Landen leaned back in his chair, swirling the ale in his mug as he stared across the tavern table at Marcus. The noise of the room faded slightly in his mind as he started, “Alright, Marcus, you want to hear about the last six months? Let me tell you. It’s been a nightmare.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow, his grin already forming. “Go on, I’m all ears.”
Landen took a deep breath and set the mug down. “First off, you know how this all started, right? That picture book. The one that shady traveler gave me as payment. I read it one night—one stupid night, mind you—and next thing I know, I’m snapping my fingers and lighting candles. At first, it was amazing! I thought, ‘Hey, I can do daily spells. No big deal.’ But apparently, being really, really good at level-one magic makes you a sage.”
Marcus’s laugh cut through the noise of the tavern. “So you mastered beginner spells and now you’re a legend? Seems fair.”
“Right?” Landen said, throwing his hands up. “I thought, ‘Sure, this will be great!’ But no one told me that being a sage means you get hauled off to the Magic Tower, shoved into a stone tomb with the oldest, grumpiest people you’ve ever met, and forgotten about.”
Marcus chuckled. “How bad can it be? You’re a sage. That’s got to come with some perks.”
Landen’s face darkened. “Perks? Marcus, let me paint you a picture. The Magic Tower is dead silent. I mean, the loudest thing there is the wind howling through the cracks. And when it’s not the wind, it’s the rats.”
“Rats?” Marcus leaned forward, smirking.
“Oh, yes,” Landen said, nodding gravely. “They’re the stars of the show. One time, a rat knocked over a candle in the library. It was the most exciting thing to happen in weeks. Weeks, Marcus! I’ve
started envying them. At least they’ve got friends.”
Marcus burst out laughing, nearly spilling his drink. “You’re telling me the highlight of your sagehood is rats?”
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“And the wind,” Landen added, deadpan. “Don’t forget the wind. It’s like a ghost constantly moaning about how pointless life is. Sometimes I swear it’s whispering, ‘You’ll never leave.’”
The tavern door banged open, letting in a boisterous group of people. One of them, a burly blacksmith with soot-stained hands, clapped Marcus on the back. “Marcus! Who’s your friend?”
Landen groaned, muttering under his breath. “Great, more people to hear about my misery.”
Marcus grinned and introduced Landen to the group, who promptly pulled up chairs. The blacksmith, a rowdy tavern regular named Gregor, leaned forward. “Misery? What’s this about, young sage?”
“Don’t get him started,” Marcus warned, but Landen waved him off.
“Oh, no. They need to know. Imagine being stuck in a tower where the loudest thing is either the wind or a rat planning its next heist,” Landen said, gesturing dramatically.
“A rat heist?” Gregor asked, laughing.
“Oh, yes,” Landen replied, straight-faced. “Last week, I caught one dragging a crumb bigger than its head. It stopped, looked me dead in the eye, and I swear it was mocking me. Like, ‘Look at you, big shot sage, while I’m out here making moves.’”
The table erupted into laughter. “And the sages?” one of the women in the group asked. “Surely they’re interesting?”
“Interesting?” Landen scoffed. “If by ‘interesting’ you mean ancient and boring, then yes. One guy told me how to calculate the exact age of cheese by smell. Another one debated for two hours about
whether or not stars have personalities. I’m pretty sure one of them fell asleep mid-spell and hasn’t woken up yet. We call him ‘The Snorer.’”
Marcus doubled over, slamming his fist on the table. “Landen, you’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Landen leaned forward. “I haven’t seen a woman my age in six months. Do you know what that does to a man? I’m ready to name the rats and make them my drinking buddies.”
Gregor howled with laughter, slapping Landen on the back. “You’re alright, kid. But don’t worry. Tonight, we’ll get you properly acquainted with the real world again.”
Landen raised his mug in a mock toast. “To freedom. Even if it’s just for the weekend.”
The group cheered, and the drinks flowed freely. Landen found himself laughing harder than he had in months, swapping exaggerated stories and trying to keep up with Gregor’s relentless teasing. At one point, Marcus leaned over and whispered, “Feeling better?”
Landen grinned, his cheeks flushed from the ale. “I might survive another six months after this. But only if I get regular conjugal visits with ale and humanity.”
As the night wore on, Landen found himself at the center of the chaos, recounting stories of the tower with exaggerated flair. “And then, the rat—yes, the same one—dragged a book off the shelf. I swear it was researching how to overthrow the sages.”
By the time the tavern began to quiet down, Landen leaned back in his chair, a contented smile on his face. For one night, at least, the tower and its quiet despair felt a world away.