The Endless Mage

Year 3917 of the Almanac of Ages, in a remote rural region

I had a vague idea of the direction of Amelia's village. It wasn’t too far, maybe four days' walk through the wilderness, or thirteen if we stuck to the beaten paths. Honestly, I wasn’t too keen on prolonging my time in her company. It wasn’t her fault, but people tend to become suffocating when you’ve watched entire generations come and go. So, I unilaterally decided to take the quicker route, the one cutting straight through the woods and hills. It was better for both of us, really.

I presented the idea as the logical choice, backing it up with a half-truth: “This way, you’ll get home sooner,” I said calmly, making it sound like a courtesy. “Less time out in the open, quicker return to safety.” A little manipulation, perhaps, but it was for her own good, right?

I set about gathering whatever might be useful for the journey. The scattered coins among the remains of the bandits found their way into my pockets, not because I had much use for them, but they still held value among mortals. An old bow and a few arrows were a decent find; I was never much of an archer, but I could use them better than most. I also picked out the best sword I could find among the discarded weapons, heavy but sharp, with a solid grip. A sensation that brought me back to ages where wielding a blade was a daily necessity.

I handed one to Amelia as well. She stared at it for a moment, clearly uncertain as to why she needed it. “You don’t need to know how to use it,” I said with a faint smile. “It’s for show. And it might come in handy.” She raised the sword, awkward in her movements but with a determination that made her appear more confident. There was something almost comical in the seriousness with which she tried to hold it like a real weapon. A mix of fragility and bravery. Her expression nearly pulled a laugh out of me, but I held back. I couldn’t afford to get too distracted.

Prepared to depart, I gave the campsite one last glance. There was nothing more to do here. “Let’s go,” I told her firmly, starting down the less-traveled path. She followed me, that sword still swinging awkwardly at her side.

Amelia walked silently beside me, her steps light and careful. She followed without questions, not asking where we were headed or how long we’d be walking. A silence that, at first, I found comfortable, almost pleasant. Maybe she had decided to trust me, knowing full well that if I’d meant her harm, I’d already had plenty of chances to act.

But, after only a few hours of walking, I remembered why I hated traveling with others. There’s nothing worse than the awkward silence that falls when you’re walking beside someone. We both knew we had to exchange a few words eventually, but our conversations were limited to brief directions and warnings about where to place our feet. I was used to solitude, where silence was just silence, not a weight pressing between thoughts.

In the end, I decided to remedy the situation in the best way I knew how—by talking about one of my favorite subjects. “So, Amelia,” I began, breaking the silence with a tone a bit more cheerful than usual. “What do you know about alchemy?” I threw her a curious glance, hoping she’d show at least some interest.

But without waiting for an answer, I launched into a long series of anecdotes, captivated by my own storytelling. I told her about potions I’d created, strange experiments that had produced unexpected reactions. I explained how to carefully select ingredients, revealing ancient secrets about where to find them and how to preserve them.

“You know, once I blew up an entire laboratory,” I said, laughing. “It was all because of a rare flower that only bloomed in the moonlight. I just neglected to…”

My voice was full of passion as I described each ingredient and process, but I soon realized she didn’t share my enthusiasm. She contributed to the conversation with a few murmurs of acknowledgment here and there, nodding absentmindedly from time to time, but her gaze drifted beyond the trees and trails, lost in her thoughts. She was listening purely out of politeness, probably.

Ah, what a disappointment. A complete failure.

I decided to cut the conversation short, at least on the topic of alchemy. Clearly, my only travel companion didn’t seem to appreciate the subject as much as I’d hoped. Perhaps the allure of potions wasn’t as universal as I thought.

So, I took a more direct approach. “So, Amelia,” I said in a more relaxed and calm tone, “is there anything that interests you in particular? After all, I’m quite knowledgeable, I could talk about almost anything.” Maybe I was exaggerating, but it was true: I’d accumulated more knowledge than I’d ever actually needed. I started guessing, trying to figure out what might catch the interest of a young girl like her.

“Maybe… botany?” I asked, with a hopeful nod. Plants might be her thing. But she shook her head in quiet refusal, not saying a word. Alright, no botany.

“How about… entomology?” I tried again, with a hint of optimism. Perhaps insects could pique her interest. But this time, she looked at me confused, not uttering a word. I had the sneaking suspicion she didn’t even know what entomology meant. I was floundering. I felt almost defeated.

Damn, I can’t figure out the younger generations anymore. What could possibly interest a girl her age? Books, art? Or maybe the latest market trends? My mind wandered through possible topics, but I seemed to be going in circles.

“I don’t know… maybe legends? I like those,” she said with a note of hesitation, breaking my spiraling thoughts.

“Legends, huh?” I said, surprised. Since when had I become so stupid? Of course, there was one story that never failed to capture anyone’s attention. With a victorious grin, I decided to play that card. “Hey, Amelia,” I said, lowering my voice slightly to add a touch of mystery. “Have you ever heard of the Immortal Archmage?”

Finally, her expression shifted. For a brief moment, curiosity flickered in her eyes. Ah, there it was, the spark I’d been looking for! But her next words nearly made me stumble.

“Yes, I’ve heard of him… my mother used to use that story to scare me when I didn’t want to go to bed,” she said with a light laugh. “She’d always say, ‘Go to sleep, or the Ancient Archmage will come visit you if you’re a naughty girl,’” she said, trying to imitate her mother’s voice.

I paused for a moment, my surprise lifting one of my eyebrows. Really? I’d become a story to scare children now? In all these years, I never imagined my deeds would be twisted into making me a nursery bogeyman. How long had it been since my name wasn’t synonymous with fear? How many generations had feared me in that way?

“Oh, but that’s not all,” she continued, oblivious to my confusion. “I’ve heard more in the taverns, you know?” Her tone shifted slightly, becoming more serious. “They sing different stories there, not just ones to scare children. They talk about an unwavering guardian, someone who appears in times of need. Someone who watches from afar, but can never truly be seen.”

Unwavering guardian, I thought. Maybe they’d given me too much glory in those taverns, but at least I wasn’t just a monster under the bed. I wondered how I could live up to this new image. After all, at the end of the day, I was just an archmage.

“Ah, yes, the Guardian,” I began, trying to add a bit of theatrical flair to my voice. “I don’t know exactly what they say in the taverns, but the reality is far more interesting than those drunken bards could ever imagine.”

She looked at me with a mixture of interest and skepticism, but at least she didn’t seem as bored as before. She was following me, and that was already progress.

“Take, for example, the story of the Dragon King,” I continued, letting a small smile tug at my lips. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you, but I assure you, it’s not just a fairy tale. No, that battle was real. Picture this: the Dragon King, an immense creature, as old as the world itself. Its wings darkened the sky, its breath incinerated entire armies, and no one could hope to stop it.”

I paused, letting the image form in her mind. “The Dragon King was awakened by some fool meddling with forgotten ancient magics. No army could stand against it. Knights fled at the mere sight of it, and city after city fell.”

Amelia was watching me intently, clearly fascinated by the tale. Perfect.

“And then,” I continued, “he arrived—the Guardian. Of course, he couldn’t face such a creature head-on. Not even he was that foolish.” I gave a slight nod, as if to say, “you understand, right?” Amelia nodded slowly, a little unsure.

“Yes, the Guardian knew he couldn’t win by force. So he decided to use trickery. He flew to the Dragon King, but not to fight. No, he challenged the King to a game.”

“A game?” she asked, her voice less monotone now, clearly intrigued.

“Exactly. A game of wits, or rather, a game of deception. He told the Dragon King that it could conquer anyone, but only if it could solve a riddle crafted by an immortal mind. The Dragon King, in his arrogance, accepted the challenge, confident he could win. But the Guardian’s riddle was intricate, a perfect trap. The Dragon solved it, yes, but didn’t realize that, in doing so, he had bound himself to an ancient curse. And so, without spilling a drop of blood, the Guardian defeated him.”

I paused, letting the story hang in the air between us. I still remember the furious roar that oversized lizard let out when it realized the trick. The sound was so powerful it rattled my bones and left me deaf for more than a week.

“But that’s just one of his exploits,” I said, shrugging as if it were nothing. “I could tell you about the time he faced an entire legion of demons, or how he tricked the gods themselves to save an entire kingdom from destruction.”

And just like that, I found myself again telling my tales with fervor, once more enchanted by my own voice, but at least this time, I wasn’t the only one genuinely interested.