Elias stood in the center of the kitchenette, staring down into a small tin canister.

  It was a tragedy. A disaster of epic proportions. Far worse than the broken door or the screaming intruders in the foyer.

  The Earl Grey was dead.

  Three hundred years of no care had turned his premium, royal-grade tea leaves into gray dust.

  He tipped the canister. A sad little puff of powder drifted out, smelling faintly of old socks.

  "Unacceptable," Elias muttered.

  He needed tea. He couldn't deal with the Golden Era, or whatever was happening outside, without caffeine. His brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool.

  He placed the canister on the counter.

  "It’s organic matter," he reasoned. "Entropy is just a variable. If I invert the decay vector..."

  He raised a finger. He didn't want to use a lot of mana. Just a tiny, microscopic sliver. He visualized the tea leaves as they were yesterday (or three centuries ago): plump, dried, fragrant.

  "[Restore]," he whispered.

  He felt the mana leave his fingertip.

  It felt like a dam breaking.

  The gray dust in the canister didn't just turn back into leaves. It turned back into the plant.

  Status Alert: Spell Critical Success: [Grand Restoration] Effect: Time Reversal (Biological)

  CRACK.

  BAAAAAAAANNGG---!

  The tin canister exploded.

  A branch—thick, green, and aggressive—shot upward. It punched through the wooden cabinets.

  Leaves sprouted instantly, unfurling with wet thwip-thwip-thwip sounds. Roots burst from the countertop, seeking purchase in the stone floor.

  ‘What the hell…’

  Elias took a step back as the tea bush grew to the size of a small tree in three seconds flat. It smashed through the kitchen ceiling, showering him in plaster and dust.

  He stood there, brushing white flakes off his shoulder, looking up at the fully mature, distinctively magical Camellia sinensis that was now occupying 90% of the room.

  "I," Elias said to the tree, "wanted a cup. Not a plantation."

  He really needed to work on his fine motor control. Or stop casting spells entirely. He was a sledgehammer trying to repair a pocket watch.

  “Sigh…I guess it will do either way.”

  He sighed, plucked a fresh leaf from the branch that was currently strangling his spice rack, and shoved it into his pocket. It would have to do.

  He grabbed his staff and headed back to the foyer.

  The five adventurers were exactly where he had left them.

  They had huddled into a defensive formation near the rubble of the Adamantine Doors.

  The Mage was on the ground, scribbling a frantic circle of protection runes in chalk. The Knight was trying to bend his breastplate back into a shape that didn't constrict his breathing.

  When Elias’s footsteps echoed on the stone, they all flinched.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "He returns!" the Archer hissed, nocking an arrow with trembling hands. "The Lich Lord returns!"

  Elias stopped ten paces away. He looked at the chalk circle. It was... cute.

  It was the magical equivalent of a 'Keep Out' sign written in crayon.

  "Stop drawing on my floor," Elias said.

  The Mage dropped the chalk. He looked like he might cry.

  "I have questions," Elias continued, his voice flat. "And since you broke my door, you are going to answer them."

  The Knight, to his credit, managed to stand up. He looked terrified, but he held his shattered sword hilt like it still mattered.

  "We will tell you nothing, monster!" the Knight stammered. "You may take our lives, but you will not have the secrets of the Kingdom!"

  Elias rubbed his temples. "I don't want your secrets. I want a calendar."

  The adventurers paused. They exchanged confused looks.

  "A... calendar?" the Mage squeaked.

  "The date," Elias clarified. "What year is it?"

  The Knight narrowed his eyes. "You test us? You mock the passage of time you have cheated?"

  "I am mocking you," Elias admitted, "but mostly because you're slow. The year. Now."

  "It is the 842nd year of the Golden Era," the Knight said, puffing out his chest.

  Elias did the mental math.

  He had locked the doors in the year 998 of the Third Era. The Calamity was supposed to last ten years. Then... nothing.

  "The Golden Era," Elias repeated. "When did that start?"

  "At the Turn," the Mage said, his curiosity momentarily overriding his terror. "When the Great Barrier fell and the Allied Kingdoms united."

  "And the Apocalypse?" Elias asked. " The Fire from the Sky? The Abyssal Legion?"

  The adventurers looked at him blankly.

  "Myths," the Archer whispered. "Nursery tales to scare children."

  Elias stared at them.

  So…

  The Apocalypse... hadn't happened. Or it had fizzled out. Or someone else fixed it while he was taking a nap.

  He had locked himself in a void-sealed library for three hundred years for nothing.

  He felt a flash of indignation. ‘I could have gone to that banquet in 998. I had a really nice robe for it.’

  "I see," Elias said.

  He walked past them, toward the Mage. The man flinched, curling into a ball, but Elias just reached out and tapped the staff the man was holding.

  It was a gaudy thing. Gold filigree, a big red gem on top. It looked expensive.

  "[Inspect]," Elias murmured.

  Item: [Staff of the Court Wizard]

  Rank: Rare

  Mana Conductivity: 14%

  Enchantments: [Minor Fireball], [Light]

  Craftsmanship: Poor

  "Fourteen percent?" Elias asked, genuinely offended. "You call this a mage staff? It’s a twig dipped in glitter."

  The Mage gasped. "This is a Masterwork from the High Artificers of the Capital! It cost three thousand gold crowns!"

  "You were robbed," Elias said. He pointed to a rune carved into the wood. "This Sigil of Amplification is drawn backward. It’s leaking mana. That’s why you’re out of breath."

  The Mage looked at the staff, then back at Elias. "That... that's the stylistic flair of the Maker..."

  "It's incompetence," Elias corrected.

  He looked at the rest of them. Their gear was shiny, but the enchantments were shallow. Weak.

  It seemed that while the world hadn't ended, the study of magic had certainly taken a nose-dive.

  ‘Great. Not only was I three centuries late for dinner, but I was also apparently the only competent academic left on the continent.’

  "Right," Elias decided. "I'm leaving."

  "Leaving?" the Knight asked, his voice cracking. "Leaving the dungeon?"

  "It is not a dungeon," Elias sighed. "It is a Library. And yes. I need fresh tea leaves, and I need to see this 'Golden Era' for myself."

  He walked to the shattered doorway. The massive adamantine doors were lying in twisted heaps of scrap metal.

  He frowned. He couldn't just leave the Athenaeum open. Squirrels might get in. Or worse, more adventurers.

  "I need to seal this," he muttered.

  He raised his hand. He visualized the doors repairing themselves. The hinges re-aligning. The lock clicking into place.

  "[Mend]," he commanded.

  He tried to be gentle. He really did.

  But the mana surged again, eager and overwhelming.

  The twisted metal of the doors didn't just straighten. It liquefied. The adamantine flowed like water, rushing to fill the gap in the stone archway. It swirled, merged, and solidified in an instant.

  It didn't form two doors. It formed a single, solid, seamless wall of gray metal. Three feet thick. Fused directly into the mountain stone on a molecular level.

  THUD.

  Elias tapped the new wall with his staff. It rang like a bell.

  "Well," he said. "That’s secure."

  He had just locked himself out of his own house.

  Permanently.

  He would have to blow the mountain up to get back in.

  He turned to the adventurers, who were now staring at the solid wall of metal where the exit used to be... except Elias was on the outside with them.

  "You," Elias pointed at the Knight. "You have a map?"

  The Knight nodded dumbly. “Yes”

  "Good. Lead the way to the nearest town. Try not to be loud."

  Elias stepped out into the sunlight. He squinted against the glare, pulling his hood up. The birds were singing.

  The air smelled of pine and dirt, not old paper.

  Behind him, the Archer leaned over to the Mage and whispered, her voice trembling.

  "We just woke up the Dark Lord. We actually woke him up."

  "He fixed the staff," the Mage whispered back, staring at his weapon in horror. "He just looked at it, and the mana flow corrected itself. He’s a monster."

  Elias ignored them. He began walking down the mountain path, his grey robes billowing.

  He had a lot of catching up to do.