I fall from a great height down toward an ocean of roiling darkness. I scream soundlessly, but there is no air around me to carry the sound, no wind resistance to slow my fall. I hear whispers, but I can’t quite make out what they are saying.

The ocean draws steadily closer, and now I am certain the whispers are inside my head. The fall is a lot further than the 21 stories it should have been, but there is no time to contemplate further, because I am plunging into the substanceless ocean.

Instead of water, the ocean is memory.

Even though the crowd isn’t very large, I’m still in the throes of stage fright. “Belligerent,” the proctor tells me. I take a deep breath: “B-E-L-L-I-G-E-R,” I pause, thinking. I wish I had asked for the definition, but it is too late to go back now. “E-N-T,” I finish, and the proctor nods. “Correct!”

Distantly, I hear voices: “What are you thinking?”

I pause for breath as Serena carries the platter up the stairs. “I think Kevron believes what his higher-ups tell him,” she says. “It’s the higher ups who are lying.”

“Shut up, let me concentrate!”

“Haha, what a loser.” Even the girls join in laughing at me. “Who even tucks their shirt in like that?” It’s just a few people chuckling, but it feels like the whole school has shown up to ridicule me.

“Well, he’s definitely not the ideal choice...”

“But he’s not corrupted?”

I’m six years old, and my parents are arguing at the dinner table about taxes. I can’t take it anymore. I hop out of my chair and run away, and my parents don’t seem to notice. I go outside, and find the stick I had sharpened to a point. Time to go adventuring around the backyard.

“He’s not corrupted, I guarantee that. But he’s kind of, how do I say this nicely, a total dweeb?”

“Doesn’t matter. We take what we can get. If anything, that’s a benefit, because he will go unnoticed.”

“Okay, your call boss-man.”

I’m lying on the floor, my cheek pressed against the linoleum. I blink, and the room comes into focus, rotated 90 degrees from it’s typical orientation. I try to sit up. My head swims, but I manage to pull myself up.

“You alright there Alex?” a woman asks. I look around. I appear to be inside the room on the 21 story. The woman speaking to me has shiny dark hair and a very round face. She smiles a bit.

“Uh, I think? How do you know my name.”

“Well, I was just poking around your head. It’s kind of obvious.”

“Wha-?” I start to protest, but then I see the other people in the room and that thought goes out the proverbial window.

There are two men standing to the side, the younger of which looks about 5 years older than me. But it is the older man that causes me to double take and gape – is it really him? I look again, and yes, it is. His beard is closely trimmed and still mostly black, although flecks of gray are present. His eyes are bright green, actually bright to the point where they might even glow in the dark, but it is his scar that is his most distinctive feature. It is shallow but pronounced, and it wraps from the corner of his bright left eye through his beard and down his neck.

I can’t contain myself: “You’re Felix Jameson!”

“Yup,” he says.

“You’re the greatest adventurer to ever live!”

“So I’ve heard,” he says wearily.

“You stole the golden goose from the Mansion of Mirrors!”

Felix turns to the woman and sighs. “Sheila, why didn’t you tell me he was like this?”

The woman, Sheila, hides a smirk. “I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“You know I hate people who are so… fanboy-ee.”

“It’s not like we are swimming in options here.”

“Ugh,” Felix says. “Fine.” He turns to me. “Kid. What was your name? Abel or something?”

“Alex,” I say, hardly believing I am speaking to him. “Sir, I’m sorry if I started off on the wrong foot. What I wanted to say is, I’m a great admirer...”

I trail off as he holds up a hand for silence. “Listen Ajax,” he says, “I really don’t need to hear it. I’m sure whatever you are about to say, I’ve heard before. Here’s the thing,” he pauses, and puts his head in his hands. “Gods,” he mutters, “I can’t believe it has come to this.”

Sheila steps in: “As strange as it may sound, we actually need your help. Are you willing?”

There is a moment of silence. For some reason I feel like she is talking to me, even though that doesn’t make any sense.

“I know you're thick, but you aren’t thaaaaat thick. Are you willing or not?” she asks.

“Uh, you mean me?” I stammer.

“No, I was talking to the invisible person standing in front of you. Of course I mean you.”

“Okay, yes, I’m willing!” This could be the opportunity of a lifetime. Before I came to the Tournament, basically nothing interesting had ever happened to me, and now the greatest adventurer of all time and his group of… whoever these people are, they need my help? It’s like a dream come true.

“It could be mildly dangerous,” the final occupant of the room says. It is the young man, and he speaks softly but not unkindly.

“How dangerous? And what could you possibly need my help with? I’m not even room service, I’m more of a general intern, so…. yeah….”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Eric is lying,” Sheila says, indicating the young man. “It’s not going to be mildly dangerous. And it has to be you, can’t be anyone else, for reasons we will explain if you accept. So I ask you again: are you willing?”

“What are you wanting me to do?”

“We can’t tell you until you commit.”

“What happens if I don’t commit?”

“Nothing. You leave, and we find someone else.”

“Uh, okay, sure. I’m in” My mom probably wouldn’t be too happy that I’m entering into an agreement without knowing the terms, but Felix Jameson is pretty much the coolest guy ever, so there is that.

“Good,” Felix says, “because if you didn’t agree we would’ve had to kill you.”

“WHAT!?!”

“Relax,” Sheila says reassuringly, “No worries, you are in, we have no reason to kill you now.”

“Uh...” I seem to be sounding like an idiot a lot, but to be fair it’s easy to get flustered when your favorite celebrity casually mentions that he almost had to kill you.

“So: introductions. I’m Felix, as you know. This is Sheila, my partner. And this is Eric, my protege.”

“Nice to meet you,” Eric says. He shakes my hand. The others just sort of stand there, which is a shame, because I’d really been hoping Felix Jameson would shake my hand.

“Take a seat,” Sheila says. “We need to give you a bit of background before we explain your role in this.”

I take one of the chairs at the dining table. Felix and Eric sit at the table with me, while Sheila reclines on the bed. The suite has at least two bedrooms, and is nicer looking than any hotel room I’ve ever been in or seen in the past couple hours of room service. I guess when you have looted hundreds of tombs and collected thousands of bounties, cost isn’t a huge issue.

“Do you know what the prize for winning the Tournament is?” Felix asks.

“Money?” I guess.

“Well yes, but not just money.” He rummages in a bag, then produces a red orb slightly smaller than a bowling ball. It glows and swirls with marbled energy.

“The Orb of Rebirth,” Felix announces, “Was the prize when I won the Tournament four years ago. You see, in addition to the somewhat sizable cash prize, the Spirit of the Tournament selects a particularly potent magical item to be bestowed on the victor of the Tournament. There are various other trinkets and things for placing highly or getting particular awards, but the top prize is head and shoulders above the rest.”

I want to ask what the Orb of Rebirth does, but I hold my tongue.

“This year,” Felix continues, “The Tournament announced the winner’s prize in advance, as they usually do.”

“What is it?”

“You need a bit of background to understand. Long ago, before our country even had the name Elashia, before countries were even divided, the Philosopher Kings ruled all the land. For thousands of generations, they ruled in peace and harmony. They were wise, and they had the trust and love of the people.”

“There were also several Philosopher Queens,” Sheila interrupts. “Likely more than the Kings.”

Felix shoots her an irritated glance. “Be that as it may, they are known as the Philosopher Kings. They were not succeeded by their scions like modern day dynasties; instead, the most worthy of the people was selected to take up the mantle of King or Queen when the previous ruler retired. But like all good things, their reign eventually came to an end.”

I already know most of this from history class, but I let him continue.

“Millenia ago, treachery from within brought the age of Philosopher Kings to an end. Temut, the last and greatest of the Philosopher Kings, was slaughtered by his own son and disciple. Humanity fell into the dark ages, and much of the ancient wisdom was lost. Little is left of the golden era of the Philosopher Kings, save a few records indicating how great an era it was....”

Felix pauses, looking whimsical. I hope he hurries up his story, because I really have to go pee.

“But the few artifacts that do survive carry immense power. Doubtless you have heard of the Stone Sword, or the Mirror of Magic. They are artifacts of magic and craftsmanship far beyond the best we can produce today, and in a hundred years we would be lucky to even come close to the level of the Kings.

“The most powerful of the dozens of artifacts that survived the dark ages are the King’s Regalia. The full regiment of Temut, the last and greatest Philosopher King, including his boots and crown. Four items, each of which has substantial power in their own right, that when united, grant the wearer incredible might.”

“Who has them now?” I ask.

“Sfaegor, mostly” Felix says derisively.

“Felix’s arch-nemesis,” Eric tells me. “Or at least, one of his arch-nemeses.”

“He is the worst,” Felix says. “Spiteful beyond measure, he has no greater desire than to see the worst burn. Sfaegor is powerful too, as well as evil. An unfortunate combination. And he has almost collected the entire Regalia. If he does, he will have the power of Temut himself.”

“Which is…?”

“The Philosopher Kings had the trust of the people. When they issued edicts, the people followed without question, for they trusted in the wisdom of the Kings. And this is the power that Temut bestowed in his Regalia.”

“It makes you wise?”

“No. Stop asking so many questions.”

“Sorry.”

Felix stares at me, and I wither. His disapproval is almost as discomforting as my overfilled bladder. Eventually, he continues: “Since the fall of Temut, the Regalia have only been united once. On the isle of Gigantuo, by Balanor the Second I believe?”

“The Third,” Sheila supplies.

“Balanor the Third. He united the four pieces of the Regalia, and he gained power over the inhabitants of the entire island. Whatever he wished for, they were forced to do – the Regalia forced them to obey his every thought. He had them prostrate themselves before him, serve his every desire. Within weeks he went insane, if he wasn’t already, and commanded the inhabitants to kill themselves one at a time. The islanders were powerless to resist. Finally, Baltanor the Third committed suicide by ordering one of the last few islanders to kill him. This was several centuries ago. After this massacre, the four pieces of the Regalia were scattered across the world.”

“Until recently,” Eric says.

“Until recently. Sfaegor inherited the Ruby Shoes from his father, the old Duke of Westfalia. He retrieved the Copper Crown from the bottom of the Bellicose Ocean. I myself found the Silver Breastplate when exploring the (extraordinarily dangerous) tomb of Hup the Mighty.”

“Sfaegor has the Silver Breastplate now,” Sheila says. “He bought Felix a bunch of beers, got him drunk, and took the item while Felix slept off the alcohol.”

Felix glares at Sheila: “I was getting to that.”

She shrugs.

“Anyway,” Felix continues, “Sfaegor now has three out of the four pieces of the Regalia, and the fourth is the prize for this year’s Tournament. I have no idea how the Spirit of the Tournament got ahold of it, but if one of Sfaegor’s minions manages to win, Sfaegor will get his hands on the Golden Pants, complete the Regalia, and the world as we know it–”

“–Wait, sorry, did you say the Golden Pants?” I try to keep a straight face.

“Yes,” Felix says gravely. “If one of Sfaegor’s minions wins, they will give him the Golden Pants, and Sfaegor will use the completed Regalia to enslave, torture, and kill all of humanity.”

There is silence in the room. I try to grapple with the implications of all I’ve just been told, but all I can really think about is how much I need to pee.

“So, obviously we can’t let one of Sfaegor’s minions win the Tournament,” Sheila says. “That’s where you come in.”

“Me? I’m just an intern, you can’t seriously expect me to win the Tournament!”

Felix bursts out laughing. Sheila joins him, and literally falls out of her chair, she is laughing so hard. Even Eric chuckles.

“You, entering the Tournament?” Felix wheezes. “Oh my gods, that’s hilarious!”

Eventually, Eric takes pity on me: “You aren’t going to be entering the Tournament; we are. Me and Sheila. One of us has to win, to prevent one of Sfaegor’s many minions from doing so. Felix can’t enter because he already won in the past, but then, neither can Sfaegor for the same reason.”

“So what do you need me for?”

Felix has recovered from his bout of laughter, although his grin remains. “Sfaegor is devious,” he tells me. “He doesn’t like to play by the rules. We are certain he has agents within the Tournament staff to help his minions secure their win. You are our answer to that.”

“Uh, I think I mentioned, but I’m just an intern. I don’t really have much sway.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Sheila says. “Besides, we can only be sure someone as incompetent as you isn’t already one of Sfaegor’s agents! So we don’t really have better options. Just don’t let anyone (and I mean anyone!) know that you are our agent, and you’ll be fine for the things we need you to do. No pressure, except for the whole end-of-the-world thing.”

“Why can’t you, you know, call in the government to help or whatever?”

“Sfaegor is the government,” Felix says darkly. “Besides, this is the Tournament: there is no government beyond the Spirit of the Tournament, and all she cares about is the person who wins.”

“Oh, cool, uh, can I use your bathroom? I really have to go.”

Felix sighs and points down the hall.

When I emerge from the bathroom a couple minutes later, Felix and Eric are gone.

“I’ll just get you up to speed on what you need to know for now, and then you can go,” Sheila tells me.

“Okay.”

“So, first thing: don’t let anyone know you are working with us, or else Sfaegor or his cronies might kill you.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t going to be dangerous!”

“I said it wasn’t going to be mildly dangerous – which is correct. It’s going to be a lot worse than that. It’s too late for you to back out though, so no need to stress out about it. Just don’t tell anyone and you should be okay unless they use a psychic probe. But you already are well defended against that.”

“What, what?” Is this the part where I find out I have latent magic? Is my willpower supreme, or am I just naturally gifted?

“Nobody is going to waste their energy trying to Read someone as clearly incompetent and useless as you. Uh, no offense.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, well, since the Tournament hasn’t started yet there is nothing specific we need you to do. Just keep your eyes and ears open, and look out for staff who are bribed or controlled by Sfaegor, as well as his contestants. Understood? Great! Now get out of here, I need to take a nap and work arcane magic and such.”

“Okay, sure.” I have a million questions but the dismissal is pretty clear, and since it sounds like I don’t actually have to do anything yet, I’m not going to contest it. As I leave, I notice the untouched platters of food. “Did you actually want the food, or…?”

“Oh yeah, thanks.”