Chapter 35: The Path of the Mage VIII

Chapter 35: 35: The Path of the Mage VIII --- John didn’t smile. Not yet. He just stared at his hand, rainwater dripping from his fingers. Fizz’s voice softened. "Most people get flame spells, or wind bursts. You get gravity. You’re not just burning enemies. You’re folding reality. That kind of magic? It doesn’t play fair." John closed his hand slowly. "Good." Fizz floated to his shoulder. "But I’ll be honest, boss. This power... it’ll change how people see you. If they find out, they’ll either try to worship you or kill you." "I’m not planning to tell anyone." "Smart. Except me, of course. I’m your legally bonded emotional damage healer sidekick. You can’t get rid of me." John gave a faint snort. "Sadly." Fizz poked his head. "Tell me you love me." John stood, stretching his shoulders. "The last particle. Where is it?" Fizz fluttered to the side of the trail and darted into John’s travel pack, emerging with a folded paper map gripped between his little teeth. He hovered up, unrolled it in midair, and spun it dramatically. "Behold!" he announced, wobbling with pride. "Fizz the Magnificent shall now guide us to the last mana particle with the ancient art of random pointing." John stopped and rubbed his forehead. "Please, don’t." Fizz ignored him. He closed his eyes, spun twice in the air like a ridiculous compass, and slammed his tiny fluffy paw down onto the paper. "There! That’s the spot! Destiny chooses the path!" John leaned closer. His stomach sank. "You picked... the Mountain of Death." Fizz opened one eye, then the other, and grinned. "What a badass name. You know something awesome lives there. I can feel it. My elemental instincts never lie. There’s definitely something that would make you stronger." John stared at him flatly. "Are you serious right now? I may not know every norm in this land, but even I know this much: that place is deadly. They say even a Six circle mage can step into that mountain and never come out. Killed before they can even react. And I am not even a Circle One mage yet." Fizz tilted his head. "So... is that a No No?" "Yes. That is a No No. Do you want me dead?" Fizz pouted, little wings drooping. "Alright, alright. Not now. But when you get stronger, we have to go there. I can feel it. There is something up there, something that will help you. My elemental instincts are tingling." John shook his head and folded the map. "I am not promising anything. Right now, I am promising a night of sleep. It is almost evening. We should find a place to camp before the forest goes black." Fizz twirled in the air and saluted. "Aye aye, Captain Complain. But I call dibs on the first pillow right." "What pillow? We don’t have any pillows. As a matter of fact," John muttered as he scanned the terrain. "You are my pillow. Your fluffy body is best to be a pillow." Fizz didn’t hear the last part. They left the faint trail and pushed deeper into a pocket of thicker woods. The rain from earlier had softened the earth, and the scent of damp moss and pine filled the air. A slope rose to their right, crowned with a cluster of boulders and a few half fallen trees. John moved carefully toward the rocks. "Here," he said finally. "High ground, some cover from the wind. We can see the forest from above if anything comes near." Fizz zipped ahead and bounced onto one of the boulders like a scout returning from war. "Clear! No monsters! Only naughty squirrels. Oh... wait. That one is glaring at me." John ignored him and began preparing camp. He found a dry patch under a leaning pine where the canopy shielded most of the moisture. From his pack he pulled a simple bedroll, a flint stone, and a bundle of dried twigs. Fizz hovered over the firewood with a mischievous grin. "Allow me." "Fizz—" Too late. A puff of bright orange flame burst from his mouth and caught the twigs instantly. The fire roared to life, sparks leaping like startled fireflies. John leaned back. "I said small fire." "It is small. Small is relative. I am small. Everything I do is small." Despite the complaints, the warmth was welcome. The evening air had cooled, and mist clung to the treetops like sleepy ghosts. John sat with his back to the rock, letting the heat dry his wet cloak. He chewed on a strip of dried meat and passed another to Fizz, who immediately began gnawing like a dog with a stolen boot. "Although this is human food. Not the kind of food that will make me stronger. But it’s not bad," Fizz mumbled through a full mouth. "Could use more seasoning. Maybe a drizzle of river salt. I only eat human food for the taste." "I will remember to marinate the next one in salt for you." John replied. Fizz rolled onto his back in midair, drifting lazily above the firelight. "This is nice. Almost like a real adventure now. Campfire. Shadows. The looming risk of death." John glanced toward the treeline. The forest was quiet, but not silent. Crickets chirped softly. Leaves rustled in the distance. Somewhere, a single owl hooted, deep and slow. He set a small tripwire bell on the slope leading to the camp. It was a simple line of cord with a tin cap from his pack tied with stones. It would rattle if anything larger than a rabbit approached. Fizz floated closer and whispered, "I will keep watch too. My instincts are better than your bell. And if something tries to sneak up, I will spit fire in its face and celebrate like a champion." John lay back on the bedroll, staring through a gap in the branches where the first stars blinked in the fading twilight. "Just don’t scream unless you need to. I like the quiet." Fizz landed on his chest like a warm, squishy ball of fur. "Fine. But if I snore, it is because I am storing energy for future heroics."