“You see,” Archibald said, climbing into the cart, “the first time I heard of Walter’s Equation was just like everyone else’s: I took advanced ritualism in my third year, and we learned about ritual math. At first, I didn’t think it was anything special, but over time I realized not just how versatile it is, but also how much of our understanding is derived from it. So I got curious about the person who came up with it, and I decided to look into it. My teacher only knew that he was a ritualism master from a few decades ago, before her time. This man had an important equation named after him, right? There had to be a mountain of dissertations, articles, lectures, research notes…”

He turned around to an uncomfortable Edwin, eyes glowing with excitement. It took Edwin a few seconds to understand what he was waiting for.

“Uh, sure,” he answered awkwardly. “Had to be, right?”

“Right! Except when I asked the librarian, he just looked at me confused. There was nothing there! All the works on Walter’s equation were by other people, simply discussing its different uses. So I went into the archives instead.”

“So weird,” Edwin commented, feeling increasingly awkward. “Did you find something there?”

“I did, but much less than I expected. Just a few research proposals from when he was still a journeyman. Except, one of those proposals sounded familiar, so I looked it up. That topic actually had been researched, but he hadn’t been put in charge. Weird, right? That had me wondering. If he really was brilliant enough to advance our understanding of ritualism by decades, why did he only ever show up as a footnote? Did he really come up with the equation himself, or was he just part of the team, and it somehow ended up with his name on it?”

“Sure, that’s possible,” Edwin said, a strange mixture of relief and indignation churning in his stomach.

“And that’s when the head librarian found me,” Archibald continued triumphantly. “The other librarian had told her about my questions, and she immediately knew what I was looking for. That’s when I first laid eyes on the book.”

“…the book?” Edwin asked, genuinely lost.

“This book!” Archibald said, pulling the item in question from a drawer. It didn’t look like much at first glance. It was thin, more like a notebook or a diary than one of those thick treatises that people loved to keep on their shelves. “Some of it she told me, some of it I pieced together by myself once I knew what I was looking for, but the story goes like this: Master Walter was born some hundred years ago – I checked his school records – and he went through the College like everyone else. His grades were good, especially in ritualism where he was always among the best. In his file I found a note from the then-Head of Healing to offer him a position in his faculty, so he must’ve been one of the most powerful students of his year.”

“They still had his student file?” Edwin asked, struggling to keep his voice level. “After all this time?”

“Yes, I really got lucky there, but I’m about to get to that. After his graduation he joined the ritualism faculty as a researcher, and once I knew the exact time frame I managed to hunt down all the research projects he was in. Turns out he really was part of a lot of important research, he just never led any of the teams, which is why I didn’t find them when I first looked. I managed to dig up the research notes of those projects, and once I was able to recognize his handwriting…”

Edwin could only stare lamely at the excited journeyman. In all the different scenarios Walter had imagined, he certainly hadn’t expected this. Who does that?

“…he’d worked together with some of the smartest people of his time, like Masters Falk and even Monrei.” Archibald sighed. “It’s such a shame I never got to meet Master Monrei. He was scheduled to speak at our College before he died, and I’d hoped to ask him what he remembered about Master Walter.” He shook his head, continuing. “Anyway, he finally became Master at a fairly young age – nothing record-breaking, but still impressive – and that’s when the paper trail ends. No new research proposals, no participation in projects, it seems like he just… vanished from the academic field.”

“Weird.”

“It would just be weird; except the next time his name appears anywhere is a few years later in an Inquisitorial investigation. He actually vanished! From one day to the other, without warning, he was just gone. Nobody knew where he went. That’s why his school records were still on file: The investigation is technically still open.”

“That is strange indeed,” Edwin said evenly. “Nobody knows where he went, you said? Not even the Inquisition?”

“Nobody! It was a big deal, obviously, but nobody had any explanation for it, and they didn’t find anything. He didn’t have any family, and none of his friends knew what happened. They didn’t find a body either. He was just… gone.”

None of his friends? Walter thought, barely stifling a growl. As if he’d had a whole barn full of them. Typical. How many of those leeches had suddenly remembered that he existed and pretended they were his friends just to be part of the excitement? At least it didn’t seem like they’d managed to pick up his trail. He’d been exceedingly careful, but the Inquisition finding the fake companies that he’d used to funnel equipment and money to Pel Darni had been a possibility.

“He did leave one thing behind, however,” Archibald continued, causing Walter to freeze up. “This book. The inquisitors checked it for clues and then stored it away, where it lay unseen for decades. Twenty years later the investigation was reclassified as ‘cold’ and the files were handed over to the head librarian for archiving. Whenever that happens, there are always a few curious souls that snoop around, thinking they can solve a case the Inquisition couldn’t. This time it was a godsend though, as someone took a second look at the book and brought it to the ritualism faculty, who quickly realized its value.”

“What is it?” Walter asked, impatient.

“Master Walter’s personal notebook,” Archibald said proudly, causing a sheen of sweat to appear on Edwin’s forehead. “It’s not a dissertation, just a number of drafts and ideas. The equation is just there, between a drawing of a bird sitting in the window and a sketch of a square ritual. It’s impressive they realized its value and didn’t just dismiss it as a random calculation.”

“Can I see that?” Walter said, clearing Edwin’s throat to keep his voice from cracking.

“Sure! It’s my personal copy, so it has my notes on the side.”

Walter took the offered book with numb fingers, flipping it open. He didn’t recognize the first few sketches, but soon he saw familiarity in the random thoughts that had been scribbled down on a whim. After he became a lich, Walter stopped taking notes entirely. Liches had perfect memory, their thoughts not constrained by the shortcomings of flesh. As a human, however, he’d been what some might describe as ‘scatterbrained’. Inspiration came to him at all hours of the day, but if he didn’t write his ideas down, they would vanish like a dream after waking. He had started carrying a notebook, which was great except more often than not he left it lying around somewhere, which defeated the point.

Instead, he’d finally settled on keeping separate notebooks in all the places he frequented. There had been one in his home office, his home workroom, his College office, his College laboratory, even the classroom where he’d taught ungrateful children who didn’t want to be there the magnificent secrets of ritualism. He’d been careful not to write down anything related to the Immortalizer anywhere outside of his home, and before his disappearance, he’d diligently collected all of his notes. As he hadn’t had any actual friends left, nobody seemed to have realized that his notebooks were the only thing suspiciously absent from his belongings.

Obviously, he'd missed one.

Judging by the horrible doodles which only someone as thoroughly deluded as Archibald would call drawings, it was from his College office. He’d taken that one…right? A cold feeling churned his stomach as fuzzy memories of needing to replace the notebook in question after being unable to find it resurfaced from the depths of his mind. It had probably slipped behind a cabinet. Back then his plan hadn’t been more than a vague idea that something needed to change, so after searching the office and being unable to find it, he’d shrugged and bought a new one.

He realized that he’d been quiet for a while, and Archibald was still looking at him, so he nodded gravely. “Fascinating. I don’t know what most of this means though.”

“Nobody does! That’s the exciting part! We’ve understood the equation, but can you imagine what other secrets still lie hidden between these pages? Look at this, or this one, or the one on the next page. He invented an equation that changed ritual math forever! I’m absolutely certain that there’s more to find.”

“But wasn’t this found decades ago?” Walter offered diplomatically as he studied the rough sketch Archibald was pointing at. Even being the one who made it he couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be, but his first instinct told him it might have been supposed to be a ritual to heat sausages to perfect eating temperature. Just like anyone else’s, most of Walter’s inspirations were either useless flights of fancy or completely impossible. A square ritual? What had he been smoking? “Surely somebody would have…”

“Hah!” Archibald barked, snatching the notebook from Edwin’s hands and cradling it protectively. “Do you think Master Walter invented his equation because he figured that ‘surely somebody would’ve thought of it already if it were possible’?”

“Fair point,” Walter answered honestly.

Archibald nodded, apparently appeased. He opened the book and flipped through it, idly running his hand across the pages. “I wish I could’ve met him, you know? Just think of the kind of mind he must have had. He created his equation when ritual math was still in its infancy – can you imagine the sheer understanding of rituals that requires? If I could wish for anything, it would be to study under him.”

“Really?” Walter asked awkwardly. “Wouldn’t you rather pick Master Maris? If you could actually choose anyone, I mean.”

Archibald waved dismissively. “I mean sure, I’d love to meet him too, but honestly? Maris, Dorval, those guys had it easy. If you’re the first person to stumble across something new, you’d have to be absolutely braindead not to make a ton of important discoveries. But Master Walter? By the time he finished school, ritualism had been stagnant for over a decade. Despite the equation only being discovered twenty years after his disappearance, I would argue that it was the largest advancement in our understanding of rituals since before he was born.”

“Huh,” Walter mumbled, a wild mixture of emotions pulling him in several directions at once. He hadn’t faded into obscurity nearly as much as he’d hoped, which was obviously really bad. Horrible, even. He was supposed to be completely forgotten by this point.

But the true tragedy was that he’d had to die and be reborn just to finally get some appreciation!