Sworded Affair

Ironically, it was Emma's failed attempt at bringing the cat with her that convinced him to leave; darting away in the direction of the half-dug trenches the moment she got off of him.

"Oops," Emma muttered, watching him disappear into the nearest tunnel. "Sorry! I'll bring you some dried food later, okay?"

Receiving no response, Emma brushed off that entire encounter in favor of heading straight to her house. Checking under the doormat, she discovered that the spare key was gone, forcing her to undergo the indignity of knocking on her own front door, given she'd neglected to bring a pair during her hurried departure.

"Dad, are you home?" She called, hand raised and ready to summon Epitaph if it looked like the Bear was going to respond instead.

"Emma? You're back!"

Her fears proved unfounded as the door swung open, giving Emma her first look at her Dad since her fateful resurrection. Truthfully, it seemed as though little had changed despite the apocalypse; her Dad sported the same black business suit, shiny shoes and thick-rimmed glasses that he'd worn for as long as she could remember. His status likewise revealed nothing in particular, even his Level being easily attributable to a basic level of human fitness, or a particularly feisty feline for that matter. Admittedly, he did look rather out of sorts, shaking slightly in place and squinting as though he could barely see her, but Emma was willing to chalk that down to shock, or the need for a new pair of glasses, rather than anything magical in nature.

[Noah Knight - Level 1]

"That armor, isn't it from the basement?" Dad responded at last. "Wait, did you grab that so you could go off looking for me? How'd you even manage to put it on? Most plate wearers had a squire specifically to help them with that!"

"It wasn't quite a squire, but I did have some help as well," Emma deflected, well used to her Dad's random tangents. "Never mind that though; why is there a bear sleeping in the dining room?"

"Oh, that," Dad chuckled nervously. "He must have broken in after you left and before I got back from work. Made himself right at home, eating enough to go straight into hibernation, if you can believe it!"

"Want me to make him move?" Emma offered, summoning Epitaph into her hand as she advanced, seeing no need to hide her newfound abilities from her family.

Idly, she noted that whilst her Dad was startled by the blade's sudden appearance, he quickly mastered his expression, and indeed didn't seem all that surprised at the act of summoning itself, nor did he immediately follow up with questions about how she did it, as she'd come to expect from the very inquisitive man.

Looks like someone's introduced him to magic already, Emma concluded.

"There's no need for that," Dad interjected. "I've had an expert appraise the situation, and they said it's best if we just leave him to sleep. He should wander off after a few months, and all will be well."

"Is this the same expert who explained magical society to you?" Emma hypothesized, only for Dad to shake his head.

"No, no, this was Ryan from work. Him and his superiors, anyway."

"The veteran's affairs liaison at your office?" Emma raised an eyebrow. "Is he the one who's been digging trenches? Okay, fine, but if I was off the mark, then who's the practitioner?"

"Your Mother," Dad replied, the first time Emma had heard that turn of phrase without it being a schoolyard insult. "She couldn't stay here for long though; just enough time to give me the bare bones of what's going on before flying off again. Believe it or not, but apparently total societal collapse is keeping her very busy. I'm glad you're back though, she did mention that you'd arrive not long after her."

Stolen novel; please report.

[Objective: Find your Father completed!]

"Wonderful," Emma deadpanned, not at all surprised given everything she'd learned already. "Mind giving me a rundown? All of this was a big surprise to me, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Let's head upstairs," Dad suggested, leading them upstairs to what was once the laundry room. The washer and dryer were nowhere to be seen, replaced by what Emma recognized as the garden table and deckchairs, the former laden with a selection of books written in a script she couldn't recognize, alongside several cups of coffee.

[Middle English, predating the advent of the printing press but not by much, if I'm not mistaken. How quaint.]

"I take my meals up here now," Dad explained, answering her unspoken question. "Even if it's supposedly asleep, I'd rather not eat right next to a bear, it's just not good for my heart. Can I get you anything?"

"I ate on the way here," Emma shook her head. "So? Spill."

"Alright, alright, just keep in mind that this is only what your Mother told me, as I've not made much progress on the books she left behind." At that, her Dad gestured to the aforementioned tomes. "Not for a lack of trying either! I figure there's no harm telling you this now, but for the past decade and a half, I've worked as a language analyst at the Security Service, more commonly known as MI5, helping them decode and translate vital information to preserve the national security of the United Kingdom. Now, I'm fairly proud of my skills in languages, but this is some really old, The Canterbury Tales level stuff, which makes for very slow and difficult reading, even for me."

"Just the short version will be fine for now," Emma reassured him. "I may have some ideas on the rest afterwards, depending on what I hear."

"Alright then, ahem," Dad cleared his throat, slipping into what Emma recognized as his lecturing voice. "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…"

"Dad!" Emma facepalmed, immediately recognizing the beginning of Star Wars which, whilst magical in one sense, was definitely not what she was after.

"Sorry, sorry, I couldn't resist," Dad chuckled briefly, before his face lost its levity and he began anew.

"The Collective Unconscious. The unlimited potential of a world mired in contradiction; omnipotent yet blind, omnipresent yet deaf, omniscient yet dumb. It exists in every atom and every soul; invisible and immensely difficult to detect, yet responsible for many of the processes underpinning our existence. Ten thousand names for this presence have lived and died alongside humanity, outlasting the rise and fall of countless civilizations.

To the cultivators of the far east, it is the Will of Heaven that they defy, and aspire to one day reach. To magical girls in Japan and beyond, it is Hope personified, proof in motion of how emotions alone can reshape the world at a fundamental level. To the secret societies of Europe that inherited the legacy of the Freemasons, it is the True Will, the latent potential of every man, just waiting to be unlocked. To many more men of science and learning, they call this elusive and unexplained phenomenon Dark Energy, whilst countless other practitioners know the phenomenon simply as magic. All of these explanations and many more besides all exist in the world in tandem, and the key point to keep in mind here is that none of them are wrong."

Her Dad paused for a moment, taking a sip of coffee before clearing his throat again.

"Nothing has changed, fundamentally, in the nature of this power. What has waxed and waned throughout the ages is the ease with which it can be manipulated. When the threshold is low, magic peaks as the civilizations of the time enter an age of myth. Deities walk the earth alongside their legions, waging war upon one another, whilst the heavens themselves shake as giants among men pursue glory everlasting. Then, inevitably, the practitioners of the era overreach, they push too hard, too far, and the magic runs out. It becomes harder and harder to draw upon what little magic is left, fewer mortals awaken their potential with every passing year, and those who survive to endure this decay recede into the shadows, letting science fill the gaps in society's needs as they wait for bounteous times to return. The exact timing of each cycle varies, but on average a full cycle lasts for one thousand and one hundred years. In that time, magic peaks, then gradually declines to a nadir, then returning to the climb back up towards another peak. The previous peak was in the year 870 AD, and the most recent one?"

"It happened a week ago," Emma declared with certainty. "Does this apocalypse happen every cycle then? As magic peaks, a wave of mana arrives to destroy advanced technology, all as part of the process to reshape the world?"

"Ah, not quite," Her Dad shook his head. "No, usually the transition is gradual, the effects only really measurable from observing one generation to the next. As for what happened to make the transition so violent this time, well…"