The next morning, Juan made Harper a cup of hangover tea. She sipped it, wincing at every noise we made until it did its work. Once she’d recovered, the three of us grabbed breakfast downstairs. There really wasn’t any reason to hurry, as we had to wait to hear from Eric. Juan excused himself as Harper and I sipped coffee.

  “Sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to fall apart like that,” Harper said, looking down at the table.

  “Yesterday was difficult,” I said with a shrug. “I didn’t know how hard it was for you growing up. And as long as I’m around, I want you to know I’m here for you.”

  Harper cocked her head to the side. “I thought we were already friends, Finn.”

  “Right! I meant, I’m here for you,” I replied. “But about the other thing—”

  She coughed, embarrassed. “I was drunk, and it won’t happen again. The drunk part will, yes. But hitting you up like that isn’t going to,” she admitted, making a face. “No offense, but you’re kind of young for me. And it looked like you were thinking of someone else. Was it that circus girl? She was fiiiiine,” Harper said, drawing out the word.

  I blushed a little. “Pretty sure that wasn’t a circus, but yeah. I was thinking of Arilyn.”

  Harper laughed. “Is that her name? Damn, she was like a goddess, but in a chill way! Too bad you’re likely never to see her again, her being in the company of a deity and all,” she commiserated.

  I frowned, not wanting to think about never seeing Arilyn again. “Seriously, Harper, I don’t know how to deal with demons. I understand how foriegn policy and international relations work, sort of, but actual demons? I’m way out of my league here,” I grumbled.

  “You’re not the only one. I’ve had to deal with how I was treated when I changed my race. Had nothing to do with demons. I’ve met a few cambions here and there, but it’s not like they’re common on this continent. And as far as I’m aware of, I’m the only Earthborn that made this choice. I never wanted to meet any actual demons. Or even gods. It’s unsettling. Even doing jobs for temples is weird.”

  One of the stable hands from the library came rushing in. “Is General Venegas here? The Royal Wizard wishes to see him immediately!” the young man declared as he put his hands on his knees and wheezed. He must have run all the way from the library.

  “We’ll let him know,” replied Harper. She tossed him a coin, and he smiled after catching it. We left the recovering young man behind as we went for Juan. It wasn’t necessary, as he was already heading down the hall toward us and the stairs.

  “What is it?” he asked. He must have seen something on our faces.

  “Eric sent a boy to get you,” Harper replied.

  Juan smiled. “Eric must have worked through the night. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

  The stable hand had left as soon as Juan told him we were on our way, running out of the inn. It seemed inefficient to me. I mean, why waste the energy to run back when we were only a ten-minute walk away? Though, the more I thought about it, the more my feet itched to run to the library, too. Harper, on the other hand, seemed tense about going back to the Wizard’s workshop.

  The Royal Library was just as astonishing the second time, and Harper practically dragged me through it to Eric’s office at the back with a resigned expression. The place was still amazing and begged to be looked at!

  Eric’s office was a juxtaposition: rolls of paper everywhere, with mathematical formulas, numbers, and symbols all over them. They were overflowing off the tables and even tacked to the shelves. Eric himself, his hair frazzled, stood looking at one tacked-up sheet, shaking his head.

  “Eric,” Juan said, “Hermano. Did you sleep at all?”

  “Of course I slept,” Eric snapped. “A full hour. Look at this! It’s a mess! I’ve worked out almost everything except this portion. A portion that is missing from George’s reading and my sister’s. And I have no idea what it means. Sure, there is a correlation of location between the three, but on the others, it’s replaced with those wretched demonic symbols! Infuriating!” The old Wizard threw up his hands in disgust and turned his back on the formulae.

  “So it’s what’s normally supposed to be there for mages?” I asked, stepping closer to get a better view of the sheet.

  “Well, I think so," Eric replied, exasperated. "I have no point of reference other than your reading. Every class has a unique string of formulas, which I can mostly decode. It’s what makes the classes different from each other. This one is strange, as it has symbols I’ve never seen before. I wish I had more pre-corrupted Mage readings, but if I’m wishing for that, I might as well wish for a way home too!!” he said, irritated. There were bags under his eyes, and he looked ready to rip someone’s head off.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Juan stepped up to look at the formulas on the long sheet, rubbing his goatee. “You know, Eric, when I used to be a programmer, we had certain parts of the coding that were always the same because they worked and fit the logic. So much of what I did was using those bits and figuring out how to manipulate the logic to make the computer do what I wanted. I was talking to a newer programmer who arrived here several years ago, and she mentioned they did something similar, only they had a library or something they could access that had solutions for programming that someone else had figured out. Most of programming involved going to this place by a search engine or some nonsense. I wonder if this has something to do with the Surge ability Mages have. Like the Berserker’s ability? Just copied over?”

  Eric shook his head and jabbed his finger at another length of paper. “No, damn it! The Surge ability is on this sheet to the left. It doesn’t change at all with the corruption,” he replied. He rubbed his chin, and his expression changed. “But maybe you’re on to something. I’ll need to crosscheck the formulae of other classes and see if I can decode it.” He stood there for a moment, pondering before looking at me. “I also wanted to ask young Finn a few questions. And pass on the good news!”

  “What good news, Eric?” Juan asked.

  Eric looked at us, grinning. “I figured out how the corruption happens! It is surprisingly simple, because it doesn’t happen without a choice. Part of the demonic symbology in the corrupted Mage’s readings translates as a contract, which leads me to believe the demon couldn’t do anything without the consent of the mages! I have a treatise on the written language of demons, which is remarkably complex. Each symbol comprises several concepts that can change based on the following symbols. Needless to say, part of the bargain includes providing power for some personal goal of the Mage, but it’s not clear what exactly,” he finished excitedly.

  He looked at each of us in turn, waiting for us to understand. When we didn’t, he huffed and continued his explanation like it was the simplest thing in the world.

  “If Finn here doesn’t agree to the deal, the demon cannot corrupt him! And it's not going to happen before he hits at least level ten. Everything I’ve read agrees that it happens somewhere between levels ten and thirty. He should be good for now, as long as he avoids any deals for things beyond the norm going forward,” Eric finished. Despite the old man’s exhaustion, he practically looked fit to burst waiting for someone to let him know we understood.

  My shoulders relaxed, and I laughed. “So, I have to choose to be corrupted? That’s wonderful, Eric! There’s only one thing they could offer me, and that’s a way home. And I refuse to become a monster just to go back home,” I exclaimed. “What questions did you want to ask me?”

  “I had a few, one of which you just answered. But I was also wondering if you still heard the tutorial Voice?” the Wizard asked.

  I hadn’t thought about the Voice for days at that point. Since it had stopped answering my questions, I had written it off. Just stopped thinking about it, really. “No, I haven’t. Not since Juan found me. Why is that important?” I asked.

  Eric’s face filled with old pain. “My sister, who was also a Mage, griped about it all the time until she started changing. We all heard it. It would narrate or mention things we did, right or wrong. Especially with quests. It’s been years since I last heard it, and my conclusion after speaking with others is that it leaves us alone when we leave the path it sets for us. My wife and I stopped adventuring a long time ago, and the last time the Voice remarked on something I did was when I earned the position of Wizard of the Royal Court. At the time, it sounded disappointed in me. Make of that what you will.”

  Juan put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. What had happened to his sister had driven Eric to become the researcher he had become. But the Voice. What the hell did that have to do with any of this? My brain was not wrapping itself around this one. I needed an explanation.

  “Eric? What does hearing the Voice have to do with the corruption of mages?” I asked slowly.

  The old wizard sighed and straightened. “You know, robes are quite comfy. I didn’t think so at first when I got here, but they’re great for not worrying about things bunching up down there like with pants. For the longest time, I thought it was strange that I woke up in this world with a Wizard's garb. Like the Voice knew what I was going to pick. After I learned more, I found out that only one class offered to me regularly wore them. It was like the Voice had a plan for me or knew exactly what I would choose. I thought about each of the offered classes, but I thought being a Wizard would be neat. I had grown up loving Arthurian stories. Camelot. Merlin. The Voice already knew what I would choose and dressed me appropriately,” Eric stated.

  “But what does that mean for me?” I asked again. The inkling of an answer had formed, but I wanted to be sure.

  “The Voice has a path for each of us to follow, and as long as we are on that path, certain events were likely to happen. We run into quests, find certain types of loot that lead us in a certain direction based on what they were. Something fancy and maybe magical? Since none of us get spells to identify magical items, we have to get them analyzed by a local Artificer at the Enchanter's Guild.”

  His face got a hard, sad look on it again. “My sister and I, plus the others—including my wife Elana—stayed on the path for a long time. My sister Sarah kept insisting she saw a blinking spot on the map. She wanted to go check it out. It took a lot of convincing for us, as none of us could see it, but we headed in that direction. The last camp we made before our destination was rough, and Sarah couldn’t sleep with how excited she was. So she took the first watch. The next morning, she… had changed. She no longer cared about the spot and told us we were right: there was nothing there. She stopped muttering about the Voice. I think it was no longer talking to her.”

  At that moment, I knew for sure how it all affected me. I had to do the same thing and travel to the caves marked on my personal map with the blinking light. Something clicked in my head and my face drained of color. Everyone looked at me with concern.

  The excited yet sarcastic tone of the Voice filled my mind and confirmed . ‘Finn the Mage, having had a powerful epiphany—that likely short-circuited his practically smooth grey matter lump he calls a brain—has accepted a new quest. One of peril and discovery. Will he succumb to the seduction of his magic? Will he die a horrible death at the hands of his companions? Or will Finn the Mage attempt the Quest Track The Beast? Perhaps he's not as useless as I thought...or maybe he'll fail me just like all the others.’

  “Finn, what’s wrong?” Harper asked.

  “It’s the Voice. That mother-effer is talking to me again.”

  Man, the Voice reminds me of some DM's I've played with...

  Question of the day! In open world RPGs, follow the main quest line or go all ADHD wandering hither and yon looking into every nook and cranny?

  Thanks for reading!