Wizard Tournament: Epilogue (Patreon)

Author's Note: I gave it some thought, and after hearing some feedback, decided that adding an epilogue was actually a good idea in order to clear up some of the misconceptions about the ending that I hadn't intended. I also made some small changes to 145 so that Peter's motivations would be more clear. Originally, I wanted to have a more ambiguous ending, but I decided it's not worth upsetting readers.

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          Draevin woke up in a bed. His head hurt something fierce and his stomach felt like someone had carved a piece out of it with a butcher’s knife, but he was alive. He pulled his eyes open with a bit of effort and tried to sit up. His muscles complained and refused to obey him. He looked around instead; he was in a dim room lit only by a thin sliver of light leaking through a crack in either a window or door. He couldn’t tell which. A wisp of movement drew his eye to the outline of a figure sitting on a chair next to him.

          “Hoogghrr,” Draevin moaned. He’d been trying to ask who was there, but his voice wasn’t any better at obeying his commands than the rest of his body had been. His throat felt parched and rough as sandpaper.

          “Easy now,” the figure in the chair said in a calm, patient voice. “Don’t try to get up. Here, take a drink.”

          Draevin recognized the voice. It was Peter. A moment later a cool metal cup was pressed against Draevin’s lips. Peter tipped the cup carefully up until Draevin could feel the touch of water. He drank greedily until the cup was empty.

          “W-wha…” he sputtered when he was done. That was all he managed to get out, but it was a considerable improvement over his first attempt. The water did wonders to restore him. He’d never tasted anything so good. He cleared his throat and made a final attempt to speak. It worked this time, his voice coming out shaky, but clear. “What’s going on? Am I sick?”

          “In a manner of speaking,” Peter answered. “You’re recovering from having all the mana burned out of you.”

          Mana. That was right! Peter’s wish! “You!” Draevin shouted, then quickly regretted raising his voice. The muscles in his throat sharply protested at being asked to do something more strenuous than swallowing. “You killed everyone. We can’t live without mana. Not like you humans can… it’s genocide.”

          Peter chuckled. In the dark room Draevin couldn’t make out his face. He wanted to know exactly what kind of humor painted Peter’s face. “You’re still alive aren’t you?” Peter asked. It wasn’t a question. “You probably had it worse than anyone else. My wish didn’t kill anyone. Not directly. All you non-humans got sick, sure, but a few days of bed rest was all that was needed for most.” He reached over and widened the shade over what Draevin now realized was a window to let in more light. “You were another matter,” he continued. “It seems the stronger the wizard, the longer the recovery. You’re the last person left in the Protectorate that hasn’t mostly recovered.”

          Draevin blinked. He tried to focus his thoughts. It was hard. “Tenna said you were working for the Genociders,” Draevin said numbly. “That everyone was going to die if I didn’t stop you.”

          “That’s right,” Peter said. “Tenna. You were talking in your sleep, you mentioned her a number of times, but I really don’t have a clue what a Genocider is.”

          “A faction of-of Tuan’diath,” Draevin explained. “They wanted to wipe out… a bunch of people… so they could rest.” He wasn’t sure how exactly to explain what a Tuan’diath was. He barely understood it himself. Whatever Tenna had become seemed to be the answer, but he didn’t have the energy to tackle such a large subject at the moment.

          Peter sighed. “It’s true,” he said. “I wanted to kill everyone. That was my plan... When I got here, anyway. I wanted to burn this entire rotten society to the ground and everyone in it.” Peter let out a long, tired breath. “But I couldn’t go through with it. Not entirely. I settled for just tearing down the rotten system instead. The institution of magic that created the imbalance of power in the first place. It was the only way to set things right.”

          “So you weren’t a Genocider?” Draevin asked. “Like Tenna said?”

          “More gibberish,” Peter muttered. “Are you sure you’re feeling better, Draevin? I think you might need to rest a bit longer.”

          Draevin groaned. “I definitely need to rest a bit longer.” He felt like he’d run a marathon and been whipped the whole time. He felt like death itself. “How long have I been out?”

          “About two weeks,” Peter answered casually.

          Draevin tried to shoot upright in his bed. All he managed to do was send a spasm of pain through his gut and flop his head to the side. “Whoa there,” Peter said. A strong hand pushed Draevin’s head back into the nest of pillows. “Don’t try to get up. You’ll only hurt yourself. You’re still recovering.”

          “Two weeks!” Draevin sputtered. “What happened to everyone else? Sylnya was… and Grrbraa… Even Istven looked dead!”

          “They’re okay,” Peter assured him. “Like I said, you had it the worst. Everyone else has pretty much recovered by now.”

          “But Sylnya was—”

          “My wish only put her to sleep,” Peter reassured Draevin. “She’s fine, and I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you as soon as I tell her you’re awake. Why don’t I get her for you?”

          Peter’s shadow rose from the chair next to Draevin’s bed. He heard the clink of chains, metal on metal. “What’s that?” Draevin demanded.

          Peter shook himself and the chains rattled some more. Several lengthy sections of the stuff connected his various limbs together, but it looked like they were long enough for him to at least walk slowly. “Chains, what did you think it was?”

          “Well why are you wearing chains?”

          Peter’s shoulders shrugged. “I was arrested: high crimes, destruction of property, you name it. I’m not exactly a very popular guy right now.”

          “Well you—you destroyed magic!” Draevin pointed out forcefully. His throat complained and he coughed a few times.

          “I was allowed to help take care of the sick and recovering,” Peter explained once Draevin had calmed down. “There weren’t enough free hands to turn down any help. Too many sick and not enough humans to go around. The last weeks have been busy. Let me get Sylnya, she’s been dying to talk to you.” Peter turned around and rattled over to the doorway. He swung the door open and the blinding light of noonday sun poured into the room. Draevin yelped and covered his eyes as it briefly felt like needles were being shoved into them.

          Draevin heard the clink of chains, then the light on the back of his eyelids faded. He faded soon after and woke to someone gently shaking his shoulder what felt like a moment later. “Hey there, sleepyhead,” Sylnya said. His window was wide open to let the sun in and Sylnya stood over him in front of it.

          “Light!” Draevin groaned, raising a hand to block it.

          Sylnya laughed. “Not a chance, I need the sun. You’ll just have to get used to it. It’ll be good for you.”

          It certainly didn’t feel good for him, but the pain of it quickly receded so Draevin quit his grumbling. He tried sitting up, failed at that and settled instead for weakly sliding himself higher up on the mound of pillows behind his head. Sylnya watched him get comfortable without speaking.

          “So,” Draevin said when he was ready. “What’s the news out there?”

          “It’s pretty bad,” Sylnya said. “Lots of people died indirectly despite what Peter might have claimed. Not everyone had ‘nurse Peter’ to take care of them when they suddenly fell ill.”

          Draevin scoffed. “Should I be grateful to him then? That he watched over me… after making me ill in the first place?”

          Sylnya cackled. “That’s a good point. I don't know. Be grateful if you want, but I would have taken care of you if he hadn’t been there. Dryads are tough, you know. I only took a few hours to recover. Just needed a bit of sun.”

          Sylnya’s easy smile faded as the heavy weight of an unspoken question hung in the air between them. Draevin could tell she was thinking of it too, so he figured he’d just come out and say it. “How many died?” he asked. He wanted to ask after specific people he knew, but he felt it might come off as selfish to start there.

          Sylnya scrunched her face into a troubled smile. “There’s still a lot of confusion. We might never know the full number, but it was a lot. From what we’ve heard the number of reported deaths coming in seem to rise or fall with the number of humans who were in the area to care for the sick…” She paused. “And how generous those humans were feeling at the time. It seems Eldesia was hit the hardest.”

          “Have you heard anything about…” Draevin stopped himself. He’d been about to ask after his nephew, Graevin, but he realized how foolish he was being. Of course they wouldn’t have heard anything without magic to facilitate communication.

          Sylnya seemed to guess at Draevin’s unfinished question. “Graevin’s fine,” she assured him.

          “Thank the gods!” Draevin breathed.

          Sylnya raised an eyebrow. “No, thank me. I’m the one that got word to him. He’s on his way here now. If he doesn’t run into any trouble on the road he should be here in another week.”

          “Thank you,” Draevin said evenly. “I mean that. I… don’t have a lot of people left I care about.”

          Sylnya patted his arm softly. “I know.” She smiled again. “Don’t worry so much. He was young. The children have all bounced back the fastest from this. Most were only incapacitated for a few hours and the younger they were, the faster they recovered. We can only guess at what’s going on outside the Protectorate though. We haven’t had enough magic to waste on luxuries like communication.”

          “Wait… what do you mean… not enough?” Draevin asked. “I thought there wasn’t any magic? Didn’t Peter’s wish get rid of everything?” On a whim Draevin tried to conjure a puff of cold. Nothing happened, and he couldn’t feel any magic either. That sense was entirely numb now, and had been since he’d woken. He tried not to think about it. The thought that the one skill he’d spent his whole life mastering was now gone only sent waves of existential dread through him.

          “That’s the thing,” Sylnya answered. “Magic is still possible, there’s just very little mana to work with.” She shrugged. “You know how the Conflux works. It probably decided removing mana was easier. Peter wouldn’t be the first Champion to get some unintended consequences.”

          “No he wouldn’t…” Draevin breathed out a sigh. “So there’s very little then? What mana is there? Are the mana wells still producing a trickle?”

          Sylnya shook her head. “There are a few sources, but no mana wells. For whatever reason, pure mana crystals seemed to have survived more or less intact. People are still fighting over what remains of them though, as they can’t make more. The other source of mana, well…” She laid a hand on her chest and smirked in a self-satisfied way. “Is me.”

          “You?” Draevin repeated. He blinked in confusion. “As in you specifically?”

          “Not just me, no. It turns out us dryads can still photosynthesize mana. It’s not much, but it’s not nothing either. Peter said it was an accident. He didn’t intend for us to keep that ability when he made his wish, but without mana we would have been little more than trees. So when he willed that I not be hurt by his wish he accidentally left the dryad ability to create mana from sunlight intact.”

          “So,” Draevin said. “In a sense, you saved magic?”

          Sylnya laughed again. “I guess you could say that! Not sure how much magic we can manage with only a bit of sunlight though.”

          “Enough,” Draevin said. “It will have to be enough.” He perked up. “Wait, so will I still be able to work cryomancy?”

          Sylnya threw back her head and gave a real laugh at that. “Oh, Drae,” she said when she’d recovered, “don’t ever change. But I couldn’t say. Most attempted spells have been failing, mana or not. If anyone could do it, it’d be you though. You should check on Tenna when you’re more recovered, see what you can do about it.”

          “Tenna?” Draevin asked. “What do you… I mean… I can try? Is she alive again?”

          Sylnya shook her head. “I meant that statue of her you made. It’s still intact. Some dwarves tried to steal it for the mana inside but so far nobody’s been able to crack into it. Alex has it under Council protection now.”

          “I…” Draevin was a little disappointed to learn that Tenna hadn’t come back after all. “I guess that’s something to look forward to. Of course I will.” He tried to sit up and failed. The muscles in his stomach screamed like he’d never used them before. “When I can walk again,” he promised with a wince.

          Sylnya had a leather sack hanging off one shoulder. She reached into it now. “There’s one more thing we need from you,” she said. “It’s for the Council. Tarrish tells us you’re the only one that can do it.”

          “Do what?” Draevin asked, curious.

          She pulled out a glass bottle with an amber liquid in it and a folded up piece of paper. “Make contact with the Tuan’diath.”

          Draevin blinked. Had he told anyone about his meetings with Tenna? He honestly couldn’t remember. “I can, can I?” he asked neutrally.

          Sylnya shrugged and set the potion and note in his hand. “According to Tarrish, apparently. He gave the whole council a detailed report on the Tuan’diath and explained that you have a connection to one of them that allows you to retain the memories of your interactions with them. The whole council voted. They want to invite the Tuan’diath to have a seat on the new Council.”

          “That’s… can they do that?”

          “You really think I know that, Drae? Taelshin’s the dryad rep, not me. They think you can make contact with the Tuan’diath in a reliable way so they want you to try. I’m just passing the message along. Just drink that potion and read that page and they think it will work for you.”

          Draevin held up the paper. He didn’t unfold it. “What’s on the paper?”

          “One of Peter’s pages. Tarrish said it should work for you—compared it to a crutch. The pre-Purge texts still work the same despite Peter’s wish. Everyone is saying that only wish-made artifacts and enchantments are still working. Everything else is ka-put, even with mana.”

          Draevin grunted. “Makes sense. Those things never needed mana to work in the first place. I bet Istven is thrilled about his crown.”

          Sylnya chuckled. “Like you wouldn’t believe.” She gave Draevin a lopsided smile. “Look, I’m glad you’re feeling better but I’m busy today. All us dryads have a lot of responsibilities now. We can talk more tomorrow. Just drink the potion, read the page and you should be off to dreamland. Tarrish insisted that it was important we make contact with the Tuan’diath as soon as possible.”

          “Okay, well…” Draevin swished the bottle with the potion inside. “What kind of potion is this?” Draevin asked. He was used to mana potions. Whatever this was, it wasn’t like anything he’d seen before: a deep amber color and a tad too viscous to be water-based.

          “It’s sap,” Sylnya said. “My sap.”

          “Your… sap?” Draevin repeated. “You want me to drink your sap? Isn’t that a little morbid?” Draevin wasn’t sure how that sort of thing translated across species. Was it like blood or milk? Either option felt weird.

          “Gods, Drae,” Sylnya muttered. “It’s not cannibalism; I’m an entirely different race than you! And besides, I’m telling you to drink it.”

          “But why?”

          “You need mana,” Sylnya said. “Can’t do anything anymore without a little mana. You’re going to have to get used to sap. It’s all we have. Hurry up. I’ve got to get back out in the sun before it goes down.”

          Draevin nodded. “Fine, but I just want to state for the record that this is weird.” He pulled the cork off the top of the bottle and took a drink of Sylnya’s sap. It wasn’t as sticky as he’d expected it to be. He suspected it had been mixed with water to help it go down. It was sweet but not overly so. It tasted like someone had melted a small dollop of honey into a large bottle of water. He was slightly disturbed to find he actually liked the taste of it. He knew he couldn’t possibly admit as much to Sylnya though. Somehow he thought it would have been better if he hated it.

          Draevin felt the magic return to his limbs almost immediately. He shot up out of bed. All his symptoms disappeared in an instant. He felt better than he had since the tournament started. “Wow! That was amazing! I feel so much better now!”

          “Don’t get used to it,” Sylnya chided him. “Remember what it was like trying to use magic at the human camp while their Feeder was running? The whole planet is like that now. Your mana won’t last. Just hurry up and use that page.”

          “Right,” Draevin nodded. He looked down at the strange runes on the page in his hands. The letters seemed to dance around the page. The familiar cold reached out and enveloped him. It was all he was, all he wanted. He hadn’t known how much he had missed that feeling until it returned to him.

          While he stared at the page, Draevin’s thoughts slid away. He was inexplicably struck with a profound sense of loss for all he’d once had and would never have again. Magic had left the world. Nobody was coming back. He’d never get another chance to make a wish to return them. The dead were dead now and they were staying that way. His heart ached. Aelaniss... It had been so long he couldn’t even picture her face anymore. The ache in his heart was old now. And weakening. It was more a memory of pain than true pain. His hope of seeing his love again was finally as dead as she was. The part of him that was supposed to miss her instead strained to even remember what it had been like to have her. It made him guilty in a way he couldn’t explain or understand. A shudder ran through him. A shiver…

          “It’s about time,” Tenna said. Draevin looked around. He was standing on a small hill of snow amidst a meadow teeming with life. He recognized the place. It was a quiet meadow he had taken Aelaniss to once upon a time. She’d said it was her favorite place in the whole world. He spotted the tree they had laid beneath.

          “Where am I?” Draevin asked Tenna. He knew where he was but he wanted to see what she said about it. There shouldn’t have been a way for her to know about this place.

          “Same place as last time,” Tenna said. Her arms were crossed and she had a sour expression on her pale blue face. “Can you really not recognize your own mind?”

          “Oh,” was all Draevin said. That made a certain amount of sense. “Where did all the ice go?” he asked. It had been covering everything last time.

          Tenna gestured down at the little hill they were standing on. The snow only came up to her ankles and there were even flowers poking through. “This is all that’s left. Blame Peter if you want. You’re probably going to have to re-learn most of what you knew about magic all over again.”

          “What!” Draevin shouted. “That’s not fair!”

          Tenna rolled her eyes. “There are really bigger problems to worry about right now, Draevin. How much could your mastery of magic really matter in a world without enough mana to use it?”

          Draevin crossed his arms. “Easy for you to say. It doesn’t look like Peter’s wish did anything to you.” He thought for a second, then added, “And it doesn’t sound like it killed nearly as many people as you insisted it would. I can’t believe you almost had me kill Peter!”

          Tenna sighed. She rubbed her forehead with blue fingers. “I didn’t exaggerate, Draevin. You have no idea how bad things are now.”

          “Don’t tell me Leyline Collapse is still going to happen.” Draevin groaned. That would be just the thing: for magic to kill them even though they didn’t have it anymore.

          Tenna shook her head. “No. That’s probably the only good news. Peter’s wish wiped out the whole leyline network. No Worldspell. No Leyline Collapse. But that doesn’t mean everything is fine. You’ve got different problems now is all. I tried to warn you. Things are so much worse!”

          “What could be worse than the whole planet cracking in half?” Draevin demanded. He certainly couldn’t think of anything worse.

          “The Conflux wasn’t created to grant wishes, you dolt. That was just a tertiary benefit for the people living on Eldria, and not one that anyone planned for. The Conflux was a weapon, the leyline network the means of harnessing that weapon. Without magic your world is vulnerable, and once your world falls, so too will the rest of creation.”

          “Falls to what?” Draevin asked. “Vulnerable to what?”

          “The Corruption,” Tenna said in a low tone. “It will consume your world like it has so many others. Transform it into another Hell. You want to know what could be worse than the planet breaking in half and killing everyone? How about the entire world becoming Hell? How about living creatures twisted into abominations to survive? How about the very life draining from Eldira? Ask the orcs, they know how hard things can get. Where do you think they came from?”

          “Hmm,” Draevin hummed. “That does sound bad... But I’m not sure if it’s definitely worse. A potential slow death actually sounds preferable to a certain fast one.” The two of them stared at each other.

          “You have to warn them about what’s coming,” Tenna pleaded.

          Draevin cleared his throat. In the process of doing so he realized he didn’t exactly have a body to do that in, but he made the sound of having done so anyway. “Well… actually. I was thinking it might be better if you just do that yourself. Alex wanted to invite you to join his Council.”

          “Council?” Tenna asked. She raised a blue eyebrow at Draevin. “You’ll excuse me, but I don’t know everything that happens back on Eldira anymore. We lost our eyes without the Worldspell to tap into. What’s this Council?”

          “An organization that was set up to replace the Guild. They wanted representation from every race, and that apparently includes Tuan’diath.”

          Tenna stood there, staring at Draevin with a blank look on her face. “Uh. Okay,” she finally said. “Why not? It sounds like you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

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