The Guild Hall looked like a cathedral had mated with a library and produced an overachieving child that was now showing off for company. Vaulted ceilings stretched upward, covered in frescoes of magical battles that probably had historical significance but mostly just looked impressive. Books floated in orderly rows between shelves, occasionally pausing to turn their own pages with audible flip sounds. The air smelled of old paper, ozone, and the particular brand of pretension that came from centuries of accumulated academic superiority.
Chamberlain Finch led them through the main hall, his back so straight Evan wondered if he had a rod inserted somewhere uncomfortable. Possibly multiple rods. The man walked like he was being graded on posture.
"Remember, Lord Carter," Finch said without turning around. "The Guild Council represents the pinnacle of magical scholarship in the kingdom. Their approval—"
"Is about as likely as me not breaking something in the next five minutes," Evan finished. "Got it. Be polite, don't break anything, try not to offend anyone by existing too aggressively."
"That is... a crude but functional summary."
They stopped before a set of double doors carved with intricate runes that pulsed with soft light. The doors swung open without anyone touching them—probably some sort of magical automatic opener, which was both convenient and deeply unsettling.
Beyond them, a circular chamber with seven high-backed chairs arranged in a semi-circle. In each chair sat a mage, each looking more severe than the last. They had the collective expression of people who'd spent centuries accumulating wisdom and weren't impressed by anything anymore.
Evan felt like he was about to be interviewed for a job he didn't want by a panel of people who'd already decided he was unqualified but had to go through the motions anyway.
"Lord Evan Carter," said the mage in the center chair. He was ancient, with a beard that reached his knees and eyebrows that looked like they were planning world domination. His robes were deep purple, embroidered with silver moons and stars that actually moved across the fabric. "We understand you have... awakened."
"That's one word for it," Evan said. "I prefer 'catastrophically regained consciousness,' but 'awakened' works too."
The mage's eyebrows twitched. They definitely had opinions about his tone. "I am Archmage Valerius. These are my colleagues." He gestured vaguely at the other six mages, who all nodded in unsettling unison. "We have reviewed Appraiser Moore's preliminary findings. They are... concerning."
"Concerning how?" Evan asked. "Like 'we need to monitor this' concerning? Or 'we should probably lock him in a lead box' concerning? Because I've had both suggestions already and I'd like to know where you fall on the spectrum."
"Somewhere in between," said a younger mage with silver hair and eyes the color of a winter sky. She looked less severe than the others—more curious than judgmental. "Your magical signature is unprecedented. It doesn't just exceed known categories—it ignores them entirely. We've never seen anything quite like it."
Evan sighed. "Look, I get that I'm special. I've accepted that. But can we skip to the part where you tell me what you actually want? Because I've been awake for less than forty-eight hours, I'm running on questionable tea that tastes like a forest fire, I'm fairly certain my shoes are judging me, and I really need to know if there's any coffee in this dimension."
The mages exchanged glances. Evan could practically hear the telepathic conference: He's irreverent. Possibly dangerous. Definitely annoying. Also, what's coffee?
"We wish to understand the nature of your power," Archmage Valerius said. "To determine if it can be controlled. Studied. Perhaps... harnessed."
"Harnessed." Evan repeated the word slowly. "Like a horse."
"Like a resource," corrected the silver-haired mage.
"Same difference." Evan crossed his arms. The nearest floating book shuddered and dropped six inches before recovering, its pages fluttering in what looked like embarrassment. "Here's what I know: I wake up in a new body. Things break when I'm near them. I apparently vibrate crystals apart by existing. I don't know how I do it, and honestly, I'm not sure I want to. I'd settle for just... not breaking things. That's my goal. Non-breakage."
"But you must learn!" burst out a red-faced mage from the end. He was shaped like a barrel and had the kind of mustache that looked like it had its own personality. "Power unchecked is power dangerous! Power uncontrolled is power wasted!"
"Power checked is apparently power that breaks furniture," Evan shot back. "I'm not sure which is worse—breaking things on purpose or breaking them by accident. At least on purpose I'd feel like I had some control."
Emma, who had been leaning against the doorway trying to look innocent and failing spectacularly, snorted. The sound echoed in the chamber. All seven mages turned to look at her. She waved.
Archmage Valerius stroked his beard thoughtfully. The gesture took several seconds due to the beard's impressive length. "There is... another option. Training."
"Training," Evan said flatly.
"Under supervision. To develop control. To understand your limits."
"I'm pretty sure my limit is 'anything within fifty feet.' The bed was pretty far away and it still gave up."
"Precisely why training is necessary." The archmage leaned forward. "We propose assigning you a mentor. Someone experienced with... unusual magical phenomena. Someone who won't be afraid of you."
Evan had a bad feeling. "Who?"
The doors opened again. A man entered, moving with the cheerful confidence of someone who has never encountered a problem he couldn't solve by hitting it really hard and smiling.
He was built like a brick wall that had decided to take up smiling professionally. Broad shoulders that strained the seams of his coat. Wind-tousled hair that looked like it had just come from an adventure. An expression of perpetual good humor that suggested nothing in the world could possibly go wrong, and if it did, he'd just laugh about it.
"EVAN!" the man boomed, his voice echoing in the chamber like a friendly thunderclap. "Ross Hale, at your service! Heard you needed someone to show you the ropes! Or, you know, keep you from accidentally unraveling reality! Same thing, really!"
Evan looked at Ross. Ross beamed back with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever who'd discovered coffee.
"This," Evan said to the council, "is a terrible idea."
"Nonsense!" Ross clapped a hand on Evan's shoulder with enough force to make a normal person stumble. Evan didn't stumble, but the floor tile beneath him cracked in a perfect spiderweb pattern. "We'll have you sorted in no time! First lesson: how not to break things by breathing! It's easier than it sounds! Probably!"
"That's literally all I want," Evan muttered. "Just... non-breakage. Is that so much to ask?"
"Excellent! We start now!" Ross turned to the council. "With your permission, Archmage?"
Valerius nodded wearily. He looked like a man who'd long ago accepted that chaos was inevitable and had simply learned to live with it. "Just... try to keep the structural damage to a minimum. The last time we had an uncontrolled mage in the training grounds, we had to rebuild three walls."
"No promises!" Ross said cheerfully, steering Evan toward the door.
As they left, Evan heard the silver-haired mage sigh. "This is either going to be a remarkable success or a catastrophic failure."
"With those two," Archmage Valerius replied, "I suspect it will be both. Simultaneously. Repeatedly."
***