The Fool

Riley sits cross-legged on the fertile dirt and adjusts the straw hat on their head and to keep the sun out of their face.

It's too hot a day for this

, they think, sweating into their jeans and shifting uncomfortably in their white shirt. They take a deep breath, humid air surging into their lungs, and hold it for a moment as they align their spirit with the sky. As they exhale, they straighten their spine as well as they can, inviting the energy from the sun to dance down their vertebrae and empower their spirit.

"Fiorire," they mutter, their low whisper directing the energy through their hands. It doesn't matter in which language the command is given, but they've always been partial to Italian. They press their palms to the ground and inhale deeply, bringing in air to push the magic out. It warms the dirt beneath her hands and energizes the seeds below, and within seconds tiny green sprouts peek up from the ground in a five-foot radius around them.

One down... too fucking many to go

. They pick themselves up to their feet, walk 10 feet, and sit back down on the ground. In... hold... exhale... magic... out. The sun rides across the sky, beaming its heat down over the rural landscape. At first, Riley appreciates the quiet. There's no noise except the crunching of dirt when they walk and nearby birds chirping, but after a while they start to wish they brought music out with them. Unfortunately, they've always found music too distracting to do magic to.

At the halfway point, they let themself crash flat onto the ground as green sprouts up around them. They retrieve the bottle they brought out with them and finish the rest of the lukewarm water in one gulp. It's not refreshing.

I should've picked a different specialization

. Their shirt sticks to their back, damp with sweat, and they reach under their hat to scratch their hair. When they try to brush the dirt off their arms, they only manage to smudge on more dirt from their hands.

"Riley!" they hear their mom from the general direction of their house. They're sure their mom is about to tell them to get back to work, but it's just the opposite. "Riley, get in here!"

They pull themself up to their feet and drag themself over to the house. Their legs complain the whole way, longing to collapse on a couch, and they tilt their hat back down to cover their eyes. In the doorway stands their mother, brown hair tied into a bun, arms crossed over her chest. The porch swing calls to them, they want to slouch on it with posture so poor it'd make every mother in three miles cringe. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like the time for that.

"God, you're a mess." Her voice reminds them of a baby bird begging their mama for worms. "Can you do anything without getting covered in dirt?"

"Life's too short to do things the clean way." They try to step past her, but she swoops to get in their way.

"You're not filthying the place up," she insists. They're a solid seven inches taller than her, but her glare adds an extra foot. "Wait here."

They roll their eyes as their mother disappears into the house. "You gotta be fuckin-"

"Language!" she shouts from the living room.

An exasperated hiss escapes between their lips, and they pace a small circle onto the porch. The white-painted boards creak under their feet, an unsatisfying percussion section under their boots. "Can I get some water, or should I wait for rain?"

"The hose is right there. Clean yourself off while you're at it."

She returns a few seconds later with a glass of water and an envelope. They take the glass first, gulping down the cool water until they can feel it in their stomach, and then their mom holds out the envelope. "This is from your school."

"Cool." They reach out to take it, and their mom pulls it away.

"It arrived almost a week ago."

"Uh-huh."

"It could've been important."

Riley rolls their eyes. "I graduated months ago, mom, they're probably just asking for a donation."

She hands over the envelope. "Why don't you find out."

They move to break the seal, but- "Oh, come on, you read it already?"

"You left it on the table for almost a week."

"That doesn't mean—"

"Read it," she growls, grit teeth. Riley immediately backs down and retrieves the paper inside.

Riley Beckett-

We apologize to call you back so soon, but there's a matter of utmost importance that we believe you are uniquely equipped to attend to. If you are prepared to take on a quest, please return to campus by the 13th of this month. More information will be provided there.

Your safety will not be guaranteed on this adventure. If you choose to abstain from this quest, someone else will be selected. But do not take your time to make up your mind- if you do not arrive before the 13th, someone else will take your place. We do not have much time to spare.

They look up to see their mom glaring at them, arms crossed and foot tapping.

"Um..." they rub the back of their head. "What day is it?"

"The tenth." Her voice is so cold they almost want to get back under the sun.

"I gotta go pack." They try to shove inside.

"No way, child of mine. You have responsibilities here. Finish working, take a shower, then you can get packing. If you learn the right lesson here, maybe you won't have to be in such a rush next time."

# # #

After a bus ride long enough to make their ass feel intractably sore, they arrive at their alma mater. Unlike the magic schools of fantasy, they didn't attend an enchanted castle or an ancient monastery. No, they went to the campus of their state university. They took history of magic in the same lecture halls that housed social psychology and music theory classes. It was common to walk into divination and see notes from the previous calculus class on the board. Magic was just another curriculum like engineering or performing arts.

Likewise, the dean waiting for them didn't have a special office with a secret password. They were on the second floor of the academic services building, right next to the other department deans. It has the same drab green carpet and gray walls as the rest of the floor, with a brown desk with a nameplate reading

Jonathan Davis

.

"Ah, Riley." He smiles at them as they answer. "We were getting worried you wouldn't show up."

They shift on their feet. "Sorry, I was—"

He holds up a hand. "No need. Ironically, this is quite befitting of the role we'd like you to fill. Sit down."

Two chairs face the desk, and they wonder how often they need to speak with two students at once. They take the one on the left.

"What do you remember about Tarot cards?"

"Um..." they recall the class they took back in freshman year. "Someone draws cards from a deck, and each one is symbolic of something that will happen to the person receiving the reader."

"Can you tell me about major arcana, specifically?" They lean in, fingers together on the desk in that way teachers have.

"I'm not gonna retroactively fail if I don't remember, will I?"

"No, no. Just tell me what you know."

They think for a second. "Well, they represent situations, right? If you draw a major arcana card, it represents your circumstances and gives you guidance."

He nods. "Correct, but not complete. The major arcana, in order, tell a story of a person going through life. Each card teaches a lesson that they carry with them so they can grow and mature." It sounds familiar enough to Riley, but they were never really interested in any subject that ends in "-mancy". "Now, what do you know about platonic idealism?"

They blink a few times. "Um... it's the best a relationship can get without romance or sex?"

The dean chuckles. "No, no. You learned a bit about it, I'm sure. Do you remember hearing anything about the Ideal Magician or the Ideal Star? Or, for that matter, the Ideal Aries or Pisces?"

It strikes something deep in their memory, where they store anything they only needed to learn for a test and haven't recovered since. "Those are people, aren't they?"

"Indeed they are." He leans back, satisfied. "Throughout the world are sorcerers who are the perfect representation of each arcana. 21, in fact, as of a few weeks ago."

"Aren't there 22 cards?"

"Yes. The Fool, however, has retired. Unwillingly, we believe, but he refuses to elaborate on his reasons. We're currently looking for a replacement." He tilts his head towards Riley.

"Okay, you don't mean me, because—"

"We most certainly do. I've been discussing it with deans from several other schools, and most of us are in agreement. You have all the qualities we're looking for."

They don't know how to feel. Nervous? Excited? Honored? Is it an honor to be humanity's designated Fool? "Well... what does it entail?"

"Ordinarily, not much. You already have the qualities of The Fool, if you follow your instincts then you'll do us proud. However," their face darkens. "These are hardly perfect circumstances. The World has become hungry for power, and turned several other cards to his side. We need you to defeat him."

# # #

Riley isn't quite sure what lead them to agree to it. Perhaps it's a self-fulfilling prophecy- if they didn't have the qualities of a Fool, they wouldn't agree to fill the role.

And making the conscious decision to take on The World is certainly a foolish thing to do, even if that's not quite what the card means

.

They agreed to fly to Egypt, where The Magician lives. When they arrive, he'd fill them in on their mission and teach them how exactly they'll grow to take on The World. From there, the dean told them, they'd be meeting with each and every other card, following The Fool's journey until finally they meet with The World at the very end.

The flight is inconsequential. The person they meet at the airport is not.

# # #

"Ali Uthman," The Magician introduces himself. He's a tall man, well over six feet, sporting a completely bald head and a wide frame. His teeth are a near perfect white, showing in his friendly smile, and Riley can feel his strength in his tight handshake.

"Riley Beckett," they respond, tightening their grip on his hand. The airport is packed with people and the air conditioning on full blast can only do so much to counteract the blazing sun.

"A pleasure," he says. "Shall we get somewhere more comfortable? I have a car waiting outside."

"No complaints here." They don't have trouble keeping track of him as they forge through the airport, his head bobs above most everyone else in their path. His legs are much longer than theirs, though, and they have to take quick strides to keep up, making their duffel bag knock uncomfortably against their leg.

If they thought the farm back home was hot, it did nothing to prepare them for the Egyptian heat. The air ripples in front of them, and they can feel the very rays from the sun beaming ceaselessly on their skin. All they can do is squint into the sun and forge on after Ali. They're glad he didn't want to make small talk along the way, this heat has them in no mood for chit-chat.

The car, fortunately, has already been started when they arrive, the air conditioning doing its best to fight nature and achieve a reasonable temperature. Riley opens the passenger door, tosses their bag on the floor, and steels themself for the car's interior.

It's not as bad as they expect.

Ali settles into the driver's seat, reclines against the brown leather, and pulls an envelope out of his pocket. He turns to look directly at Riley, brown eyes meeting her green. "When The Fool retired, he put the essence of The Fool into this card and sent it directly to me for safekeeping. If you open it, and you truly have the makings of a Fool, it will flow into you. Turning back will be too slow a process to be viable."

"And if I don't have the makings of a Fool?" They ask. Their voice wavers.

"Then I apologize for asking you to take the journey." He hands them the card, and they can feel something flowing beneath the paper. "Each Card has our own power. I can't tell you what exactly yours will be, it's different for everyone, but it will be most instrumental on your journey."

"And what exactly is that journey going to be?" They realize they didn't truly feel nervous until now- everything from talking to the dean to getting on the plane didn't feel quite real to them, almost as if they were dreaming it up. The card feels too real in their hands to deny it, though, and the gravity of their situation is finally starting to set in.

"You will meet with each Card, and if they deem you worthy, they will share their powers with you."

They raise an eyebrow. "Sharing powers as in... the traditional method?"

He nods. "No need to reinvent the wheel."

Everyone learned the way magic interacts with anatomy their freshman year. They receive energy from the ground through their feet, and transmit it out through their hands. The mouth and lungs are the wires of the system, directing magic in with an exhale and out with an inhale. Genitalia, then, act as a USB port- transferring magic from one person to another far more efficiently than hands or feet.

They look Ali up and down. He's got a nice build- muscular, but not in the way bodybuilders are, more like a runner or a swimmer. His hands seem to hold power, while his eyes and face hold care. Quite frankly, she could do a lot worse. "So I go on this sex-quest around the globe, and then that'll make me powerful enough to face The World and his minions."

"That is the idea," he nods. "If you want to decline, this is your last—"

Riley tears open the envelope, and as soon as their fingers touch the card, a golden energy flows in through their fingers. It dances up their arms, lighting up their veins, and their entire body tingles as if with static electricity. Before they can decide if it feels good or uncomfortable, it reaches their heart and they black out.

# # #

They wake up on an extremely comfortable bed, covered by a white blanket in a cool room. The walls look like they were recently painted a light blue, and the tiles on the floor have been recently polished with something that smells faintly of lemon. They find their phone, which alerts them that they've been asleep for almost three hours and that there's a text from an unknown number.

Riley- welcome to the Major Arcana! Don't be alarmed if you've fallen asleep for a long while, I was out for almost four hours when I became The Magician. If I'm not in the room when you wake up, I likely went out to buy something to make for dinner. Make sure to stay hydrated, and I'll see you soon.

-Ali.

They stretch out their legs and blink the sands of grogginess out of their eyes. The last dregs of fatigue remain in their body, and they flop back down onto the pillow. A heavy lock of blonde hair falls into their eyes.

Their hair is not, and never has been blonde. They sit up with a jolt, and gather more hair between their fingers and pull it in front of their eyes.

My eyes have to be playing tricks on me

. Their eyes are not playing tricks on them.

Concerned, they stand up and walk to the bathroom. It's spacious and well lit, featuring two sinks and a full-sized bath. None of that catches their attention, though, they need the mirror. One look confirms that their hair has grown several inches and turned blonde overnight, tumbling down their back.

That's not right... they think as they stare at their reflection with wide eyes. Just as the thought finishes, though, their roots turn back to their original mousy brown shade, spreading down along their tousled locks. As it goes, the ends of each strand vanish into the air, getting shorter until it reaches their previous length.

Their lips tilt into a smirk as they start to understand. The Fool is an everyman, representing the querent starting their journey to grow as a person. It can become anything. And now, so can Riley. Watching closely in the mirror, their hair vanishes to be short on the sides with a few inches of bangs, and the wiry strands fluff out into a perfect pixie cut. It blossoms into an eye-catching cherry red color, and they tweak their eyebrows to match.

Their smirk widens to a grin, and they hop onto the smooth countertop to get a closer look. First, they brighten their eyes from hazel to a shining green, the same shade as their first crush back in school. Their lips brighten to a shade not dissimilar to their new hair, and they grin at their reflection. It's a distinct change, but their face is still distinctly theirs under the palette swap. The experience is a bit like playing around with makeup, but a lot more fun and a lot easier.

With a moment of hesitation, they hop back to the floor and pull their white t-shirt over their head. Their lean torso clashes with their arms in a wickedly deep farmer's tan, their chest and upper arms almost chalky in comparison to their face and forearms. Matching the tones is an easy enough improvement, they lighten their arms and face a bit and give the rest of their body an all-over tan.

I could get used to this

, they think as they examine themself from different angles.

They take a moment to really look at their body, as they've done several times in the past. Every train of thought that rides long enough eventually ends up at "ambivalent" as to whether they want to make permanent changes like taking hormones. It's not a bad body by any means, they're tall, slim, and growing up doing farmwork got them decently fit. Sometimes they're perfectly content in the frame they have, but there's inconsistent stretches of time where they dream of a softer, curvier frame.

And now, they get to have their cake and eat it too. Their heart wavers, they're uncertain if they even can do any major changes to their body, or if they might screw it up and manage to break something, but their worries are assuaged when they will their hips to widen. In seconds, they feel pressure against the waistband of their shorts, and decide "good enough".

They press a hand against their waist, and as far as they can tell they haven't just given themselves extra padding- they managed to expand their pelvis.

Good to know

. Curious, they place their hands on their chest when they command their breasts to grow, and to their surprise it doesn't feel like much of anything. The familiar contact of touching one's own skin isn't there, as if their hands rest on someone else's body. Feeling suddenly rushes back when they stop their growth, leaving them holding soft, warm breasts.

A giggle slips through their lips when they look at themself. To them, it looks as if they'd gone through months of transition in a matter of a minute, and if they woke up the next morning no longer feeling it, they could turn right back. Not to mention, it'd help with their upcoming sex-quest. People respond best to an attractive member of their preferred gender.

They give their breasts a test squeeze, confirming that they do, in fact, feel like proper breasts. From there they're quick to find their nipples, wider and rounder than they were a few minutes prior, have become far more sensitive. A thumb circles around their areola, testing the waters before they pinch their nipple hard, sending a jolt of pleasure into them. They moan as they twist, leaning back to rest their head and shoulders against the wall as their eyes drift up towards the ceiling.

For a moment, there's nothing in their world but their new body. They lean against the cool bathroom wall playing with their breasts, sighing in happiness whenever the sensation moves them, moving their fingers in slow, dreamlike movements. Their left hand remains preoccupied while their right drops down to undo the button of their shorts. They try to pull their shorts and boxers down in a smooth motion, but their new hips get in the way.