Apparently, my new serious disposition is enough for this Juler fellow to submit the last Cantrip to me. It’s a bit weird that I’m going down a path of great power after opening a bakery and promising myself I would never meddle with this shit in my entire life, be it on Earth or in this new world.

“Master Juler, may I share a thought aloud before we go forward? I have never met anyone who knows I come from another world, and it is frustrating not being able to communicate certain things. In a way, it’s as if I was living in a closet. Now, I understand gay people’s plight better; I have to say.”

The middle-aged man, who was on the verge of speaking about the Last Cantrip, nods. He has curiosity in his eyes.

“Ok, so, you know the general outlook of things, and I have no idea how. But yes, I come from another world. And sometimes, I zone out of the world in my mind because I go through these mind trips among my thoughts. For once, I’d like to share something before I have an actual existential crisis.”

Yeah, even though I’m trying my best not to freak out, the appearance of this man is putting every belief of mine on the edge of a cliff. And some of them might have jumped already.

“When you asked me if I was interested, my brain flashed me an image of a person. I mean, not a person, person. A fictional character. My parents come from a different country, not the one I grew up in. In my country, we have this guy as a fictional character with a stupid name – supposedly, he’s an inventor and a genius. But I can’t just take it seriously because I don’t know. I never really liked my country’s version.”

“However, my parent’s country has a different name for him, a translation. And they gave him a name referring to two of the greatest mathematicians in the history of my world. One of them made discoveries so great they couldn’t be evolved until almost two millennia later. These guys were called Pythagoras and Archimedes. The character based on them was so popular that even journalists started making errors when talking about these two figures, blending them into one.”

I start gesturing a bit, uncomfortable with the direction my thoughts took.

“But the point is, these two guys were great. Archimedes changed mathematics for all centuries to come, and Pythagoras too contributed to mathematics, but he also influenced the great philosophers of old, whose works influenced my entire civilization to the present day. They were two of the greatest souls to ever walk the arid ground of my world.”

“Now, one of them, Pythagoras, hypothesized that souls cannot die and that every soul is passed onto a new body after death.”

I stop for a second, fetching myself and the guy a chair from one of the tables that are as white as the rest of the furniture in this place. Like the walls, the chandelier, and everything else, to be honest.

“It’s better to say this stuff while sitting,” I hint at the [Supreme Archmagus], who nods.

“This theory is called metempsychosis. ‘Meta’ and ‘En,’ in the language they come from, are ‘after’ and ‘inside.’ ‘Psyché,’ instead, is ‘soul.’ It can be translated as ‘where the soul goes in after all the shit went down’ if you like it. But the point of all this blabbering is that I believed my entire life, Master Juler, that I wanted something simple for myself, a little corner of the world to enjoy with friends and family. And I have that. But now, you tell me there’s a source of great magic right in front of me. Magic. That does not exist where I come from. We only have it in fiction. And everyone has dreamt at least once of using magic.”

“And what does this have to do with the souls?” Lord Juler asks me.

“I feel like I might have a great soul, one of those who marked an era – and I know it’s very arrogant of me to think something like that. But more than once in my life, I had proof of exceptional ability. I simply refused to test it. I could be a fluke, for sure. But I still feel like there’s something greater in me—however, it’s as great as it is tired. I think I got a soul that is tired of great deeds and just wants to rest. Waking it up from its slumber feels jarring and twisted. I can’t explain myself better than this, Lord Jules. I’m sorry.”

The man looks at me with a frown before narrowing his eyes so much they look almost closed.

“You are conscious of yourself. Very much so. Some [Archmages] get the class before they even ask themselves who they are, what they are reaching for. And they do that because they find peace in not exploring the darkest recesses of their souls. You are young. Classes and levels can allow people to live much longer than anyone else – plus, people with great levels tend to get their hands on potions, artifacts, and magic capable of extending their lifespan beyond what’s conceivable by mortals. However, it may take centuries before someone stops in their tracks to look inside. Many students I guided were solely absorbed in their study of magic but never in the study of the self. They were great talents, but none of them could ever breach the threshold of old. Sometimes, patience means staying put, resting, not doing anything, slumbering.”

The last word seems to echo through my soul, shaking the identity of my ego.

“Harness that conflict you feel, Joey Luciani,” the middle-aged man says with the first real tinge of emotion in his words, “and you will be great. Don’t run away from it. Keep pondering what it is. Don’t try to find peace within it. No answer will ever satisfy the jailor that is our mind, but you might be able to attain mastery out of that conflict. Be the conflict you incarnate, young mage, and you might never find happiness, but you will enjoy the journey. You forced yourself to stay put for so long even though part of you has a claim to greatness. And so, if your soul truly slumbered for all your life, I say now is the time to balance the scale and give the blazing part of you a long-needed outlet.”

“It’s time to rekindle the embers in your soul and put an end to your slumber.”

“Wake up, Joey Luciani. We have work to do.”