In the dimly lit stadium, a young Lyle sat beside George, sharing a bag of popcorn as they waited with bated breath. The crowd around them buzzed in excitement, anticipating the spectacle they were about to witness—the grand finale, featuring none other than O.D. Sterling.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a deep, authoritative voice echoed through the vast stadium, capturing everyone's attention, "Welcome to the final performance of the night. Presenting the greatest magician of all time, the wizard from far, far away, the Great Wizard, O.D. Sterling!"
A beam of light cut through the dark sky, highlighting the rebuilt Big Ben, now towering over the city as a symbol of London's rebirth. The crowd squinted, trying to make out the figure standing atop the clock, but the stadium's central screen displayed a close-up shot, revealing O.D. Sterling levitating gracefully above the historic tower.
Sterling tilted his head toward the sky, eyes closed in concentration. The camera zoomed in on his fingers, just as he had meticulously requested during rehearsal. He took a deep breath and, with a flourish, snapped his fingers.
In an instant, the famous Big Ben was engulfed in flames. The fire spread rapidly, climbing up Sterling's body, consuming him entirely. The audience clapped, familiar with this part of the trick, but what followed stunned them into silence.
With a dramatic wave of his hands, the illusionary fire shot upwards, spiraling into the heavens. The flames ignited the clouds, and within moments, the entire sky above London was ablaze. As the fire spread, it didn't stop—soon, all of Europe appeared to be on fire, and within three minutes, the illusion had covered the entire world.
From every continent, people looked up, gasping in awe as the sky appeared to burn. Some swore they could see a phoenix soaring through the fiery clouds, while others nervously remarked on the warmth they felt—almost as if the fire was real.
In the front row of the stadium, the President of the United States sat beside General Derek, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The President leaned in, whispering, "General, just how much did we spend on this illusion?"
The General shrugged. "I don't know, Mr. President. But Sterling assured me it didn't cost a dime."
The President blinked in disbelief. "Then how…?"
"He said, 'A great magician never reveals his secrets,'" the General replied with a wry smile.
The President turned back to the screen, more astonished by this revelation than the awe-inspiring spectacle unfolding above.
The camera once again zoomed in on Sterling's fingers, and with another snap, the fire retreated. The flames that had once stretched across the globe were sucked back into a vortex, spiraling into his outstretched hand. Sterling acted as though the force of the magic was almost too much to bear, grimacing as the last flickers of fire vanished into his fingertips. The lights dimmed, and the performance ended in darkness.
---
Knock. Knock. Knock.
George jolted awake, the remnants of his dream still swirling in his mind. His fever had worsened, and the pain in his ribs throbbed more intensely than before. As he forced himself to sit up, he noticed how pale his skin had become. 'I need a tan...' he joked weakly, trying to lighten his mood.
He slowly made his way to the door, spotting a box-shaped shadow on the floor beneath it. Opening the door, he found a small package with his name written across the top. Too drained to bend down, he nudged the box into the room with his foot before closing the door behind him.
Collapsing onto the floor, George's hands trembled as he unwrapped the package. Inside, there were two items: a letter and a bottle.
The letter, hastily written, read: "I'm writing this in a rush, so I can't say much. I know you might be hurt. The contents of the bottle will fix that. Now, the important part: Oztanfil promised Seraphina he'd give a speech in a few days. As far as everyone knows, the Great Wizard is a man of his word. So do that, okay?" —Michael.
George wasted no time. Without even thinking, he grabbed the bottle and drank it down in one gulp. As the liquid passed down his throat, a cool, sweet sensation spread through his body, soothing every ache.
Within seconds, the effects kicked in. His pale skin regained its healthy color, energy surged through him, and the pain in his ribs melted away into a comforting warmth. He blinked in astonishment, examining the now-empty bottle. "What on earth was that stuff?" he muttered, marveling at the speed of his recovery.
The liquid reminded him of a health drink he'd once read about—a prototype from a research lab back on Earth, designed to cure illnesses. But this… this was on another level. He unbuttoned his shirt and stood in front of the mirror. There wasn't a single bruise or scratch left on his body. It was as though he had never been injured at all.
George sighed in relief. 'Okay, problem one solved. What's next?' He re-read Michael's letter, realizing the next challenge was pretending to be Oz for an upcoming speech at the academy.
Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit him. Despite having just woken up, he felt as though he hadn't slept in days. His body sank back onto the bed, the mattress cradling him as he drifted into another restless sleep.