I'm an archaeologist. My ancestor was a warlock.

Believing in the impossible may be my only chance of survival.

As a professor of archaeology at the University of Trondhjem, my life revolved around telepresence digs and simspace classroom lectures—stable and predictable, exactly as I preferred. But the discovery of a peculiar artifact — a gem owned by my ancestor — upended everything. Now I’m in a dire situation, stranded on a pre-technological planet hundreds of light-years from civilization. A fey swordswoman has made me her apprentice after saving me from a creature that couldn’t possibly exist. I became advisor to the king. And now all three of us are fleeing an assassination plot. It’s mad enough to be a fantasy simspace, but it’s deadly real.

The most confounding part is that these people think my ancestor was an ancient warlock and that I’ve returned with his gem to wield his magical powers in the fight against the Blight. I’m a man of science, of order, of logic; I don’t believe in magic.

But that’s not the way this world works.