The Arcanist finds himself in a world without magic.
For posterity, I have written down my journal word-for-word from memory, including those few grammatical errors I may have made in my earlier entries. Even the last entry, which I wrote in a panic but with surprising clarity of thought, I have reproduced unchanged – only the introductory paragraph has been omitted, since it was hardly comprehensible. I feel it is important to continue this journal, though the fervor that once gripped me is gone. My purpose is no longer to track down and destroy some great enemy, but merely to return home.
It has been thirty years this day, but I retain hope. I hope to see the monastery again. I hope to start a monastery of my own to protect the World of Man against future evils. I hope to work out a theory of practical planar travel that does not require magic.
It took me weeks to figure things out after I passed through the Source. I was in a new plane of existence; one where magic was powerless. My journal was gone, locked into the tattoo under my left arm. It is fortunate that I was trained so well by Sensei. Otherwise, the first person who had tried to rob me would have succeeded, and there would be no hope of returning home.
In this world, man-made objects have taken the place of magic. The post office has replaced the feather token. The telephone has replaced communication magics. Instead of teleportation, there are flying jets and high-speed rail. Television, a wasteful invention whose falsehoods are trivial to penetrate, has replaced illusion, an equally wasteful and transparent school of magic. And the computer proves a reasonable substitute for more spells by the year. It is unfortunate that my own transformation magics have not yet found a substitute in this world. It would benefit greatly from them.
As I said, my first weeks were spent in confusion and distress. Then I learned more and more about this world, and realized that there may yet be a chance of return. My confusion is most apparent in the fact that it took me a year of taking odd jobs at low wages before I realized that I had brought incredible wealth with me through the Source. My powerless magic items were laced with valuable metals and gemstones, and more importantly, I still had the fist-sized ruby that I had never used against the Enemy as I had planned. This world placed an even higher value on such gemstones than the World of Man, so I was quite wealthy once I was able to sell it. The process of selling it was difficult, but I don't believe that to be a story worth writing.
Throughout that first year, I had kept close to the office building where I had arrived, hoping that I might find a way to return through the Source. Now that I was wealthy, I bought that floor of the building and used it as a base of operations and as a site for a school of martial arts. I will forever be grateful to the Infiltrator for forcing me to learn the laws of commerce. It turns out that it is quite easy in this world to increase your wealth if you start out with a good amount of it and have a superior intelligence. By investing in stocks and real estate, I have become quite wealthy. I now own the entire building, which is the site of my company, Hammer and Anchor Innovations, Inc. I have a staff of several hundred scientists and engineers working on everything from satellites to the new field of Planar Theory, based on my own writings. A small group experiments on the various magical artifacts that came with me through the Source, and I hope they one day learn how to activate them in a world devoid of magic.
I spent my second year becoming more acquainted with this world. There was a great deal of knowledge to be had here, and I spent most of my time in libraries. Mathematics, physics, astronomy, engineering – these were all subjects that were in their most rudimentary stages in the World of Man, but which were incredibly advanced here. The subjects fascinated me, and I found in them hope. After six months, I had nearly exhausted the sciences in the local library. Six months later, I had a high school diploma and was admitted to a university. Four years after that, I had doctorates in mathematics, astrophysics, electrical engineering and history, and was able to devote my time to research and to investments in research. On alternate years, I employed myself as a professor and researcher at a university to accelerate my progress through others not in my employ. This situation required a good deal of money, but I had plenty by the time I arranged it. I also looked into non-scientific sources. I found dozens of references to magic, psychic abilities and beings from other planets with interstellar-travel capabilities, but every investigation so came up with a fraud or a lunatic. Science continues to be my best bet, and so I continue.
I think often about my brothers. I imagine them staring in shock as I dove to what they must have assumed was my doom. I imagine the Brute resolving to keep a vigil, watching the Source in case the Archer or I might return, perhaps for a year and a day, or some other philosophically meaningful duration. When he was sure we would not return, I suppose he would have returned to the World of Man and lead some sort of religious war, spreading justice and destroying those who stood in his way.
I suppose the Swordsman must have “played the wide lute,” as he used to say, meaning that he scavenged anything that might have fallen from the Enemy's minions, and then returned to the World of Man to start his trading company.
The Empty Hand must have done what I myself would have done – started a small monastery of his own, though he would have done it for a simpler cause. I would have protected the world through the end of time, following in Sensei's footsteps. He would have sought enlightenment, bringing inner peace to himself and others.
And the Infiltrator, my natural brother. Perhaps it is too sentimental, but I see him walking through the monastery, taking a last look before returning to the World of Man forever to continue his life of self- improvement. He steps into my bedroom and takes a quick look around. Then he spots something out of the corner of his eye. It is my flute, the first one I carved out of a reed too narrow, which had that discordant undertone the Infiltrator hated so. He glances around, making sure no one is watching, then bends over and picks it up. Perhaps his eyes moisten a bit, or perhaps he only remembers, but he slips the flute into his pocket, and keeps it forever.