I am probably the last wizard or at least what remains of me. At death’s door, I turned ethereal — and have been slowly losing myself ever since.
My friends have gone. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to taste and touch. Lurking has become my second nature. But there is a way out.
For nearly half a century I’ve hunted the Aard of Being, a unique artifact rumored to bring back youth. In my case, it empowers me — a feeble ghost — to reclaim my living body. Only then can I restore the Wizard’s Order, reigniting a flicker of hope for progress in this dystopian world.
I found a perfect place for my mission — the god-forsaken village of Springdale. It drew my attention exactly because it frightened everyone else — three dungeons looming around it.
Once, I sent expeditions into those depths in search of the Aard of Being, back when wealth, artifacts, and adventurers were plentiful.
Now, I stand at the edge of my last hope nearly empty-handed. Just one attempt left. And after all those failures, I have no courage to begin anew.
Whenever I lose heart, I visit the remains of the greatest who gave his life for this world. I have found clarity there before — and now, more than ever, I need it again.
***
I ascend to the drafty attic of my abandoned house and gaze out. Sunlight spills in from every side — so my path must lie underground.
I dive back into the cellar and, like a worm, slither toward the nearest spring. It carries me farther and farther, until I am far enough from the village, free to fly above the surface, just to dive into the water again — solid, drop-shaped water.
It is the God’s Tear. An incomprehensible stone — pitch black to all others, it is transparent to me. I dissolve into it, and the world around me shifts.
“Should I throw myself into the depths?” I address my doubts to the God’s Tear, and relax, waiting for an insight.
A crimson sunset blazes across the horizon, but feasting my eyes was not enough, and despite the intense mana drain, I sharpen all my senses. The wind carries sounds and smells, and for a fleeting moment, I feel alive again.
My solace is aborted by a thick strain of approaching strangers.
Four of them, vibrating with raw emotion: anger, frustration, aggression. Were they orcs, they would have gutted each other already. But these ones march on, feeding their rage with every step.
I am intrigued. Yet, neither the composition of the party, not the reasons for the conflict are clear — I lack the mana for telepathy.
Flying to them is not an option either — I’m still barely visible, and emit faint rainbow in the light of a luminary. Rumors of Springdale’s ghosts don’t fit well with my plan, so I burrow, waiting.
***
The strangers —brimming with irritation — rode past me, and I still couldn’t make out who they were. Yet, my subtle attempt to loosen tongues seemed to work, so I followed at distance, close enough to overhear the brewing conversation.
“We should’ve stayed in the last village. I told you we wouldn’t reach Springdale before dusk,” a Baritone noted discreetly.
“And the lil’ boy got depressed without his beer,” a Bass buzzed in defense. “Springdale’s the only village nearby with a tavern.”
“We all know who can’t go a day without a drink, Grampy,” a Displeased Youth snapped back, “and this makes our journey through this wilderness even more mysterious…”
“Don’t even start it again,” the Bass grumbled, clearly irritated.
“But he is right,” the Baritone sounded just as concerned. “We haven’t got a single quest since leaving the trade routes.”
“Both of you make me sick,” Grampy barked. “Will you finally stop whining if I tell you?”
“Get to it then,” the youth agreed willingly.
Anyway, it was only after several hesitant sighs that Grampy finally shared his plan.
“I ‘ve been told, confidentially, that artifacts were unearthed in the Last City catacombs, a lot…”
“Holy cow…” the boy slapped his forehead, “I’m a soldier, not a digger.”
“You are a fool,” the Bass chuckled in disdain, “and so are those who choose to transfer their findings along the regular trade routes. That’s where extortionate dues come into play, accompanied by thieves… Khh,” Grampy cleared his throat and continued, now in a confident tone.
“Smart adventurers will seek people like us — those who can escort them safely past the Grey Mountains to the west or the Rocky Mountains to the east. As for Springdale, it is simply destined to become a major hub in this area. Don’t be surprised if clients are already lining up for our services there.”
“Still sounds like utter nonsense,” the boy’s skepticism now caused the Bass’s anger, rather than sneer.
“I should have picked an orc in the guild instead of you!”
The boy was quick with his tongue, “A few more nights in the open air, and you’ll need to pick two!”
“The never-ending watch exhausts,” the Baritone agreed, and the boy quickly drew a conclusion, “we need an inn.”
“There’ll be a room.” the Bass barked out. “You and the chaplain are such sissies…”
Though the remark had meant to diminish him, the Baritone merely chuckled. The boy, however, could not contain his excitement.
“Wait, what? Chaplain? Are you freakin’ serious? They’re just dorks.”
“Think of opportunities,” the Baritone remarked and continued, “A religious title opens far too many doors. I gained access to old era archives, and…”
“… and achieved absolutely nothing, so shut the hell up and keep watch!” Grampy cut him off viciously, ending the conversation.
It was getting dark, and in a while, only random clops of hooves gave out the presence of the three travelers amidst the chirping cicadas.
The party went on in silence until the moon emerged from the clouds, revealing a stone bridge and a village beyond it.
Under the full moon, the team became visible: a dwarf in heavy armor led the formation as the strongest and toughest one. An elf wearing chain mail in the middle listened intently for any threats, and a human in heavy armor closed the formation.
The youth, emboldened by the moonlight, spoke again,
“Did you take villains into consideration?”
The dwarf chuckled, “I’ll leave them to you.”
The boy found an answer, masking his hurt. “They use poisons, and we’re no good without a healer.”
“But we have antidotes.”
“If so, give me one right now, or I swear I’ll die if you don’t!” the boy snapped, exasperated. “Why the hell do you smell like a dead skunk?”
“He’s right, dwarf,” the elf admitted, having long identified the source of the stench, but was wary of provoking Grampy. “What do you have in your bag?”
“A dead skunk,” the dwarf grumbled, and his companions burst out laughing, forgetting about safety.
“It fends off insects, scorpions, and rats. But you better think of villains,” Grampy, obviously displeased, sought to change the topic. “So, boy, if you wanna meet them, there might be a few in the trees around the bridge.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” tensed the young soldier up.
No answer came, and he started looking heedfully all around. So did I…
Local villains were no ordinary thugs. Armed with powerful artifacts and backed by spies in the village and patrols all around the area, they demanded caution, which I once felt firsthand. My best tactic was to remain invisible, so I retreated whenever I spotted them ever since.
Beneath the full moon and in the whispering steppe wind, the youth glimpsed a strange dance of shadows: a dozen villains, until he finally exclaimed, “Hey, what’s that?”
Both the dwarf and the elf immediately drew their swords, metal ringing in the night.
“What’s up?” the dwarf quickly looked around.
“Did you see it?” the young soldier asked, his excitement barely contained. “There was a rainbow over there!”
“Whaaat???” Grampy’s tone shifted from surprise to insult.
“Boy, you can’t see a rainbow at night,” the elf sounded dissatisfied as well.
“I swear I saw it!” the young soldier insisted.
“Yeah, and a flying unicorn on top of it,” the dwarf sheathed his sword and spurred his horse, disgruntled...
***
Half an hour later, the Springdale stone bridge outpost reported to the gang leader, “Three warriors: a dwarf and human, both heavily armored, accompanied by an elf in chain mail wielding a bow. All carry swords. The dwarf has a two-handed hammer, the human a great ax. Looking like job hunters. Talking trash and dumb as hell.”
“Still keep an eye on them at the tavern.”
“It’ll be done.”