“What else were you going to do?” Merlin asks. “The pool is cloudy, but I’ve seen you, you know.” He gestures at the scrying pool, which is dirty and nearly dry, barely a mud puddle now. “What have you done with your life? You missed magic so much you drowned yourself in its pale imitation. You’ve spent your years doing parlor tricks for mouth-breathing, gluttonous morons.”

Eric is stung. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Anything,” Merlin hisses. “You could have used that brain of yours. Do you know what kind of man can manipulate magic? Even without the raw power, you could have become rich beyond measure. You could have scraped the edges of the universe in math or science. Or you could have loved. Raised children. All you had to do was choose. But you knew, deep down. This is all you were ever meant to do. It’s all you wanted. It’s all you want now.”

Eric doesn’t care to admit that might be true.

“Now you’re back, because the fight is not over,” Merlin says. “There’s a new servant. A new vessel. And its Followers are working to bring about The End. Again. This is why your powers have returned. This is why you are here.”

“So let this generation’s Merlin handle it.”

“I can’t,” Merlin says. “The End already has the next one. There was a child meant to fill that role, but while you were off sulking, it claimed him. He’s lost to us now, because of you.”

Eric doesn’t feel like being blamed for this. “Then find another magician to stop him. That’s your job. I’m going to finally enjoy my life. Find another kid to fight your battles.”

Merlin laughs, coughs again, and black spittle stains his chin. “Boy, can’t you see what is in front of you? This is the last time you and I will speak. I cannot reach your world any longer. You are the only magician left, aside from the child. It is all up to you.”

It finally hits Eric. The desecration of the glade. The foul murk in the cave, the dried-up scrying pool, the coughing.

Merlin is dying. He looks weak. Eric can’t ever remember the old magician looking weak, despite being trapped here.

In this instant, Eric can see the small spark of what was once human in the magician beneath all those centuries. It’s nearly palpable now, the sheer accumulation of time, the number of lives that have passed, the dozens — hundreds — of children he’s met and trained and watched while stuck in this little cave.

Eric almost feels sorry for him, despite all the times he was sent out to do or die in his name.

Merlin waves his hand dismissively. “There’s nothing else I can tell you. You can leave now. Good luck. Try not to fail this time.”