Mick rubbed his hands in anticipation. He hadn’t expected to gain an ally when he had come to see his old friend. At most, he’d expected to have to convince the elf to allow him to leave at all. After all, Mick realized long ago that Neelan was, among other things, his handler.

But now, Mick had the aid of a warden. They could go anywhere in the kingdom, and even governor's listened to what they had to say. Neelan’s help would prove to be invaluable. Now, Mick just needed to make sure to deliver on what he had promised.

As he sat in the parlor, waiting for Neelan to return, he mentally reviewed every step of his plan. Mentally looking into his personal dimension, he confirmed that the ritual components he had acquired were still there. Even though it was impossible for anything to affect a personal space, it calmed his nerves to look at the spell components that would provide him with a new life.

After an hour of waiting, and emptying the teapot, Mick looked up to see the same attendant from before walking into the room. Mildly surprised to see her again, he asked loudly, “What can I do for you, Ms. Winterspring?”

She walked slowly across the room, smiling politely, waiting to get closer before answering Mick’s question. When she was at the culturally appropriate distance, she said, “Greetings Mr. Barclay. Warden Feywind has asked me to look after your needs while he addresses some personal concerns. Is there anything you would like to have brought into the parlor while you wait for him to return?”

‘Oh great. Back to dealing with the dullest species on the planet,’ he thought sourly.

Doing his best to smile gratefully, he asked, “I’m assuming my reading restrictions are still in place?”

Ever since he had arrived, he had never stopped asking. So, he wasn’t surprised by her response.

“Once again, Mr. Barclay, I regret to inform you that as a human, you are not allowed unrestricted access to the elven archives. But, perhaps there is something that might interest you from our historical records, or our cultural archives. Please don’t hesitate to ask. We are happy to share what we have,” she said with a pleasant smile on her face.

Mick had heard that exact same phrase so many times that he could practically recite it from memory. The elves were always courteous, never got angry, and worst of all… they didn’t even seem smug about it. It was the casual ‘indifference’ that really made Mick want to pull his hair out.

Mick tried not to glare, but he couldn’t suppress the twitch in his eyebrow. “No, thank you Ms. Winterspring. I’m not in the mood for poetry at the moment. I could go for some more tea if you wouldn’t mind bringing me a fresh pot, though,” he said with a plastic smile.

After politely nodding to the request, she said, “Of course, Mr. Barclay. Do you have a preference for the blend? We have several wonderful varieties. I personally reco-”

Mick stared at her as she started listing all the various teas that were available. He couldn’t stop his mind from wandering as she blathered about her personal favorites, and where a particular blend was imported from. Experience had taught him that interrupting wasn’t an option, so he had to just sit there and pretend to listen.

Eventually she finished, and Mick replied, “Whatever you have available is fine. Thank you, Ms. Winterspring.”

She waited a full five seconds, before nodding politely and leaving.

Mick watched her slowly walk across the room, and when the door finally closed behind her, he stood up and silently screamed in rage. His entire body shook, and his fists punched futilely at the air. The entire time, he made sure not to make a sound. Over the years, he had perfected the art of throwing a quiet tantrum after dealing with the infuriating elves.

After taking a few deep breaths, he felt himself calm down. He returned to his seat, and stared out into the courtyard. There just wasn’t anything worth doing here. So, he watched the birds fly among the gardens, while waiting for his tea to arrive.

Minutes passed, and his mind blanked.

Finally, Ms. Winterspring arrived, and delivered his fresh tea on an ornate silver tray. Mick watched her slowly exchange the pots, cups, and saucers. The entire time, she moved in silence. Considering how slowly she moved, he wasn’t surprised in the least when he felt his blood pressure rising. When she finally finished, she nodded at the table like she was thanking it for being a good table.

Mick knew she was about to start explaining which tea she had chosen, and why. So, he preempted her by saying, “Thank you very much Ms. Winterspring. I’ll be sure to come find you if I need anything else. Right now, I’d prefer some solitude and silence. Have a wonderful day.” Mick finished with a polite smile and nod, then turned away to stare out the windows into the courtyard.

When he felt her leave, he sighed in relief. It was always difficult to dodge a conversation with an elf, but he’d had plenty of practice over the years.

Now that he was alone, he needed to figure out something to do, otherwise he’d end up wasting the entire day watching the shadows slowly change in the courtyard. Normally, he’d gotten in the habit of drinking and then mentally listing all the ways his life sucked. He rubbed his freshly shaven chin, and thought, ‘What did I used to do to pass the time. I must have had hobbies at some point, didn’t I?’

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Mick thought back to his younger years, back when he was a talented mage with a fire in his belly. Frowning, he realized that all he had done was read magical tomes and practice. His life used to be about discovery, and experimentation.

But when he had been denied access to spell books, his passion had died out. At first, he had thought he would find a way home, then return to his life after filing a complaint against his boss with the mage council. He had spent hours writing letters, preparing his formal condemnation of Arch-mage Sylvester. But time had dulled his anger, and then he had started reading what was available… elven history and poetry.

Grimacing at the realization that he had forgotten how to live, he stood up angrily. Looking around the room for something productive to do, he glared at the well appointed parlor. It was absent of anything remotely interesting. It didn’t even have bookshelves.

Mick started walking around, absently pacing. Then he came to uncomfortable realization that he had to take a piss. ‘I really am getting old,’ he thought.

He looked at the door, and decided it wasn’t worth dealing with the elves. It would just take them twenty minutes to escort him personally to a bathroom. With a mischievous grin, he walked out the large glass doors into the courtyard.

The beautiful gardens were placed in a circle around an empty stone table. Small statues, and bird feeders were spread out among the bushes and trees. Narrowing his eyes, he looked around for any elves who could possibly be watching. Not seeing anyone, he shrugged, and then did his business behind a tree.

He stepped through the flowers, and retied his pants. Over the years, he had publicly urinated all over this small community, but this was the first time he’d done it sober.

Now refreshed, he looked around the courtyard for something else to occupy his time. Walking up to the table in the center, he ran his hand over the ancient stone. He idly wondered how long the table must have been here, acting as the centerpiece of a courtyard which no one used. Mick’s mind wandered, and he thought back to his days at the university.

He reached into his mana and pulled out a thread to connect his consciousness to the stone table-top. Delicately, as he hadn’t done this in years, he sent his mind into the memory of the table. With his mind’s eye, he saw images of the table sitting undisturbed as the sun moved rapidly across the sky, over and over again. As he reached back further in time, he felt the stress build. It was a familiar feeling that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Carefully, he pulled his mind back. As his mana-probe returned, he opened his eyes. Mick felt like he had just stretched a muscle he had forgotten he had. The feeling of stress lingered, and a mild headache pulsed behind his eyes. But, the pain reminded him that he was alive.

He leaned his head back, and reveled in the feeling of the sun on his face. Stretching out his arms, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing in joy. For the first time in forever, he let his senses loose. He felt the mana in the air around him swirl, and his perception opened up to accept the world. His psychic field had shrunk considerably as a consequence of his long inactivity. But, it was still there, and he was still a mage.

Energized, he started doing the old exercises which he barely remembered. Standing in the courtyard, he reached out to the mana flows, subtly directing them into defined paths. The flow of the world’s mana was omnipresent, and immense. His technique was sloppy, and if any of his teachers were still around, they would be chastising him mercilessly for his poor performance. Yet, Mick didn’t care. He had forgotten how nice it felt to just play with mana.

Old age may have dulled his senses, but just because he never used them, didn’t mean they weren’t still there. It felt like a lifetime ago when he had first been introduced to magic, being shown how to interact with the mana which was all around him.

Here in the courtyard, it took him almost an hour to wrangle the mana flows into the ‘nona-form’, which was the first support system he had ever learned.

When doing large spells, it was always important to ensure proper mana flow. By directing the world’s mana into patterns, one could reduce the cost of their spells while also coordinating the mana input flows.

Mick smiled slightly, pleased that he still remembered how to build a pattern. Rather than move on to the next support system, he went through the all the applicable beginner exercises that he could remember. The nona-form was used for simple elemental spells, so that’s what he focused on. Using his mana, he cycled through ‘dirt’, ‘water’, ‘wind’, ‘heat’, ‘cold’, ‘light’, ‘dark’, ‘restitution’, and ‘destruction’. Each spell pulled on an elemental aspect, but wasn’t intended to actually cast anything. It was merely an exercise to help a budding mage familiarize himself with the different aspects of the world’s mana.

Mick didn’t know how long he practiced. He just closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the feeling of working alongside the world.

His concentration slipped, as he heard a bored voice say, “Mr. Barclay, you’re still doing it wrong.”

The spell he was holding snapped, and he felt the mana he had been using to form the symbol disperse. Around him the nona-form dissipated, and the mana flows returned to their random paths. He grimaced at the pain of losing control of his mana, and he turned his head to glare at the surprise guest.

Standing at the door to the parlor was the mage who had been letting him sleep in his basement. With suppressed rage, Mick said, “Arch-mage Whispersong, it’s good to see you out and about. I thought you were still in seclusion doing… well, whatever it is that you do.”

The arch-mage was wearing his typical silver robes, with purple glowing runes flowing along the edges. His hazel eyes were dull, and lifeless, as though the entire world wasn’t worth looking at. In fact, every time Mick had interacted with him, he had found the arch-mage ‘reluctantly polite’. It was as though the old elf only spoke to people as a matter of social protocol. For him to have actually sought Mick out, it was incredibly out of character.

With a blank look on his face, the arch-mage said, “I was condensing my mana in preparation for a new aspect. Very similar to what you probably experienced during your early studies at your university.”

Mick’s jaw dropped, while his eyes widened in surprise. He had NEVER heard an elf explain anything even remotely related to their magic. This was unprecedented.

Stuttering, Mick asked, “Um…. You wouldn’t happen to be willing to expound on that a little, would you?”

Apparently, the old elf wanted to give Mick a heart attack, because his lips actually almost smiled as he said, “Perhaps later. After all, if you are successful with your experiment, you would become one of us. And no elf is denied the knowledge of their ancestral magic.”

The blood drained from his face, and Mick could only mutter, “Uh…. Don’t worry… No elves will be harmed in the making of this elf?” He finished with a very weak smile on his face, while staring at the judgmental elf who was merely smirking at Mick’s terror.