Chapter Text
Three years ago...
You wake up screaming.
But a moment later, you realize: the pain is gone.
Its memory lingers in your bones: first, the early warning stages, the tinge of red at your fingertips as you dressed a scarlet corpse for burial. You tried to wash it off to no avail. Then the agony, sudden and excruciating, not only in your core but in your mind. You knew exactly what was coming. Hadn’t you seen it play out a thousand times as you watched, helpless and alone behind a beaked mask? Even when your time came, when your vision contracted to a single burning pinpoint of red, it didn’t end; your bones know down to their marrow the heat of the fire, the desolation of the sand.
Then why am I here?
You rise; you are surrounded by stars. You take a step, then another, and then are suddenly running, gasping deep for the breath that has just now flooded your lungs for the first time in what seems like years. You slow when you begin to feel sand beneath your feet.
I’ve never been here before. A shoreline, painted with every color imaginable, has grown up around you. In the middle stands a fox.
Not a fox. The Fox. The memory of their face springs to mind unbidden, from somewhere.
The Fox is waiting for you. They nod in your direction.
“Bellamy,” they say.
The stunning realization of your name brings it all pouring back to you: twenty-odd years of pain pleasure journeys failures fights mastery plague death. And… resurrection? Magic.
“You’re The Magician,” you croak, stupidly.
“And you’re Bellamy, the magician,” they respond in lower-case letters. “Welcome back.”
“How?” you manage.
The Magician tsks. “A friend of yours is on the cusp of making a deal with me,” they say airily. “It’s a deal that’s not entirely theirs to make. I thought I’d consult you before the time comes.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re an Arcana,” you recall. “You can’t lie, but you’re supposed to be speaking in riddles. Frankly, you’re out of character; I’m suspicious of your motives.”
The Magician raises an eyebrow. “So I am. So I do. But this deal is of… personal importance to me, and I’m willing to put my customary nuance aside to ensure its success.” They let a sly smile slide across their face, showing a fang or two. “Don’t fret, I’ll be as clear as smoke in just a few moments.”
You fold your arms. “What’s the deal?” Asra always chided you never to make deals with beings from other realms.
Asra! The realization of his existence- love- hits you like a bolt of lightning, and you stagger back a little. He has to be the friend dealing with The Magician; who else would have truck with such an exalted being? A sting in your eyes and throat reminds you that the last time you saw Asra, you were fighting; he was headed off into the plains, far away from the plague, begging you to come with him. You’d stood your ground, already committed to your apprenticeship in the palace fighting the plague, and watched him walk away from you (backwards, a pleading look on his face, eyes welling with tears) with your heart set like iron. It was only later, in the hospital’s back room, that you let yourself collapse under the burden of his absence.
The Magician has been reading your thoughts, watching the memories fly across your face.
“He’s an ambitious one,” comments The Magician. “He’s willing to risk everything to bring you back to life- which is, consequently, of great convenience to me. Walk with me.” They take off striding down the shore. You have no choice but to follow. Only The Magician leaves footprints.
Your mind is whirling at the speed of the cosmos. “How long has it been? Since I died of the red plague, I mean?”
“Almost a year in your time,” sighs The Magician. You can almost hear them scoff: mortals . “But here’s my proposal: if I bring you back, now, you’ll be next to useless for three years more. The… experiment we’re trying today has everything to do with something that will happen three years from now. Are you keeping up?”
“Barely,” you say wryly.
“Don’t try too hard; I’ll be keeping your memories here in my realm, anyway, once you’ve returned. Three of your human years from now, a rival of mine will attempt to seize control of all realms. You could, perhaps, stop him.”
“Why can’t you manage it yourself?” you say, stopping and crossing your arms.
The Magician sighs again. “My power is limited in your world. Yours is...” they fish for the right word- “enough. But before I send a dead person back to champion my interests, I want to make sure they know what they’re doing.”
You raise your eyebrows.
“There are six different paths you can take, once I’ve put you back in your body four years from now,” The Magician continues. “Live each one out, and I’ll send you back a seventh time, to follow the path of your choosing.”
“It sounds too simple,” you blurt. “If I know you’ve sent me back, and I’m living the same event six times over...”
“Oh, I’d never make it quite so easy,” The Magician rejoins, aghast. “You’ll lose your memories each time you bounce forward in time and, when you make your final choice, you will awake in your world with no memories. At all.”
You stifle a gasp. “None?” Your life, as it were, flashes before your eyes.
The Magician shrugs. “Your price for resurrection. Take it or leave it. Small, really, compared to what your friend offered me.”
You tense; what fool bargain has Asra struck? Is he in danger? You must get back to him.
“I accept,” you declare. “Send me to Asra. Now.”
The Magician holds up a sable finger. “Not so fast,” they chide. “Don’t you want to revisit your memories, one last time, before I take them forever?” The Magician smiles toothily. “That’s why I’m being so forthcoming, you know. Next time you see me, I’ll be just another card. This conversation will have never happened.”
You stand tall, though you’re fighting back tears. “All right,” you say tightly. “Show me my past.”