The Wizard in the Woods: A Short Story Inspired by Real Events

 

Thorn lay on his back, his whole body, from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head, throbbed in agony. He stared at the clouds, blinking back the tears, when a face appeared in view. Elara, his partner, long black hair, olive skin, brown eyes. “You should thank me for disarming that Skalgrin,” she chirped.

Thorn hissed in pain. “Instead of impaling me with its spear, it just pounded me with its fists. I swear its hands were the size of boulders. He laid a hand on his stomach. “How about healing me…so we can leave.”

She shook her head. “Already tried,” she pressed her hands on his stomach, and it tenses, grimacing in pain. It took all his strength to not pass out again.

She lifted his shirt. “See that purple spot.” He craned his neck and saw a purple splotch the size of a fist on his stomach. “Means you’re bleeding inside,” her expression soured. “You don’t have too long.”

Thorn let his head fall back, recalling earlier today, when Elara appeared at his door with two soldiers, asking, at sword point, for him to accompany them to rid some ancient ruin of a Skalgrin, a towering, storm-grey monstrosity with fists the size of Thonr’s torso and a flowing mane extending from the top of its head to its lower back. “The whole army, including all of the reserve, are fighting the war, which leaves specialty missions to us,” she had said.

Now, the monster lay with a gaping hole in its chest, beneath a nearby crumbling archway.

Thorn rose to the sitting position, then blinked, waiting until the black spots vanished from his vision. “Survivors?”

She looked behind her at the mutilated corpse of a soldier. “Me, you, and Caelum.”

Thorn rose to his feet, leaned on a nearby wall. “Why can’t you heal me?”

“I told you, it’s that thing.” She pointed to a metal a metal object that looked like someone stuck two pyramids together. “As soon as you grabbed it, you couldn’t use your magic and I can’t use my magic on you.”

He had discovered it buried beneath a pile of stones while exploring the ruins. As soon as he picked it up, it flashed and emitted a soft purple light. He turned it around, trying to figure out what it was, when it suddenly transformed into a small, three-foot-tall pyramid. After showing it to Elara, it flashed once more and assumed its current shape—a double-sided pyramid.

Little did he know, it also made him immune to magic, a revelation that nearly cost him his life during his fight with the Skalgrin, when, in the midst of the fight, he realized, he couldn't use magic. 

“A curse,” Thorn said.

“Probably,” Elara responded.

“We need to find a healer.”

She shook her head. “General Lysander took all of them for the war.”

Thorn ground his teeth then clenched his fists. “Caelum!” he barked.

Moments later a man with curly brown hair, dressed in weathered leather armor, adorned with a patchwork of metal plates and worn insignias stepped forward. 

“Stay here and secure the area,” Thorn said.

Caelum nodded and marched away.

Thorn took a step and froze, the motion felt as if someone plunged a knife into his stomach.

He shot Elara an angry glare, then hissed through clenched teeth.

 “Let’s go.”

***

 

Ignoring the guard salutes, Thorn and Elara both smeared with a disconcerting blend of mud and blood, passed through the city gates. Better broken then dead… Thorn thought, as each step of his horse sent a small jolt of pain through his hip, lower back, and groin. 

“All that grunting and seething over there,” Elara said. “Do I need to call a cart for you?”

Thorn ignored her, focusing on the path ahead, his heart racing with a mixture of determination and anxiety, hoping he’d reach the shop in time. A simple serum, a mixture of some concoction and he’d fine. Now the job was done, he had the money, not to mention whatever was in the metal contraption he’d found.

They rode their horses through the intricate web of city streets with a quiet urgency, seemingly escaping the notice of the bustling crowd, then turned the corner, and saw a red door with a sign above it that read “The Mixture.”

Thorn braced himself then swung down from the saddle.

“I’ll wait here,” Elara said. “That way, if you collapse and die in the shop, I won’t have to help move your body.”

Thorn didn’t have the energy to respond; he simply turned and limped into the store. Soft yellow light spilled through slender beams in the store's windows. Against the wall, a staff with sharp antlers attached to the tip leaned, while shiny trinkets adorned the shelves. A formidable sword, nearly the size of a man, hung on the wall beneath a mirror that remained eerily devoid of any reflection on its surface. Behind the counter stood a man wearing a dark green tunic, cinched at the waist with a leather belt, his back turned toward Thorn as he busied himself with bubbling cauldrons and steaming flasks.

Thorn shuffled forward, then grunted in pain and cursed as he hit his shin. He looked down, nothing.

“Oh! Sorry about that,” the man said.

Thorn looked up and saw the man look over his shoulder. 

“I forgot,” the man said, then a hand and a cast iron pot, as tall as Thorns waist and just as wide, appeared in front of Thorn. “I was using the pot to hold the excess invisibility serum until I could store it in vials… and forgot about it.” He turned, then nodded with pride. “Looks like I let it sit for too long.” He looked at Thorn as if he saw him for the first time. “Welcome to The Mixture. I am the owner, Lucious. What can I do for you?”

Thorn moved forward, nervously eyeing the path, and then positioned himself at the counter. He opened his pack, retrieved the metal object, and set it on the counter. “What is this?”

Lucious cocked his head, then reached into his tunic, withdrew glasses, and placed them on his nose.

Muttering to himself, he reached out.

“Don’t—”

Zap

Lucious jerked his hand back, shaking it vigorously, hissing through clenched teeth. “I suppose I deserve that, considering your shin and all…” he stepped back. “Where did you get that?”

“Ruins,” Thorn grunted.

Lucious raised an eyebrow. “Judging your blood splattered decorum, you didn’t come by this easily…”

Thorn shook his head. “I found it. The blood came later.”

“I see…” Lucious said, pushing the glasses on his nose. “What would you like me to do with it?”

“It cursed me. Ever since I picked it up, I can’t use magic and magic can’t be used on me.”

Lucious looked at him and blinked. “Have you tried getting rid of it?”

“I don’t want to get rid of it.” He looked at the shelves behind Lucious. “Just mix me a serum that gets rid of this curse.”

“Well…” Lucious put the glasses back into his tunic, then looked over his shoulder. “I am extremely busy with enchanting blades, removing a rather nasty curse that makes the victim see everything he looks at wither and die, brewing a potion, oh, and there’s the boots I’ve been working on for the past week that are supposed to allow the user to walk on water, but they end up sinking a foot below the surface and—”

“You don’t understand.” Thorn lifted his shirt. “I’m bleeding on the inside. I don’t have much time.”

Lucious shook his head. “I’m terribly sorry, but my life is on the line if I don’t finish these projects. The curse victim is…” he caught himself, his eyes darting to the door. “Let’s just say he’s a rather powerful noble who will no doubt burn my shop to the ground with me and my family still inside. Go to a medic.”

“They’re all in the field supporting the war,” Thorn growled as panic rising slowly risose within him. He’d survived numerous battles, hundreds of close calls, he wasn’t going to die from a wound he couldn’t heal because of some curse. “When do you have time?”

Lucious stroked his chubby chin. “A week or two from now.”

Thorn frowned. “No good. I need this now.”

Lucious drummed his fingertips on the countertop. “I know someone who could help.”

Thorn’s eyes lit up.

Lucious held up a finger, reached behind the counter, then slapped a piece of paper on the surface. He twirled a quill in his fingers, dipped it in an ink well and started scribbling. “First, you will need to stop by Wembley’s Botanicals and purchase two vials. One of Dane Moss and the other of Squali Saliva. After that, leave the city from the East gate, keep walking until you’re back on the road, walk until you see this,” he tapped the quill on the paper, “Then keep walking forward and that’s where you’ll find his shack.”

Lucious slid the paper forward, Thorn cocked his head, trying to make out the scribbles. “What is…”

Thorn looked up, but Lucious had returned to his experiments.

“Just follow the map!”

“But the map is—”

“Crystal clear! I know!”

Thorn sighed, slid the paper off the counter, shoved the artifact into his pack, turned and walked out of the shop.

 

***

The air in the botanical store was thick with the earthy fragrance of exotic blooms. The shop's centerpiece was a majestic, gnarled tree, whose branches served as shelves that held a stunning array of vibrant, magical plants, from luminescent ferns to levitating bonsai trees, but to Thorn, it was a loud distraction, grating on his already frayed nerves. 

“Whatever it is, its cursed me,” Thorn said.

The owner shook his head, as he reached for a clump of moss. “Doesn’t sound like a curse.”

“What? I can’t use my magic, and no one can use magic on me.”

“It might be a curse,” the owner said as he turned and stuffed the moss in a vial. “But it looks like a failsafe to a locking mechanism. That thing is supposed to open, and you’re caught in the unlock sequence.”

Thorn ran a hand through his hair. “A what?”

The man grabbed a vial of grey liquid and placed it on the counter. “If that was a curse, it would’ve activated when it opened, not when touched. Imagine the sorcerer enchanting something like that with a touch curse, then having to move it.” He smiled. “While it behaves a little like a curse, I don’t think it is. Curses make you weak, shrink you, make you thinner, dumber or you get worms growing from your eyes. Stuff like that. You just can’t use magic.”

The owner looked at the artifact. “Let me guess, it changed shapes?”

Thorn nodded.

“Sounds like it might be some sort of lock sequence.”

“A what?”

“Once you open whatever that is, you’ll be fine. You probably don’t even need this stuff.”

Thorn handed the man five coins. “The other shop owner said I did, so I’m taking them.”

The owner shrugged, then handed him the vials. Thorn turned, limped out of the store and made his way back to where Elara was waiting.

“Ya know, this would be less painful and a lot faster if you did the shopping and I waited out here,” Thorn growled.

“Maybe, but I’m only here to make sure you complete the orders and return back alive… not…” her upper lip curled in disgust, “Shop.”

“I don’t think walking around feeling like my insides are gonna burst inspires a lot of confidence of keeping me alive.” He leaned on his horse then shot her a glance.

She smiled. “You’ve been managing well. Where to next?”

He shoved the vials in his pockets, then held out the map.

She leaned forward, squinting. “We’re supposed to follow…” she cocked her head. “That?”

“Yes,” Thorn grunted, then jammed the map into his pocket. He turned and fastened his pack to the back of the horse.

“What’s there?”

Thorn swung onto his horse. “A man who’s supposed to help us.”

“Weren’t the last two men supposed to help?” she asked, motioning her head to the shop.

Thorn hung his head, frustration weighing him down. In addition to the sharp stinging pain in his stomach, every muscle in his body ached with a dull pain, the deep, relentless throb that could only be cured with a hot bath and a month’s rest. 

“Yes,” he said as he lifted his head and adjusted the reins. “Yes, they were,” then urged the horse forward with a gentle nudge of his heels.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her shrug, take up her own reins and follow beside him.

***

They stopped on a road, sitting atop their horses, staring into roadside forest.

“We’re supposed to go in there?” She asked.

Thorn held the map in front of him, turned it upside down, around, then right side up. “Yea. It’s what the map says.”

In the distance, long, blackened trees, with twisted branches curled over a dirt trail. Thin columns of light shined through thick leaves, but the stillness of the scene was most unnerving. No clouds of insects hovered in the air, no birds flew in the sky, and not a single creature darted across the ground.

“Looks worse than the ruins,” she said, then bared her teeth in a grimace.

Thorn made a fist and pain shot down to his elbow, then he rolled his neck and immediately regretted it, after something popped, causing him to lose vision for a moment. “No. We’re going somewhere else. There has to be someone in the city who can take this curse off me.”

Elara rode in front of him. “Might as well talk to the man, we’re already here.”

“Look at that place.”

“C’mon. You and I both know you need to open this sooner rather than later,” Her expression grim. “I’m surprised you made it this far.”

Normally, he’d have no problem with a dark, eerie forest. He probably wouldn’t have realized he was in a place like that until he was surrounded by drooling monstrosities waiting to tear him apart. But now was different. Now, he felt death closing in, like some stalker chasing him through the streets. Its taken everything he had, all of his courage and will has gone into staying alive. He didn't have enough left in him to face the foreboding woods. 

“C'mon, just give it a chance,” Elara said, as she turned her horse and made her way into the forest.

He frowned, then urged his horse onto the path. 

They ventured deeper into the shadowy forest, and the closer he drew, the more heightened his awareness became. His eyes darted to every movement, imagining a spawn of nightmarish creatures, drool sliding down from a maw of sharp teeth, lurking in the branches, ready to pounce.

A rustle in the bushes made him grip the reins tightly.

A grim choice—either die in this eerie forest or from to the slow, agonizing fate of insides bleeding, and at this point, he really wasn’t sure which he preferred.

In the distance to his right, Thorn spotted a large man with brown hair, dressed in a red shirt, standing in front of a wooden shack. Smoke billowed from the chimney. Next to him loomed an enormous metal contraption, almost the size of a small carriage. The yard was cluttered with piles of trash, scrap metal, wood, and assorted trinkets scattered about. Nearby, a towering tree with a trunk about three times the width of Thorn stretched over the shack. Delicate gray-green strands of moss, reminiscent of the frail wisps of an elder's withered hair, hung from the tree branches.

As they approached, keeping to the road, Thorn called out, “Excuse me.”

The man turned and put his hands on his hips. “Hello.”

A skinny man with short hair and a small patch of hair on his chin walked out from behind the metal contraption, holding a wine bottle, followed by a rooster. The rooster crowed then took off, and the man grinned and gave chase.

“Lysander! Stop chasing the chicken, we don’t even know where it came from.”

Lysander froze then looked at the man in the red shirt.

Thorn shot a glance at Elara who shrugged.

“Sorry about that,” the man said, moving toward them. “Names Aricen.”

“Thorn,” Thorn said. He jerked a thumb behind him. “Lucious said you’d be able to help me.”

Aricen nodded. “Absolutely! Steel artifact, painful to the touch?”

Thorn looked at Elara, brow furrowed. She lifted her eyebrows in response.

Thorn, his expression still confused, turned to Aricen.

“We just spoke,” Aricen said, tapping his head. “He said you’d be on your way.”

Thorn gritted his teeth, swung himself form the saddle, then went into his pack and withdrew the object. He turned and, stunned to see Aricen standing behind a wooden table that wasn’t there before.

Thorn set the artifact on the table then stepped back.

Aricen mused, his gaze fixed on the metal object. Thorn had seen that look before, in a seasoned blacksmith scrutinizing the fine details of a newly forged blade or an appraiser assessing a rare gem. “This metal is about two hundred years old…” Aricen began, his eyes narrowing. “The coloring and blending say it was made in the south…cold region...Lustridale region, Aliac Bay, I’m sure.  You see. back then, the smiths in Aliac bay blended their metal in such a way as to reflect the light, and also, if you look at it from a certain angle you’ll see a slight orange discoloration, because they had a technique, where they’d let them dry in the cool air after they brought it from the heat, but sometimes, like in the summer, it took a lot longer because it was warmer, and the coating they used didn’t evaporate in time.”

Thorn folded his arms across his chest, slowly nodding in satisfaction.

Aricen walked over to a pile of junk, opened a wooden trunk, and pulled out two red gloves. He then returned to the table, putting them on as he went. 

“The faint purple aura it’s emitting is—” he began as he reached for the artifact.

“Don’t touch…”

Thorn trailed off as he watched Aricen lift the artifact and peer underneath it.

"The purple aura is a protective enchantment, which identifies and deters living, conscious entities from touching it. But with a simple pair of dead gloves," he set the metal object down, held up his hands, and wiggled his fingers, "they mask the signals naturally emitted by living tissue and, for all intents and purposes, make my hands indistinguishable from non-living entities, bypassing the enchantment and allowing me to touch it."

He felt a nudge on his side, turned, and saw Elara shoot him a glance. 

Thorn began searching his pockets. “I brought the vials for you to make the serum to remove the curse.” 

Aricen shook his head. “It's not a curse.” 

Thorn froze, his hands still in his pocket. “That's what the man from Wembley's Botanicals said.” “Skinny, black hair?” 

“Yup.”

“Ah, Anthony doesn't get enough credit, really. He's much smarter than he lets on, a nice guy too. I bet he tried to convince you not to buy the vials for a curse removal serum?”

Thorn and Elara exchanged glances, then Thorn turned back to Aricen and muttered, “Yup 

"This is called a Sorilith Chest," Aricen said, gesturing at the metal object. "They were made with a specific locking sequence, each sequence serves a unique purpose for whomever it's bonded to. It changed shapes, yes—first a box, then a pyramid, then the double-sided pyramid you see now. The reason it negates magic is that, when it was created, there was a problem with wizards using magic to open chests. Initially, they made chests with enchantments that negated magic, but the wizards just studied them, removed the enchantments, and opened the chests. So, they designed the Sorilith Chests, where the enchantment wouldn't activate until someone attempted to open them. This prevented the wizards from studying the enchantments because it stripped away their magic. It was brilliant!"

Thorn tried his best to look interested.

“A moment please,” Aricen said, then turned to leave.

“It seems the fates smile upon you, Thorn,” Elara said.

“Yea, how’s that?”

“First, Lucious sent you here, but before that, Anthony said it wasn’t a curse, then, you weren’t even enter the forest until I…” she pressed a hand against her chest. “Suggested you give the man a chance, and now look,” she flourished her hands at the table. “You’ve got a solution. A fix. If we did it your way, you’d be waiting for Lucious, and, you’d probably have paid three times as much as you’re going to pay this man, if you didn’t die first.”

Thorn scowled. “Thought your contract was only to keep me alive, not gloat.”

Lysander stumbled from around one of the scrap piles. He looked at them, swaying unsteadily, his eyes bloodshot. “Aricen a good guy…” he took a long swing of the bottle, then peered inside, frowned and threw into the forest. “He’s building this iron contraption for the king, supposed to shoot metal fire balls…” his hands mimicked an explosion. “Probably smartest man…in…the world!”

Aricen came back, leading a large black horse by the reins. 'Alright, unfortunately, I’m out of sibernaium gotivik-coated rods, which we’ll need to force the final sequence, but I know precisely where to get them.' He led his horse to where Thorn and Elara's horses stood, tails swishing.

Thorn, hoping he wouldn't have to get back on his horse, pursed his lips together. Aricen seemed to know what he was talking about. Maybe Elara was right; maybe fate had smiled on him. He stood a little straighter and made his way back to the horse, then climbed into the saddle.

The three of them rode back to the city, and the entire way, Aricen never stopped talking. First, he spoke about his newborn son, and then about his wife, who worked as a clerk at the bank.

***

When they returned, night had fallen on the forest, and Aricen stood behind the table, surrounded by lanterns hanging from thick pieces of wood. With one rod in each hand, Aricen touched the sides of the Sorilith Chest. There was a flash of purple light, and the chest transformed into a rectangle as the glow faded.

Thorn exhaled a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding. “Elara,” he barked, but she was already behind him, eyes closed, fingers moving, working her magic. 

Thorn felt weightless, soft, as if he was made of air and a gust of wind might scatter him into the air. The pain in his body melted away and he drew a deep breath and released it. He opened his eyes and the world seemed brighter, more colorful. He lifted his shirt, and the purple spot was gone.

Elara looked Thorn up and down and crossed her arms.

“See! No curse,” Aricen said.

Thorn walked around the table, wrapped his arms around Aricen, and squeezed him so hard he heard the man wheeze. 

“Thank you!” Thorn said, clapping Aricen on the back so loud it echoed through the forest. “You saved my life.” He stepped back, watching the man gather himself.

“My…my pleasure…” Aricen said, catching his breath.

Thorn turned to the Sorilith Chest, his brows lifted in anticipation. After all the pain, the hassle, the traveling while teetering on the brink of death, it was finally time to see what was inside.

"What?" Elara asked.

Thorn chuckled, opened the lid, and then shut it again. He snickered, until his body racked with laughter, continued until he was leaning on the table doubled over. He stopped, drew in a shuddering breath, and wiped the corner of his eyes.

He snatched a pouch of coins from his belt and slammed it on the table. “Should be enough, Aricen.” Then he turned and made his way to the horse.

“Hey!” Elara cried. “You just gonna leave that there?”

Thorn kept walking then stopped beside his horse. He put a foot in the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. “You can have it if you want.”

Elara looked at him, then looked at Aricen who shrugged. She walked over, opened the chest, and stood, frozen, with the lid between her fingertips. After a few moments, she shut it, turned around and walked to her horse. She climbed in the saddle, looked down the path, without ever looking at Thorn. 

“Let’s go,” she growled.

“You aren’t the least bit curious?” He asked.

“No,” She frowned. “I cannot believe we went through al—”

“We?” Thorn arched an eyebrow.

“Seeing you carry on like you were dy—”

“I was dying,” Thorn said, then turned and called out to Aricen. “Aricen! Mind looking at what’s in there?”

Aricen walked over, opened the chest, and withdrew a piece of paper.

“Can you read the language?” Thorn asked.

Aricen cocked his head. “It is Broduglosic, the language they spoke back then.”

“What’s it say?”

“It may take me a while to translate it. I’ll send word when I do.”

“Doesn’t matter what it says,” Elana grumbled. “It isn’t money.”

Thorn nodded and smiled. At least he could return the vials and get his money back. After all, Aricen did say Antony was a nice guy.

 End

 

 

This story was inspired by real life events. 

One Wednesday, I was driving my car, and the clutch suddenly wouldn’t engage unless I put a lot of pressure on it, so my first thought was I need to buy a new clutch. 90s girl was scrolling through Facebook and saw a mechanic post his number. 

I called, and the mechanic said he was booked, but he referred me to his guy, we’ll call him friend. Spoke to Fred, told him my problem, and asked if I could drive my car to his house on Saturday morning. On Thursday night, I went to AutoZone to pick up the clutch and one of the manager, Tim, said it didn’t sound like a clutch, buy maybe a master or slave cylinder and told me to check the clutch fluid tank for a leak. 

I bought the clutch anyway, just in case, went back to the house, opened the hood and sure enough, the tank was empty. I text a picture of the empty tank and text it to Fred, who said he’d troubleshoot the car, but I wanted to narrow down the problem so Fred wouldn’t charge me for “troubleshooting.”

Friday, I bought some brake fluid, poured it into the tank, and let it cycle, but the problem wasn’t fixed. I took a picture of 

Saturday, woke up, drove to Fred’s house with 90’s girl following me. I turned into his neighborhood its ands a dump. Trash everywhere, ruined chain link fences surrounded beaten down trailers with busted windows and dirty blankets for curtains. 

I checked the GPS, which stated the actual house was a mile down, so I didn’t give up all hope, it’s still possible Fred lived in a decent neighborhood, so I give him a chance, thinking the neighborhood further down might be better, because that’s how my neighborhood is. There's a rundown trailer park, but then if you drive another ¾ of a mile and there are nice houses everywhere.

We drive further down, and I see Fred’s house off the side of the road, and it’s EVEN WORSE, so I keep driving because it didn’t feel right, so I tell 90’s girl I’m going to text the guy and say “sorry bro, seems kinda shady.”

I opened my phone and saw a text from Fred that said the house is actually his friend’s house because his friend lets him use the lifts and tools and stuff. 

90’s suggests I at least talk to the guy, get a feel for it, and if it really seems off, just leave. I was already there, so I circled back, pulled up and see two men standing standing in front of a run-down, beat-up trailer. The one on the right is a big guy with a beard and the one on the left is a nerdy skinny guy holding a bottle.

I get out of the car, walk up, and the one on the right introduces himself to me as Fred, while the one on the left introduces himself as Mark. They’re both super country.

Not 30 seconds after I walk up, a rooster comes out of who knows where and Mark starts chasing it, which prompts Fred to say, “Don’t chase the rooster, we don’t even know where it came from.”

I laugh.

Fred asks me to pull my car up, so I do, and when I get out of my car, his eyes light up and he starts rattling stats and specs off like he’s reading the manual word for word. He’s breaking it down like HES THE ONE WHO BUILT THE THING. He’s giving history of the car, the motor, even down to the type of metal the engine was built with.

I’m OK with cars, I know enough to not get swindled, but this Fred, Fred is in another dimension. This guy is a savant. A genius.

A WIZARD.

I started the car, he opened the hood, closed his eyes for a few moments, like he could hear the car speaking to him. 

“Hear that?” he asked.

I didn’t hear anything except the engine.

“It’s a faint ticking sound.”

He was right, I heard it.

He said the engine was ticking because some nut is a 1/100th of a inch off and he needs a feeler gauge to determine the appropriate clearance for the nut and it does that because a certain amount of engines were made incorrectly because the temperature of the machine was off by 1/1000 of an inch.

He also said it wasn’t the clutch but the master cylinder after looking at it for three seconds.

I offered to get the part, but he was nice enough to ride with me to the part store, instead of ordering the part, orders a part from a different car, which is $80 cheaper, and it fits because he knows the car so well he knew it would fit and also BE BETTER, and it fits and he fixes it in an hour and a half and I come back and its better than it was before. 

I paid Fred 60 extra dollars because I felt like I found a wizard genius who lives in a tower by himself in the woods.

90’s girl gloated the entire time.