Fallen Mage Regressor

Heya guys,

Your boy is moving up in the world and getting an education. Shocking, I know. I took a gap year... or two... between high school and college, and am now rectifying that because I want to be able to use my degree to feel superior to other people. 

What does this mean for my books? I will continue to write, obviously (especially given that amazon sales are what are funding my education in the first place LMAO). However, I need a bit of time to get settled in and get used to my new schedule. Long story short, updates will pause for the remainder of August, to resume in September. Thanks for understanding 

There were two rowboats directly above and below. Hypode was behind them.

Mal's fists clenched as he tried to hatch a plan.

"B-brother!" Emerald said. "This is cheap, you can't—"

"Can't what?" Hypode grinned. "Who's going to stop me?"

Just as Mal was about to try something desperate, like ramming the boat into the side of one of their attackers, a voice echoed out from behind.

"Me."

The voice came from behind Hypode. He paled.

"Really, Hypode. Teaming up on the lead team? You really have no shame, do you?"

An Arcane Sphere with spikes jutting out of the edge sliced through one of the boats and split it straight down the middle. The inhabitants inside were, of course, deposited onto the ground unceremoniously. Behind it, Savaly stood atop her team's boat, an easygoing grin on her face.

She shot a salute toward Mal. "Would you like to call in that favor, a rival of mine?"

Mal, rather than speak, simply nodded. This worked just fine for him.

Another one of Savaly's custom Arcane Spheres shot through the air and sliced straight through another team's boat. The members of the team tried to hold on to the boat and hold it together using their arms, only for another Arcane Sphere to come out and slice it horizontally into four seperate parts.

That was a bit too much, and the team fell to their dooms.

"And there goes two points to the young princess of Chama," Igna said.

"In less than ten seconds. Rather impressive," Puck said. "I'd hate to face her in a fight."

"What, but you're the headmaster—"

"Oh, look, something's happening!"

Hypode growled and barked out an order to his team. "Hard pivot right, we're engaging with the princess!"

"Engaging?" Savaly fanned her face with her hand. "Just like the last three times you proposed, I'll have to deny you. Nothing personal, of course."

Hypode's face went bright red and he made a sound like a boiling tea kettle. "T—that was purely for political purposes, don't misconstrue what I've done!"

Savaly waved her hand and an Arcane Sphere, once again of the spiked variety, flew out of her palm and straight for Hypode. Hypode quickly ran to the front of the rowboat, and a shield spell shimmered in place. The Arcane Sphere hit the shield with a pop—

And dissipated into fine bits of mana.

Mal watched all this with narrowed eyes. The deciding factor would be Rolam. With his agility, he would be able to jump onto the ship and take out one of the rowers before Savaly could blink. Mal would need to be on standby for when that occurred.

Hypode formed an Arcane Sphere of his own and aimed it at Savaly. She smirked, and a shield spell shimmered and caught the Arcane Sphere, easily blocking it.

"You're outmatched, Hypode," Savaly said. "Why don't you just disengage? I'll let you go. No hard feelings."

"Now you're the one mentioning engagements." Hypode shot out two more Arcane Spheres in quick succession. "Are you sure you're as over me as you claim to be?"

"My, my, you have a great capacity for flattering yourself, don't you?"

She blocked the two Arcane Spheres with a single shield spell.

Hypode made no indication to turn to Rolam, to pull out the ace in his sleeve that he had.

He has no idea, Mal thought.

And Rolam seemed disinclined to do anything.

The rest of the battle went on, predictably.

Mal remained solidly in the lead, with Savaly preventing the other teams from grouping up on him. Of course, it wasn't entirely altruistic. Savaly managed to rocket to second by taking advantage of the other teams whenever they were focused on Mal. Nonetheless, he managed to stay in the lead.

Hypode's team came in third thanks to some last-minute kills. The boats descended to the ground and Igna and Puck floated to the floor as well.

"Well, that was quite a... performance," Igna said.

She stepped forward and looked across all of the remaining teams. "The top three are the ones that will continue. Team Patoal, Team Chama, and Team Riant. Congratulations."

"The final event will take place at the end of the year, after final exams. Prepare well."

And with that, the second event of the Exodi triumph ended.

"We have officially secured our path to the final event. Cheers!"

The speaker brought their cup up. Mal brought his cup forward and gently tapped it against the others.

Philo reared his drink back and took a long sip, then sighed. "Oh, how Philo misses proper drink. It's a shame that it's not allowed on campus."

"Do you want to see what a bunch of drunk teenage wizards would do if given the opportunity?" Mal said. "I don't."

"A fair point, ape."

Lusia had completely outwitted Mal. Somehow, she'd organized a celebration in record time. No, she'd had it prepared beforehand, fully anticipating their victory.

What's more, she wasn't even the one who cooked most of the food. It was her maid friend. So that meant that it would actually be edible.

Mal was feeling a little bit happier. Not completely, though. He'd had to give back the gun, and that was a wound which would never be healed.

"Classes will be starting up soon. It'll be about four months until final exams?" Philo said. "Not much time at all."

"There's still a large jump from the time between the first event to the second. It's a little bit strange, honestly."

"From what I understand, it's for historical reasons—"

Philo stopped and glanced out of the corner of his eye.

Emerald had been invited for reasons that were unknown to Mal.

No, he knew full well why—he'd technically been key to their victory. But Rolam, at Emerald's side, looked utterly defeated. He'd been poking at a strip of beef with a fork without having so much as taken a bite.

"Philo believes that our elven friend is experiencing some sort of guilt."

Mal tilted his head.

"About what?"

"Oh, Philo doesn't know. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he was on an opposing team, with somebody who has a personal vendetta against you?"

"But I said that it was fine."

Philo sighed and shook his head. "For one so observant and clever, you can be remarkably dense at times," he said. "Just because you're fine with it won't make him fine with it. Philo doesn't understand his obsession with honor, but he violated his own moral code. That doesn't come without consequence."

Mal had very little experience with moral codes—it was kind of a new thing to him. His previous moral position had been to prevent the end of the world by any means necessary. It was only recently that he learned that there were problematic elements to that, supposedly.

Mal stood up. "I'll go talk to him."

He walked over to Rolam and sat directly at his side.

"That was a good event," Mal said.

"Was it?" Rolam's fork slid against his plate. "I suppose it was."

"You were an excellent rower," Mal said. "You should be proud."

Rolam's fist clenched tight around the fork.

"I really shouldn't," he said.

"No, it's—"

"My brother was there,"

Mal shut his mouth, sensing that to speak would be an unwise idea.

"He was proud of me. Even though I had... Even though I had betrayed you. Of course, he didn't know that part, and I wasn't about to tell him that."

He paused.

"Do you know who wasn't there?"

Mal could take a guess.

"Your father?"

"Holam dropped everything to see me perform, and what he saw was me coming in third place after betraying my circlemates," he said. "And my father, the lovely man that he is, apparently had told Holam he was deeply disappointed in the fact that I had received such a low placement in the first event."

He stabbed the beef with more force than was strictly necessary.

Mal thought about the best possible response to this. Rolam needed to earn his father's approval, that was clear. So what to say?

"You'll be able to turn it around at the third event," Mal said.

"Oh, just like I did with the second event?" He scoffed. "I didn't know you had such a sense of humor, Mal."

Not 'honorable leader'. Mal.

Mal's frown sunk deeper into his cheeks. "You've improved by leaps and bounds. You started from last position in many of our classes and have steadily gained dozens of places on the leaderboards. It's only a matter of time before you—"

“Before I what? Use all of you as a stepping stone on my pathway to success?” He stood up. “I’ll be heading out. Don’t wait on me.”

Before anyone could react, he took two strides to the door, stepped out, then slammed it behind him.

Philo looked at Mal as if he was personally responsible for this. Emerald took a sip of his frizzy drink, trying to look like he was anywhere but here. Lusia stared blankly at the wall, and Mal was pretty sure she hadn’t even registered him leaving the room.

“He’ll be back in a few hours,” Mal said.

He was not back in a few hours.

Philo had been unable to sleep, citing some study materials he needed to catch back up on. Mal figured that, given that he might have been the one who bungled that conversation, he should at least wait until Rolam returned. Lusia, seeing that Mal was doing that, had decided to brew him tea throughout the night to help keep him awake. Emerald had gone back to his own dorm.

It was nearly two o’clock in the morning when Mal realized that this was becoming dangerous.

He glanced over at the window. It was starting to rain. A summer shower in the midst of the night.

Mal desperately hoped that Rolam wasn’t going to head outside of town, where Mal knew that a certain necromancer might have been waiting in the wings.

He stood up from his chair.

“I’m heading out.”

Philo stood up in the same motion. “I’m coming with you.”

“Are you sure?”

Mal had meant that as a genuine question, but Philo had frozen in mid-air. He furrowed his eyebrows together and stared down at his clawed hands. Then sat back down.

“It—we have a complicated relationship. You’re right. It would be better for you to go alone.”

Even as he said it, he seemed to doubt it himself. Mal didn’t have time to work through their relationship troubles. He merely nodded, then stepped out toward the door.

“Come back safely, master,” a voice called from behind.

“I will.”

Mal shut the door and exited out.

Mal wasn’t sure how long he searched for. It was definitely an hour. Maybe one or two more. He started with the training grounds, then worked his way through the Academy with a fine comb. Nothing.

Outside the city, then? No. Why would he go there? Maybe if he was planning to leave—but if he were to do that, the airship docks would be a better place.

Mal’s feet took him to the gates, and he stood on the platform. It lowered down inch by agonizing inch.

What if he wants to return home? Mal thought. Take the first airship ticket out to head back to Faren?

Something inside of Mal’s chest clenched at the thought, and he frowned at himself. His feet rang against the slick stone, while water soaked through his robes and clung the cloth to his skin.

Why does this bother me so much? It’s not as if there aren’t potential replacements.

He shook his head. It must be because of his status as the hero, as one of the heralds.

I must be nervous at facing the coming challenges without them.

Mal arrived at the airship docks and stopped.

The docks were wooden platforms suspended in the air by a mixture of normal beams, wooden beams, and magic. All of the docks were filled up, six airships suspended in mid-air and held in place by rope and twine. Mal glanced around and spotted a figure sitting on one of the waiting benches, a three-sided timber shelter protecting him from the worst of the weather.

Mal walked over and sat on the opposite side of the figure.

Rolam’s red hair was dirty and matted. His eyes were locked on the ground in front of him, and he didn’t seem inclined to speak first.

That was fine. Mal could wait.

“How do you know I was here?” Rolam said.

“Lucky guess.”

Rolam remained silent for a little bit longer before he opened his mouth to speak again.

“I feel like scum,” Rolam said. “Genuine, unfiltered scum. My brother has been supportive of me in his own way, treating me as his full-blooded brother rather than the half-blood I am. I have friends here, the sort that I never could have dreamed of making back in Faren. I have turned from one of the worst mages in the Academy to someone mediocre in the span of a few short months.”

“But?” Mal said.

“But instead of appreciating all of that, I’m hung up on my father, to the point where I’d betray you—even if you don’t think it’s a betrayal—for just a chance at his approval.”

He chuckled. “It’s pretty pathetic, isn’t it?”

“A little, yes.”

A sharp laugh erupted from Rolam’s chest. “You really don’t pull any punches, do you? Though I get the feeling it’s not so much out of malice as it is ignorance.”

“I could say the same thing about you. Calling someone ignorant isn’t exactly a kind thing to say.”

“No, but it’s not as bad as calling someone pathetic over their father issues.”

“Father issues are inherently somewhat pathetic.”

Mal would know, given his own past.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t use that to relate to Rolam. Perhaps there was a point in Mal’s past where he might have been able to take that approach—but Mal’s memories of his father were as distant and murky as a reflection through the water.

“Ignorant or not, I can’t help but admire you,” Rolam said. “You’re the most reliable man I’ve ever met. Time after time, you’ve shown up and done what needed to be done. When I was being a fool and in a classroom come about to be murdered by a demon, you sought me out. When we were all low rank and truly incompetent, you were the one who trained us."

"It's less impressive than it seems."

"Is it?" Rolam shook his head. "You don't seem to struggle with anything. You fought against a monster that even my brother was fearful of. I don't think there's a thing in the world you can't do."

Mal thought a little bit about how best to respond. He didn't want to expose himself too thoroughly, but there was one small detail that learning might benefit Rolam.

"I can't do traditional magic."

Rolam turned and blinked. "What? Yes, you can."

"Well, a little. But not very much."

"Mal, what are you talking about?"

"My core is significantly damaged because I blew it up like some attempt at demolition. I can only cast the most basic of spells."

Rolam's jaw flapped, opened, and shut. "But that makes no sense. I've seen you fight, you weren't using first-year spells."

"Correct. I was using this."

Mal tucked his sleeve up and showed off his bracelet. He clenched his fist and sent a small spike of his internal mana into the bracelet. Vines grew up and along the side of the wooden shed, crawling their way inward, and briars spiking out in real time.

Rolam shook his head slowly. "I don't understand. What am I looking at?"

"It's called witchcraft. A way to avoid the limitations of my shattered core. I make and use items that function off of aligned magic, similar to that of Philo's fire breath."

"But—how—?"

"How what?"

"You don't have a core, so how are you doing magic?"

"You really didn't get much of an education from your aunt, did you?" Mal said. "I don't think this is the right time for a discussion of witchcraft, nor do I think you'd be interested in it."

"Why did you bring it up?"

"Has this changed your respect for me? Knowing that I possess such a substantial weakness, and that I'm making up for it with the usage of these items?"

Rolam stiffened. He turned away from Mal and looked out into the rain. The storm had started to clear, the relentless thudding against the wooden shed having turned into a softer pitter-patter.

"No," he said, "it doesn't."

"You've been trying to be someone different than who you are to fit a mould that you never could have fit," Mal said. "Wouldn't you like to try the other way?"

"...and what would be the other way?"

"Trying something that does fit."

Rolam breathed a small, soft breath. "You told me some time ago that I have a potential talent for being a spell sword," Rolam said.

"I did."

He turned to look at Mal, a sharp focus in his eyes that reminded Mal of—

A different set of eyes, blazing with fire, a future long gone. An elf, one of the greatest mages of his generation, hell-bent on defeating the greatest evil the world had ever known up to that point.

The vision faded, and what was left was a particularly determined youth.

"Do you know anyone who can teach me?"

"Do I know anyone that can teach you?"

Mal's lips twitched.

"I might know a guy."

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