I did not sleep well, my mind swirling with the day’s events as I stared blankly at the ceiling, the cleric’s words ringing in my ears.

 

Low aptitude. Boundless potential. Defective. Prodigy. Were the turn of events good or bad? I wasn’t sure. 

 

On Earth, I’d say I was fairly average. A little below in smarts, a little above in athletics. Certainly, no one would call me a prodigy. Hopefully, no one called me defective. 

 

On Arcadia, somehow I’ve become both. A defective prodigy. I wonder if the goddess foresaw this when she reincarnated me…

 

Dawn arrives and before the sun is high, we are back at the church. As we enter, I see Father Tucker strolling out of the western hallway, yawning, an arm full of items. Spotting us, he gestures us over to the space by the altar, before the statue of the goddess, Emi. On the ground there, I see a large double-layered circle drawn in chalk and inscribed with runic letters. It looks like something from a cult. I shiver.

 

“Cold?” the priest asks.

 

I nod. “Chilly morning.”

 

“Well, I have something to warm your spirits,” the priest says. He begins to unload the items he’s carrying onto the ground. “Materials for the ritual. Awesome, right? Let’s see what we have here. Oh, a square inch of Fleece. A pinch of Ash. A Kettle half boiled. A quarter of an Eggshell. And-”

 

I see the last item the cleric is holding and ask, “A sandwich?”

 

“My breakfast,” the cleric replies, taking a big bite. Then spewing crumbs everywhere, he continues, “Man, I was starving like you have no idea. Incidentally, did you know-?”

 

“Father Tucker, the ritual?” my father interrupts.

 

“Right, right,” the cleric replies with a wave of the hand. Then turning to me, he says, “Okay, Sammy, now listen VERY carefully. Make sure you do EXACTLY as I say, otherwise this spell could go very badly. As in, kill us all, blow up the town, badly. Understand?”

 

I gulp and nod my head.

 

“Okay, so to start with, I need you to stand in the middle of the circle. Good. Now, raise your right hand out in front of you. Perfect. Now, take your left foot and step back half a step. Now touch your nose with your right forefinger. Raise your right foot to the side. Jump on your left foot. Spin around clockwise. Perform the Gorshan battle cry-”

 

“The what?!” I ask, my head spinning already as I try to balance on one foot.

 

“The, ah, nevermind. You can stop now.”

 

“A-are you sure? What about ritual? What about ‘very badly’?”

 

“Oh, the ritual was completed before you two even got here. I stayed up all night finishing it. All that’s left is to activate it and-”

 

“Wait, so I do this you mean for nothing?”

 

“Well, it was funny…”

 

“Father Tucker!” my father and I groan in unison.

 

I drop to the floor, panting, and as I’m catching my breath, I hear the cleric say, “See? And now you’re exactly where you need to be. Everything works out in the end. Ho! Ho! Stay there, Sammy. I’m activating the level 1 divination ritual now. [Detect Magic].”

 

Instantly, the white circles around me begin to glow and pulse, in a light that I see reflected in Father Tucker’s eyes. The cleric tilts his head slightly, then begins to pace around me, observing me from every angle, starting from the left, moving clockwise. He strokes his beard, mumbling the occasional “hm” and “ah” and “oh”. 

 

“What is it?” my father finally asks, “What do you see?”

 

“Well, I’ll tell you what I don’t see. I don’t see an alignment to any of the eight schools of magic.”

 

Eight? Now why does that number sound nostalgic? “Father Tucker, did you say-?” I begin to ask, but a sudden gasp interrupts me.

 

“Oh, what is this?” the cleric exclaims as he moves to stand behind me. “There’s… something… moving... Sammy, can you take off your vest and shirt?”

 

I do as instructed, then ask, “What is it, Father Tucker? Something on back?”

 

“What… is this?” I hear the cleric mumble to himself, “I’ve never... A ritual drawing of some kind? But these inscriptions... It’s definitely not Common. Ancient? No. Proto… maybe. And this golden circle. What is that in the middle? Jagged lines? A zig-zag?”

 

I hear the cleric’s footsteps as he approaches me, and I feel the heat of his hand as he reaches out, presumably to touch whatever it is he has seen on my back. When he does, however, a sudden jolt rips through my body, and as I pivot to look around, I just manage to catch sight of the cleric, as he flies through the air, repelled away about ten feet with substantial force. He hits the ground, unmoving.

 

Around me, the glowing circle dims. The ritual has ended.