Ace_the_owl
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Chapter 179. Sam
🕑 Added 2025-10-19 01:20:55 +0000 UTCSam's report to Magister Everett was almost complete.
He'd managed to keep his voice steady through most of it. Professional. Clear. The kind of tone that said I am fine, this is routine, everything is under control. The magister sat across from him in his office—wood-paneled walls, shelves packed with administrative documents, a window overlooking the tower grounds—and listened without interruption.
Sam appreciated that about Everett. The man knew when to just let someone talk.
"—and the preliminary assessment suggests the northeastern wards will need recalibration within the next two weeks," Sam finished. "I've compiled the specifics in the written report. Should be on your desk by tomorrow morning."
Everett nodded slowly, his hands folded on the desk. He was older, maybe mid-fifties, with a face weathered from decades of managing the Archmage's correspondence and putting out administrative fires. Gray hair. Sharp eyes. A perpetual look of mild concern that never quite left his expression.
"Thank you, Sam," he said. "This is good work."
"Just doing my job."
"You didn't have to do this report."
Sam blinked. "Sir?"
Everett leaned back in his chair. "I told you last week you could take time off. As much as you needed. Given your current situation—"
"I'm fine."
"Sam."
The name landed with weight. Not harsh. Not pitying. Just… firm. The way someone spoke when they knew you were lying and wanted you to know they knew.
Sam looked down at his hands. They were resting on his knees. Steady. No trembling. That was good. He'd been worried about the trembling.
"I know what you're dealing with," Everett continued. His voice was gentler now. "I know where you've been spending your time. I'm not going to force you to take leave, but I want you to know the option is there. The Archmage is aware of your circumstances. We're not going to penalize you for prioritizing your family."
Sam nodded. He should say something. Thank the man, probably. Agree that yes, he appreciated the understanding, and yes, he'd consider taking time if he needed it.
Instead, what came out was: "It helps."
Everett raised an eyebrow. "The work?"
"Yeah." Sam looked up, meeting the magister's gaze. "The work. Having something to do. It helps me decompress. I've been at the hospital for days now and—" He paused. "It's taking a toll. On my mental health. I think. So coming here, doing the reports, checking the wards… it gives me something else to focus on. Something I can control."
The office was quiet for a moment.
Everett's expression softened. "I understand."
"I know it sounds—"
"It doesn't sound like anything except what it is," Everett said. "You're doing what you need to do to stay functional. That's smart. Just make sure you're also taking care of yourself."
"I am."
"Are you?"
Sam smiled. It felt thin on his face, but it was there. "I'm trying."
Everett studied him for another moment, then sighed. "Don't lose hope, Sam. Medicine has come a long way. Magical medicine even further. There are always options."
"I know."
"Do you?"
Sam's smile didn't waver. "I do. Thank you, Magister."
He didn't.
There was no hope left. Sam knew that. He'd known it for a while now, even if he hadn't said it out loud. Even if he kept showing up at the hospital every day, sitting beside his mother's bed, talking to her like she could hear him. Even if he kept nodding when the healers gave their updates and assured him they were doing everything they could.
He knew.
Adom knew too. Sam could tell.
He hadn't seen Adom in a few days. That was unusual. They'd been practically joined at the hip since the diagnosis—Adom showing up at the hospital unannounced, sitting with him in silence when Sam didn't want to talk, bringing food when Sam forgot to eat. Reliable. Constant.
And then, ten days ago, Adom had stopped coming.
Sam knew what that meant. Adom was off looking for a solution. Some obscure remedy, some experimental treatment, some miracle that existed only in theory. That was how Adom worked. When faced with a problem he couldn't solve, he threw himself at it until either the problem broke or he did.
But the last time Sam had seen him—standing in the hospital corridor, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the floor like it held answers—Adom's face had told him everything.
He'd given up.
Not out loud. Never out loud. Adom wouldn't do that. But the look in his eyes had been hollow. Resigned. The expression of someone who'd run out of ideas and didn't know how to admit it.
Sam understood. He didn't blame him.
There was nothing left to try.
"Sam?"
He blinked. Everett was watching him with that same concerned expression, waiting.
"Sorry," Sam said. "What?"
"I asked if you needed anything else."
"No. No, I'm good. Thank you, Magister. For everything."
Everett nodded. "Take care of yourself."
"I will."
Sam stood, gave a polite nod, and left the office.
The corridor outside was empty. Quiet. The tower always felt quieter in the late afternoon, when most of the administrative staff had gone home and the mages were either in their labs or off handling field assignments.
Sam walked slowly, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor.
He should go back to the hospital. That's what he always did. Finish his work, head straight back, sit beside his mother's bed until visiting hours ended.
But right now, he didn't want to.
Right now, he just wanted to walk.
So he did.
The comm crystal suddenly pulsed in his pocket.
Sam felt it—the familiar warmth, the gentle vibration that meant someone was trying to reach him. He kept walking. The streets of Arkhos were busy this time of evening, people heading home from work, mages in robes weaving between merchants closing up their stalls. The sun was already setting, giving the sky shades of orange and pink that Sam barely noticed.
The crystal pulsed again.
He didn't want to talk. Not right now. Not to anyone.
He knew who it probably was.
Elena.
His little sister had been calling more frequently lately. Every day, sometimes twice a day. Sam had answered the first few times—brief conversations where he'd assured her everything was fine, that the healers were doing their best, that she should focus on her studies and not worry too much.
The lies had gotten harder to tell.
So he'd stopped answering.
Sam pulled the crystal out of his pocket, glanced at it, then slipped it back. The pulsing continued for a few more seconds before fading.
Coward.
The word sat heavy in his chest. He'd thought he'd moved past that. Years of training, pushing himself, proving he could be more than the scared kid who'd nearly destroyed everything. He'd worked so hard to become someone reliable. Someone strong.
And yet here he was, refusing to face his fourteen-year-old sister.
Elena was fourteen now. She'd been an infant when their mother had gone into the coma. She'd never known her laugh. Never heard her voice. Never seen her smile in person, or watched her cook, or heard her sing the old songs from their grandmother's village. Hell, she'd never even felt what it was like when their mother got angry, and that was quite a sight.
Her face would get red as a tomato, her hair—the same color as Sam's—seemed to take on a life of its own. It was always scary, but never once had Sam felt she wanted to hurt him, even in that state. There was always exasperation and warmth underneath it all.
Elena had missed everything a mother could give her child.
Because of Sam.
If he hadn't awakened that day—if it hadn't been so violent, so uncontrolled—none of this would have happened. Their mother would have been there for Elena's first steps, her first words, her first day of school. She would have been there for all of it.
Instead, she'd been unconscious.
For fourteen years.
And if she died now—when the coma finally took what little was left—it would be because Sam had put her there in the first place.
He'd be the one who killed his own mother.
That was the hardest part. The reason he couldn't face Elena's calls. The reason he avoided his father, who'd come to Arkhos a month ago and kept trying to have conversations Sam didn't want to have.
He'd be the killer of their mother and wife.
The crystal pulsed again.
Sam ignored it.
He turned a corner onto a smaller street, one he'd walked a hundred times before. Familiar shops lined both sides—a bookstore, a tailor, a place that sold enchanted trinkets that mostly didn't work. And there, near the end of the block, was the Weird Stuff Store.
The lights were still on.
Sam hadn't planned to come here. He'd just been walking, letting his feet take him wherever. But now that he was here, he realized what he wanted.
A Frosty.
The craving hit him suddenly and intensely. Sweet, cold, perfectly blended. The kind of thing that had no nutritional value whatsoever but somehow made the world feel slightly less terrible.
He pushed open the door.
The bell chimed overhead—a cheerful little sound that felt out of place with Sam's mood. The store was exactly as he remembered. Shelves packed with candies, chocolates and random objects, some magical, some mundane, all vaguely absurd. Enchanted paperweights. Self-stirring spoons. A taxidermied lizard wearing a tiny hat. Oh no, wait. It was moving, so it was a real lizard. He... supposed?
And there, against the back wall, was the Frosty machine.
Mr. Biggins had upgraded.
The new model was sleeker, shinier, with more buttons too. Still the same concept though—mind magic that somehow knew exactly what you wanted and dispensed it perfectly. Illegal and convenient in equal measure.
Sam smiled despite himself.
He kind of missed those days. The simpler days. When he and Adom were still students at Xerkes, spending too much money on Frosties and arguing about rune theory in the corner booth of whatever café would tolerate them. Nerds with too much time and not enough common sense.
It had its highs and lows. The academy wasn't exactly easy. But it was nicer than whatever he was feeling right now.
"Hello."
He looked up.
There was a woman behind the counter. Thessarian, if he remembered correctly. Blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, a friendly smile, the kind of person who seemed genuinely pleased to see customers even at the end of a long day.
Their eyes met.
Sam realized he'd been standing there, staring at the Frosty machine with a smile on his face like an idiot.
"Oh. Hey." He cleared his throat, feeling heat creep up his neck. "I was just—I'm gonna get a Frosty."
Smooth.
Thessarian nodded, her smile easy and unbothered. "Go for it."
She went back to her reading—some kind of biology book with a garish cover—and Sam was grateful she didn't make it weird.
He walked over to the machine. It hummed softly, a low vibration that he could feel in his chest. He focused on the flavors he and Adom used to take—Cloud Nine, Summer Sunset—and watched as the machine whirred to life.
Two streams of blended ice poured into a cup. Swirls of pale blue and orange mixing together in a way that shouldn't have worked but somehow did.
The classic.
"Six coppers," Thessarian said when he returned to the counter.
Sam reached for his coin pouch.
The crystal pulsed again.
He felt it through the fabric of his pocket, warm and insistent. His jaw tightened.
"You gonna pick that up?" Thessarian asked.
Sam looked up at her. What was her problem? But he kept his expression neutral, polite. "I'll do it later."
She tilted her head, studying him for a moment. "You're Adom's friend, right? Sam, I think?"
Sam blinked. "Uh. Yes. How did you—"
"He talks about you." She said it casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Comes in here pretty regularly. Always mentions his best friend Sam when he's browsing the shelves. You'd think I'd know you personally by now with how much he goes on."
Sam wasn't sure what to say to that. His hand was still hovering over his coin pouch, six coppers pinched between his fingers. "Oh."
"He was in here a couple days ago, actually." Thessarian leaned against the counter, her expression brightening like she'd just remembered something interesting. "Bought a bunch of stuff. Seemed pretty focused. Said he was working on a cure for his best friend's mother."
Sam froze.
"A cure?" The words came out quieter than he'd intended.
"Yes. I don't know the details—he was quite vague about it—but he seemed determined. Spent a lot of time asking about rare ingredients, compatibility with healing magic, that sort of thing." She paused, then smiled. "That would be you, yes? The best friend?"
Sam couldn't breathe.
A cure.
Had Adom found a cure?
That's why he'd disappeared. He wasn't giving up. He was—
"You okay?" Thessarian asked.
Sam realized he was staring at her. His throat felt tight. "Yeah. I'm—yeah."
The crystal pulsed again.
Thessarian's smile widened. "Pick it up next time it does that, yes?"
Sam nodded mechanically. He placed the six coppers on the counter, his hand shaking slightly.
"Thanks," he managed.
"Anytime."
He turned and walked toward the door, the Frosty clutched in one hand, the other pressed against the pocket where his comm crystal sat.
Hope.
It flickered in his chest like a candle flame—small, fragile, dangerous.
He didn't want to hope. Couldn't afford to. Because if he let himself believe, if he let that spark grow into something real, and then it didn't work—if the cure failed, if Adom's determination wasn't enough, if his mother died anyway—
He'd die from it. That alone, he was sure of.
The door swung shut behind him.
The crystal pulsed again.
Thump-thump.
Sam's hands were trembling. He hated that. Hated the loss of control, the visible proof that he was falling apart. He needed to sit down.
He looked around. There—a bench. Or maybe stairs? He wasn't sure. His vision had gone slightly blurry at the edges, and his feet were moving without much input from his brain.
He sat.
The Frosty went beside him on the bench. Yes, it was a bench. In a park. Probably. There were trees. Or maybe lampposts. Did it matter?
Four times.
The crystal had pulsed four times in a row now.
That meant something. It had to mean something. Either his mother was dead—had finally slipped away while he was buying a goddamned Frosty like an idiot—or this was the hope he'd been running from. The possibility that Adom had actually found something.
His breath came faster.
His pulse hammered in his ears.
His palms were slick with sweat, and when he pulled the crystal from his pocket, it nearly slipped through his fingers. He caught it. Barely. Held it in both hands because one wasn't steady enough.
Thump-thump.
His heartbeat.
Loud. Too loud. Like it was trying to break through his ribcage.
He pressed the crystal's activation rune.
Thump-thump.
"Hello?" His voice came out rough. Strained.
Thump-thump.
"Sam!" Elena's voice crackled through. "Where were you? I've been calling you like four times!"
Sam looked around. He was in a park. Definitely a park. There was a fountain nearby. Water burbling. The sound felt very far away.
"I'm—" He swallowed. "I'm at a park."
"Never mind that," Elena said, and there was something in her voice. Something tight and high-pitched. Emotional. "You need to come to the hospital. Right now."
Thump-thump.
Sam's throat closed. The world tilted sideways, and he gripped the edge of the bench with his free hand to keep from toppling over.
He couldn't speak. Couldn't ask. Because if he asked, she'd tell him, and if she told him, it would be real.
His mother. Dead. People crying around her bed. His father's face. Elena's tears. The healing artifacts finally silent. The silence. The end. The thing that was his fault, had always been his fault, would forever be his fault—
"Why?" The word scraped out of him. He was barely holding his voice together, barely keeping it from cracking completely. His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat, and he pressed his free hand against his mouth.
Elena's voice wavered. She sounded close to tears herself. "Just come, okay? Please."
There were voices in the background. Muffled. Urgent. People talking over each other.
Sam's eyes burned. His chest felt like it was caving in.
Please, he thought desperately. Any god. All the gods. Please don't make me see it. Don't make me walk into that room and see what I'm thinking about right now. Please.
"Sam." Elena took a shaky breath. "Adom found a cure."
Comments
andrew finn
Thanks for the chapter. Don't leave us hanging bro!!! A Sunday chapter please?
Viktor
Nonono, cliffs about family is move-ton
