[ WP ] A young apprentice confronts his master , suspecting him to be his long lost father . The truth is slightly more complex .

[ Disclaimer: I did n't consider the possibility that -110 refers to a word limit. ] 
 
 
 
 When the last scholars left the Wizards ’ Library, and the last rays of sunlight began to disappear from the bay windows, Jorin rose from his desk and wound his way through the bookshelves to the Headmaster ’ s office. Today, he would say it. 
 
 
 The headmaster greeted him warmly, as always. The Headmaster greeted everyone warmly, of course, but he always seemed to gaze at Join a little longer, sizing him up with a proud expression that made the other students turn away and roll their eyes. “ My star student, ” he said. “ Did you finish the press release for those nimrods in the Capitol? ” 
 
 
 Jorin handed over the forms. *Say it this time. Just say it*. 
 
 
 The headmaster was already skimming the contents of the report. “ Fantastic, just fantastic… I can ’ t wait to see the look on that pompous mayor ’ s face when I unveil the transporter… ” 
 
 
 It really was like looking in a mirror. The headmaster ’ s eyes, his nose, the way he leaned on one leg when he stood still: perhaps twenty years from now, Jorin could see himself developing a wrinkle in his forehead like that. A perfect, mirrored match. 
 
 
 “ Jorin, where is your name on the credited scholars ’ list? You ’ ve practically been the co-creator of this enterprise, and I think it ’ s time you— “ 
 
 
 “ You ’ re my father, aren ’ t you? ” 
 
 
 Silence descended upon the room. The headmaster stared at Jorin, wide mouthed, then suddenly, sharply, he laughed. 
 
 
 “ I ’ m—I ’ m what? ” 
 
 
 Of all the reactions Jorin had feared, to be laughed at had to be the worst. He exploded. “ My *father*, you son of a bitch! I look like you, I talk like you, you paid for my schooling—I checked the registry, bet you didn ’ t think I even would—and all this time you couldn ’ t even be bothered! You could have said something! You— “ 
 
 
 “ *Focus*, before you destroy the library, ” said the headmaster, and it was true, Jorin had forgotten himself again. His fists were sparking, leaving scorchmarks on the mahogany floor. After a brief interlude of swearing and a quick water spell, Jorin looked up to find the headmaster gazing sadly back at him. 
 
 
 “ It ’ s not a bad conclusion, ” the headmaster explained. “ I ’ d say it makes perfect sense, or it would usually. It ’ s very like you to come up with such a conclusion. But you ’ re incorrect. I ’ m not your father. ” 
 
 
 “ Then how the hell— “ 
 
 
 “ We are related. I was asked to take you in, and I accepted the charge gladly. ” 
 
 
 “ You know my family? We have family? ” 
 
 
 “ Come on, ” said the headmaster. “ It ’ s time to discuss the transporter. ” 
 
 
 “ I don ’ t need to discuss it. I built it. There ’ s nothing to go over. ” 
 
 
 But the headmaster had already made his incantation and disappeared. 
 Cursing, Jorin did the same. 
 
 
 The transporter was a surprisingly modest instrument—too much ornamentation, after all, could be the downfall of a complicated machine. It looked for all the world like a double door in a bent frame, a leftover piece from a failed contrition project. All a wizard—or heck, anyone who ’ d completed a rudimentary course in summoning—had to do was place two hands on the door panels and recite a year, date, and hour. The door would open, the wizard would disappear. Easy, in theory. Granted, there was no mechanism for returning to the past, but as the headmaster, said, this was probably for the best—it guaranteed that time travelers would take their business seriously. 
 
 
 “ What a triumph, ” said the headmaster. 
 
 
 “ Why are we here? ” 
 
 
 “ Have you and the other students ever discussed what it means to have this invention? ” 
 
 
 *Only every day since you introduced the plans*, thought Jorin, but the headmaster continued as if no one was in the room. 
 
 
 “ It ’ s quite a dilemma. Say the wrong man got his hands on this technology and traveled to the past. He ’ d have all the knowledge he needed to make quite a mess, wouldn ’ t he? ” 
 
 
 “ I suppose. ” 
 
 
 “ He could bring wealth with him. Amass power. Assume control, worse yet, he could arrange it so this machine was never invented. Kill the woman who made it, kill her family. ” 
 
 
 “ We're not even women. ” 
 
 
 The headmaster fixed Jorin with a stare that seemed to have unnatural power behind it. “ The first wizard to successfully make this machine, ” he said, “ was my grandmother. ” 
 
 
 Jorin stared at the headmaster, who kindly waited for the boy to mull the idea over. 
 
 
 “ Are you really from Molduk province? ” Jorin asked at last. 
 
 
 The headmaster laughed. “ The province, yes. The year, no. ” 
 
 
 “ Oh, Gods, ” Jorin muttered. “ What are you saying? Who are you? ” 
 
 
 “ A lot is going to change in the next few years, Jorin. Don ’ t trust that filthy mayor. Remember that this machine is yours. I left further instructions in the safe in my office. The code is your birthday. ” 
 
 
 “ *Who are you? * ” 
 
 
 “ You ’ ll find out, I suppose. In any case, ” and here the headmaster ’ s eyes began to mist, “ I ’ m glad I met you. I was so young when… but it might not be the case this time around. ” 
 
 
 Rather than continue, the headmaster turned, placed his hands on the panels, and muttered something Jorin couldn ’ t hear. The boy panicked. 
 
 
 “ *Don ’ t use the transporter don ’ tyoudare—* “ 
 
 
 The headmaster ’ s laughter rang through the hall. “ If not now, old man, then when? ” 
 
 
 With a wooshing sound, and a click, he was gone. 
 

