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Part 3 - The Archmage

Part 1 Part 2 (Author's note: I will begin cataloguing these and naming them in a proper, organized fashion from now on.)

Sage rushes into his own house, his body covered in head to toe from the dirt it had gathered by nonchalantly tripping and rolling downhill in a hurry. "I'm home," the boy exclaims with the biggest smile on his face, breathing heavily still. "So, you finally got my letter?!"

The short elven woman, no taller than an eleven year old child with a hat about one third her size sits across the table from her white-coated ferret familiar as it mimics her every move. The bright reddish hue of her garb contrasting with her well-maintained white hair leavs no doubt in Sage's mind: This woman is a high-ranking spellcaster in her own right. Her eyebrow raises at the mention of a letter. "Are you Sage Berggarten?"

Berggarten? This lady should know well enough - Peasants like him have no such thing as a second name. "N-No, ma'am. It's just Sage. You are an archmage from the capital, right? If you didn't get my letter, why have you come all the way to Autumn's Hill?" Silence. A seemingly eternal moment of awkwardness interrupted by the loud squealing of a ferret. Sage looks around the small wooden cabin his family lives in. The kitchen is separated by a short counter, placed to the east where the sun rises. The beds are lined up conveniently to the western part of the singular main hall. It's such a small, simple house, but it's a comfortable, beloved part of his life. He can see all of his best memories right from here on the doorway.

Wait, he can see everything from here.

Mother isn't home.

The young sorcerer takes a hesitant step back, but hits his head against the door behind him as it gets promptly slammed shut by a strong force — Wind, telekinesis, who can tell? He stares at the archmage sitting before him in a mixture of awe and fear. She sets the cup of tea down on the table. It's once lively fragrance and hue have both withered away. The elven archmage looks down with an uncannily playful frown and extends her white-gloved palm to the teacup to highlight the change. Her voice doesn't seem really upset. She expected this, after all. "Look at what you've done, you ruined my tea, Sage Berggarten." Of course, there is no more deliberate way to claim ownership over a feat of magic. "Now take a seat, lest I use your toes to close the windows too." As if to claim participation in its her master's efforts, the little pale ferret wraps itself around her head, using its tiny paw to point to its previous seating position.

As Camellia prepares to return home with a basket full of strawberries, they can only watch from the distance as the grasses of the eponymous hill begin to lose their color, this death spreading directly from the village itself. They look down at the basket in their right hand as the strawberries wither and die one after the next. Suddenly, a loud, alien noise akin to the crackling of thunder followed by an intense blast of light.

In a ghastly hill overlooking an out-of-place, desolate desert wasteland, a single dead strawberry falls onto the head of a grey haired teen. They cry out, picking it up and gazing in abject horror, falling to their knees before the small tree that used to keep them company. "W-Why?!" The frail trunk of the tree collapses into a broken mass, which they try desperately to cling to, holding onto any specks of dust left behind. They had lived their entire life in the idyllic village of Autumn's Hill with their brother and mother, wanting nothing but a simple life of peace and quiet.

And now that was all gone.

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Lotte's Journal, Day 1

The words "Dear Diary" are written into the first line, stricken through and then thoroughly cut up into pieces with angry strokes of ink. "Reminder: No delete button!!"

"Due to unexpected developments in my latest scientific foray, I, Axiom Lotte, have deemed it the most rational to record my progress in a format untainted by the influence of Realmlink tech, lest I aggravate alarm the Higher-ups without cause. The situation is not quite as dire my first assessment would have had it. Interviews with the locals have elicited the following information: The target My charge is named Sage Berggarten, unemployed, age 25. He possesses no known family or friends, and as such, this world won't miss him for a while still." The word Whew! is placed down and emphasized at the end of this paragraph— the bored writer had taken to drawing squares and arrows onto it as a means of cathartic release during the creative process. "He was, according to my own infallible analysis of the interviewee's response pattern, a soul of pure Blue. This narrows my search down to a single neighboring world. No doubt a monumental search still, but nothing beyond my genius. Once the portal is calibrated, I will depart ASAP."

Letting go of the pen and slumping over the plastic chair she had stolen earlier from a hot dog stand, the psychopomp twists her left wrist with her hand. "Oww, this sucks... Do people really use these in underdeveloped worlds? What a pain.." The bright yellow color of her outfit contrasted with the boring grey of the environment, the lack of decorations on this perfect metal cube conveying the practicality of its sole inhabitant. The only notable features, besides the computer desk littered with Realmlink implements of all colors and shapes, are the equally boring spiral staircase on the corner and the massive circular structure on the wall opposite to the desk, a dimensional portal of sorts with a single button right down the middle.

"Well then, it's time to get started." The psychopomp places the diary, sized for small children and decorated with pictures of yellow ducklings, into her trusty satchel and casually strides up to the button, taking deep breathes and preparing for what is to come. She thinks of her destination, a world of untold mysteries where the gods are as incomprehensible as they are fickle, where mage kings and elven lords battle for supremacy over mana — a concept they themselves can barely explain. A world known to her as B-63193. She presses the button confidently. "Initiating leap of faith." The circle emits a bright white light and a swirling screen of plasma forms in the center. With nary a thought, Lotte leaps headfirst into the vortex, leaving behind nothing but stardust.

...

In a grassy hill overlooking a fruit farm, a single strawberry falls onto the head of a grey haired teen. He chuckles, picking it up and having a bite, sitting up against the small tree that keeps him company. "Hmm, fresh, but I prefer you like this~" With a flick of his hand, the moisture on the fruit coalesces into a floating sphere, which he flings away, munching on the delectable snack left behind. He had lived his entire life in the idyllic village of Autumn's Hill but showed immense promise as a sorcerer nonetheless, standing toe to toe with scholars twenty years his senior.

"Sage! Sage! You won't believe what just happened!" His younger sibling jogged up to him, stopping to breathe before explaining, hands on their knees still. "There's an archmage from the capital, and she requested for you by name!" His eyes widen at the mention of the word archmage and he jolts up like a soldier to a siren of war.

"Is anyone home?"

"Mom's there, she said someone had to entertain our guest."

"Right." Using magic to manifest a puddle of water on the ground, he adjusts his dull-colored peasant's attire with the help of the reflection. "I'm going right away. Thanks, Camellia."

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As if to stop the onslaught of intrusive thoughts, Sage peruses his feed for the sixth time in a row. Focusing on one word at a time, the young man skims through no more than a single paragraph before realizing nothing he had read made it past his inner monologue. He puts his phone aside with an exasperated sigh. His hands won't stop moving, stretching all the way up and down. He takes his glasses off, hand still trembling, and wipes his face with the back of his forearm. A chill run downs his spine as a stream of bitter memories ripples through the cracks in his mental barrier, making way for a devastating avalanche of emotions. He sits up against the wall to the side of his bed.

His mistakes are picked apart, one by one, as projections of loved ones utter a barrage of vile words inside his head. Everything was lies. Honeyed words disguise a rotten core. Why bother serving euphemisms when the truth is so blatantly obvious? For a brief moment, firmly grasping his head, he shakes from side to side, a desperate bid to shrug off the anxiety.

Regaining composure, Sage reaches for the plate in which he ate dinner, still atop the cabinet after a full night, now riddled with ants. A loud clicking sound is heard from inside the room, followed by even louder buzzing. He looks to his phone. Nope, that's not it. Maybe an electrical breakdown? No matter, today's a new day. He walks toward the kitchen without a word. Remember, one thing at a time. Wash the fork, rinse the fork, store the fork. Wash the knife, rinse the knife, store the knife. Wash the plate, rinse the plate... Sage stares down into the plate. The frowning, grey-eyed figure on the other side of the ceramic emanates a strong sense of dread. It looks as if it's trying to let out a scream, unable to move of its own volition. As he motions to put the agonizing doppelganger aside, a loud, snapping noise jolts throughout the apartment. All is dark. Great.

A candle, then. With an exasperated sigh, the youth searches the area with his palms. Before he can so much as find a wall, however, something else catches his attention. "...No! Not again!", says a voice from the other side of the wall. While it is not often the case, curiosity got the best of Sage, whose ear leans onto it. "What's the matter?" asks a second, older voice. "Didn't save." It seems as if the situation is the same over there, so much for greener grasses. The younger neighbor continues, "Whatever, I'm gonna get dressed. Nothing to be done about it." The outside world. Not the coziest of places to our melancholic hero, but as the heat began to sink in, he is beset by an urge to look out the window.

The skies are clear. Too clear, in fact. A heat wave eats away at the young man's skin, but he seems relaxed, leaning onto the windowsill and breathing slowly, in an almost meditative state. His eyes stare longingly at the garden below. Catching sight of a small, yellow butterfly flying in circular pattern, his index follows along, spiraling inward ever so slightly. Without a second thought, he reaches out for the far-away insect. "Don't do it!" A familiar voice calls out to him, but it serves only to tip the staggering man toward the wrong end of the window. His neighbor's panicked expression is the last thing he sees before landing face-first into the garden. The girl runs toward him as his vision blurs. He feels the gentle touch of the butterfly on his nose as he drifts to sleep.

...

"Oi, what do you think you're doing? Get away, you're not supposed to—" The butterfly watches helplessly as the dull-colored man in a dull-colored pajama before it reaches out, loses sight of the world, and falls three stories. "You're not supposed to see me..." A few seconds in the air are enough for the feeling immense dread to settle into Axiom Lotte's heart. "He's dead, isn't he? It's over. I'm so fired." The little creature searches for any signs of the man's soul. "Maybe there's still something in his nose." It crawls on his face unceremoniously, its two little fore legs adjusting its invisible glasses. "Nope... Oh dear. Oh my. I need to be quick—" The butterfly is swatted away by Anise, the woman who had just witnessed the fall, as she cries for help. Too little, too late. The insect heads back to its nest, a prism-shaped amber formation atop the closest tree. "Think, Lotte. There has to be something only you can do about this. There's no need to panic, and there is especially no need to call for backup."

"Let's see... CFD levels at an even five-five-O. Just don't cast any spells in front of them, and you'll be fine." Concentrating on the side of the amber with a large conical hole, the creature rams itself into the glass, and... Through the other side, a short, red haired human child, wearing thick glasses and a bright yellow hood, black tights and a white skirt. She takes the prism on her way down, pocketing it into her hoodie, landing on her knee and waltzing casually toward the scene of the crime. "Ma'am?" No response, the woman is still in a state of shock, calling for medical aid on her phone. "Ahem... MA'AM!" The distraught woman looks up.

"Apologies for my, um, untimely inquiry, you wouldn't happen to know this man, would you?" The woman can barely manifest a proper response, but the singular nod is enough for the mysterious stranger to stick around. In a single motion, yoinking a notepad and a pen from within her handy messenger's satchel, she begins the interview.

"A name, do you have a name?"

"His name is Sage... Why are you—"

"Sage, huh?" Lotte kneels down and gently closes his eyes. "Alright, ma'am. I'm gonna have to ask you a few questions, but first... Rest in peace while you can, buddy. I've gotta bring you back, or the boss is gonna be pissed."