Panic! At the Blacktop

Your heart rate jumps as fear takes over your mind. You stare unblinking at Aster's form outlined in the flames. Despite your confusion, on some level you instinctually understand what's happening here, even as your conscious thoughts take a moment to catch up. You must have cast the spell accidentally. You did this. You set Aster on fire. And what did your grimoire say the spell does? With a growing horror, you remember write clearly.

It unmakes.

Except... Despite your fearful revelation, you realize you can still see Aster's health bar. It's back to its normal red color, no longer tinted blue. You'd expect it to deplete as your magic wracks Aster's body, but... it's not. It's not going down at all, in fact. The bar is full, and the number stays where it's been all morning, at a perfect 100/100.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the fire vanishes. Despite the roaring flames that took over his form not a second ago, Aster looks completely unharmed. His clothes, his hair, everything... it's perfectly fine. Hell, he's not even singed.

Aster looks up at you, bewildered. "What the fuck was that?"

You begin to formulate an explanation or excuse, but your response catches in your throat. "...What the fuck are those?" you ask, pointing at his head. Because there's something quite obviously different about Aster now. Sticking out of his hair on both sides of his head are a pair of bone white horns. They must be at least a foot long each, and they turn upwards halfway down their length. Kind of like a bull's horns.

Aster cocks his head to the side in confusion, then slowly reaches up to the side of his head where you're pointing. As he runs his hands along the bony protrusions, you can see his face transition from a mask of confusion to one of terror. He uses his fingers to test the sharpness of their points, then gently wraps his hands around their midsections, preparing to pull them off of his head. You briefly hope that they are simply cheap costume props, that all of this is simply a bad joke, and he'll just pull them off with a pop. Unfortunately, that hope is nothing more than supremely wishful thinking. They do not, in fact, "pop off" as he tries to remove them. In fact, as he yanks outward, you see him wince in obvious pain.

Thems horns. Thems real horns.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!" he shouts, his hands still futiley pulling on his new cranial accessories.

"I DON'T KNOW," you respond in kind, though you quickly regret it. You lower your voice to a whisper once more. "Dude, I do not know what's going on, and whatever it is I just did, I sure as shit didn't do it on purpose."

Aster locks eyes with you, and you see a change in his expression. What was once distress quickly turns to anger. He lowers his hands to his side, balling them into fists. "You're hiding something, Ken," he says quietly. He points an accusing finger at your chest. "You've been hiding something all fucking morning. Did you think I wouldn't notice that weird book? Did you think I wouldn't notice how spaced out you've been?"

You can't keep the guilt off your face, and it's obvious from his rage that Aster can tell. "Answer me" he hisses forcefully, his voice seething. "What. Did you. Do."

You supress the urge to back away. Aster's not exactly imposing, but you're shaken enough considering the circumstances to be intimidated regardless. Could you even lie to him at this point? He's got you dead to rights. Jesus Christ, you've fucked up so bad. You were given the gift of magic less than 24 hours ago, and you've already fucked it up SO BAD. How can you possibly fix things at this point? How are you supposed to apologize to Aster for giving him a fucking skull deformity? And most importantly, how are you going to explain this to Grampa?

But before you can give him anything resembling an answer, the digitized chime of the school bell lets you know that your lunch period is at an end.

The two of you stand there for a moment. Despite the heat of the bright midday sun, you feel a shiver up your spine. A thousand thoughts run through your head, most of them telling you to run away... but then something else occurs to you. A potentially stupid and ruinous idea, but an idea nonetheless.

You're a Wizard, Kenneth. It's time you start acting like one. You're the first to break the silence, as you muster up as much confidence as you can fake.

"I may have... cast a magic spell on you."

There's the beginning of an awkward silence between you, but the basic formation of a plan is beginning to percolate in your head, and you need to seize the initiative here. "We need to skip class," you continue, before Aster has a chance to react to your bizarre confession. "Long story short, I'm a Wizard. I come from a long line of Wizards, and we all have magic powers. I just learned about this yesterday. Also, I just accidentally cast my first real spell on you. One hundred percent my bad. I can give you the long version once we're on the road, but we gotta move before someone sees you and your... uh, condition. Magic is supposed to be secret, and I don't know what will happen to either of us if we break that secrecy. I am so sorry, dude, but we have to go."

Aster seems at least somewhat mollified by your sudden honesty and (false) confidence. His brow isn't nearly as furrowed as it was a moment ago, and he's stopped glaring daggers into you. "Okay. Okay. Ten minutes ago, I'd think you were crazy or playing a prank, but sure. You're a fucking wizard. Whatever." He throws his arms in the air in defeat, then seems to realize something. "Wait, you know I can't skip, dude. My mom will kill me."

"I think we're well past worrying about your mom, dude. You have HORNS growing out of your skull."

For a moment you're worried you might have pressed too far, and Aster gently rubs one of his horns absentmindedly. After some internal deliberation, his shoulders fall in resignation. "Where are we going then?"

You turn towards the parking lot and begin to stride with a sense of purpose, motioning for Aster to fall in step behind you, which he does. "If there's anyone who can help us right now," you say with more certainty than you really feel, "it's my Grampa."