Saving the school would have been easier as a cafeteria worker

Cal could safely say this was the craziest day he'd ever been through. Yes, the trip to the hells was a close contender, but today featured a category five demon and a spirit of old. That wasn't something easily topped, and he was looking forward to the look on Mask's face when he one-upped him.

He had a feeling his report, or the one written by Olivia, would be taken with a healthy grain of salt. When it had just been a demon, that was within the bounds of believability. Now? Their first assumption should be that he was pulling their leg. If the brass ended up taking him seriously, he'd lose what little respect he had for them.

Due to that, acquiring a suitable souvenir had been bumped up a few places in his list of priorities. It was still below tracking down the shady man, but he was passively keeping an eye out for anything worthy of being taken. Ideally, it would be unique enough to prove that this place existed.

Cal stalked through the halls, moving through unfamiliar rooms as he searched for another passage up. He'd entered via the ground level and used the main staircase to go up seven floors before hitting a roadblock, or a ceiling block, as it were.

There was no longer any entrance there to the eighth floor; Ferguson's makeshift elevator had sealed it up. He'd considered brute-forcing his way through, but that would draw unwanted attention to himself. Cal resolved to keep that solution in his back pocket while scouring the floor. A tower this size must not rely on a single staircase for all of its traveling needs.

He turned a corner quickly, thankful to be rid of that last hallway. To his great disappointment, the next corridor featured the same style of marble busts the previous one had. They were featured on pedestals, lining either side of the hall. They were all of a woman, but her features were poorly defined. The sheer consistency of it told him it was intentional on the part of the artist.

Their most disconcerting feature was the eyes. They were pupil-less, and yet they seemed to follow his every move. He could feel it in his bones, and it made him reconsider if their muse was actually dead.

He had encountered other remnants of the gods' powers, but this… felt real.

Alive.

Which couldn't be the case. Urel had fallen, and if there was any doubt about that, B's reaction was telling enough. If its god still lived, it would not have been driven mad by grief and isolation.

A sudden surge in magic had him fall to a knee. He placed a hand on the ground to center himself better as the tower was knocked violently to the side. Busts flew off their placements, smashing into the ground. Supporting columns cracked, and the ones that had long since fallen rolled on their sides, colliding with their brethren or the walls.

As quickly as the floor had shifted, it jerked back into its original place. Busts and columns followed, reversing their trajectories to return home. Cal paid special attention to one of the pillars as the beam seamlessly melded with the fractured base and capital, becoming whole once more.

That one had already been on the floor when he turned the corner. Judging by the thick layer of dust, it had been like that a while. It wasn't the only piece of prior damage revitalized, and his fingers ran across the now plush green carpet.

B's magic was indiscriminate and inconsistent. It was healing wounds old and new, but not all at once. He could pass a decrepit hall, only to turn around and see a completely refurbished version in its place.

It made keeping track of the ground he covered difficult.

Cal set his sights on a plain wall. He'd considered creating a window and scaling the tower's exterior, but that raised the chances of him being dragged into the ongoing struggle between Ferguson and B.

That latest impact was one of many, and neither side looked to be ready to give in.

It was an absurd battle, and he wasn't saying that because of the level of power being thrown between them. No, it was absurd because they were doing all that for no tangible benefit. They were in a stalemate, and it was mildly infuriating to witness. Had he been up there, things would be done and dusted.

Cal got to his feet and continued his mapping of the floor while pushing down the childish thought. Comparing his efficacy to others wasn't fair in this context. There was a reason he was the go-to for situations that required a hammer, and it wasn't just because he loitered outside of briefing rooms whenever he smelled a crisis.

Or because he loudly complained about being bored whenever he thought they'd pass up his offer of assistance.

No one could fight with reckless disregard as well as he could, and the apex of that was blowing himself up. Even the demon, who had presumably seen him do it before, had been caught out by it. That was the benefit of keeping a tight lid on the magic contained inside his body; they never knew how much danger they were in until the boom.

Cal halted upon reaching a room he hadn't visited before. He was sure on that, because even if it had been dilapidated before, he would have remembered a room featuring floor-to-ceiling mirrors on all sides.

He walked in, expecting to be met with multiple reflections. Only the centermost mirror obliged him, the rest pretending his visage didn't exist.

Cal stared at Cal.

Original Cal looked down at himself, running a hand along the tattered and thoroughly soaked-through blazer. Behind him was a trail of bloody footprints.

Knowing he was going to have to meet his party after ostentatiously confronting a demon that would normally warrant the evacuation of a city, Cal had done the sensible thing of stabbing himself.

Repeatedly.

Selling his story was already going to be an uphill battle. Trying to do it with the appearance of someone who'd just finished an afternoon stroll was idiotic.

The wounds he'd inflicted on himself had sealed quickly, but not before dousing him in their red taint. If that wasn't enough, the damage to his blazer was readily apparent with its jagged holes and frayed ends.

Vexingly, the mirror disagreed. It refused to show any of his hard work and instead displayed him in a pristine school uniform complete with neatly combed red hair.

Cal's gaze sharpened at the disobedient reflection, and the image flickered.

Callum, not Callum Ardere, stared back at him. With grey eyes, dark hair, and that Federation uniform, it was an unmistakable sight. He'd seen the same face peer back at him thousands of times, just not in the past few months.

Their expressions were identical up until the image formed a snarl.

Cal was having none of that and did the sensible thing of racing forward and punching the glass. His knuckles smashed into the cool surface, and a ripple ran through it, blurring the image but doing little else.

The image's hand reeled back, and Cal beat it to the punch. His second fist, coated with flames, shattered the glass, and he jumped back as the pieces fell to the ground.

Logically, the fire he'd called on should not have had that much of an impact, and so he thought the situation strange. It reeked of bullshit god magic, and he should turn around and get as far away as possible from this room.

However, the destruction of the mirror had revealed an ominous passageway. It went a few feet until stopping at a curtain of darkness that concealed everything beyond.

If any of the other mirrors in this room functioned as intended, he'd be able to see his own conflicted expression. Cal raised both hands up, visibly weighing which path to choose.

Inevitably, he stepped over the broken glass. He didn't dive right through the curtain, poking it with a finger experimentally. His finger dipped into the darkness, and he managed to pull it back without any harm. Cal hesitated a final moment before taking the plunge.

His head crossed the curtain and Cal was met with a chamber devoid of all light. Dried leaves crunched under his feet as he traveled further in. It was largely unimpressive. The room was in the shape of an octagon and smaller than his shared living space with Alice. Aside from the foliage under him, it was completely bare.

Cal's head tilted upwards, seeing a pool of brackish water suspended in the air. It reminded him of the one upstairs, only this one wasn't glowing.

A glint of light caught his eye, and he reconsidered his statement. In the depths, there was a faint shimmer, and something inside of him urged him to seize it.

He forestalled any rash action and let his magic run through his system. There was no sign of being compromised, and he deduced it was his curiosity again.

Spreading his senses throughout the room, he searched for any oddities before hopping up and giving the floating water the fingertip test. It passed with flying colors, and he double-checked his shell before bending his legs.

Cal leapt upwards, entering the pool with a small splash. He pushed against the water, using his legs to speed up his ascent. The light grew slightly brighter, and a final kick saw him emerge from the pool's surface. He treaded water while his head swiveled, taking in the surroundings.

His eyes met another's.

"Yo," Cal said plainly, waving a hand. "Fancy seeing you here."

The man he was looking for froze at that. His expression was hidden by those wrappings he wore, but Cal guessed he was surprised. The feeling was mutual, and Cal paddled to solid ground.

This new area was of similar size as the one below, but the majority of the space was taken up by the body of water he was submerged in. The only dry land was at the edges and a small island that he promptly pulled himself onto. It was a tight squeeze, as it was only a few feet wide and housed a singular tree.

Cal spared it a glance while keeping the majority of his attention on the man. The trunk was exposed, with pieces of its bark flaking off. Skeletal branches craned in all directions, and one in particular was of interest to him.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Sitting precariously at the end of the withered piece of wood was a golden nugget radiating a soft glow. It was the only source of light in the room, and Cal pegged it as souvenir material.

"Didn't you perish?" the man's questioning voice rang out. There was no hint of anger or scorn, only genuine befuddlement.

Cal sized him up as he responded.

"You're going to have to be more specific."

To his credit, the man didn't blink at that.

"The demon should have eviscerated you," he stated clinically. "I felt your dying breath, yet here you stand. Most curious. That uniform… you are a member of what those barbarians call an academy? No, that can't be right. Your name."

The last bit was not a question but a command.

"That's a rude thing to ask without giving yours," Cal said, displaying no hostility. The last time he kept this guy talking, something horrible happened, but the odds of that happening twice were astronomically low.

"You may refer to me as The Watcher," the man said with no fanfare.

That name meant absolutely nothing to him, and he resolved to look up a list of all the major criminals this world had to offer after getting back.

"Then you can call me The Problem," Cal replied smoothly. If everyone was going to have nicknames, then he could give himself one as well.

He expected irritation at that, but the man's gaze didn't change in the slightest.

"I'm unfamiliar. However, the matters of the western portion of the continent don't normally concern me. Organizing shipments to these lands was the extent of my involvement with them, but even that was a chore. I would have never taken this posting if not for the tower itself," he rambled, almost bored-like, before his voice grew curious again. "Tell me, how did you breach the sanctum?"

Cal's brow rose and then rose again. For one, his fake title was taken as a matter of fact, and that was concerning. Then there was talk about shipments. Finally, he was in the sanctum? That made a disturbing amount of sense.

"Honestly, I found a room with a bunch of mirrors downstairs. I broke one, and it led me here, or there," he finished while pointing at the pool.

Cal looked past where the man stood, where the wooden doors stood. One of them was still ajar, and like the curtain of darkness, he was blocked from sensing anything beyond.

Lily and the others must have been on the other side.

"No such room exists. I've surveyed every floor extensively," the man responded while tapping his foot on the floor slowly. "This was the only space unaccounted for."

Correcting the man would mean staying on this topic longer, and Cal was eager to redirect the conversation into a more productive topic.

"Say," he continued casually, tensing his muscles. "You wouldn't know anything about a grand summoning, would you? Asking for a friend."

Seconds felt like hours as Cal observed the man, waiting for a 'gotcha' moment that never came.

"One and the same, all of you," the man said with a mixture of condescension and mourning. He reached down into the pond, grabbing a handful of water before flinging it away. "Grasping in the dark with scraps of knowledge and praying to your deceased idols. What a truly ignorant question."

Cal did not appreciate the tone, but it was the tone of someone who knew things, and so he was all ears.

"Tell me more." Excitement bled into his voice, and the man glanced up at him.

There was an evaluating light in his eyes that Cal found himself indifferent to.

"Hmm. Power? No, you killed one of their stronger specimens. Knowledge? Doubtful." The man spoke to himself before nodding in understanding. "Ah, I see. Another fool looking to test their mettle against the horrors of the hells. Sense enough not to cross into the hells themselves, yet senseless enough to bring them here without proper guidance. How your lands are not barren and spoiled is a mystery."

Another fool? Who were the others? Cal didn't dwell on that, reviewing the man's words carefully. It wasn't sounding like he knew about any current summoning, which was disappointing, but it did sound like he knew about them.

"Let's say I'm one of those," Cal said with little care about what the man thought of him. "Do you know of anyone planning one or how to set one off yourself?"

He set up a two-part answer, intent on getting something of use out of the man.

"Whether it's waves or summonings, you truly know nothing." The man's voice cut short, letting a few seconds pass in silence. Cal considered crossing the pond and giving him more motivation before he spoke again. "In this age, a grand summoning is impossible."

That gave him a lot to think about. Frustration came, followed closely by disbelief. Finally, denial set in.

Cal had spent close to two months in the Academy, and this guy was telling him the whole reason he was there was an impossibility? There was always the chance of that, and he should be glad that it was the case. So why did such a large part of him rebel at the very idea of it?

The man took a step back as Cal's magic spiked dangerously. He corralled it a moment later but used the threat he posed to follow up.

"Why?" he demanded. "I know there was one before. What changed between now and then?"

The Watcher's eyes aged in an instant, and he gave a tired sigh.

"I was imprecise in my language," he said while waving his hand erratically. "It's a product of my vexation for having such a tantalizing prize out of reach." There was another pause as if he was collecting his thoughts. "Do you know what separates a summoning from a grand summoning? Many things in actuality, but what stopped me was the sacrifice. Quantity was never an issue; quality was. Nothing less than an inheritor qualifies, and they're a rarity."

No matter how oddly helpful this guy was being, he wasn't leaving here alive. Not with how callously he described attempting to create an event that would see the deaths of hundreds of thousands.

"What's that? And why are they hard to find?"

It wasn't a term he was familiar with, and knowing what his foes were after would narrow his search tremendously.

"Carriers of their power." He spoke like a lecturer who'd given the same lesson a hundred times. "They were hunted to near extinction. There is one I know of, but they're unlikely to be viable. The magic is very particular, and it wouldn't take kindly to being served something artificially made."

Cal didn't need clarity to know they were speaking of the gods. He hadn't known any of their powers had been handed down, and the thought filled him with questions.

"Artificial?" he asked while quelling the storm brewing within.

The man stood at his full height and provided a simple nod.

"Yes. I'm astonished they had any success, muddling about as they did. Though, can one define it as such when they didn't even realize their triumph? Artists destroyed by their own creation. I wonder if they discovered the truth before being put to the blade. A few of my colleagues might consider it a tragedy. I consider it sloppy workmanship."

That did not help his spinning head, but he wasn't about to shy away from this.

"Who were they?" he asked, despite knowing the answer already.

For all the weight behind his question, The Watcher responded as if talking about the weather.

"The Federation."

The first conclusion he drew, and the one he convinced himself was true, was that it wasn't him. She had told him where he'd come from. Where She'd found him.

And it wasn't a Federation lab.

As much as they might wish he was, he wasn't a weapon they created.

He was an anomaly. Something that wasn't meant to exist.

But if not him… then who?

He thought back to everything he'd experienced, and a name came to his lips. The implications were too much to think about right now, but one thing was certain.

He was going to need a new uniform when he got back.

The chamber rumbled, the water in the pool swished turbulently, splashing over the sides. Cal glanced at the tree, seeing one of the branches crack. A piece of it fell, and by the time it reached the floor, all that remained was dust.

"I had wanted to abscond with that," the man said with regret while eyeing the nugget. "It would have eased the loss the simpleton forced onto me. Alas, its vitality is depleted, and without the spirit's care, it will soon cease to be."

Cal didn't want to talk about a plant, no matter how valuable it may be.

"Why are you being so open about all of this?" Cal asked seriously, aware he wasn't in any position to verify what this man said.

Everything could easily be lies.

Another sigh replied, and Cal could feel the years behind it.

"This world." He spread a hand, pointing at Cal and then himself. "Barbarians and civilized people alike, they're content to turn a blind eye to the past, to their present, and even their future. Inconvenient truths are hidden away and we're told not to speak of them. I've watched this pattern repeat itself, and I detest it."

There was a palpable venom in his voice, and his magical presence fluctuated. It was dim. Far dimmer than anyone out here should have.

"However," he started again, his voice lacking any trace of the vileness from before. A hand was placed over his chest. "I'm a pragmatist at heart and will never be the hand that turns the world. Informing those who can, nevertheless, is something I can accomplish. I wonder what you will do? Hmm. Yes, this current investment may have closed, but it has yielded another. I'll watch your progress intently, Callum Ardere."

Cal crossed the distance in a single leap, grabbing the man's throat and holding him aloft. The man produced a dagger, and Cal would have laughed at the attempt if it wasn't for what he did next.

The steel sank into the man's own skull, and The Watcher's body jerked before turning limp.

Cal's magic immediately invaded the corpse. It was hollow, dug out in places. A normal human could have never functioned like this.

A creaking alerted him, and he turned to see his departure from the island had not been kind to its sole inhabitant. Cracks spread across the bark, and at once, the tree crumbled to dust.

The golden nugget, having lost its support, fell toward the water.

Cal dove back from where he came, catching the nugget in his hands while roughly landing on the island.

"Dibs," he muttered to himself, clutching it tightly.

He'd had about enough of today. It was time to regain control of the situation.