Mages alike continuously arriving? It was possible there were other gateways, but something about this remote tableau seemed desolate and isolated.

It gave off the air of being long abandoned.

“So, Wizard vs. Mage, what’s the difference?” the Chosen One asked, for all the world like their conversation hadn’t been interrupted by a bit of unexpected teleportation. Say what you would about the Chosen One’s focus (namely that it was horrible, and he was as easily distracted as a puppy) once he actually managed to latch on to a topic, he was tenacious.

Qube, now satisfied with at least arriving in the mystical snowy meadow, felt herself snap into guide mode.

“Oh, well, a Mage is simply anyone whose primary ability is magic-based,” she said, stepping aside to allow the rest of the newly-arrived party onto the path, “with titles changing depending on what you specialise in. For example, my healing ability is magic-based, so, while I’m a Mage, it would be more correct to call me a Healer, as that is the type of magic I use.”

“Okay,” the Chosen One said, actually paying attention for once. “So what makes a Wizard?”

“A Wizard is someone who focuses on one of the offensive schools of magic,” Qube happily informed him. She loved giving the Chosen One information! It made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“For example Warwick, who—” Qube hesitated. She didn’t want to bring up the fact that the all-powerful Devs would sometimes wear Warwick’s skin in order to enter their world. She coughed, and continued: “—who I grew up with in the village, would use fire-based attacks. You may have noticed when you were training with him before —” she hit up against another sensitive topic, “—before we left,” she finished limply.

“Yeah but he also uses fire, so why isn’t he a Wizard?” the Chosen One said, gesturing at the Mage.

“There’s the elemental school of magic,” Qube said, somewhat desperately, “as well as the life school of magic. Curses, although sometimes lethal, affect your life, so they would fall under the life/Healer category.”

“And what about Sewer Bard?” the Chosen One continued relentlessly. “All his songs are spells; otherwise it’d just be him plonking along on his lute.”

“Sewer Bard is a Bard,” Qube said, trying to keep the thread of the conversation. “He performs, and magic comes about because of that. He’s not actively casting a spell.”

“Yeah, but you have to say the spell you’re using in order to cast it, and he pretty much just sings whatever the spell name is with a bunch of ooo-ing and aaa-ing around it,” the Chosen One was ruthless in his questioning.

“I suppose there is some magical use there,” Qube begrudgingly admitted. Sewer Bard was looking extremely confused by the whole conversation.

“I’m not a Mage,” he said, frowning as he tried to parse the conversation. “Because my primary ability is music-based, not magic-based.”

“But it uses mana, right? Or magic, or whatever you call it,” the Chosen One asked.

“Yes,” Qube and Sewer Bard replied simultaneously.

“But Sexy Screamy Spider Lady isn’t a Mage, even though some of her attacks use spells,” the Chosen One continued. Qube gave a small smile of relief. This was steadier ground!

“Her attacks may have some magical use, but her primary abilities are her daggers and crossbow,” she said, her confidence increasing as she continued. “Same with Sewer Bard. His primary abilities are his rapier, and playing the lute. While there is some magical use, he wouldn’t be able to cast any spells without using either his rapier or his lute. Whereas Mages require only their will to cast.”

She drew in a deep breath. Yes. This made sense.

“There is a vocal component to many special abilities,” she said. Her knowledge of the Chosen One, and her awareness that he wouldn’t shame her ignorance, made her instantly continue: “and no, I don’t know why that is.”

She hated not knowing things.

“Perhaps Definitely Bad Guy would be better equipped to answer that,” she said, suddenly realising that they had left out the person their discussion was about. But, somewhat to her surprise, the Chosen One continued to focus on her.

“Yeah, Definitely Bad Guy. Who casts just using his will.”

“Yes,” Qube said warily.

“Wizards cast with only their will,” the Chosen One said encouragingly.

“Yes,” Qube confirmed.

“So, by that logic, shouldn’t Definitely Bad Guy be a Wizard?” he asked, with the air of someone pulling off a grand reveal.

“No,” Qube said.

“Why not?” the Chosen One pressed.

“Because he’s a Mage.”

The Chosen One slapped a hand against his face as Qube made a helpless little gesture.

“Of course!” he muttered to himself. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

Qube looked at the Mage, silently pleading for help in explaining the unexplainable. But Definitely Bad Guy was just standing next to her, his face dead white. He was trembling slightly, although whether that was from the cold, or the conversation, Qube couldn’t tell.

The Hero followed her gaze and saw the Mage’s face. He grimaced slightly.

“Hey, mate,” he said, unexpectedly gentle. “You all right?”

Definitely Bad Guy snapped to attention, and looked at the Chosen One.

“We should continue,” the Mage said, somewhat sternly. “The Wizard Council will have noticed our arrival, and will be awaiting us. It is not wise to keep a Wizard waiting.”

“Hey,” the Chosen One reached out and held the Mage in place with a hand on his bare chest. The whole party looked at the Hero, surprised.

“It’s okay to be a Mage,” he said. “Whether you’re a Wizard, or a Mage, or something else, you know that won’t change how we think about you, right?”

Qube put her hands over her mouth, her eyes glistening. The Chosen One was so accepting! About the oddest things, true, but what a touching moment!

“Which is that you’re a creepy weirdo who enjoys torturing people, to be clear,” the Chosen One added. “But you’re our creepy, evil, weirdo.”

Ah. That was the Chosen One she knew.

“Please stop trying to comfort me,” Definitely Bad Guy said in a flat tone. The Chosen One shrugged.

Having apparently settled the conversation to his liking, the Chosen One swung around and started marching up the path, whistling a tune. As they clomped their way through the snow towards the main tower, Qube started to notice signs of life. Small puffs of smoke came out of a few of the towers, some from visible chimneys and others, more alarmingly, from the roofs themselves.

The middle tower loomed over them, as, without hesitation, the Chosen One flung open the large wooden door and strolled into the building. The wizened old man studying a series of potion jars and strange, squiggly glass tubes looked up.

“Ah, apprentice, you have returned to complete your training. I take it you have escaped the clutches of that tyrant?” the old man paused as he took in the Chosen One. “Or perhaps you have come here on a matter of even greater importance,” he said, dusting himself off.

“Welcome, Chosen One,” he continued, folding his hands into his far too long to be practical sleeves. Honestly, given the amount of liquids he was working with, Qube was astonished that he hadn’t dipped the ends of his sleeves into several different substances. The large-brimmed hat also seemed in danger of flopping over his eyes, which surely would be dangerous when bending over things on a table.

Even the robe itself was overly long, dragging across the floor as the man shuffled towards them, presenting a tripping hazard not just for the old man, but anyone else moving about the space. His absurdly long beard was also loose, some of it worryingly close to the open flames under the beakers.

Really, the only positive thing she could think of about his outfit was the stars stitched onto it. They shimmered as he shuffled, mimicking the twinkling of the night sky.

Qube liked stars.

“I see that the Golden Prophecy has finally come to pass,” the elder said ponderously. “Long have we awaited this day. I wish I could lend you the aid of the greatest minds of our Academy but, alas, we Mages are a fractious people, and each of us have retreated to our respective Wizard’s Towers.”

The Chosen One nodded his head seriously, before reaching behind himself and snagging Sewer Bard. Shoving the Bard in front of him, he said: “Hey, this is the guy you want to talk to. Sewer Bard, old dude. Old dude, person who loves listening to you talk. Go for it.”

The Chosen One started to turn away, before stopping and facing the old man again.

“Also what you’re saying is important, and worth stuff,” he said, “but just this guy here is way better at lore than I am. So, y’know, he’s the one you want.”

Was the Chosen One… actually trying to be diplomatic today? Comforting a fellow party member, clarifying that what people thought was important — it was like he was really trying to show how much he cared!

Qube had never been prouder of him.

Giving Sewer Bard a hearty pat on the back, the Chosen One went over to a haphazardly-stacked pile of books, and carefully picked up the top volume. Flicking through it far too quickly to have actually read a single word, he looked down at the wobbling tower of texts.

“We have been attempting to perfect a truly powerful spell, one which should be of great assistance in your quest,” the old man, who had yet to introduce himself, continued somewhat uneasily. He was looking between the Chosen One and Sewer Bard, trying to talk to both at once.

The Chosen One carefully, deliberately, pushed over the stack of books.

“Look at how they spill out!” he said excitedly, grabbing Qube’s arm. “They’re — oh, that’s not right.”

Several of the books started jittering in place, before one launched itself halfway across the room.

“As our Noble Patron said, I would be more than delighted to listen to your story,” Sewer Bard said, giving what Qube was starting to recognise as his greeting bow. “If I may know whom I am addressing…?” he trailed off leadingly.

“Of course, young man.” The old man coughed slightly, his eyes still flickering between the Hero and Bard. “I am Copernicus, the Head Mage of the Wizards’ Academy.”

“They’re just taunting me with this classification stuff now, aren’t they?” the Chosen One asked Qube. She gave him an uncertain smile, before looking over at the Head Mage.

“Can you see me?” she asked him, figuring that if anyone was magically strong enough to see through the Evil Emperor’s curse, it would be the Head Mage of a Wizard’s Academy. Then, before he had a chance to reply, she continued “Also, what makes someone a Wizard, as opposed to a Mage?”

While she could tolerate not knowing things, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t do her best to find out the answer as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, despite his supposed mastery of all things magical, the Head Mage couldn’t seem to hear her.

“Yes, yes,” he said instead, stroking his long, white beard. “We have been working on this spell ever since the self-styled Evil Emperor took our students away, in the hopes of one day being able to pass it on to the one fated to defeat him. But, alas, you have not the power to cast such a spell, Chosen One. Instead, it must be our erstwhile pupil who will be the one to master this spell.”

The Head Mage shuffled in front of Definitely Bad Guy, who hadn’t said a word since they’d entered the tower.

“Yes, apprentice,” the old man said. “It is finally time for you to seize your destiny.”