It would be, he realized in moments, quite impossible to restore his system. He had destroyed it, and believed it to be gone forever, and that belief had encoded itself into the spell without it destroying itself. That was why it had proven so efficient against the archmage; a simple modification to the interface would have had little effect on somebody to whose own interface was such second nature. The archmage's belief of its existence would have overruled his own.

But what he had done was far more destructive; he had rewritten the System spell to remove the interface that had painstakingly evolved over centuries of natural selection, failure, and iterative improvements. Even the original system spell had a rudimentary way of controlling and using the spellforms it contained; but his had none. In essence, he hadn't just modified the steering wheel of the car, he had removed it entirely.

Ultimately, it mattered little.

Through the Underpinnings, Oliver still had access to the Phoenix Rite spell, it would return him to a particular point in time, according to the scientist, and that was enough. Oliver found that now he had discharged his duty of conscience towards the Moderate group, and to his allies of convenience, he wanted nothing more than to return home, all the more so since the means was now within his grasp. The prisoners he had rescued, too, needed modern medical care desperately.

Thus it was with little difficulty that he formed a resolution of returning home immediately, before anything further could disrupt his personal mission. And once he had resolved this, it could not happen too soon.

Full of trepidation of the unknown, and anxiety now that his goal was so close to being achieved, he went directly to Gideon and Sindra. He found found them in close conversation, heads perhaps closer together than merely being allies would have warranted. Even before he asked his question, he already knew the answer.

"Go back?" asked Gideon. "No, I'm not thinking I will. The cancer in my blood – this world's magic is the only thing keeping me alive." But a sideways glance at Sindra proved that wasn't the only thing keeping him here.

Oliver then explained his intent of returning alone to Gideon, giving the justification that his work here was already done. He explained the benefits and drawbacks of the null-system spell which he'd crafted; how it would render any who took it unable to cast other spells by destroying their interface, but how it was also powerful enough to destroy even an archmage in the height of their power and within the influence of a mana well.

"This is a powerful weapon indeed," said Sindra, after overcoming her incredulity at its potency, "If we were to, say, get to—"

"—a system hub," finished Gideon, "We'd be able to corrupt the system instance that that hub distributes out to everybody during a census."

"And given the self-replicating nature of the system and its hubs, it should spread like wildfire," said Oliver.

"But that — that would completely destabilize our entire civilization," said Sindra, a solemnity settling over her features as she contemplated the implications.

"And isn't that exactly what you've—we've—been trying to do?" asked Oliver.

"Yes, yes it is," she admitted. "It certainly would upset the power structure. It's perhaps the one thing that might achieve our goals without further loss of life. But… the System, its means of controlling spells, that is what enabled humanity to rise from the dark times of the Wild Magic. We'd be throwing ourselves backwards into an even darker time. This would be no revolution. It's an apocalypse."

"Not so," said Oliver. "Magic is still controlled by the System, interface or no. It still absorbs mana, prevents wild castings, structures your natural magic. It just prevents it from being ordered in a structured way. The energy is still there, still being spent, you just can't access it. At least, not yet."

"Live… without magic?" She looked aghast at the very thought.

Gideon chuckled. "We've managed it for thousands of years back home. It's not as bad as you might think."

"And that's not to say you'll never be able to get it back either," said Oliver. "It'll just take you a little while. In time, you will regain your magic. Once your civilizations have caught up to where we are on Earth, when you understand each other—and the world you live in—enough, the System will once more become available to you."

"How can this be?" asked Sindra, looking confused.

Oliver stood for a moment thinking of his experience with modeling the Underpinnings in a way that wouldn't obliterate his mind. It had only been possible because of the shared and pooled knowledge of Earth's humanity. A knowledge achieved through hundreds of years of humankind working in concert towards shared ends in times of relative peace. Knowledge borne of true civilization, which could only come from empathy and the development of a philosophy of humanity that valued each human life and the dignity thereof.

Once the people of this place had reached that point, built up similar levels of abstraction and meaning, the System would be understandable to them as well. And if they were able to reach that point, it would mean that they had already achieved that which Earth had: some form of global peace and cooperation that would mean the magic wouldn't destroy them. Was it enough of a safeguard? Oliver couldn't say; but he hoped so, and in any case it was the best he could do.

But how to communicate all that?

"Never mind," she said, seeing that he didn't have a ready response. "I'll take your word for it."

He acknowledged this gracefully, choosing to accept her faith in his assertion rather than attempt to explain his reasoning to her.

He turned to Gideon. "Is this enough? Will you be all right?" After having spent so long in confidence with him, Oliver was sure the big man would do the right thing, would know how to leverage the null system to the greatest effect possible.

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"More than enough. You've done the impossible. I'd ask you to stay further, if I could," said Gideon, "But instead, I can only wish you the best. You're doing the right thing. Go home to your wife and child."

They shook hands, and Oliver parted ways with them, leaving them to their discussion, left with the lasting impression of Gideon's confidence and trusting in his discernment of the man's intentions and abilities.

After speaking with the two of them, Oliver then went to Tallahassee, who was still talking with Luke. "Home? This… this is home for me now," she said with an expression of realization, and Luke nodded. "Besides," she continued, gaining momentum, "who would look after Sung Lee if we leave? He'll get himself killed straightaway on his own. And we all know he's not going back. He's far too invested in his research here."

Graves, it transpired, would be returning alongside him; the scientific discoveries she was the sole witness of, enabled by magic, would save countless lives on earth. "Besides," she said in her thick northern English accent, "There's bound to be a way back, so it's not like I'll be stuck in normieville forever."

The rest of the Earthers would also be coming with Oliver, naturally; there wasn't even the need to consult them, nor the will. At present, they were left consoling one another or sitting in shock inside the storage space within the ring; the Moderates in this mountain range lacked the supplies to feed and clothe such a group. No, the only thing that would do for them would be to travel home with Oliver, where they could receive proper care and medical attention. And as it would be no extra cost to return them within the ring, Oliver was resolved to do so.

"Sorry about the whole, you know, bar fight and lying to you when we first met thing," said Tiro with a lopsided grin. He'd been seated by a fire in conference with Galen and Arlo when Oliver approached with the news of his impending departure.

"I understand," was all Oliver said. He retained a certain dissatisfaction with the way Tiro had deceived him, but could not particularly blame him; he was merely playing the role of responsible revolutionary, a role he had been forced into by an unjust society with which Oliver took the greater exception. Though it did not excuse him entirely, it did leave Oliver unable to indulge in unmitigated resentment.

"Great, great," said Tiro. "I'm glad we can still be friends." Oliver gave him a smile, but said nothing, and moved on.

"I'm indebted to you for saving my life," he said to Arlo with some awkwardness. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Bah, I didn't do it for you," said Arlo. "Tiro tells me you came up with a way to level the playing field. Says you knocked off an archmage, and you with only a few months of knowing magic."

"It's true," said Oliver, inclining his head.

"Then it was worth it," Arlo said. After a pause, he added, "And you did return the favor. So I guess that makes us even." Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the fire, a haunted look in his eyes.

—

And that was it. Oliver said the rest of his goodbyes, precious few that they were, and withdrew into the Underpinnings to locate the Phoenix Rite spell once more. It was a matter of some difficulty to locate it once more, but buoyed by the Second Wind spell he was able to sort through the visions in time, his mind handling the influx of experiences with an ease granted by much exposure.

After finding the correct spell, he held it within his mind as he returned his consciousness to the present moment, looking around at the people around him. The only person standing by him was Graves; and she was neither particularly dear to him nor did she bear any special regard for him, so he felt quite unattached. He passed the spell onto her, and she took it, assuring him of her gratitude once more, and quite unnecessarily at that.

Oliver found that there was a touch of moroseness in his spirit as he adjusted the Phoenix Rite spell, fixing in his mind the time and place from which it had carried him so many months ago, a time and place from which he now felt quite divorced and yet had never more longed for, as imminent as its recovery was.

Beside him, Graves did the same, and as she was the first to trigger the spell, he was privileged to observe her vanish between eye-blinks. One moment she was there, and the next she was simply gone and he was left looking down the mountainside at a view that had been until now obscured by her form.

He gazed out over the snowy mountain range, taking in the grandeur of this magical world for what was almost certainly the last time. A lingering regret rose to his attention; the magic he'd had a hand in destroying held so much promise, the promise of power that he could have wielded bittersweet in his mind.

And yet his heart was unswayed in its desire to return home, so there was really no internal debate at all. Indeed, looking back, there never had been; though the promise of magic had greatly occupied his attention and his imagination, his heart and his actions had been fully aligned, from the very first day he'd found himself transported to this world.

Besides, it was enough of a consolation to him to know that he'd had a part to play in saving it from certain destruction at its own hands. Though it was not his role to be the one to see the destruction of the System carried out to its fullest extent, and never had been, Oliver was no doubt the principle means by which its salvation had been attained. And that gratified him greatly; an atonement, of sorts. The butcher's bill was finally paid in full.

It was with his heart and mind conflicted in these mixed feelings, yet on the whole overfull of joyful anticipation that he prepared to trigger the spell. He stood there for a moment, then with a gasp of anticipating he powered the spell. Immediately the familiar vortex of lights and sounds appeared. He relaxed, allowing it to pull him forward into the unknown.

One moment, he was standing on the mountainside, looking over the group of people, and possibly the world, that he'd saved; the next, he was surrounded by colors and shapes flashing by faster than he could perceive them. In time, they became interspersed by flashes of blinding white light, which in turn faded away into an all-encompassing and now deeply familiar dark void.

Then he waited.

—

A Saturday's afternoon in New Hampshire; hot the son beating down from overhead, blue and cloudless the sky. Green the suburban grass lawn, and trim; and sweaty the man employed in wielding a weed wacker against the weeds at its edge.

Oliver finished the last of the trimming and wiped his forehead, the bright orange gloves he was wearing leaving a smear of dirt across his forehead. He didn't notice. Behind him, a grill was smoking, the aroma of sizzling hamburger filling drifting through the suburb from yard to yard.

He looked back to the yard, opened his mouth to say something to his wife, who was just then coming out of the air-conditioned house and onto the porch.

Then he disappeared without a trace, leaving nothing behind, not even his gear.

The woman glanced over, confused, one hand holding a plate and the other resting on her stomach unconsciously.

A half-moment later, before she even had time to notice his absence, Oliver re-appeared, dressed in drab monk-like robes, wearing strange jewelry, and with an unaccountably long beard that looked to have been at least six months in the growing. Further, his weed wacker was nowhere in sight.

He sank to his knees at the sight of her, the strength deserting his limbs, smiling through the tears, and mumbled something through his beard inaudibly.

She glanced over and shouted, "What? I didn't hear you!" Then she screwed up her face in confusion at the sight of him.

"I'm home," he shouted again, louder. "I'm home!"

"Oliver, what are you talking about? What are you wearing? And what on earth is that on your face?" she called back in some annoyance and confusion, setting down the plate and hurrying over to him as fast as her pregnant figure would permit.

"On Earth," he whispered one more time in disbelief as she reached him and he sprang up and swept her into a tight embrace. "I'm home." Not understanding, but sensing his distress, she returned his embrace tightly, and in that moment, all was right for Oliver Grace.