Lucas expected to be taken to the guest parlor for the third time, but instead Seldra walked past that boring room and lead him upstairs. Finally, he could see that second floor that was just as mundane as the first floor had been. The upstairs halls were not decorated with portraits of ancestors long dead, or statues that had some fabled history, or precious family vases or other such heirlooms. No, it was just a simple hallway with a dark wooden floorboard, with some red and gold carpet here and there. The stone walls were mostly barren, save for a few paintings of landscapes which Lucas didn’t recognize. Whether the hallways were barren because of his curse of a skill, or because the manor was poor, he had no idea. He assumed the former because it seemed that there weren’t any guards patrolling, or servants working, or anyone else up here in on this empty floor, save for him and Seldra.

At the end of one of the hallways was a door that looked the same as every other door. Dark, wooden, paneled, with a door knob whose silver paint began to chip away, revealing the much duller brown color underneath. Seldra opened the door without a thought, and waited for Lucas to step in before closing the door behind her.

Apparently these morons held trials/interrogations inside of studies. To both sides of Lucas, the room was lined with bookshelves, which held books and papers that were no doubt important to somebody, just not him. They all looked to be bound similarly to books printed in the late 1800s and early 1900s. At a glance, none of the shelves seemed to be properly organized – the books were lazily placed, misaligned with each other which created lots of empty space. The loose papers that the shelves held had their yellowed edges crumpled, a sign that at least at some point, people had taken and read them numerous times; yet the fact that these documents were still loose indicated that they couldn’t be important enough for anyone to bother binding them, or storing them away somewhere where they would be better preserved.

On the far side of the room was a window which let in just enough light for people to see what was inside the room, but not enough light that Lucas would ever call the room “well-lit,” however calling it dimly lit would also be a lie. At the risk of describing a room like a steak, it was a medium-well lit room.

Just in front of that window was a desk, and on that desk were some more scattered papers. A quill and inkwell were set on the corner of the desk, but he guessed that those were there for decorative purposes rather than utility, because right next to it was a set of normal-looking pens and pencils. Whoever owned that many writing utensils must fear the day when they run out of them. Or at least that was the only reason Lucas could think of as to why anyone would own so many. Or perhaps this was the desk of someone who did a lot of writing.

Sitting behind this potential workaholic’s desk was the man who was going to decide Lucas' punishment for the crime he didn't commit. On top of the man's head rested some glorious golden curls, which many people no doubt envied him for. Seriously, his hair was nothing short of luxurious, and it was a shame he cut it short. Currently, he was squinting at a paper laying in front of him. One of his hands was covering his mouth as his eyes moved back and forth, reading the document, while his other hand rested on the table. The man wore glasses, glasses whose rims were large and round. The dark brown suit he wore also appeared to be a couple centuries behind Earth’s style, and the gray undershirt he chose was wrinkled. Either the man didn’t care enough to have his laundry taken care of, or there was no such thing as ironing on this planet.

All in all, everything looked very imposing, or at least he got the feeling that whoever designed this room meant for it to strike fear and respect to anyone who saw it. Not Lucas, though. Sure, it looked old and neat, but it also showed that whoever designed the room was a messy person, who clearly didn’t know how proper organization led to a better working environment. How was anyone supposed to find anything here when it was all so cluttered?

“Dad, I’ve brought Xandrious,” Seldra said. The man didn’t look up at her, deciding to instead continue staring at the paper he was holding.

“Xandrious,” Seldra’s father said, still not looking up.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Why do always have to cause trouble?” the man sternly asked, his eyes looking up from the paper to stare at Lucas. That unflinching gaze made him uncomfortable, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Well--” Lucas trailed off. How was he supposed to respond to something like this?

The man snorted, a sound that very much didn’t match how he looked, and went back to looking at his paper. A few moments passed where no one talked, and the only noise that could be heard was Lucas’ breathing. He was starting to get real sick of these awkward moments of quiet. What was he supposed to do, start blathering on about how he clearly penned down those murderous words on that journal? Start talking about how since he was a noble, everyone should just overlook all his flaws? Like what did these people expect from him?

Once the man was done reading, he grabbed one of the several pens and signed off on the document. Without breaking a sweat (not that reading could cause someone to sweat), he placed the paper on a haphazard pile, grabbed a different paper, and began to read that one. The room stayed quiet while he read, save for a cough from Seldra, but Lucas couldn’t fathom whether it was an actual cough or a “can we get on with this please” cough.

It was only when he completely read through that other document, clicked his tongue at it, tossed it aside without signing it, and let the unfortunate paper fall to the floor that the man finally began to talk again.

“I’ve heard you claim to have amnesia,” the man eventually said, breaking the silence.

“Yes.”

“Hard to believe, but I guess I have to,” the man said with a grunt.

“Have to?” Lucas couldn’t help but ask. He felt so dumb here. He was always the one asking questions, and he hated it. Why couldn’t anyone hold a normal conversation with him, where he didn’t have to question every single thing they said?

The man raised an eyebrow at his question, and then chortled before quickly regaining his composure. By the way he immediately stopped laughing, it was like the businessman had some laughter allotment – like some others might be rationed food – and he refused to use it on Lucas’ question.

“Normally, you’d be threatening my life right about now, or at least throwing insults.”

Ah, of course. How could Lucas forget that Xandrious was a man-child. Or rather, maybe forget isn’t the right word, since he never knew him in the first place. He should’ve guessed it, though, since he did kind of try his hand at demon summoning. And he wrote that crappy, self-important journal, too. Huh.

Were all demon summoners this immature? Irresponsible people who should never have any sort of power, yet wanted to control everything around them?

“Moving on, though, even if you have amnesia, you clearly wrote this journal,” the man said as he pulled out that familiar diary from behind the desk. Lucas winced as soon as he saw it. He really should’ve gotten rid of it just like he got rid of the demon ring, but to be fair, he had a lot on his mind back then. If he had known that that Frank was a dirty little snitch and would run around snooping in his stuff, he would’ve made sure to grab that journal and burn it as soon as he could’ve got the chance. Then he wouldn’t have been in prison for almost two weeks, and he could’ve been traveling as far away from here as possible, and he could’ve learned some new cool magic, and maybe learned to cook too, and then also perhaps have found –

“But, it is also true that Leon did go through your personal effects without a warrant,” the man said as he tapped his fingers on that damned journal.

“And it is true that you’ve said a lot of things, but never followed through with any of them,” Seldra’s father continued talking. Lucas liked the direction this was going, It was sounding like the man was going to let him off easy, which was a surprise. The guy clearly didn’t care too much at all for him, since Xandrious was clearly stuck living in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, but maybe he’d get off lightly.

Which was a good thing, obviously, because he didn’t have anything to do with that damned journal in the first place.

“But,” the man said. Ah crap, of course he would have to say that word, the but word. The but word was only good when it was “butt,” not “but.” Bah.

“I very clearly told you last time that I would not allow you to make any more threats.”

“I don’t remember that,” Lucas said.

“That’s hardly an argument. Sure, you don’t remember. However, I do, and so does Seldra, and so does Vivian,” the man said as he leaned back in the chair. Vivian, presumably, was the other sister that Xandrious wrote about in the journal. Lucas hadn’t heard her name before, and she clearly wasn’t here now. Why he felt the need to mention her here was a need that Lucas didn’t understand. Was it just to remind him that everyone knew that Xandrious was a worthless piece of shit? News flash, old man, he already knew Xandrious was irredeemable. There was no need for the reminder.

Lucas heard him take a very long and deep breath from his nose, hold it in, and then opt to slowly let it all out. He then raised a hand to his forehead and aggressively rubbed it, like one might use an eraser to rub a particularly egregious, erroneous pencil mark.

The man let those words hang in the air for a while, and then he went back to working. What kind of interrogation/prosecution was this? Where was the sentence? Where was the “therefore, I hereby disown you and command you to farm for twenty years?” All these types of stories on Earth would always have the father shouting at him right about now, declaring how they always hated their son and wanted nothing to do with him, etc etc etc yadda yadda yadda. But here, the guy clearly thought he was less important that the stupid papers in front of him, despite the fact that Xandrious clearly wanted to murder both the people in this room.

What the heck is going on?

Behind Lucas, Seldra let out another cough. When Lucas turned his head to look at her, she turned her head away from him and stared at the bookshelf. That suspicious body language of hers clearly indicated that something was going on here, but whatever it was, it wasn’t like he could just ask her. Ah, screw it. He could just ask her. She was right there, after all. To heck with feeling stupid for asking all these questions, it was all he could do now. If making himself feel dumb was the way to finally move on with this conversation, he’d play the part.

“What are you doing, Seldra?” Lucas asked.

“Nothing,” she said, emotionless.

“Xandrious,” the guy said, as he looked Lucas dead in the eye. God, Lucas wish he would say his name. He knew he had amnesia, so why didn’t he introduce himself? Calling him guy, and man was getting tiresome. Maybe he could just call him Mr. Barolt.

“Yes?”

“I’ll forgive you, one last time. For Fyra’s sake, if no one else’s,” Mr. Barolt said. There was that name again, Fyra.

“That’s the, uh, second time I’ve heard that name. Who’s Fyra?” Lucas asked.

“Your dead mother,” the man said matter-of-factly. Lucas couldn’t help but wince as that response. Would it have killed the man to at least put some emotion into saying something like that? If she was Xandrious’ mother, then that made her this guy’s dead wife. Yet by the way he answered his question, it was like Mr. Barolt was talking about the death of a stranger, not the death of the woman he loved.

Or maybe he didn’t ever love her, and this planet had arranged marriages. Lucas looked at Seldra, seeing if he could get some sort of contextual hint from her, but she was still staring at the bookshelves, very clearly not showing her face to him. Ugh. Every answer led to more questions, and from the way Mr. Barolt answered that last one, Lucas knew if he asked any more he’d be opening a can of worms. No more questions for now, he’d try and find out more later if the chance came up.

“O-oh,” Lucas eventually stammered.

“I heard that you learned how to use magic,” Mr. Barolt said, changing the subject.

“Yeah,” Lucas said.

“Can you show me?”

“I mean… can you open the window?” Lucas asked. Clearly he couldn’t just fire off one of his spells in this room, but firing a small [Ice Arrow III] out the window should be doable.

The man nodded, turned around in his chair, and opened the window all without standing up. As he opened the window, a draft blew into the room, and both him and Seldra began to shiver. Lucas, of course, felt nothing since he was immune to that sort of petty chilliness.

“Hurry up, it’s cold,” Seldra said.

With nothing more than a thought and the cost of 3 MP, he formed an [Ice Arrow III] in the palm of his hand. Seldra let out a surprised gasp, and Mr. Barolt whistled. Then, with a flick of the wrist, Lucas flung the spell flying out the window. Lucas had hoped that this could’ve been a test to see exactly how far he could lob a spell, but since it was so small, it quickly flew out of sight. He’d just have to test more later, but it wasn’t a bad thought. Playing with magic on his own time would definitely be one of the few forms of entertainment he would get here. Casting spells and doing magic stuff was something everyone on Earth could only dream of doing after all.

“I see. This is good, this is good," Mr. Barolt said with a smile on his face. He nodded his head back and forth like an approving father, which was more than a little odd. Xandrious wanted this man buried 6 feet under, and yet here he was praising him anyway. What a strange family.

"Did you know you're the first Barolt to ever use magic?" Mr Barolt said. "No, don't answer that. You have amnesia, how could you have possibly known that. Suffice to say there's a second reason as to why I'm forgiving you for this," The man said as he held up Xandrious' book full of murder-fantasies.

"Now, as you know -- well, perhaps don't know -- magicians, mages, wizards, sorcerors and everything in between are becoming more and more, shall we say, uncommon." Mr. Barolt stood up from his chair and walked over to Lucas. He then firmly placed one of his arms on Lucas' shoulder. Maybe someone would have seen it as a fatherly gesture, but since Lucas had only met this guy a few minutes ago, the physical contact was extremely awkward.

"At the capital, Sal, there's a magical university that every magic user desires to attend," the man continued to talk. Lucas didn't like where this was going. Surely, the man wasn't going to give him one of the most cliché orders, right? Right?

"I’m sending you to Sal's Wizard University. Become the Barolt family's first Wizard.”

Dammit.