“It’s about...” I stop. Start again. “It’s about having this thing that defines you. That everyone says makes you special. And then losing it.”
“Hm.” He’s doing that thing where he pretends to be casual but isn’t. “Like football?”
My whole body tenses. “We don’t need to?—”
“I’m just saying. Kid spends years building something that becomes his entire identity. It breaks. Authority figure pretends everything’s fine.” He shrugs. “Sounds familiar. Not that I know the full story and you don’t have to tell me either but…”
“It’s not about that.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not.”
“I said okay.”
But we both know I’m lying. The silence stretches until I can’t stand it anymore.
“You want to know what happened?” The words come out harder than intended. “Fine. Homecoming game, senior year. Scout from State in the stands. Fourth quarter, we’re down by three. I go for this pass—perfect spiral, textbook form—and this linebacker just...” I unconsciously roll my shoulder. “Tore my rotator cuff. Complete separation. Six months minimum recovery, probably longer. My career was over before it started.”
Alfie doesn’t interrupt, which somehow makes it worse.
“Dad drove me home from the hospital in complete silence. Didn’t say a word until we pulled into the driveway.” I laugh, but it’s sharp. “You know what he said? ‘You should’ve dodged it, boy’. Nobody could have dodged it. The guy came at me.”
“Jesus, Ethan.”
“The best part?” I’m on a roll now, can’t stop. “Everyone pitied me for months. They looked at me like I was broken. Dad could barely look at me at all. He pushed me hard in physiotherapy, hard enough that I was in agony. I couldn’t get back to normal.”
I turn back to the screen, to my apprentice’s broken staff.
“So yeah. Maybe it is about football. Maybe it’s about spending your whole life being told you’re special because of this one thing, then having it ripped away and everyone expecting you to just... cope.”
Alfie’s quiet for a long moment. “So why does the Archmage fix the staff?”
“Because...” I trail off. Because that’s what people want. A happy ending. The comforting lie that everything broken can be repaired.”
“What really happened to your shoulder? After.”
I don’t want to answer, but something about the darkness and the deadline makes honesty easier. Plus, Alfie is such a calming presence and he rarely digs into things, so I have a feeling this is more for my benefit than his. “Never healed right. I can’t throw anymore. Can’t even do a proper push-up without it screaming. Doc said maybe 80% functionality if I’m lucky, but...” I shrug with my good shoulder. “Eighty percent of a quarterback is just a guy with a fucked-up arm.”
“And your dad?”
“Still introduces me as his son who ‘used to play ball.’ Like that’s my defining characteristic. Past tense.” I spin the stressball harder. “Know what the worst part is? Sometimes I catch myself doing it too. ‘Hi, I’m Ethan, I used to be somebody.’”
“You are somebody.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“The guy who’s about to fix this ending.”
I look at him. He’s not doing the pity face everyone else does when the shoulder comes up. He’s just... waiting.
“The apprentice can’t get his staff back,” I say slowly. “That’s the point. It’s gone. He has to figure out what he is without it.”
“So what does he do?”
I stare at the screen, then start typing. Delete the Archmage’s comforting lie, replace it with something else.
ARCHMAGE: Power without purpose will devour you.
