They lived in a simple apartment building in the middle of a large, busy, city. They'd always been considered a bit of an oddball, and loved books on fantasy. Then came that fateful evening, they did something they didn't think was possible, to save a kid from injury, and an individual who seemed old and wise, and yet youthful in appearance, came to them, to explain that they, in this modern world, possessed something the modern world tended to eschew. Actual magic. -- Anon Guest
I didn't think about it at the time.There's just some moments where you act first and realise what you did later. The usual hero shit that's like the moment of revelation. I shouldn't have been able to parkour my way up to catch that kid just as they were losing their grip on the ledge.
But... I did it.
I even stuck the landing, and let me tell you I am not the sporty sort. I'm the nerdy sort. Give me one of those basket hanging chairs and a big, thick, fiction book and I am set. Before this? Hopscotch was the limit of my physical prowess.
I dismissed it. As you do. Chalked it up to hysterical strength as I handed the toddler off to their panicking dad. "Your name is not Peter Parker, so you are not Spider-man," the dad and I said in unison. The day was saved, at least for that kid, and I went on to get a coffee and a cake at the local cafe.
The weird old guy turned up the next Wednesday.
He was one of those older dudes who people call a DILF. Imposing presence. Grey hair and beard. Laugh lines. Sort of a mix of Roy Dotrice, Vincent Price, and that Most Interesting Man in the World dude. He walked with a cane, but he walked like it was a weapon in disguise. The Wizard energy was beyond belief.
No word of a lie, I expected the top of it to be amber. Or some kind of mystic crystal. It was just a regular old stick with a knob on the end.
I'd learn that I was wrong about that, later. Much, much later.
"Well, that's made my job easier," he said. "Most heroes try running away."
"I'm almost fifty and I have a bookstore to run, mister," I said. "And I don't run."
"That does complicate matters," allowed the dude. "Somewhat. Your average hero of destiny is between twelve and eighteen when they start training."
"That should be illegal," I growled. "It's fun for kids to read about kids being heroes, but... kids should not be in danger of their lives. No matter what's at stake." My mouth caught up with my brain. "Wait. Are you calling me a hero?"
"Hero of destiny, yes. Magic added," said DILF Wizard. He looked over me and boggled. "Pardon, but... are you a miss or a mister?"
"Both and neither. Enby bean. If you have to use pronouns, it's ze/hir." I took a deep breath, "The name's Shirley Templar, and I have heard all the jokes."
"Merv Lynn. Same." DILF Wizard smirked. "How much do you know about magic?"
Dude was in for a very, very long infodump.
[Photo by Vasily Ledovsky on Unsplash]
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