Sebastian's POV
Abigail had clearly been casing this tower like a medieval cat burglar. I mean, she knew exactly how to jimmy open the tiny back hatch like she worked here. Knew the Wizard's schedule down to the minute. Honestly, I don't know who's creepier—her, or the guy living in a tower surrounded by glowing moss and isolation.
"He goes into the Secret Woods at this exact time every day," Abigail whispered, pushing the door open with way too much enthusiasm for a B&E. "We've got about an hour to find clues."
"Clues?" Sam groaned. "This is less Sherlock and more felony. If anything, this feels like a hate crime against old, reclusive men."
"All I'm saying," Abigail replied, stepping inside like she was entering a holy temple, "is that no one just disappears into a tower for twenty years unless they're hiding something really cool... or illegal."
The inside looked like a goth apothecary married a Hogwarts dorm. Stone walls, crimson velvet curtains that screamed "drama," and in the corner—some kind of arcane pentagram made of salt, surrounded by red tea candles. Cozy. A cauldron bubbled ominously in the back like we'd walked onto the set of a budget Halloween special.
Sam, of course, immediately picked up the ladle.
"Look, Seb! I'm the healer from Solarion Chronicles! Castin' potions and...," he made some unholy sloshing sound, "...healing the vibes."
I rolled my eyes so hard they almost teleported out of the tower.
Meanwhile, Abigail was knee-deep in an ancient chest like she was on a quest for Excalibur. I was starting to get a really bad feeling, and not just from the questionable glowing mist leaking out of the floorboards.
"Abigail," I asked, watching her pull a dusty journal to her chest like it was her long-lost diary, "did you find what you were looking for?"
She paused, clutching the book. "Look, Seb, I know this probably seems silly to you—"
"It seems criminal," Sam interjected, still wielding the ladle like a staff.
"Silly," Abigail emphasized, shooting Sam a glare, "but I can't explain it. I'm drawn to this place. I dream about it. I see lights, shadows, colors I can't even describe. And every time I try to ignore it, I end up right back here."
She looked at us, wide-eyed and sincere. Honestly, it was hard to keep mocking her when she looked like a Disney princess confronting her magical heritage. I was starting to think this might be more than just some teenage curiosity trip.
Then suddenly—FLASH—a burst of blinding white light filled the room with a high-pitched zap that sounded like a microwave having a mental breakdown. When the light faded, a man stood there, cloaked in black with deep purple hair tucked under what can only be described as a wizard cowboy hat. Not even kidding. He looked like he brewed potions and roped cattle.
Sam let out a squeaky gasp. "Did this dude just... teleport?!"
The wizard's eyes scanned the room and landed on Abigail. No yelling, no dramatic spell-casting. Just this eerie silence like... he expected us.
"Children?" he muttered, like he wasn't sure if we were real or just another hallucination brought on by potion fumes.
Sam, ever the diplomat, blurted, "Okay, look—mysterious guy in a hat—you can't just lock yourself up in a tower, serve mystical energy realness, and expect people not to be curious! And yeah, Abigail read your journal, but that's on you for leaving it unlocked! What, are you gonna punish her for being literate?"
I snorted. Sam's a walking disaster, but sometimes he lands a hit.
Then Abigail, voice trembling, asked, "You know who I am, don't you?"
The Wizard looked at her. Not angry. Not surprised. Just... heavy. Like he'd been carrying this conversation in his pocket for a decade.
"This isn't the time, Abigail," he said with a sigh.
"You know my name!" she snapped, tears threatening to spill.
"Of course I do. This town has, what, twenty people in it? You don't think I notice the purple-haired girl lurking outside my window every night except Tuesdays—because your mom makes you do 'family night' after aerobics?"
Honestly? That was weirdly accurate.
"You break into my house, dig through my stuff, and then ask if I know you?" he added, raising an eyebrow. "Don't friends usually use the front door?"
Fair.
Then Abigail held up a crumpled Polaroid photo. "Why do you have this picture of me and my mom—when I was a baby?"
Sam's jaw hit the floor. He looked at me like he'd just walked into the season finale of a show he forgot to binge.
"Dude," he whispered, "what is happening?"
Even I was stunned. For once, I had no sarcastic comeback.
The Wizard didn't even glance at the photo. He just sighed again, like someone who knew this day was coming and had really hoped it wouldn't.
"Talk to Caroline," he said. "It's not my place."
A tear slipped down Abigail's cheek. The room went silent.
"So, uh," Sam blurted, "are we leaving now? Or, like, staying for tea? DNA test? No? Okay."
Abigail didn't say another word. Just clenched her fists and stormed toward the door.
I glanced at the Wizard—his face looked... devastated. But he didn't stop her.
"Oh," Sam added, turning back, "Hannah said she's still working on gathering your ingredients from that letter." Then, not looking, he slammed into a shelf, knocking over a black-glass jar, which shattered across his sneakers.
The Wizard gasped. "What have you done, boy?!"
Sam froze. "I'm so sorry—"
"That was my talisman! It can't be replaced!"
"Cool, cool," Sam said, hands up. "I'll just swing by the Talisman Emporium, pick you up a new one—right next to the shop that sells secret baby photos. My bad!"
He stormed out.
I followed. Abigail was already disappearing into the woods, her footsteps sharp and angry. Sam was muttering curses at his now cursed shoes. And me? I lit my last cigarette, knowing full well Abigail was never going to remember the smokes she promised me.
We probably should've just stayed home and played Solarion.
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