Chadwick Rye

The heavy oak door of my enchanter’s workshop closed with a satisfying thunk, sealing me away from the bustle of the Mage Quarter. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting prismatic patterns across my workbench where the day’s prompt lay inscribed on parchment: “If you could be someone else for a day, who would you be, and why?”

My quill hovered above fresh parchment, its shadow dancing like a curious specter across the blank canvas. Such an innocent question for those who had never tasted transformation magic.

*If they only knew.*

I traced my fingers along the thin silver scar that curved from my temple to my jaw—a permanent reminder of my first shapeshifting attempt at the Academy. The spell had unraveled halfway through, leaving me caught between forms like a painting smudged before the paint dried. Master Thorne had saved my life, though not without cost.

“Veridian,” I whispered to my familiar, a jade-scaled salamander who dozed atop a warm crystal. “What should I tell them? The truth?”

Veridian opened one obsidian eye, his tail flicking with mild interest before he settled back into slumber.

How could I explain that I had been someone else—many someone elses—and that each transformation left echoes in my bones? The Collegium would revoke my license if they knew I still practiced the forbidden arts.

I dipped my quill and began to write:

—

I would choose to be Lorekeeper Erissa for a single day—not for her renowned beauty nor her position as the Queen’s confidante, though many would select her for those reasons alone. No, I would choose Erissa because she carries the weight of forgotten histories in her memory.

The Lorekeeper’s gift is singular and mysterious. Stories claim that when she touches ancient objects, she experiences the memories they contain, not as distant visions but as lived experiences. She feels the hands that shaped them, hears the voices that surrounded them, tastes the air of centuries long passed.

Imagine holding the Crown of Seven Stars and feeling the burden of its first wearer settling across your shoulders. Picture tracing your fingers along the Obsidian Scrolls and knowing the desperate hope of the mage who inscribed them as the Fading Plague consumed her city.

For one day, I would walk through the Royal Archives seeing not just artifacts and relics, but windows into lost worlds. I would experience history as it truly was—messy, contradictory, vibrant with details no chronicler could capture.

The histories I study feel incomplete, like constellations with missing stars. Dates, names, and events tell us what happened but rarely why. How did it feel to stand on the walls during the Siege of Thornkeep? What private doubts plagued Emperor Malius before he ordered the destruction of the Crystal Library?

One day seeing through Erissa’s eyes might answer questions that have haunted scholars for generations. Does she recognize fabrications in our accepted histories? Has she glimpsed truths too dangerous to share?

Perhaps more selfishly, I wonder what it would be like to experience such intimate connection to the past without the disorientation and pain that accompanies my own methods. To touch history and emerge unchanged, bearing only knowledge rather than scars.

—

I set down my quill, the confession of my true desires spreading across the parchment like spilled wine. The scripted lie felt hollow compared to what I truly wished to say: that I had been others before—a merchant’s wife to infiltrate the Silk Guild, a palace guard to access the forbidden wing of the Royal Library, even, briefly and most dangerously, a councillor’s secretary to access records of magical anomalies.

Each transformation exacted its price. Sometimes physical—the silver scar, the occasional tremble in my left hand, the dreams where I forget which body is truly mine. Sometimes deeper—memories that don’t belong to me, cravings for foods I’ve never actually tasted, reflexive responses to names that were never mine.

Outside my window, the evening bells of the Collegium began their somber toll, calling students to their evening meal. The sound vibrated through glass and stone, through flesh and bone, a reminder of time’s passage.

I reread my answer, this sanitized version of truth. Erissa would indeed be my choice, though not merely to access history. I would choose her because she experiences the memories of others without losing herself. She touches the past but returns whole.

Perhaps tomorrow I would burn this confession and submit something more appropriate to the Collegium’s standards. Something about being a famous explorer or a celebrated artist. Something without the dangerous undercurrent of forbidden magic.

But tonight, beneath the glow of enchanted lamps, I would allow myself this small honesty. I sealed the parchment with emerald wax, pressing my ring into the molten surface. The salamander sigil stared back at me—a creature known for changing its colors, for adapting, for surviving.

“Come, Veridian,” I whispered to my drowsy familiar. “Time to retire. Tomorrow brings another transformation.”

The salamander climbed to my shoulder, his tiny claws pricking through the fabric of my robe. He understood, in his simple way, the burden of changing forms. After all, he had once been a common garden newt before my magic had awakened something greater within him.

We were both shapeshifters in our fashion, neither fully one thing nor another. And perhaps that was answer enough.

If you like this little story please consider subscribing to my blog so that you don’t miss any new ones. Also you can check out other stories that I have written and are currently writing like Forbidden Bond, a tale about a human falling in love with a Half goblin while being hunted down by fallen angels and evil nobles. Or you can check out Chronicles of the Giantess and follow Valorie the Giantess as she adventures across the land of Calladan. Please feel free to leave me a comment. I would love to know what you think about any of the stories.