I WAS Humanity's HOPE-Chapter 27: Ghost of Past

Late-afternoon light streamed outside Mage Guild’s headquarters, filtering through a lattice of twisted iron gates. Richard, Trevor, and Oren had just slipped free of their final session—a gruelling lecture on advanced spell theory—when Trevor declared that he needed a pick-me-up.

Richard hardly protested; even he, for all his stamina, felt mentally taxed from the day’s relentless barrage of arcane formulae.

It wasn’t hard, just boring.

Together, they cut across the stone walkway, weaving past a cluster of busy mages, until they emerged onto the cobbled street beyond the Guild’s walls.

The city hummed gently in the background, pedestrians chatted in subdued tones, and the glow of lamplight began to flicker in windows as dusk drew near.

"Do we need an extra coffee for Nadia as well?" Oren asked, adjusting the satchel slung over his shoulder.

"Definitely," Trevor replied, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. "She’ll claim she doesn’t want one, but she’ll pinch Richard’s the moment we get back if we don’t bring her her own."

Richard let out a low chuckle, recalling Nadia’s frequent complaints about the Guild’s cheap instant brews. "She’s got a sweet tooth, though," he added, half to himself. "Better get her a latte."

Trevor shot him a knowing look. "Is that so? Seems you know her preferences quite well."

Richard shrugged, neither confirming nor denying Trevor’s obvious insinuation. Instead, he simply tilted his head towards Oren. "We’ll grab four coffees, then—two lattes, a black for me, and...?" 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"Espresso," Oren said quietly. "Need something strong after that lecture."

"Aren’t you the refined one?" Trevor teased, elbowing Oren lightly. The shorter boy merely shrugged in faint embarrassment.

"What are you talking about? That’s definitely our mighty Richard."

Oren’s reply got Trevor nodding fervently and the two boys started making fun of Richard’s coolness.

Richard rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his stoic demeanor despite the teasing. "At least I’ve never spilled coffee on a senior mage," he retorted, making Trevor flush at the memory of last week’s incident. His attempt at dignified silence only made his friends laugh harder.

They came upon a small café, wedged between a barber’s shop and a bakery. Inside, the warm scent of roasted beans and freshly baked pastries wrapped around them like a welcoming blanket.

The place was modest—a handful of tables, dim overhead lighting, and a chalkboard menu listing everything from plain filter coffees to frothy cappuccinos. A lone barista hurried to keep up with the smattering of customers perched at the counter.

Richard leaned in, placing their order. Despite the queue, the barista looked unruffled, hands deftly handling cups and swirling steamed milk. Trevor and Oren stepped aside to wait by a small table, the former studying a stand of glossy brochures advertising new roasts.

Half-listening to the hiss of the espresso machine, Richard flicked his gaze out the front window.

People bustled past in the waning daylight—businessmen hurrying home, elderly couples out for evening strolls, a pair of city watchmen chatting in the corner. All rather ordinary.

Then he saw him.

A middle-aged man stood on the pavement across the street, partially obscured by the shadows of a streetlamp. His figure was lean, clad in a worn overcoat, and he had an air of quiet solemnity about him. At first, the man’s face was turned away, but when he pivoted slightly, Richard’s pulse gave a sudden leap.

The shape of the jawline. The greying hair at the temples. The posture. It was all disturbingly familiar, like a photograph dredged from the back of his mind. For a heartbeat, Richard couldn’t look away.

"That can’t be..." he whispered, stepping unconsciously towards the window. A creeping sense of unreality slid through him. He hadn’t seen that face in years—before the betrayal, before the rebirth. It was as though a fragment of his old life had wrenched itself free and wandered into the present. "How can—"

"Richard!"

Trevor’s voice came from just behind him. He felt a hand clap his shoulder. The abrupt contact jolted him, and he half-turned towards Trevor reflexively.

"What is it?" Trevor asked, brow furrowed. "Barista’s calling your name."

Richard blinked, turning to the counter—indeed, the barista was beckoning, four hot drinks lined up and ready.

When he whipped his gaze back to the window, the man across the street was gone. The lamppost stood alone, shining down on the quiet walkway and the passing throng of strangers. No sign of that familiar figure.

"Everything all right?" Trevor pressed, concern evident in his tone.

Richard’s heart drummed an irregular beat, and for a second he considered stepping outside to check—but the street was crowded enough that a single man could vanish with ease. Searching now would likely prove pointless.

"It’s nothing," Richard muttered, though his voice was unsteady. "It can’t be."

Trevor and Oren traded looks, but neither pressed him further. Instead, Richard exhaled softly, forcing his shoulders to relax. He helped Trevor gather the cardboard tray, balancing the four cups—two lattes, a black coffee, and an espresso.

"Cheers," the barista called out, politely oblivious to Richard’s momentary turmoil. Richard nodded in return, offering a perfunctory thanks before ducking out of the café.

Outside, the cool air brushed against his face, and he took a long, calming breath. The sky had deepened to a cloudy purple, the day’s final light fading behind the roofs in a gilded glow. Trevor and Oren flanked him, each cradling their own drink.

"Shall we...?" Oren ventured, as if unsure whether they were still headed back to the Guild.

Richard cleared his throat, once again scanning the street. No sign of that man.

Was it just a trick of the light?

Something about the memory that face stirred made him uneasy—a sense of old wounds threatening to split open.

"Let’s go," he said shortly, forcing his feet to move. He led the way, merging with the light foot traffic heading towards the Mage Guild’s entrance.

Trevor tried to lighten the tension by rattling off some small talk about tomorrow’s schedule, mentioning that the advanced illusions class might be postponed. Oren humoured him with a few murmured comments, but Richard offered only terse responses, his mind stuck in the swirling confusion of that brief encounter.

They passed through the archway leading into the Guild’s courtyard, the runic lanterns flickering overhead. The imposing oak doors stood open, revealing a warm glow from within. Even at this hour, a few robed apprentices hustled in and out, carrying stacks of parchment or wrinkled grimoires.

As they crossed the threshold, Trevor took the lead. "Nadia’s probably in the reading lounge," he said. "She said she needed to cram for that advanced spell quiz."

Oren nodded. "You want me to look for her?"

Richard forced a small grunt of assent. "Go on. I’ll catch up."

The pair departed, leaving Richard alone in the bustling hall. He glanced back one final time at the world outside. The thick door began to swing shut, sealing out the city’s distant noise and gloom.

Within the Guild’s familiar corridors, a swirl of voices, footsteps, and magical hums greeted him. Yet he couldn’t banish the image of that mysterious middle-aged man from his mind. He knew that face. Knew it better than he liked to admit.

He tightened his grip on the spare coffee cup in his hand—Nadia’s latte—trying to steady himself. "It can’t be," he whispered once more, scarcely audible over the surrounding bustle.

But a tremor in his voice betrayed the lingering doubt that echoed like a warning in his bones.

After a minute, Richard decided that he’d forget about the encounter as it couldn’t have been real, and followed his friends’ path.

A low murmur of laughter carried from one of the adjoining chambers, sharp and derisive. He turned his head towards it instinctively.

Through the open archway of the side hall, he spotted them: Trevor and Oren, standing stiffly in the centre of a loose circle formed by at least twenty other apprentices. A quick glance told him they weren’t his classmates.

They were senior students, one semester ahead, distinguished by their deeper blue sashes that signified their advanced rank.

Their faces were flushed with amusement, some hiding their grins behind half-hearted attempts at civility, others openly sneering. One lanky boy with a pointed chin was miming a clumsy wand flourish, drawing raucous laughter from his peers. Another girl, arms crossed and smirking, called out something that was almost too low for Richard to catch.

"Nice try with that spell earlier," the girl’s cruel whisper carried. "Maybe if you wave your arms harder next time, something might actually happen."

Oren looked miserable, his satchel clutched protectively to his chest. Trevor, ever more brash, wore a scowl that he tried to twist into a smile, as if refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing him crack.

Richard’s hands tightened involuntarily the two coffee cups.

He didn’t have to guess what had happened.

Are these bastards for real?

Sigh.

He took a look around, finding a table and putting the two coffees on it.

Having done that, he silently stepped into the room, making sure his presence wasn’t noted and closed shut the door.