A hush fell over the audience, everyone stilling as the revelations sunk in. A few of the parents, who’d been silently collecting at the edge of the group, looked as though they wished to spirit their kids away away from the friend of the current Mad King. A few of the children appeared as though they feared the King would come after them for hearing the story, while others looked as though they didn’t believe what they’d just heard.

One of the older kids gasped and said, “But you called that man a worldwalker! Does that mean…what does that mean?”

The sudden influx of attention as everyone’s heads swiveled in my direction made me want to shy away. I’d already decided, however, that I wasn’t going to fall behind any further or cower out of anything I needed to do. I kept my shoulders open and straightened my back.

“That’s for Hayden to tell us. A story for a story,” he reminded me.

I glanced around the crowd and felt my resolve falter slightly. The children, in particular, stared at me expectantly.

“Not here.”

Protests and irritated faces surrounded me, but I wouldn’t falter. I had no interest in relaying the story to the children, and according to my sister, my scientific method of describing things would bore them to death anyway.

The Storyteller’s head bobbed as he nodded in agreement. “It’s already afternoon, and your parents will be expecting you home before it gets too warm,” he said to the surrounding children, dismissing them. A few of the parents who'd been gathering around slowly to collect their children nodded and shot a particular glance toward their children that informed them there would be trouble if the child didn’t get over there now.

With sighs and looks of disappointment, the crowd dispersed like mist, and we were left alone with the Storyteller. He crooked a finger at Sinbad and me, keeping up the air of mystery. We followed out of the park and to the edge of the city, down an alleyway, then a stone path around the building to a hidden dwelling tucked in between buildings. If someone hadn’t known it was there, I doubt they’d be able to find it easily. The mechanical door hissed open as the Storyteller approached, allowing the three of us, and Ani, entry before shutting and locking behind us. The overhead lights flickered on, showcasing a very simple and practical dwelling. A few books decorated the open shelves in the kitchen, and a single plate and cup sat in the sink, the only signs of life in the building. A thin coat of dust covered most of the furniture.

Sinbad and I took two of the rickety seats at the four-person table as the Storyteller gestured for us to sit and passed the table into the open kitchen. I eyed him as he rummaged through his mostly-bare cabinets, pulling out a couple of plain ceramic mugs.

“Water, anyone?”

“Yes, please.”

“Yes.”

He filled them up at the sink and sat them before Sinbad and I before dropping into the seat opposite me. He drank a few sips then pushed his cup off to the side, sliding his elbow on the table to look at me through intrigued eyes.

My mug plopped down onto the table with a thud.

“25 years ago–” I began.

“I want your story,” the Storyteller interrupted, lifting a hand to pass it in front of his eyes. “I already saw some of that story.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“So you have spaciotemporal magic,” I inferred, based on his recent statement and mention of growing powers earlier.

The Storyteller gave an exaggerated shrug. “If you wish. I prefer not to limit my magic with categories.”

Confused, I frowned.

Sinbad asked the question before I could. “How so?”

The Storyteller pulled back, granting himself full use of his hands once more. “ If I’m a spaciotemporal mage, then since elemental magic is its opposite, I must find it difficult. If, however, I do not see myself as a spaciotemporal mage, then my elemental magic cannot be limited by my expectations of what it should be.”

His words recalled memories of accidentally scorching the ground while learning Physical magic, and I could almost see the point he was making. It was why placebos worked so well.

I attempted to start my story with my childhood and with my entry into this world. Each time I was cutoff by the Storyteller, who insisted I wasn’t starting at the right place. Frustrated, I leaned back in my chair. “I don’t know what you want.”

“Start where the story begins.”

That sounded a little subjective to me. I started my tale with my arrival in Heirs, narrating all the way up to our encounter with the Storyteller in the park. When he tried to cut me off, I ignored him, and continued to tell my tale, cutting and going back as I abridged and elaborated where I felt it was necessary. For some events, such as our time in Agartha, I kept to a simple sentence, wary of giving away too much.

Once the tale was rolling, I needed’t have worried. The Storyteller listened with rapt attention, completely focused on every word that left my mouth. Sinbad seemed equally interested, having only heard a briefer detailing of my adventures.

I finished with our encounter in the park.

“Your training story should be enough,” the Storyteller said, as soon as I’d finished. “Djinn particularly enjoy stories of transformation, and he’s been stuck hearing the same three stories from players for ages.”

I frowned again. About that…. “Why are you different?”

He looked at me, a question written in his form.

“Whenever I’ve interacted with the other NPCs, they act like…well, NPCs. But you, you act as though..you’re real.”

It was the same when the NPCs had interacted with Sinbad.

“I’m not,” was his answer.

“Not real, or not different?”

He considered the answer briefly. “Different, in the manner that you’re asking. I’m very real.”

Right. “Why did you tell us that story earlier?”

The story had come across as almost a warning against interfering. HIs actions, however, were telling me a different tale, and I told him such.

The Storyteller thought for a few moments, his hood tilted toward his cup. “I’ve grown weary,” he admitted candidly. “When I saw the worldwalker title, I saw an outsider, an unbiased third party who could judge me for my mistakes.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do you expect me to deal with him for you? Even after Jacob and Ava made the mistake of pacing him on the throne in the first place?”

He didn’t look up from his cup. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “All decisions have consequences. Some are intentional; some are not. Sometimes they’re good; sometimes, they’re bad. Other times, they just are. If they hadn’t interfered, his predecessor might have gotten worse. I cannot fault them for a change I asked them for.”

“Even after their later mistakes?”

“Not even then. However….” he trailed off, then jerked his head up to meet my eyes, his hand reaching slowly for his hood.

He flipped it down in one sudden motion, revealing a gaunt middle-aged man with dark black hair, friendly brown eyes, and tired skin. “I cannot allow my friend to continue down this path, but I cannot stop him either.”

His intentions came through to me, as bright as the light of day. Perhaps we were alike. He only wanted to shift the responsibility to someone else.