Fallen Mage Regressor

“It’s hard to believe where we all started.”

Mal set his fork down on his plate and looked over at the speaker. Rolam had a dry smile as he swirled his cup water around in a lazy circle.

“What do you speak of, elf?” Philo glanced over at him. “Eating food together?”

“Well yeah, that’s part of it. But more the fact that we can even tolerate being in the same room. Don’t you remember how much we hate each other at first?”

“Why do you use the past tense? Philo still detests you.”

“The hell's a tense? Are you trying to pick a fight?”

As the two went off into their own world, Nima chuckled. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

“Yes, but they're right,” Mal said. “Even the flavor of their disagreements have changed. It feels more like siblings fighting than anything actually malicious.”

Both Philo and Rolam turned and glared at Mal at the exact same time.

The argument came to a stop and Rolam schooled his expression before his eyes wandered over toward the end of the table.

“Lusia has really integrated into the circle as well,” Rolam said. “She’s like... like the team mother.”

Didn't you call her the mascot, earlier? Mal thought.

Lusia stopped cutting off a piece of meat and looked at Rolam.

“I am not a mother. I think I would have remembered if such an event had occurred.”

Rolam’s face screwed up with laughter as he tried to suppress any noise from coming out of him. Philo groaned into his hands.

“No, Lusia.” Mal rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s another metaphor. They mean you act like a mother, not that you actually are.”

“Oh.”

“Nima is very much the heart of the group, isn’t he?” Philo said. “Philo has observed that he’s always the one attempting to patch up disagreements.”

Nima flushed the slightest shade of red. He averted his gaze and reached up behind his head to rub his neck.

“Come on guys, don’t say that.”

“So what does that make Mal?” Rolam asked.

Philo chuckled. “It’s as you say, Rolam. He’s our leader.”

What? Don't say crazy things like that.

Mal glared at the two of them. Philo merely let out another low laugh.

“Philo knows that his combat score would have been at the absolute bottom had it not been for Mal's intensive training," Philo said. "Philo also thinks that Rolam would have come in dead last for the overall score.”

“I probably still would have done well on combat.”

“Doubtful.”

Rolam growled, then crossed his arms and sighed. “Not dead last. Maybe second to last. I'm not that dishonorable.”

“Are you idiots done being nostalgic for events that happened less than four months ago?” Mal rested his head against his hand, propped up on the table by his elbow. “All of this sentimentalism is starting to drive me insane.”

At that, there was a mischievous gleam in Nima’s eye.

“So you’d be up for something a little bit more interesting?” Nima said.

"I'm listening."

Nima looked around, then reached into his cloak and brought out a glass bottle. He set it on the table with a bang, the brown liquid inside sloshing around violently.

Rolam raised a single eyebrow. "What's that?"

"This, my friend, is the finest brandy on the entire continent."

"Those are fighting words," Mal said. "Where exactly does that confidence come from?"

Mal had sampled many brews and drafts during his time as a dark lord. He never drank enough to affect his judgment, but a glass of wine in the evening was an enjoyable pastime. As such, he knew full well that the vast majority of so-called "finest brews" were in fact mediocre at best.

"It's quite simple, Mal," Nima said. "Because I know exactly how it was brewed. My family makes brandy as a profession. That's actually how they got their title. In fact, this very bottle was given to me by my—"

His voice trailed off. He furrowed his eyebrows together.

"Strange, I can't seem to quite recall who gave it to me," he muttered. He shook his head and raised his voice again. "So, who wants to give it a try?"

Mal shrugged. "Sure. I'm up for it."

Rolam nodded up and down so fast Mal thought his head would fly off.

"I want to try!"

"I think I'll have to pass," Philo said. "It's against school regulations to have alcohol on campus, much less to drink it."

Rolam twisted his lips into a grin.

"Scared of a little strong drink, Philo?" he said.

Philo went still.

"Give me as much as you think is safe," he said.

Nima cheered. Once he put his arms down, he looked over at Lusia. "And what about you, would you like some?"

Lusia shook her head. "Alcohol impairs judgment."

Nima shrugged. "Fair enough."

Mal leaned back against his chair and took another sip of his brandy. Philo and Rolam were conked out on the floor, both snoring loud enough to hurt Mal's eardrums. Nima had disappeared and gone to the bathroom, presumably to vomit up all of the food he'd just consumed.

It was only Mal and Lusia still at the table.

"I never did ask you," Mal said. "Did anybody leave the school?"

Lusia shook her head. "No. Everyone was busy getting ready for midterms."

Mal clicked his tongue. "So that means that he must have snuck out using illusion magic."

Lusia didn't respond. She probably had no idea what he was talking about, and she also probably didn't even care.

Whatever. We should change the topic.

"Did you have fun today?" Mal asked.

"Fun?" She looked at her reflection in the water of her drinking cup. "I think I did."

"That's good. You looked like a grumpy cat all evening."

At that, the conversation stopped. Lusia stared at him for 30 long seconds before she snorted.

"Yes, I think I understand the joke. My behavior was the same as an animal. This is amusing."

Eh?

Mal's jaw dropped. Lusia? His Lusia thought a joke was funny? It wasn't even a good joke. It was more of a snarky aside, a sad half-attempt at comedy.

"I don't think I've ever heard you make that noise in my entire life," Mal said. "Now I know the world is ending."

Another beat of silence. Lusia watched him, her eyes blank, a hint of iron gears in the shadow of her pupil.

"You've changed, Master."

Mal hummed, and set his drink down on the table. "What do you mean?"

"I..."

Her voice turned distant, her gaze unfocused. Mal hadn't heard that particular tone from her before, he was sure. He didn't know what to make of it.

"You first changed on that carriage ride," she said. "You asked what you could do for me. You'd never done that before. I thought that it was a trick. That was the only way I could reconcile the behavior at that time with your past behavior."

"It wasn't a trick."

"No, it wasn't. But I couldn't believe it. I always thought that there must have been some other explanation. I briefly considered that you'd been possessed."

That's actually not too far off from the truth, Mal thought.

"And when you offered to fix my core," she said. "I panicked."

"Why would you panic?"

"Maybe it was because, prior to this, I trusted you in a sense."

"Trusted me? In what way?"

"You were reliable. You were consistent. You were selfish, and cruel, but you were always selfish and cruel. Then when you introduced that new behavior, it destroyed that stability that I was able to trust in."

"Would you prefer if I went back to acting like an asshole?"

She paused, almost if there was a hint of serious consideration in her head.

"No. You've changed for the better."

This was why she forced us into that contract, Mal thought. She was afraid that I would suddenly turn around and use it as leverage against her. I suppose I can't blame her. Especially given that frankly, I haven't changed as much as she thinks I have.

"My father told me that this is the correct way of showing gratitude," she said.

Another beat of silence.

"Thank you."

And then she smiled.

It was horrendous. Her muscles were tense in all the wrong places, her chin was scrunched up like she was about to pout, and her eyes were wide, almost more like something Mal would associate with fear or terror.

Mal tried not to cackle at the look. "Eternus above, you look like a dying seal."

"Ah." The smile faded. "I will endeavor to fix it."

"No, no. It's perfect. Don't change a thing."

She opened her mouth.

Then she stiffened.

The smell of a glassblower factory wafted over to Mal’s nose. Lusia swayed on her chair, eyes half-lidded before she fell to the side and onto the floor.

Mal stood up abruptly—

A wave of nausea slammed into him and he collapsed back into his seat.

What the hell?

His arms felt like they had lead weights attached to them. His knees were so shaky and weak that they probably couldn't support even a child's weight.

The air behind where Lusia had fallen shimmered and cracked like glass. A figure appeared from behind the vision. A student, hood dropped and an expressionless look on his face.

A casual smile lifted his cheeks from the expressionless stare, and he raised a hand in greeting.

"Hey, Mal."

Nima chuckled.

"How's it going?"

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