Chapter Text
FINAL BOOK DRAFT
(to be examined)
The Storyteller and The Mage
Book Five of “The Chronicles of The Mage” Series
Epilogue
by Michael Wheeler
Time cast its spell on all of them.
The Bard went on to pursue the wonders of alchemy, gracing the scholars with his vast knowledge of science and sorcery.
The Ranger and Zoomer traveled the seas hand in hand, exploring the world of magic and mystery.
The Wizard found their own path against the foreign lands, seeking a companionship of his own that was soon to come.
As for the Mage…
The Storyteller could not tell you where she had gone, for he did not know so himself. However, the spirit of her legacy continued to uphold, forever known to the people of the lands. A tale remembered by all.
And yet… the Storyteller—above all—cannot let the legend of the Mage go. Although it seemed foolish for most, he carried with him the hope of the Mage one day returning. Resolute in his belief.
So on and on did time went, yet the Mage never graced the lands again. The Storyteller, with all his pen and paper, continued to write about the magic she had left behind, immortalizing that piece of her into every stroke he made.
The story continued, but the Storyteller remained where the Mage’s chapter concluded.
Always and together.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
It’s 10 AM on a Friday when his editor breaks the news to him.
“Y’know,” Robert muses, fiddling with the ends of the page. “If I didn’t know you any better, I would think that you’re depressed.”
Seated opposite from his editor, Mike taps his pointer finger on the chair handle repeatedly. If there was any hint of discontent from Robert's face, he doesn’t show it. Only, he knew too well the underwhelming reaction couldn’t be any good either.
Mike tries to slump back more comfortably and glances around the small office. There were more crumpled papers and empty coffee cups lying around the room since the last time he visited, which can only mean his editor had been stressed out of his mind about some author’s writing. Mike could only hope it wasn’t his.
“Well, you know what they say,” Mike replies, grinning at him. “It takes one to know one.”
Robert doesn’t so much as smile. “I’ll have you know, Michael, that I am trying my best here to make all of these.” He gestures to the manuscripts laid down on his desk. “Work out for you. However, if you don’t take this seriously, I have no choice but to cancel the release of your book this year.”
Mike straightens in his chair, mouth opening in protest. “You can’t do that. It’s already announced to come out in a few months.”
“Oh, but I can,” Robert, the fucking psychopath, sing-songs. Mike could strangle him. “I’ll just say you haven’t finished it yet.”
“But I have. You literally have the copy right in front of you.” He points to the papers before them.
“What? This thing?” Robert takes the manuscript and waves it in front of him. “This is nothing,” his editor states, dumping it once again on the desk without a care in the world, messing up the pages.
In the years past since Vecna’s defeat, Mike tried really hard to reign in his temper. It took him almost ending it all, his mom breaking down, and his sister begging for him to please, please see someone for him to finally try and change his ways. One of the things he knew now was that nothing could be truly solved through heated arguments. These days, there was only so much in this world that would get him to break his composure. This might just be one of them.
“Excuse me?” Mike lets out through gritted teeth, gradually losing his patience. He was not above a scream fest—now that he thinks about it. He was not above one at all.
Robert, however, just sighs and massages his forehead together. “Look, kid. This isn't gonna work.”
Mike’s about to throw a fit, he really is, but he chooses the mature way—like his therapist would’ve wanted—and tries to hear his editor out. “And why not?”
“Let’s just say your ending is too… devastating for the readers.” Robert crosses his arms together and looks at him directly in the face. “It won't sell. That’s the reality. You have to change the ending or else the whole book is getting scrapped. Write me a happy one and then we’ll see where we can go.”
This time, he couldn't hold it in. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”
“Language, boy.”
“This is ridiculous!” Mike snaps, standing up from his chair. “It's my story. I get to decide on what the ending should be. You don't get to tell me what I can or cannot write in it.”
“Maybe not,” Robert concedes. “But I can advise you anyway.”
Mike barks out a butter laugh. “Oh you call this advice? You threatening to not publish my book because I didn't give you the ending you wanted? That’s what you call advice?!"
Robert takes his glasses off and sighs deeply. “Can you please just sit down for a moment and listen to me?”
Reluctantly, Mike sits down as his editor watches, unimpressed by the whole display.
“Yes, thank you for that.” Robert rolls his eyes and crosses his fingers together. “I’ll be honest here, your ending is too melancholic. The readers won’t be happy about it. The publishing company won’t be happy about it. Heck, I don’t even think you’re happy about it.” He gives him a long, searching look. “Are you?”
Mike looks away, tempted to just leave all together. Suddenly, the room feels like a giant glass jar, its curved sides enclosing around him. “It doesn't matter what I think.”
“You’re quite literally the writer.”
“It’s a story that’s been done before, I’m just writing it down again on paper.”
“Well, can you write it down on a happier note?” Robert asks, sarcasm dripping into every word. When Mike doesn’t say anything, he looks down and sighs once again. “You know I’m on your side, kid. Why else would I take on your story when you were just eighteen?”
Mike shakes his head. He knew it was the truth. Distantly, he already knows his editor just wanted the best for his work.
When he first wrote the story for his first book, he sourced out a bunch of editors and publishing companies that refused to read a single word from his manuscript. Everyone said he was too young and underqualified to publish a story. It was Robert who took him seriously when no one else had, replying back to his mail saying he wanted to read more.
Ten years later and Robert’s still the only one taking his writing seriously. The fifty year old man just doesn't know when to quit, apparently. Mike huffs, sinking further into his seat. “I know that.”
“Good.” Robert nods, leaning against his chair. “Now, in the spirit of being honest, I think you’re overworking yourself and that's why it makes you all grumpy and prone to irritation.”
Mike snorts. “You sound like my shrink.”
“Wise man.”
“She’s a woman.”
“Whatever.” Robert waves his hand dismissively. “And anyways, what I really wanted to say was that you should take a break.”
“A break,” Mike deadpans.
His editor rolls his eyes. “Yes, a break. This would be good for you. Relax a bit, come back to the story, and then maybe get me that happy ending the people would kill both you and me to have.”
Mike doesn't say anything. He regrets hearing him out already. Because how could he tell Robert that he already tried that and failed? He couldn't write a happy ending because there wasn't a happy ending—not for him, not for her, and not for the mage in his story.
It took him years to acknowledge the conclusion they dealt with. Most days, he doesn’t even know if he already has. He wasn't about to tear himself open again and watch as his own fantasy bleeds into the pages of his writing, not when it got destroyed the moment he was ripped apart from her embrace.
The world would just have to accept it like he did—like he is forced to do. Every single day of his life.
Unfortunately, his editor was just not listening. “You get a month off.” He was about to open his mouth but Robert quickly adds, “And no you can't argue with me on this because I’ve already decided. I don't care what you do or where you go as long as you keep your hands in your pockets and feel the air around you.”
Mike curses and slaps a hand to his face. “You know nothing’s gonna change.”
“Sure, it will. A lot can happen in a month, kid, just wait and see.”
“Ah yes, a month of walking around my house,” Mike quips in a false note of positivity. “How life changing.”
“That's the spirit.”
Mike stares down at his editor with all the frustration of a prisoner sentenced to jail. He lets out a long groan.
This was going to be a long month.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Mike is about to lose his goddamn mind. It’s been five days since he was basically fired from his job and not one moment did he feel like a “changed man”. He wishes he could say the past few days have been eventful, but no. He has been sitting on his ass and rewriting the epilogue for his novel over and over again—contrary to Robert’s advice.
It didn't seem to matter though. Despite revising a thousand times, the ending stayed the same. The mage was gone—just how she had always been. Mike didn't know any other way to end it. If he knew how, he would've done so a long time ago.
Before he could sink further into his thoughts, the doorbell rang. He groaned loudly into his pillow. It was only six past seven, decidedly too early for anyone to be at his doorstep. Never mind the fact that he’d actually been awake for about thirty minutes now contemplating his life choices. A man needs his rest, alright?
He stands up from his bed—hating everything—and heads straight to the door. To his surprise, Dustin, Will, and Lucas greet him from the other side.
“What the hell are yo—”
“It's Code Zero,” Will cuts in before he could finish asking. His friend’s eyes are wide as his head slightly edges to the right, pointing to Lucas’ direction.
That’s when Mike notices the haunted look on Lucas’ eyes. Deep shadows form around his friend’s sunken eyes as Dustin holds him up on his shoulder. His clothes are noticeably wrinkled all over, suggesting that he's been in that white polo shirt since at least a whole night. Even without leaning in, Mike could smell the remnants of alcohol on his breath.
“Oh shit,” Mike curses, realizing this could only mean one thing.
“Can we get a fucking move on, Wheeler?” Dustin interjects impatiently. “Lucas isn't as light as he thinks he is and I’m not as muscular as everyone thinks I am.”
Mike doesn’t want to say that no one really thinks that, so he just hurries and opens the door wider to let them in. Will helps Dustin carry over Lucas’ body towards the couch. Mike closes the door and is in front of them in a second.
“What happened?”
“Max,” Will and Dustin say at the same time. The both of them find a place to sit, letting out a deep sigh as they sink into the comfort of Mike’s purple couches on the opposite side of the table.
“Yeah no shit Max happened. I mean what happened this time?” Mike watches near the mantel as Lucas, still as dazed as earlier, finally cocks his head up to stare at him.
After a few seconds, his friend croaks out, “She broke up with me.”
Mike raises a brow. Of course, he knew that already judging by the looks of it. Over the years, he and his friends developed a phrase to address certain emergency friend group issues. “Code Zero” typically means Lucas and Max had a fight. The severity of it varies from ‘they broke up’ to ‘they’re currently planning each other’s deaths’.
Usually, it's always Lucas who they hear out first in the argument. Then later on, they listen to Max’s side of the story as well. They try to keep it absolutely fair between the two of them, lest Max would come for their throats and plan their deaths too.
Mike has honestly come a long way from hating Max when he was twelve, to being unable to imagine a life without her as one of his closest friends. After all, it was her he opened up to the most when El died. She was there for him when no one else was—understood him in a way only people who thought the world of El could.
Needless to say, he was mostly on her side now whenever she and Lucas had an argument. Crossing his arms, Mike gives Lucas a long look. “And why would she do that, pray tell?”
“I.. uh… I d-don’t—”
“We think she doesn't want to marry him,” Dustin answers for him, already looking through the scattered magazines on Mike’s coffee table.
Lucas gulps and falls back on the backrest. “I think she knew I was gonna propose. That’s why.. that’s why s-she—”
“That’s why she picked a fight while they were watching a movie,” Will finishes. His friend sheepishly shrugs when he turns his questioning gaze on him. “He might have already poured his heart out to us earlier.”
“About a hundred times,” Dustin adds. “Me and Will were just chilling in our apartment when Max called us to check up on him.”
“Wait, so Max called you guys?” When they both nod, Mike continues, “So she's not mad then. She's worried about you,” he says to Lucas.
“This is different.” Lucas shakes his head. “It felt like she knew what I was gonna say and this was her response.”
“Dude,” Mike assures him. “Trust me, she loves you.”
“Yeah,” Will agrees with him, turning to face Lucas as well. “Maybe she really was just pissed off about your argument.”
“It was about pineapple on pizza.”
“Maybe she just really loves them, man,” Dustin comments off-handedly, flipping a page on the zine.
“She threw up when she accidentally ate one.”
“That’s…” Mike wrinkles his forehead, trying not to imagine it but ultimately failing. “Unfortunate.”
Will snorts but Lucas glares at him. “Sorry...”
Lucas rolls his eyes and topples sideways, resting his head on the small couch pillows. “Regardless, she hates me now. My life is ruined. I’m never getting married. The trip to Iceland is fucking history.”
Mike perks up, standing a little straighter. “Wait, you're going to Iceland?”
“Not anymore, aren't I?” Lucas snaps at him.
“Jesus Christ, I was just asking.”
“Well, keep the dumb questions to yourself.”
“Get the fuck out of my house.”
“Alright guys, wrap it up,” Dustin interjects, putting the magazine down. He looks at the both of them placatingly. “Let's all just stay calm.”
Seated on the couch on his right, Will releases a deep sigh. “Can’t we just discuss this without all the yelling? It's seriously too early for that. Lucas,” he calls out, scowling at his friend. “You had both me and Dustin up all night listening to you wallow about this. Now is the time to plan out a rebuttal, not engage in another pity party for fuck’s sake.”
“Exactly,” Dustin agrees, raising an empty cup he took from the table in mock cheer. His eyes crinkle in amusement at Will cursing—which only really happens when he's extremely pissed off.
Lucas huffs and slowly relents. “Will’s right. I’m sorry, I’m just so freaked about all this.”
“It's alright,” Mike assures him. He stares at Lucas, noting how helpless his friend looks. He wasn't angry, not really. It's just that… he’s not sure why, but the mention of Iceland excited him for some odd reason. He’s never even been there, it was just one of those places that felt like too much of a pipedream to come true.
Mike doesn't want to admit it, but for a second—only for a second, he had thought about her. Again. She would have probably loved to go there. Especially in the summer, when it was warm and the light of the sun glinted against the crashing waterfalls—casting a perfect rainbow. A perfect beauty.
Like her.
“Mike?” Lucas calls out. “Mike!”
Abruptly, he snaps back to reality. The fantasy, once again, all in his head. “I’m sorry, what?”
“We were discussing what Lucas should do.” Will tells him, shooting him a questioning look, like he already knows what he was just thinking about.
Mike quickly looks away, his friend is just too damn perceptive sometimes. Suppose he can't blame him, it's happened way too many times now it's basically a pattern. He doesn't want to deal with another pep talk about finding peace though so instead, he paces around the room and pretends to actually think of something. He stops after a few moments and throws his hands up. “Gee, I don't know. Maybe just try talking to her again?”
“Ekk,” Dustin pipes out as if he's ejecting a red buzzer. “Too simple. You know women, they're never simple,” his friend explains though no one was quite eager to agree. “Try buying her a gift, dude. Max has been running my ear off last week about the new game she wanted to play, maybe give her that.”
Will can't help but groan at all of their ideas. “You guys are idiots. Max is not materialistic enough to take the bait. It's like you don't know her.”
“I thought I did..” Lucas brokenly uttered, grabbing a pillow and holding it closer to his chest.
Mike rolls his eyes. “Oh for the love of God.”
Will continues on, ignoring them. “Look, just be honest with her. Tell her how you really feel. Weren't you the one who always came back fighting and standing strong every time she broke up with you? This is the same thing. Just stand your ground and get her back.”
Creases form on Lucas’ forehead as he ponders on Will’s advice. After a long moment where they all pause and wait for his reaction, Lucas sits up straight and takes a deep breath. “I suppose that isn't the worst idea I’ve heard.”
“Good,” Will states, nodding his head. “Any more breakdowns we need to take care of?”
“I don't think s—,” Lucas cuts himself off, his eyes wide in horror. “Fuck.”
“Oh what now?” Dustin grumbles, visibly irritated now. Mike can relate to that. He, too, wishes to take a fucking seat if not for the couches getting entirely occupied by the group.
“I forgot to cancel the trip to Iceland,” Lucas says, a bit panicky. “The plane fucking leaves today.”
“What?!” The three of them exclaim in unison.
Lucas buries his face in his hands. “I forgot, alright? I was supposed to surprise her but then… well, shit happened and of fucking course Iceland was the last thing on my mind.”
“Can't you cancel it?” Will asks.
Lucas shakes his head. “Can't. The flight leaves in about four hours. Everything's already booked and paid for, as well as the cabin we're staying in there.”
Dustin lets out a low whistle. “Sounds like you have four hours to try and convince her to take you back, man.”
Dropping his hands from his face, Lucas laments. “You know Max, it always takes her about a week before she forgives me.”
“Well tell her you have a literal flight booked to Iceland.”
“We just established she's not materialistic enough to take the bait.”
“Dude, it's Iceland!”
“Dustin’s right,” Mike cuts in before things just go back and forth repeatedly between them. “There's no way she's gonna say no to that. Just go and find her right now.”
Will awkwardly looks at them. “I, uhm, may or may not know where Max is,” he starts, a bit sheepish. “You're not gonna like it.”
“Spit it out, Byers,” Lucas impatiently demands.
“She's in New York.”
The four of them are silent for a moment before Lucas makes the most pitiful of noise. “Fuck my life.”
“Unlucky, that,” Dustin snorts.
“Wait, New York?” Mike asks, bewildered. He looks around, seeing their expressions. “Since when did the break happen?”
“Saturday,” answers all three of them.
These fuckers. It’s been four days since the “breakup” and no one even thought to tell him sooner. Unbelievable. Mike was about to open his mouth and complain about being left out when Lucas dejectedly grunts out, “That's it, then. What a waste of purchase.”
“Or, maybe someone can come in your place instead,” Will suggests, grinning. “What time did you say it was again?”
Lucas glares at his audacity. “Around twelve. Hey, you have to pay me back. The trip ain’t cheap, you know.”
“Who says I’m going?” Will replies.
Lucas raises a brow, then shakes his head and turns to Dustin.
“Can't either, dude,” Dustin says apologetically. “Can't even afford my own car yet, you think I can pay for that shit?”
Finally, Lucas looks directly at him. “Mike?”
“I…”
“He probably can,” Will answered when he took too long to reply. “Didn't he tell us last Monday he was practically on vacation now?”
“Yeah,” Dustin readily agrees. Then, he smirks, looking directly at Mike. “Plus, he's got famous author money. He can pay for it.”
It's sort of true, but there was no way he was gonna confirm any of that to his friends. Some things are better kept to himself thank you very much—including the particulars of his bank account.
“Mike,” Lucas starts to plead and Mike honestly just wants to go back to his bed and never have this conversation again. “I’m begging you, man. I can't afford to waste this trip. If all goes well with Max, I’m getting married, dude! Do you want me broke on my wedding day when you know in your heart you had the chance to stop it?”
“Oh, here we go…”
“Need I remind you of all the fun times we shared together? Of all the games we played?” Lucas makes an attempt at the puppy dog eyes and Mike tries very hard not to cringe. When he doesn't make a move, his friend lets out a long groan. “Come on, I’ll even make you my best man.”
“Hey!” Both Dustin and Will cry out in protest.
“You’re all my best man,” Lucas quickly corrects. “Mike will just be closer to me, that's all.”
He snorts. “Wow. I feel so special.”
Lucas stands up and steps closer to him. He stretches his hand up like they were about to shake on a business deal—which, in hindsight, they kind of were, just without his total consent though. “What do you say, Wheeler? Please?”
He stares at the hand stretched towards him and feels himself slowly waver. In all the years since he had lost her, he never traveled far enough for it to mean anything, for it to be permanent. The only times he went away was when it was needed for work. Even then, he always went straight back home afterwards.
Because how can he leave when she can't? How can he go on to some place else knowing she should’ve been there with him? It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.
Every single person in his life told him that it didn't matter where he was. Because he could go to the ends of the earth and El would still be there with him, forever engraved in the very core of his soul. Bound, hidden, and locked away from the harsh truth of reality.
And yet… it was still different.
To carry her but not have her. To feel her but not touch her. To know that every part of you longs for someone who isn’t there.
His friends don't understand that though—they never can. Hawkins was the only place El knew where to find him. The only place she can come back to. It’s important for him to be there when she does, for her to find him there—waiting. Always waiting.
There were moments when Mike wanted to give it all up. To hell with everything and just live some place far away, but the thought of her coming back always stopped him. It was a hopeless, impossible thought, yet he can't find it in himself to surrender it.
Except now, the marvel of the dream he shared with his lover was closer than ever. There were waterfalls in Iceland, he knew. Three radiant ones if he was lucky. It was always their dream to travel together and see those three waterfalls. Maybe spend the rest of their lives there. Only now, he’s the only one who can fulfill it.
Mike stares at his friends’ hopeful gazes, urging him to accept. He thinks about the picture frame sitting on his desk, and the smaller identical version of it tucked neatly inside his wallet. He thinks about the ways in which he carried it with him everywhere he went, and how he could carry it there. So somehow, even from just the still photograph of her smile, she can see it there with him. The dream they once shared.
He lets himself sigh, a small weight lifting from his chest. He takes the hand Lucas had offered and shakes on it. “Only this time.”
“Fuck yeah,” his friends cheer as Lucas pulls him into a hug. “I owe you, dude.”
When he pulls away, the corners of his mouth tug into a wide smile. As Mike looks around, he notices Will and Dustin have the same, similar expressions. Looks like his friends also thought he needed a new change of scenery.
It doesn't last long though as Lucas sobers up immediately. “Okay, well now you need to get ready. Fast.”
Mike swears and rushes to prepare his things, cursing his friends all the way through. Seriously, can his life ever get easier?
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
His life, as it turns out, can get worse.
The trip to Iceland was in line for one the most chaotic moments in Mike’s life. Aside from the poor time management issues they faced from packing his bags to heading to the airport on time, his friend, Lucas—bless him—forgot to mention the damn details of his stay in Iceland.
Between mindlessly cramming his clothes onto his suitcase and getting stressed out of his mind during traffic while his friends panicked alongside him, both he and Lucas forgot to discuss the specifics. You know… like where he’ll fucking stay when he gets there.
The thing is though, Mike is already in Iceland—about two fucking hours ago. Tired, hungry, and more than a little bit depressed. If that wasn't bad enough, he can't even get a signal to save his life. How the hell is he supposed to contact Lucas now?!
And why the fuck is it raining?!
Thunder rumbles above him as his shoes sink into the wet pavement. The dark, punishing sky was doing its best to match his awful mood. There are droplets of rain trailing down his face, persistent despite the hood of his jacket trying to cover him.
He had hailed a taxi earlier and asked the driver to take him to the nearest city. But now that he thinks about it, it feels pretty fucking stupid to roam around a place he’s never been in. At night. In the pouring rain.
Shit.
Nice going, Wheeler.
Mike has been walking around the random streets of Iceland for a solid hour now, trying desperately to find a signal. Five more minutes of this and he’ll slowly run out of the little patience he has left. He was gonna kill Lucas.
Fuck it, Mike had just about decided to call for a cab and get to the closest hotel nearby when he runs into a small coffee shop.
“Oh, thank god,” Mike mutters to himself, walking quickly inside the cafe. Once he enters, instant relief passes through him. Inside was a dimly lit cafe with mismatched couches of different colors placed around randomly. The place was thankfully warm, slowly washing away the coldness in his bones.
As Mike makes his way further into the cafe towards the fortunately empty couch, from his right, a woman stands up quickly and bumps into him.
“Sorry,” she utters softly without looking back, voice small and strangely familiar that Mike holds his breath and stands there like an idiot for a few seconds.
He swallows a lump in his throat, shaking away the foolish thoughts starting to form in his head.
Shut up. It's impossible. You’re tired and exhausted and you’re hearing things like a madman. Stop it.
But when Mike looks down, he sees a small, silver ring linked around a chain necklace. The woman must have dropped it. Thoughtlessly, he picks it up and turns around, hoping to catch her.
The rain aggressively greets him once again. He pulls the jacket tighter around him and looks around. There, on the other side of the road, he spots her.
“Hey, lady!” Mike calls out. He curses as the traffic light’s about to turn red, stopping him from following. But just then, the woman turns to look at him and Mike’s breath catches.
That face… big doe eyes and pink lips pressed together in a confused pout reminds him of something that causes his heart to leap.
El.
Mike steps out from the sidewalk as a huge bus drives in front of him, making him abruptly move back just in time. When it completely passes through, the woman is already gone.
Mike’s hands are shaking. His entire body numb.
Oh god. This is insane. He's going crazy. He knows it. Mike takes a lungful of air, his breath coming in ragged pants. He flexes his hand, needing his blood to circulate his veins once more.
It wasn't her—couldn't be her. It was just his own desperate hope that was making him see things that weren't there.
And yet…
No. No. He won't go there. He can't handle it—not yet.
Mike grits his teeth, heart beating like a drum. He grips the ring so tight in his hand it makes a red mark. It takes all of him to turn around and walk back to the cafe.
There was no place for ghosts here.