Gust gaped at the size of this so-called school. It still didn’t make any sense. If it had been one building, or a few, then it might have stayed hidden and unmentioned, but this was a veritable village within his already small town!

The unfamiliar faces continued to bother him. Even if this school was some perfectly-kept secret, surely some of the students, who mostly appeared around his own age, would be people he’d seen during his last few years at Kittridge Community College, or at least around town.

Gust knew something was wrong but couldn’t explain it. Despite the feeling growing in his gut, he held his tongue and waited to meet this Ephraim.

Beyond the larger, immediate buildings, were smaller cabins and several paths which led out of the walled area and into the forest, where they were quickly lost behind the dense greenery. Dry leaves covered the ground wherever there wasn’t a path. They were brown and yellow and red, yet the trees were covered in green. It was yet another strange detail which Gust filed away.

The group finally arrived at a cabin on the edge of the village, which Gust assumed was Ephraim’s home. It had two stories of dwindling size, shuttered windows, and there was very little furniture to be seen. There was an image of a woman carved and painted into the wood above the front door. She sat in calm meditation with a forest full of flowers all around her.

In the center of the first floor sat a middle aged man whose brown skin had a slightly golden undertone. His jet black hair was gathered into a tight knot and a braided beard reached halfway down his chest. His robes were a deep forest green and covered with golden lines. A dark purple stole with golden imagery ran down his chest.

The man rose and pressed his fists together, then bowed low enough for Gust to see the golden tree embroidered on this man’s back. The lines running along his robes were the tree’s roots.

The two students mirrored this gesture but bent at their waists until they reached a ninety-degree angle. Then they muttered the word, “Master,” while Gust fidgeted in place.

“Am I supposed to do that too?” he wondered. “Or is it more of a club-handshake sort of thing?” Uncertain, he stayed upright, despite the growing awkwardness.

When Ephraim raised his head, the boys did so a second later. Oba first, then the other. They both stepped forward and stood behind their leader, then all three stared at Gust while Oba relayed what they knew so far.

The leader caressed his chin in thought, then shook his head slowly, but did not otherwise react.

After a long silence, just as Gust was starting to think he should press his fists together and bow, Ephraim spoke. Despite his lined, serious face, his voice was friendly and compassionate, like that of a priest. “What is your name, boy?”

He felt like he was being spoken to like a child lost in a Walmart, but Gust went along with it. “Augustus Perry.”

“Mmm. Greetings, Augustus. I am Master Ephraim, sitting Headmaster for the School of Fallen Leaves. Such titles are important when addressing your superiors, but we will not worry about that until you learn our ways.”

He paused, and those last few words rang in Gust’s mind. Until you learn our ways.

The old man’s friendly expression grew serious and pensive as he asked, “How did you come by that coin? Did you slay its previous owner?”

Gust looked down at strange bit of false gold and ran his thumb over the face etched into it. “No. He gave it to me,” the boy muttered, though that wasn’t quite true. He just didn’t want to explain.

Ephraim had a look of awe on his face. “But he has died?”

Gust gritted his teeth and blinked back tears. “Yes,” was all he could say.

Ephraim blinked and waited a few moments. When it was clear the boy wouldn’t offer any further explanation, he waved Gust closer and plucked the coin out of his hand before Gust could pull back. The elder stared intently, as if there more to the coin than Gust’s eyes could reveal. “It’s certainly real. And I don’t suppose this boy could have overpowered a Starsoul, eh?”

Oba merely shook his head, but the other snorted a laugh. Ephraim’s eyes returned to Gust and bored through him.

“No, no, even if the man’s advancement was half as impressive as he claimed, not even our Headmistress could have stood against him. Unless… what stage is your cultivation at, Augustus?”

Gust blinked a few times and looked at the pair of boys behind the elder for a signal that they were messing with him. He had no idea how to answer that question. “I’m, uh, not into gardening.”

Then it was the other three men’s turns to look confused. The one wearing chains around his wrists snickered, but shared glances and shrugs with the other two all the same.

A minute later, Ephraim folded his arms. He reached one up to cradle his chin while his eyes ran down Gust’s figure. There was plainly a lot going on behind those ancient eyes, but they revealed nothing.

Gust felt a shiver run down his spine, and something like a weight settling over his heart. It was uncomfortable, but not painful. It was very much like the tight, anxious feeling growing in Gust’s chest.

“You say the Swordsman gave it to you, but anyone with any knowledge of what this coin represents would know how ridiculous that claim is. If it is true, why? You possess great talent, but so do all Demons. A Demon with that sword in his hands, falling prey to a vengeful spirit is not something I would like to see in my lifetime. Surely there is more to it, yes?” Ephraim asked, and the weight lifted.

Gust reared back and scrunched up his face. Too little of this made sense for him to put together any kind of defense. He grew frustrated and cried out, “Doubt me all you want, but that coin belongs to me!” He stepped forward and snatched it from the elder’s hand. The old man’s jaw dropped, and Gust felt proud to have surprised him. “And I’m not a Demon! What is cultivation, anyway? Is that the game you’re all playing, here?” Anger made him attach a tone of condescension and accusation to that last question.

Oba gripped his spear tighter and clenched his jaw while the other boy’s expression lit up with anticipation.

The elder, however, was only shocked. He cleared his throat and spoke mildly. “I don’t know what game you refer to. Cultivation is simple, and yet endlessly complex. A mage cultivates their own power in the way that a farmer cultivates their crop. We water our souls with mana, feed them with constant, daily practice. Through discipline, hard work, and understanding of the Patrons’ lessons, we grow strong. Potentially even immortal.”

Stolen story; please report.

Gust barely resisted rolling his eyes. “The Patrons?”

Ephraim nodded. “You must have seen the Mother’s depiction above my door. Every mage follows one of the Patron’s paths, but this school reveres none more than Pestilence and the Mother. Our cathedral is dedicated to them, as you may have noticed.”

Gust nodded and thought of the only brick building in town. So, the man and woman depicted in its stained glass were basically gods to these people? What sort of game could they be playing if they built an entire town around it?

There was a growing feeling of dread in Gust’s heart. At first, he’d merely been confused to find this unexpected village, but every detail it revealed made his heart beat faster with a primal fear.

Ephraim snorted and glanced back at his disciples. “Of course, not every mage follows a Patron. The renegade Swordsman followed his own path and wasted himself in the underworld. At least his soul won’t have far to travel,” he quipped.

There were several things about those words that went over Gust’s head, but what bothered him more than anything else, was this term ‘underworld.’ He assumed these people used it to refer to the world outside their game, but it came with such a heavy condescension that it bothered Gust every time he heard it. The young man was so busy trying to decipher these strange words that he couldn’t find anything to say.

Ephraim sighed and kept speaking. “We’ve watched that gateway for years. Indeed, we had considered the Swordsman lost. Only Demons survive in the underworld, after all. Well, you must have met the man. Did he find what he was looking for?” Ephraim eyed Gust curiously and a slight smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, “Or are you it? I don’t suppose you have some vast cosmic power hidden in there, do you?”

Gust shrugged at the first pair of questions and felt altogether inadequate as he peered down at his perfectly average, powerless body. “Um, no.”

The man let out a bitter laugh. “Of course not. I’m sorry, Augustus but for you, everything is about to change. You see… there was a reason the Swordsman passed through our little school. He had this… theory.”

The way he spoke that word, and the twist it added to his lips, made it clear Ephraim thought the theory was utterly ridiculous.

“Like most renegades, he rejected the Patrons’ guidance. Instead of heeding their warnings, he sought us out, looking for an entrance to the underworld. He claimed that your world was only so barren because a powerful cultivator had already consumed all its mana. If he could only find such a man, and enlist his help, their alliance might rival the Grand Patronage itself. Did the Swordsman not tell you any of this before his demise?”

While Gust grew more confused by the second, he clung to the simplest lie he could come up with. “There wasn’t any time. I didn’t even realize there was anything wrong with him until he was already gone.” Gust blinked back tears and pushed those thoughts out of his mind.

The old man shook his head and smiled darkly. “Our worlds have no shortage of surprises, do they Augustus? We are as shocked by your appearance as you are of ours, I assure you. It is a shame that you have been pulled into our world by such an arrogant man.

“You see, it is our greatest honor to guard this gateway. Our school has done so for centuries. We know the underworld as well as anyone, but the Swordsman would not listen to reason. As the underworld has no mana, it leaches such energy from us whenever we visit. After enough time, your world would suck the life right out of us. The man thought he could overcome nature, but not even the Mother is capable of that.”

Gust took a few moments to absorb the words, trying to understand the setting these people were roleplaying within. He wanted to play along, if at least to make sense of the character his father portrayed, but it was getting late. His mother had already left for work, and he’d promised to make dinner for Cleo and Jason.

Hoping to speed things along, Gust cut in “Alright, so… he came to my town looking for help? And you all just… waited for him to come back? Why wouldn’t you call him?”

The young men shared an amused glance, but the elder kept his expression plain. “I have heard of those,” he snapped his fingers as he thought of the word, “phones! That’s right. This may come as a shock, but we’re some of the few people in this world who have even heard of them! Communication devices, yes? We have something similar, though we call them speaking stones.”

Gust’s jaw unhinged slightly, and he resisted the urge to back away slowly. “Is everyone in this place crazy?” he thought.

Sighing and shaking his head, Gust gave up. If this group was that dedicated to their game, it was clear Gust wouldn’t get any real information out of them anyway. “Uhh, right. Look, I’m starting to get pretty confused so I’m just going to head out. You guys have fun.”

Feeling like he had been as polite as could be expected of him, Gust decided to take this moment to leave. As Gust spun around and started thinking of excuses for why his short walk turned into an hour-long affair, the door slammed itself shut in front of his face. Gust glanced around for the mechanism that did this, and his heart grew cold.

Ephraim sighed. “When he gave you this coin and sent you here, did the Swordsman tell you what that would mean?”

Gust looked over his shoulder and shook his head slowly. He thought of saying ‘no one sent me here,’ but his throat had suddenly felt dry and tight. The clarification seemed pointless.

“You cannot just go back,” the man said slowly. “Travel between layers is extremely dangerous. It is a miracle you even survived the first time. Perhaps one day, when you form a source of your own, you can return, but most mages never even reach that point. First, however, you must establish your connection with mana, or this world will not allow you to live.”

The words hit Gust and took a moment to be absorbed. When they were, Gust pulled at the door’s handle, but it wouldn’t budge. He braced one leg against the wall and threw his head back as he pulled, but nothing happened. “What the fuck is this place?” he barked a moment later, whirling around on the three men.

The youngest stifled an amused smile. Oba’s face was as serious as ever, and Ephraim just looked sorry. He kept shaking his head. “We are a monastery for immortal mages. Cultivators of mana. The School of Fallen Leaves.”

“Fallen Leaves?” Gust let out a long breath and thought back to the imagery on the robes and buildings he had seen, as well as the abnormal presence of dry leaves throughout the grounds, despite autumn being months away.

Ephraim nodded and walked over to Gust, placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “We let the Swordsman enter your world, so your presence in ours is our responsibility. Perhaps we should have tried to stop him.”

“As if we even could,” the younger boy snorted. His elder shot a look backward, and the boy’s expression dropped. He stayed quiet after that.

Ephraim begrudgingly admitted, “Indeed, when we learned of his identity, we would not have dreamed of barring his way. Nothing to do about it now. You are here, Augustus, and so we will take you in. Train you. Teach you to survive and grow and in any way that we can.”

Gust’s heart sunk. He wanted to believe that these people were just insane, or that he had fallen in the woods and hit his head. Maybe it was all just a dream.

But Gust had been through those woods a thousand times. There was no school. No monastery. No mages.

There also wasn’t an interdimensional portal, or whatever the fuck they were talking about.

Gust shoved the man’s arm away. “Bullshit. Look, I don’t know what scam you’re running but I’m getting out of here.” When the door still wouldn’t budge, Gust shouted, “Let me out!”

Ephraim took one last glance at his students and shrugged. As he did so, a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders… and land on everyone else. The air itself immediately grew thick and heavy.

Gust coughed and felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He couldn’t breathe. The weight gathered and pressed him down to one knee, then two, then on all fours. He tried to fight it, grunting as he crouched lower with every breath, but he couldn’t stop it any more than a crack in the road could stop a car. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his face as he glanced up.

The other two boys were struggling, but in much better shape than Gust. The one with the chains had fallen to one knee. He pressed one fist into the floor and crossed the other over his chest, bowing his head. If it weren’t for his trembling muscles, it might have looked like a respectful salute.

Oba kept his feet, but barely. His white knuckles gripped the haft of his spear so tight the wood might splinter. He gritted his teeth, and his muscles shook with the effort, but he remained standing.

And finally, there was the elder, standing as serene as ever. He was breathing in a measured pattern, with his hands clasped over his stomach. The space around them appeared slightly distorted, the way heat lines appear above a grill on a hot day. Ephraim cracked a smile.

Then the weight disappeared, and Gust collapsed. He sucked in a deep breath and rolled onto his back, feeling soreness spread through his limbs.

The other boys groaned and rubbed their muscles while Ephraim stood over Gust. “Are you prepared to listen now?”