Prologue

Before the Mists, I was a professor of philosophy and literature, a devotee of Kierkegaard, and a critic of Nietzsche. My colleagues called me an expert in epistemology, but it was in ethics that I found a passion sweeter than wine. I loved Dostoevsky and his hunt for the beautiful soul. I delved deep into the gothic nature of Stoker's Dracula and questioned, along with Shelley's Frankenstein, what it truly meant to be alive. While literary critics might call this foreshadowing, I just called it my life.

You might think that trading the life of a simple professor for the role of a Wizard would be a simple choice, but I miss my old life terribly. Perhaps it is odd that I would wish to be simple compared to who I became, but I miss pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, wearing my plaid jackets with leather elbows and colorful bow ties, enjoying a good pizza or burger, or even a proper taco. For some reason, none of my spells have been able to recreate them just right. I miss the comfort of living life without the fear of death.

Most of all, I miss my students. I remember Darren, a footballer with a kind demeanor who struggled so hard just to pass my course. I was so proud to give him the first A he ever received. He came to my office hours often, and we talked about his struggles both on and off the field. He reminded me of the importance of perseverance and hard work, and he taught me about the value of never giving up on oneself.

Annie was one of my most dedicated students. She had a passion for philosophy that was matched only by her curiosity about the world. Her parents had sent her to the USA from China to study, and she worked tirelessly to improve her English so that she could understand my lectures better.

One day after class, Annie asked me to help her understand the concept of existentialism. We sat together in my office, discussing the works of Camus and Sartre. As we talked, I noticed that Annie's eyes sparkled with excitement, and I knew that I had found a kindred spirit in her. After a while, we chatted about her hometown, her family, and her dreams for the future. I often thought about Annie and wondered what had become of her. I hoped that she was happy and that she had found success in her life. And I knew that, wherever she was, she was still pursuing knowledge and asking questions about the world around her.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Then there was Jacob. I'll never forget Jacob. He was a freshman in my intro to philosophy class, but he rarely attended and when he did, he seemed distant and distracted. One day, I pulled him aside after class and asked if everything was alright. At first, he shrugged it off, but after a bit of gentle prodding, he opened up to me. Jacob was struggling with depression and anxiety, and it was affecting his ability to focus on his studies. He had missed several weeks of classes, and was worried about falling too far behind to catch up. I could see the desperation in his eyes, and I knew I had to do something to help. We talked for a while longer, and I offered to meet with him one-on-one outside of class to go over the material he had missed. I also suggested that he talk to the school's counseling center to get some additional support. He seemed hesitant at first, but eventually agreed to both.

Over the next few weeks, Jacob started attending class more regularly and seemed to be doing better. He even approached me after one class to thank me for taking the time to listen and offer help. I could tell that he was still struggling, but seeing even a small improvement made me feel like I was making a difference in his life.

There are usually two paths faculty tend to take in academia: research or teaching. While most professors do both, academics tend to lean toward one or the other. Most prefer research and only half-heartedly give themselves to the discipline of teaching. Research is the lifeblood of American institutions of higher learning, and it is through research that these organizations are awarded federal grants. While student tuition certainly fills the coffers, funding research grants is what keeps the lights on. Academia, an introverted field as it is, tends to attract those who love research. Not me.

It was in the classroom where I found the freedom to truly pursue knowledge. In the blessed minds of my students, I learned more from them than all of Plato combined. For, in my students, I saw what it was to live and love. I saw what it meant to build relationships and that pursuing harmony with your fellow man is found not in dusty tomes but in the joy and heartache of a life lived well!

But I was chosen to walk the Mists. And though power was granted to me, what is so easily forgotten in the minds of those who wish for this power fantasy to exist is that my life before was REAL!

As real as flowers in an autumn bloom or the buzzing of a bee in spring, my life before this change was no less valuable for its lack of power or character.

I lived and loved in all life’s passion, and this new person I have become... Please, to those who read my memoir and wish they could be more than they are, do not forget that your life is far more real than words on a page or screen, and it is truly worth living to its fullest extent. Because, to be real is the greatest spell of all...