Argus’s office was full of books, shadows, and the smell of dust.

It was also small. That surprised Neil, the first time he saw it. He thought that a man as dramatic as Argus would at least spring for windows. Instead: the space was lit and warmed by an array of candles, bathing the room in soft orange light.

The man himself sat behind a mammoth wooden desk, dark and rich, littered with papers and trinkets at every available inch of space in front of him, including—Neil noted with mild, subdued horror—what looked to be an arrangement of the bleached skulls of several small mammals.

It took an act of will to un-glue his eyes from the bone ornaments. One of them was looking at him. The size of an apple, yellow and old, grinning at him with a jagged underbite that belayed a sense of cruel humor.

Neil wondered, briefly, what it had done to end up there.

Still, he wasn't there to gawk at an old man’s knick-knacks, strange as they were. He was in the middle of an even stranger conversation.

“What do you mean, ‘they’re not that dangerous?’” Neil looked blankly at the old man.

“Exactly as I’ve said.” Argus folded his hands together. “Lesser undead have been known to frighten small children and livestock, but the real threat they pose is as carriers of disease.”

The old man shook his head, lip curling. “The wretched creatures spread blight to any food or water they touch. To say nothing of their smell, or the effect they have on the people’s mood.”

“You want us to kill a plague of the undead…” Neil said, slowly, “Because they’re a public health hazard?”

He leaned back in his chair, unsatisfied.

“I do.” The old man nodded sagely. “They are indeed a plague, and a terrible pest to boot—akin to rats, or mites. Though far less able to reproduce, and far easier to catch.”

Neil blinked at the old man and nodded slowly. “I’m… glad to hear that, Argus.”

Was he glad, though? He felt more confused than anything else. Whiplashed, maybe.

“Always happy to help, my boy.” The old man straightened his copper-colored robes. “Truly, you are in no danger. It’s not as though there have been reports of wights in the area.”

‘Of course,’ Neil thought, ‘why ever would there be ‘wights?’’

It didn’t feel entirely appropriate to make sarcastic comments when his life was potentially on the line, and so he kept the thought to himself.

Outwardly, he sighed. “Wights?”

“Nor revenants—nor even boglings.” The old man shrugged. “Else I would send for experienced monster hunters. No offense intended.”

“None taken.” Neil scratched his nose, thinking. “So, is there maybe an idiot’s guide on this kind of thing, or an encyclopedia, or something?”

He gestured to the wall of leather-bound books looming behind Argus. What the little office lacked in windows and natural lighting, it made up for in books, the smell of paper, and dust.

“Not as such, no.” Argus smiled slightly. “Undeath is a niche subject that borders on the heretical. What little written knowledge there is tends to be highly academic, and largely useless. You’d be better off finding the valley’s local wizard and asking them your questions.”

“You can’t tell me anything?” Neil frowned.

Argus shrugged. “I can tell you that removing the head and the heart will kill just about anything that moves, if that helps.”

Neil grimaced. “So, what, do we bring scalpels, or should we just beat them into a bloody paste?”

The old man raised his weathered eyebrows. “You could try burning them, I suppose; fire tends to be effective against all manner of dark creatures. Although… I’ve heard that the undead tend to be… rather moist, unfortunately.”

Neil scrunched his nose. “They’re moist?”

“They are indeed.” The old man said in a solemn voice. “I can’t imagine that they burn very well, and even if you got a flame hot enough… I would bet that their fumes are ghastly.”

“Alright, so no fire.” Neil nodded, lips curling downwards. “Anything else?”

“Like I said, you should ask the local wizard.” The old man said, splaying his liver-spotted hands, smiling primly. “This isn’t the first time they’ve had this problem, I believe. I’m sure they can tell you exactly what to do.”

“Right.” Said Neil, with a dissatisfied frown. “Well, thanks for the help, I guess.”

He shifted his weight to leave when Argus motioned that he stay seated.

“I’m rather glad you came to see me, my boy, but I’d like to take a few more seconds of your time, if you’ll let me have them.”

Neil lowered himself back into his chair.

The warmth and intimate darkness of the little office didn’t make for the most… comfortable atmosphere. Not that Neil was in a hurry to leave… he just wasn’t in a hurry to stay.

“I understand that you aren’t satisfied with the progress of your training.” The old man continued.

Neil frowned. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Around.” The old man said, blue eyes twinkling. “I figured I would ask you myself.”

“Well,” said Neil, pursing his lips. “Consider me asked, then. No—I’m not satisfied.”

“May I ask why?”

There was a silly question, Neil thought. ‘Because I’m taking beatings like medicine, and I’m starting to wonder why I keep coming back for more?’

“Because,” Neil spoke slowly. “You said that we would have… abilities. Gifts.”

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Argus’s exact wording led Neil to believe they were something along the lines of concessions. Apology gifts from ‘The Gods Themselves,’ as recompense for taking them so far from their homes.

Neil didn’t know how much of that he believed, but if a god wanted to turn him into a superhero, who was he to say no?

“Blessings.” The old man smiled knowingly.

“Sure,” Neil said, dipping his head to one side. “The thing is, my training is going slowly. Whatever my gifts are, they don’t have anything to do with sword fighting.”

Because if they did, he might be able to compete with Jackie and Peter. A fact which Neil left unspoken.

“I wouldn’t be so quick in abandoning the sword.” Said Argus, in a high voice. “Blessings have been known to take weeks, even months to manifest.”

“I’m not abandoning anything,” Neil said. “You asked if I was satisfied. I’m not. I’m… maybe slightly better than helpless, and I’ll keep at it—but satisfied? No.” He shook his head.

“Alright, then,” Argus said, with a slight smile. “If your true talents don’t lie with the sword, will you allow me a few recommendations for your path moving forward?”

“Please.” Neil made a welcoming gesture with his arms. “Frankly, I could use all the help I can get.”

“Well,” The old man hummed approvingly. “Have you considered the various means and methods of magecraft?”

…

…

The castle library was quiet, as libraries tend to be.

Eerily quiet, in this particular case, as if the candle-disturbed shadows and ink-touched papers drew out every potential for noise from the air, like a vacuum.

So quiet—that when June appeared in front of Neil, sitting at a lone reading desk in an isolated corner of said library, without the sounds of footsteps or even breathing preceding her, he nearly fell out of his chair.

“Why,” asked Neil, carefully putting down his book, “do people keep on sneaking up on me?”

“Because it’s easy?” June smirked. “I don’t know if you’re hyper-focused, or just distractible, but that’s something you gotta work on.”

“Duly noted.” Neil huffed, running his hand back through his messy brown hair. “What brings you to my little corner of… paradise?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I was looking for you earlier. Didn’t occur to me that you’d be in the library till a bit ago.”

Neil’s lips tightened into a dry, toothless smile.

‘Why is it,’ he thought, ‘that everyone can raise a single eyebrow, except for me?’

“It didn’t occur to you that I know how to read?” He asked instead, out loud.

“Guess not.” June leaned over his desk, at Neil’s still-open book. “But you couldn’t find anything better to practice on?”

She looked dubious at the wall of text written therein, the book itself not even halfway finished.

“Not yet.” He muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stem the brain-stabbing headache hiding behind his eyes.

The library wasn't a place where Neil normally spent his time. Not that he didn’t enjoy reading… there just always seemed to be something more important to do.

Like, say, preparing for survival in a world where a gnome might steal his skin and fashion it into a hat.

He’d been up since… he looked at his candle, reduced to a barely flickering nub, and frowned.

He turned to look at the window, streaming in a bare glimmer of twilight. It was lighter out than it should have been, for how late it was. Certainly lighter out than it was the last time he checked.

Because the sun was coming up.

‘Agh,’ he thought. ‘That’s not gonna feel good later.’

He noticed that June was still standing across from him when he looked back.

“Argus said he’d get me a primer on magic, but that I had to… ‘sharpen my mind’ before it gets here.” he gestured at it, as if it were the book’s fault it would take so long.

“Two weeks, I think he said it’d take. Maybe longer.”

Honestly, Neil was surprised it wouldn’t take months. Argus probably ordered it under whatever the fantasy world equivalent was for expedited shipping.

Airmail, but with dragons, maybe.

Ah, that’d be something else he’d need to look up, now that he’d given in the allure of the library. He didn’t want to make any stupid assumptions of the kind of world he lived in, even if they were as correlative as, ‘if fantasy world: then dragons’.

‘What I really need to do is make a list of all my questions, then hunt down someone with all the answers.’ The thought occurred.

‘Someone named Google, probably. It might take ages, but it’ll be worth it. Even if we have to beat the answers out of him when he pretends not to know what we’re talking about. ESPECIALLY then.’

The fact that Neil found the thought even mildly amusing had him massaging the bridge of his nose once more. God, he was tired.

She flipped the book closed and dragged it away from him, before spinning it around to see the front.

“The Definitive Guide to Farming in The Eastern Planes, by Edgar Clothe.” She read aloud, eyebrows raised. “Don’t you just hate it when the title gives away the ending?”

Neil had a similar look on his face when Argus handed it to him. It had all the fun of being told to read the dictionary for homework.

Even worse, he asked for it. He wanted to understand the local culture and the economy, and the book was perfect for it.

To be fair, though, it was between that, and ‘Divine Geometry,’ which looked about as ‘divine’ as a high-school math textbook.

To be doubly fair, Neil was a student of the humanities, and math was about as enjoyable for him as pulling fingernails.

The Definitive Guide was, unfortunately, every bit as boring as he was warned. One of the unfortunate exceptions to the ‘thou shalt not judge a book by its cover’ commandment that Neil normally lived by.

Not the most boring thing he’d read—not by a long shot—but definitely up there. A hundred-something pages in, and he hadn’t read anything that couldn’t have been summarized in a few graphs and a dozen pages.

Still, if Argus was telling him he had to read the damn thing before he got any magic lessons, he’d do it.

“It’s more interesting than you’d think, once you start skimming for keywords,” Neil muttered, suppressing the urge to yawn. “There's stuff about taxes, exports, imports… production of grain liquor…” Despite his struggle against it, the yawn escaped him, and he sank into it.

“Riveting.” She slid the book further away from him, to his weak protest. “But I think it might be past your bedtime.”

Neil folded his arms on the table and rested his chin on them. “You’re still up.” He murmured.

“I’m a night owl.” She shrugged. “I got all my stuff done a couple of hours ago.”

“You do stuff?” He blinked owlishly at her.

“Lots and lots of stuff.” She nodded. “You don’t even know, man. The stuff I’ve got going on would blow your friggin mind.”

“Hmm.” Neil noncommittally hummed, “Consider me blown.”

“You don’t even know.” She repeated flatly. “I gotta go. Do you need any help getting to your room?”

“I’m tired, not drunk.” He shook his head before his eye caught on the dull light starting to shine through the window. “And I’m thinking I should maybe just pull through, get an early start on the day.”

God, this reminded him of college. All he was missing was stronger, cheaper liquor, some horrible food, and all the friends who thought he was dead.

“That’s a horrible idea.” She patted his arm. “Have fun, though.”

“Mhm.” Neil rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, she was gone.