The Archmage: Epilogue, twenty-five years later... (Patreon)

Twenty-five years later…

Micah Smith crept through the library of the Evander Tailor Academy of Magical Arts, doing his best to remain as quiet as possible, while behind him, he heard one of his bullies calling out his name.

“You can’t hide, Micah!” called the largest of his bullies, Sylvia Chantal, in the kind of whisper that was able to carry across the library. She was one of the few remaining members of the old caste around these days, and had seemed to hate Micah from the moment they’d shared a first year ancient languages class together. 

Micah curled behind a bookshelf and hoped that she wasn’t able to notice him. 

He was probably going to have to miss out on Professor Willow Brown’s class, and the thought annoyed him. She was one of the best teachers for airship construction in the entire nation. How was he going to be able to pass the upcoming test if Sylvia was constantly hounding him and forcing him to skip her classes? 

“There you are, you little rat!” Sylvia said as she turned the corner, and Micah cursed under his breath. He’d thought she was coming from the other direction. 

He turned and peeked out the other side, and saw that her two friends had come the way he’d expected, while she’d gone around. They’d circled him! 

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” someone called out in a lazy voice that drifted between the well-organized bookshelves. 

Everyone turned to see who had spoken, and to Micah’s surprise, it was an older man. He was probably in his late forties or early fifties, with bright blond hair, pale skin, and mud-colored eyes. He didn’t exactly look like much of a powerhouse, being skinny as a rail, and with no obviously enchanted items in either the runework, the crystal, or the combined method. There was no wand or staff or cloak or any of the hallmarks of a great mage. 

Micah supposed he might be a sorcerer, but those weren’t the most common unless you were aiming for something specific, like trying to go into mass food production with earth and plant rune bonds. 

“This is none of your business old man,” Sylvia said. “You should get out of the way. Wouldn’t want you to trip and fall.” 

“You should go,” Micah said. “It’s fine. They’re not that bad.” 

“You know,” the stranger said, walking towards them casually. “You look kind of like Sarai.” 

Sylvia Chantal paused.

“How do you know my aunt?” she asked warily. 

“Does Sarai know you’re acting like a fool?” the stranger said. “I know her, and I don’t think she’d approve of this behavior.” 

“I–” Syvlia started, then one of her lackeys spoke up for her. 

“Get out of the way. What’s a creep like you doing here? You’re not even a teacher.”

“I was visiting my husband, Osheen Tailor,” the man said, a faint trace of amusement in his voice. 

Micah paused and studied the man. Now that he’d said that, Micah thought he might have seen the man a few times speaking to Dean Osheen Tailor, and actually, hadn’t Micah seen him speaking with Professor Willow Brown during his first year?

The three bullies stared at the old man, who just smiled at them, calm as a sunny day after a rainstorm. 

“You’re bringing down the reputation of your house, you know,” the man said to Sylvia. “Your aunt and her wife pushed so hard for progressive policies, and you’re now abusing your position to… what? Get a rise out of a poor kid?” 

The man glanced over Micah’s outfit. It was the standard orphanage outfit of a simple button down, coat, and slacks. Relatively new, since his birthday had been only a few months ago, and the governmental care package always contained a few sets of clothes and spending money. Nothing as fancy as the nice cotton suit and wool coat that Sylvia was wearing, but decent quality. 

A faint smile touched the man’s lips, and he held out a hand. 

“Name’s Ivar Tailor,” he said. “Bit unorthodox to take the last name of my husband’s ex-fiance, but what can you do?” 

“He was a hero,” Micah protested. “I think it’s normal.” 

“Evan? Nah. He was a self-aggrandizing, hypocritical enchanter of mediocre talent who just got lucky.” 

Sylvia and her lackeys were slinking away, glad to no longer have the attention of the dean’s husband, but Micah could barely pay attention, more stunned by the man’s… rather absurd claim. 

Ivar didn’t seem to notice Micah’s shock as turned and glanced at the retreating bullies. 

“You can run, but I will be telling Lynn about this, and Sarai too. It’s shameful for you to act this way.” 

Ivar then turned back to Micah and smiled. 

“C’mon kid. You’re on the Golden Futures scholarship, right?” 

“Yeah,” Micah said with a nod. “I guess you could tell from the clothes…? It was a good deal, though. I don’t mind admitting I’m from an orphanage if it gets me a free–” 

“Woah, woah,” Ivar said with a laugh, holding up his hands as if to show he had no weapon. “No judgment here, kid. I was an orphan too, and I’m just glad you’ve got the opportunity to attend school with a real scholarship, and not some sham loan pretending. What class did you need to go to? Or is this your free period?” 

Micah squinted at the man. He thought Ivar might be talking about the old noble scholarships, but he wasn’t sure. He’d never paid that much attention in any of his non-magical classes. He was here to learn enchanting, not math and history.”

“Professor Willow Brown’s class,” Micah told him. “And I have a name. Micah.” 

“Willow?” Ivar asked, perking up a bit. “It’ll be good to see her again, it’s been. Oh gosh, since Aldvarri did the reaffirmation of vows ceremony at the beginning of the year, I think.” 

“You’re weird,” Micah said, and Ivar laughed again. 

“So I am,” he said. “Let’s get you back to class, Micah.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Micah agreed, and the pair left the library. Ivar glanced down at him. 

“So, an enchanting student?” 

“Structural engineering enchantment,” Micah confirmed, and Ivar nodded somberly. 

“Good field. Lots of jobs. Have you taken any charm magic classes for it?” 

“No,” Micah said, frowning. “Why would I?” 

“Spatial manipulation isn’t Tara’s area of expertise, but she’s a good charm mage across the board,” Ivar said. “Plenty of structures are working on integrating spatial expansion enchantments nowadays. Besides, Tara retires soon. You should leap to study charm mage from her.” 

“Isn’t she… ya know…” Micah trailed off, then spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “A criminal?” 

A complex look came over Ivar’s face, and he sighed. 

“She is, but she did her twenty years in public service. People do funny things when they’re convinced it’s the only right thing to do.”

Micah made a noncommittal sound, and they paused outside the door to Willow’s classroom. Ivar nodded to it. 

“Tell Willow I say hi, and I’ll be around this afternoon if she wants to chat.” 

Micah mumbled his agreement, then entered the classroom, but not before turning and taking one last glance at the strange man as he walked away. For a moment, Micah thought the light caught on strange runic stitching in the man’s coat, black thread over a black coat making it nearly impossible to distinguish. Then the light shifted, and Micah thought his mind might have been playing tricks on him. 

Micah shrugged and stepped into the classroom. 

He had a lot to learn, and even if Ivar hadn’t actually fixed Micah’s bully problem, that just meant Micah would have to retake this class during another period. Not the end of the world. 

As he sat down in class, Micah flipped open a small book and started to cram in as many notes as he could, while Willow went through several different variations of hooking together the air magic spells used in airships. As he took notes, he finally started to relax.

Micah liked enchanting, and he didn’t mind working with metal and air magic. He was certain that if he kept working at it, one day he’d be known as the best engineer in all of Paerús. For whatever reason, his mind drifted back to the comments Ivar had made about old sham scholarships. 

Micah thought his history professor had mentioned there was a lot of uncertainness surrounding that period of history. The pillars of light that had appeared once at the old school, then across the country, then seven more times over the following few years. The new arch-stars that only a few had ever been able to replicate. Other, more specific things as well.

Then, Micah shook his head. That was all ancient history. Even if the Paerús of today had its own share of problems, Micah was at least able to have a chance to learn and grow.

Ivar smiled as he left the kid to his class and entered Osheen’s office. Osheen looked up from the pile of paperwork and smiled at him.

“It’s good to see you again love,” Osheen said, setting his pen aside and rising from his desk. “How was the trip.

“It’s good to see you, and to be back in Paerús,” Ivar responded. “It went well enough. You know how Travis’ adoptee is, I think he could lock himself away in Elderglass’ libraries forever and be happy, but he is doing a decent job taking over the ambassador role.”

Ivar leaned in and gave his husband a proper kiss.

“Enough politics,” Ivar said, and Osheen nodded his agreement.

He was home. And they were safe.