Wizard's Bargain

The silence hung in the air long after Caelira spoke.

River stared at the cages again, at the broken bodies within them. His throat was dry, and his hands refused to unclench. His heart still hadn't slowed from the arena, but now it beat for another reason—dread. The shadows cast by the twisted trees around the clearing stretched longer, and the scent of damp earth clung to his skin. Every breath tasted of fear and foreign soil.

Caelira turned to him, eyes like sharpened steel. "They have a wizard. We will keep you."

River blinked. "What?"

"You will live here, in this place. Among the broken and the watched," Caelira said. Her voice was as calm as falling snow and just as cold. "We will allow it. Because we need answers. And you, banished as you are, have nothing better to do."

She started to walk again, motioning him to follow deeper into the clearing. Her boots didn't crunch against the leaves—they glided. The warriors in the distance didn't speak or question. River felt like he was walking alongside a legend. A dangerous one.

"Women are not born with magic here. Not in our bloodlines. And those who are—like you—are either thrown away... or they run. That is how many of us found this land."

The question that had plagued River since he first laid eyes on the Amazon Domain finally snapped into place. That's how they multiply without men.

Not that it mattered right now.

What mattered was this: he was trapped. Doomed.

He had no control over the magic pulsing in his veins. He couldn't predict the system that spoke in riddles, handed him absurd skills like 'Touch of Death,' and now saddled him with attention he neither wanted nor understood. The weight of expectation was beginning to crush his shoulders.

But he couldn't go back—not to Isen's world, not to the High Realms. Not until he figured out what the hell was happening to him.

So he did what good liars do.

He lied.

River squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. "Alright," he said, puffing his chest like a knight who hadn't nearly wet himself earlier. "I'll find a solution. I'm sure I can."

Caelira nodded once. "Then you shall have your own quarters."

She snapped her fingers.

Within minutes, warriors moved like an assembly line. Logs were carried. Walls were raised. A roof was set. And in less than an hour, a full hut stood at the edge of the clearing—simple but solid, with smoke already trailing from the small stone chimney.

They even gave him guards.

Two of them. Towering. Stoic. Armed to the teeth. River swore one of them didn't blink once during the entire construction.

River stared at his new home. "Well… at least it's not a cage."

He stepped inside. The hut smelled like cedar and smoke, warm and clean. A modest bed, a wooden desk, and a table set with water and dried meat waited for him. The walls were bare but sturdy, and a small circular window let in a thin stream of late afternoon light.

But despite the comfort, dread pooled in his chest.

What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to help anyone when he couldn't even control his own magic? What was he even doing in this world? He rubbed at the back of his neck, pacing, the wooden floor creaking underfoot.

"Where is Isen?" he muttered, pacing the length of the small room. "What happened to him?"

A familiar chime rang in his mind:

[Wish Granted]

[Special Skill Acquired: Knowledge of Isen]

River froze.

"Knowledge of Isen?" he repeated, brows furrowing. "What does that mean?"

Then, in his own voice—but heavier, deeper—another spoke.

His voice.

Isen's voice.

"It is the collective data of Isen Faelir's knowledge within this world."

River blinked. "You're... me?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to browse the archives?"

River's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

"Yes!" he shouted. "Absolutely yes!"

The hut flickered.

No, not the hut—his vision.

The room around him dimmed as countless glowing scrolls and books manifested mid-air, rotating in a wide circle. Runes. Maps. Diagrams. Spells. Dozens, maybe hundreds, all tagged with dates, annotations, and footnotes in Isen's handwriting. His real handwriting.

A gasp left him as he reached for the nearest one—a diagram of ley lines across the Amazon Domain. Magic wells. Sources of arcane power.

He stared.

He couldn't cast. Couldn't conjure.

But this?

This he could read.

And as he did, the system chimed again:

[Passive Skill Activated: Scholar's Focus]

[Your memory retention and comprehension rate are now enhanced while studying magic.]

River didn't know what the hell was happening.

But for the first time since he arrived... he finally had a way forward.

He reached for another scroll, this one etched with the title "The High Realms." The moment his fingers brushed the surface, his surroundings transformed again. A white city unfolded in front of him. Not an illusion—more like a projection. Towers so high they kissed the clouds. Roads paved in silverstone. Bridges arcing over canals of blue flame. Floating carriages. Men in robes channeling magic, crafting reality like potters molding clay.

"The High Realms," Isen's voice narrated, "is the cradle of male arcana. Women are unable to wield magic, and the world is ruled through ancient bloodlines empowered by law and light."

River whistled low. "No wonder I got booted."

He browsed until nightfall. Every page, every scroll, every vision was a window into a life he didn't remember living—but felt deeply, painfully familiar. He was learning. Fast. Hours passed, but he barely noticed. The hut darkened, the fire crackled low in the hearth, but his mind blazed.

He finally asked, "Where is Isen now?"

There was a pause.

Then the voice responded:

"Isen is here. Isen is you... and I."

River let out a groan. "Of course it wasn't going to be that easy."

He waved his hand. The vision dispersed like smoke.

He looked out the small window. His two guards were still standing outside, motionless, like statues carved by the gods of war.

He stepped outside and raised his voice, half joking, half desperate. "How about a meal?"