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The world beyond the town he grew up in was vast, filled with countless possibilities, countless wonders. Billy had never known just how big the world was. He had barely even left the Wizard's cave since he became his apprentice,the sudden freedom was breathtaking. He had been traveling for nearly a year now and in that time he had seen things he could never have even dreamed of. Far off kingdoms where dragons flew through the sky, villages full of gnomes and ancient fae courts. Gods and witches and monsters of all kinds, mermaids and spirits and demons all searching out the newest member of the Council of Eternity.
Taking up the Wizard’s mantle had been a daunting task, one he had not known would come with so many perils, but it had led to the most amazing adventures.
Perhaps most exciting of all was the day he met Thavma.
On a cold grey morning, Billy sat on a tree stump in the small clearing in the woods where he’d slept the night before. He pulled his bright red cloak closer, blocking out the slight chill in the morning air. The cloak had been the first thing he’d ever made with magic and the first gift the Wizard had ever given him. It was thick and warm, but so feather light he barely noticed it was there most of the time. The color never faded from the vibrant poppy red it began as nor did it ever grow worn or torn from Billy’s less than gentle handling.
The cloak was a life saver now that he was on his own, but it was also a signal to all the world that he was not who he had once been. That despite his youth and small stature he was something more. He was a Wizard, though most didn’t know what that really meant. Even Billy was still learning all the ways being such a thing affected him.
Still, he knew it was dangerous to linger where bandits and wild beasts roamed. All the magic in the world couldn’t save him from recklessness and surprise attacks, especially when he hadn't had a full night's sleep in days.
Billy had been plagued by visions for weeks, recurring and powerful, growing more desperate each day. In his dreams he saw a being made entirely of lightning calling to him through a hazy mist. It had no eyes, no face, not even a human form, but still he saw his father in its every movement, saw the Wizard in its stance, felt his mother in its every touch.
More than anything, he saw himself.
He couldn't explain it, it just was. This being was somehow a reflection of himself, of everyone he'd ever loved, and it called out to him wordlessly every night. Or well, almost wordlessly.
It only ever spoke a single word: Shazam.
Billy spent his days wondering if the old Wizard he had apprenticed under was connected to the being in some way, if he had secrets he’d never thought to share with him. Not for the first time his heart ached deeply for the loss of the only person who had ever seen potential in him, who had looked at the poor, beggar child he had been and saw promise. He was the only family that Billy had known in such a long time, the only consistent source of kindness in his life. Losing him was as devastating as losing his parents had been. The main difference was that Shazam had left him with something no greedy relative could ever take from him—magic.
Magic had saved his life a thousand times over, it had given him a home, a purpose, a destiny. It was all he had ever wanted and more. Magic brought him those visions. Magic connected him to that being, their very souls calling out to each other—and it did have a soul, Billy could tell, even if it wasn’t human.
He didn’t know what the being was, but it didn’t really matter because magic was going to bring them together.
Somehow.
Billy collected his meager belongings and kicked dirt onto the small fire he’d started the night before, doing his best to erase his presence. He adjusted his cloak and his rucksack and prayed he'd find answers soon. Gripping the Wizard’s staff tightly in one hand, he continued on his way.
He wasn’t sure where he was going exactly—there was no particular destination in his mind, nothing he could explain at least. He was simply allowing his feet and his destiny to take him where he needed to go. Most would call it madness to wander the Earth in such a way, but it had never failed him before. If he was meant to be somewhere then he’d get there exactly when he needed to, and not a second sooner. It was how he found the Wizard, how he found his calling, his connection to magic. It was even how most of his adventures began—finding himself in the right place at the right time to be able to help.
That day he felt more vigorous despite the tiredness itching at his eyes, he felt more alive than he had in a long time—not since he’d left the safety of Shazam’s cave. And that’s how he knew that it would be the day, the one where he finally got answers about his visions, about the being.
Billy didn't know where he was, or even what kingdom he was currently in. He didn’t know if his cloak and staff would get him in trouble with the locals or if these symbols of magic would see him in chains. The Wizard once told him that there were many places where magic could not be practiced openly and Billy had learned first hand how true that was. He'd almost been slated for execution for brewing a simple healing potion across the border of a particularly unforgiving lord and had been wary of the knights he had once idolized ever since.
But this place, wherever it was, was absolutely brimming with magic. He could taste it on his tongue, sweet as any berry. He could feel it in his toes, rising up from the Earth, the trees, the stones. He could hear it in the way the cadence of birdsong sounded like a spell, ancient and lively at the same time.
The only other place that had made him feel this way was the cave he had lived in with the Wizard with it's connection to Eternity. If magic flowed so freely here, then he must be getting close.
Thunder rumbled overhead, low and powerful.
Billy pressed on. He’d forgone the standard trails through the area days ago, but this was the first time he’d had trouble navigating the landscape. But he didn’t stop, couldn’t, not when he felt that pull, like a string tied directly to his soul was being tugged on by some unseen force. But he knew what it was.
It was him.
Billy shoved foliage aside, digging the worn soles of his boots into the dirt for balance. Jagged stones, slippery with mud and moss, littered his path and making it difficult to traverse. He pulled his cloak closer to his body to shield himself from the sharp thorns and broken branches. It didn’t do much good, but he didn’t care. This path, as treacherous as it was becoming, especially with the threat of a coming storm, was the most direct path to the answers he sought. The underbrush grew more and more tangled, everything growing dark even though he knew it wasn’t yet midday.
He should have been afraid, but he wasn't. Maybe a distant part of him was, but he'd been dreaming of this moment for so long, following the persistent tug of their connection, that he couldn't imagine stopping now.
All of a sudden he stumbled into a clearing, the lack of obstacles a breath of fresh air, the sunlight almost blinding.
The relief didn’t last long because the aura in this place was thick and heavy, the weight of the stagnant magic in the air nearly oppressive.
Billy cast a glance around him, searching for the source. One of the first lessons that Shazam had taught him was that magic flowed through the world like an ever branching river, diverting into smaller and smaller pools until it settled into its true host. This host could be a place, a person, an object—anything really. As long as the magic resonated with it, whatever it happened to be, it would make its home there. Not even the Wizard truly understood why certain hosts were chosen, but it was just the natural order of things.
Magic could be channeled through something, forcefully funneling it through a similar enough host that it could be changed, strengthened. Enchantments could do something similar, forcing nonmagical things to contain magic even if they weren’t meant to handle it, though that came at a cost.
Truly powerful magic like this though…
This was old, the magic pooling and aging like fine wine, growing more potent with each passing day. It was divine, but did not come from any god that Billy knew.
Magic like that couldn’t be contained forever.
The clearing he found himself in was overgrown, but the gap in the trees was distinctive enough for him move about more freely than he had before. In the center was the crumbling remnants of a stone staircase with only three or four steps still in tact. Ivy crawled up the steps, snaking across the surface like tendrils reaching out to claim the steps as their own. Billy stepped closer, trailing his fingers lightly over the weathered stone. Wherever these steps had led once upon a time was long gone now.
He couldn’t even envision what building had once been here. Was it a home? A castle? It felt holy, so perhaps a church? Or a temple of a long lost god?
As he slowly circled the steps, his foot caught on a twisted root causing him to stumble and fall to his hands and knees with an abruptness that made his head spin.
His palms ached and bled from where he’d landed. He laid there for a moment trying to pull as much air into his lungs as possible while he collected himself.
From his new vantage point he could see that beneath the bed of dead leaves and moss there was more stone. Curious, he dug his fingers into the mass of vegetation and began ripping it away from the ground. And there, just below his fingers was a carving, unnatural, intricate, man-made. He kept pulling, brushing away loose leaves and dirt as he went.
Some time later, as he stood panting harshly, clutching the last pieces of foliage tightly in his fists, he finally got a good look at what was hidden underneath.
The steps led to a circle of light colored stone, completely covered in deeply carved markings. He recognized the runes from his studies, but had never seen them placed in such a way. There were dozens of them all overlapped and intertwined—more than he had ever seen woven together before—taking on the rough shape of a lightning bolt. The sigil they created was complex, the purpose of it far beyond him, but he knew without a doubt that a Wizard must have created it.
Was it his Wizard? Was it Shazam? Was that why the being repeated that word? Was that why he was here? To finish his work? Or to undo it?
He didn’t have time to ponder the question for long. Before he’d even finished bending to inspect the markings, a blinding flash of lightning crashed down from above with a deep, deafening boom.
Billy stumbled backwards, falling to the ground in terror. For a moment he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, could barely even feel the stones beneath him as thunder shook the Earth. He felt suspended in the eternity of that moment, in that nothingness that was too much to comprehend.
And then just as suddenly he was back, staring up at the heavens, dark branches encroaching on his view of the grey sky above. Silence had followed the thunder, not even a single bird dared to sing. There was just his own harsh breathing in his ears. Slowly, cautiously, he sat back up.
The center of the circle was now smudged in black, a small crack threatening the integrity of the sigil.
A hazy after image of light hung in the air. At first Billy thought his eyes were still adjusting, still playing tricks on him, but the longer he sat there, the more sure he was that the light was coming from beneath him.
He made his way to the center of the circle, his entire body trembling—with fear or excitement he didn’t know.
As he took his place in the center, his staff thudding along the stones with each step, light seeped up from below, as if the stones had absorbed the brilliant light of the lightning strike, releasing it in soft bursts at his touch.
Orbs of light floated up all around him, illuminating the small clearing with a soft golden light. It reminded Billy of the glittering illusions made by faeries or a swarm of lightning bugs drifting through the night.
He stepped onto the burnt crack in the stone, directly in the place lightning had struck. The stones were warm beneath his feet, even through the soles of his shoes, tingling with the excess energy in the air, the excess magic.
A voice—quiet and familiar, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once—whispered the only word it seemed to know, the Wizard’s name an exhale that tickled Billy’s ears.
“Shazam,” he echoed.
Then lightning struck again.
Thavma opened his new eyes, squared his new shoulders and lifted his new face towards the sun. His grip on the Wizard’s staff tightened, the wood smooth and strong beneath his fingers.
The world looked different than the last time he was awoken. Lush vegetation had replaced the ruined city he’d been locked away in. A blazing sun hung overhead, promising a new day. And perhaps better than everything else, magic thrummed through him, making him feel so alive.
His new host was an excellent fit—strong, capable, full of life, full of magic, but younger than he had expected. He carried Shazam’s magic with him, interwoven with his own. The old Wizard’s successor then, an incredible feat for one so young.
He looked down at their new body. It was big, broad shouldered, sturdy, very unlike his host's mortal one. His body was clad in a deep red tunic, matching leather armor layered on top, a white cloak billowing behind. Gold accents graced both, bracers encircled each arm. A large sword hung at his waist, a weapon to match the times.
Yes, this body would do nicely.
Billy’s voice drifted into his mind—their mind.
Oh, the boy thought. This is new.
Thavma could feel Billy settling into their shared skin, getting used to the feeling of being something new. Shazam had not told the boy about him, had probably hoped they’d never meet. Or perhaps he always knew they would, had felt the way the boy’s magic aligned so perfectly with his own.
There was no fear, barely even the remnants of it from being struck by lightning, which was a surprise. Billy took their union in stride, feeling their connection as surely Thavma did.
Before they could do more than marvel at their new form, he heard a screech of a beast from far away, the sounds of battle filling his ears despite the distance.
He barely thought about it before he let the winds carry him towards the commotion, Billy urging him onwards. He strapped the Wizard’s staff across his back, safely tucked away until it was needed. It wasn’t long until he found himself hanging in the air above a battle. A large winged beast stood on the smoldering ruins of a village, its clawed feet digging into the scorched earth, crushing the debris beneath it with ease. It’s wild mane of hair was matted with blood—not necessarily it’s own.
A manticore.
A group of five humans—they looked human at least—surrounded the beast in a loose half circle. He did not know if any of them wielded the magic necessary to slay the beast without suffering major losses, but they looked to be formidable foes nonetheless.
They need help, Billy pressed. Please.
Thavma took a breath, a glorious first breath in brand new lungs, and dove into the fray. With a mighty crash he landed between the humans and the beast. There were startled gasps, exclamations of shock as they registered his presence, determining whether he was friend or foe. It didn’t matter if they attacked, he doubted they could actually hurt him, though it would be inconvenient.
He rushed forward, crashing into the manticore and knocking it off its feet. It hissed and snapped at him, its large fangs coming within inches of his skin. He rolled out of the way, drawing his sword and preparing for battle. It’s sharp tail shot out, dripping deadly venom in its wake. He parried the blow with his sword and countered with a thrust towards its midsection.
The warriors whose aid he had come to finally shook off their shock at his sudden arrival and jumped back into the fight. A tall, well muscled woman was the first to make a move, the slash of her sword drawing the beast’s attention away from him. An archer dressed all in rich green clothes took aim, his arrows flying true but doing little damage to the beast’s thick skin. The others joined them, attacking with their mortal weapons—capable of injuring a manticore certainly, but not capable of killing it.
Only one thing could do that.
Thavma raised his sword, magic building in his hands, sliding up its hilt. One blast and he could defeat this beast once and for all. One of the men was grappling with the manticore, showing impressive inhuman strength as he did so. Another brought his sword down on the beast’s back, to little effect. They would likely absorb some of the blast, but with luck it might not kill them.
Thavma took aim, preparing for that final killing blow—
STOP!
Thavma’s hand stilled, the lightning fizzling out into harmless sparks. Billy lowered their arm and that’s when Thavma knew this boy was special.
His new host was amazingly strong willed, holding him back from endangering the other warriors beside him. Thavma felt his heart grow warm as if his host’s pure heart could envelop his own, making it softer, gentler, kinder.
The manticore howled, tossing the unnaturally strong knight away from him.
“Everyone move!” he ordered, his voice booming like thunder. “I can kill it, but I don’t want to catch you in the crossfire.”
Almost as one they all jumped back, giving him space for his attack. As soon as he had a clear shot he released the blast that Billy had forced him to hold back. Lightning poured from his body, directed by the sword in his hands, the magic bright enough to blind.
When the smoke cleared, the beast’s body lay splayed out between them. Billy and Thavma looked up at these warriors, these heroes whose aid they had come to. With a start, Billy recognized them—the crests they bore on their armor and their shields more than enough to connect them to the stories he’d heard during his travels.
And just like that Thavma gave way to Billy even as they remained in the new body they’d created.
“Welcome friend,” Lord Kal of the House of El said as he sheathed his sword at his side, his family’s crest shining brightly on his chest. “What do they call you?”
This was a moment where he was meant to give his name, his lineage, his title. But Billy had none of that, the form he’d summoned, the form the spirit of Living Lighting had taken upon their union, had even less.
He was suddenly struck by the fact that he was surrounded by kings and queens, lords and nobles, a group that boasted the most accomplished knights and warriors in all the realms. He was a half trained Wizard hosting a magical being that had not walked the Earth in centuries. Before that he was a beggar on the streets. He still was a beggar in some respects, just one that knew a few tricks to avoid total destitution.
For all that he had helped them take down a terrifying magical beast that could only be killed by powerful magic, magic he had performed, he suddenly felt inadequate. Should he be bowing his head? Should he kneel? Would they take offense to him looking them in the eye? Memories of the noblemen who used to kick and spit at the beggars that got to close flitted through his mind.
The Dark Knight of Gotham cut through his racing thoughts with his deep gravelly voice. “Is there something wrong?”
“I…I have no name Sir,” Billy said. “My gods never gave me one.”
The lie fell more easily from his tongue than he thought it would. Billy had a name, but it was a child’s name, one that bore no importance to people like this. He also bore the Wizard’s name, but that was not something to be shared lightly. Thavma had been called many things over many lifetimes, but none of those names belonged to Billy.
In fact, whatever Thavma and Billy were now was new—this form had never had a name.
“What about your parents?” asked a man bearing a ring of power that marked him as one of the sea faring sorcerers to the West. “Did they not give you a name?”
“They died when I was just a babe.”
A flash of sorrow rippled across their faces. Billy looked away, not willing to deal with the sympathy, the pity. He didn’t care if it was rude or if he was breaking some etiquette rules.
“Well people must call you something,” the mysterious archer said. “A man cannot go his whole life without a name.”
“I’ve been called many things over the years, none of which I claim as my name,” he said slowly, trying to sort out his thoughts on his strange new existence, on the unlikelihood of this meeting. “When I was working as an apprentice, I was told that I would inherit my master’s title when he passed—which he did last winter.”
“And what title is that?”
“The Wizard Shazam.” Lightning streaked across the sky. Thunder rumbled. Magic sat heavy in the air at the pronouncement. Billy ducked his head sheepishly, undermining the dramatics of such a display. “But as you can see that title comes with much gravitas. It’s not quite suitable for ordinary conversation.”
“A Wizard?” Princess Diana of Themyscira asked with genuine curiosity. “I didn’t realize there were any left to train a new generation. I thought all the Wizards died in the Battle of Eternity.”
“Most did,” Billy agreed, flashes of that battle flitting across his mind's eye, Thavma's sorrow at the losses suffered that day filling his heart. “My master was one of the few survivors of that battle. He taught me everything I know.”
“Very well,” Lord Kal said, throwing a wary look at the sky. “Where do you hail from?”
“Nowhere in particular,” he said. “I am simply a traveler exploring all the continent has to offer.”
“Whoever you are, you have been a great help to us today,” the Dark Knight said. “I have never come across such a beast as this before today.”
Billy blinked in surprise. While he had never seen a manticore before, he had read about them—and Thavma had killed many before this who threatened the kingdoms under his protection. Perhaps they'd grown more rare in the days since. Or perhaps none knew where to look for them.
“It was simply a manticore,” he said. “The don’t usually come this far North, preferring warmer climes, but they aren’t terribly uncommon even if they are dangerous.”
“And yet you slayed it like it was nothing,” the archer hummed appreciatively. “It was quiet a marvelous sight to behold.”
“It was just a bit of magic,” he said, his cheeks growing warm at the compliment. “It’s the only thing that can kill beasts of magic. I’m sure anyone with the ability to do so would have done the same.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Princess Diana said softly. “But we appreciate your help all the same. Is there any way we can repay you?”
“I need no payment my lady,” he said hastily. “I just wanted to help.”
“And would you be willing to help us in the future?”
Ignoring the incredulous looks being thrown in the Dark Knight’s direction at the question, Billy merely answered, “Why of course. I would never turn my back on those in need.”
“Then perhaps you would like to join us,” he said.
“But you know nothing about me,” he protested immediately. “How do you know that I am fit to join you?”
“You fight with honor,” Lord Kal said, as if he had been the one to make the suggestion. “That is more important than your title or your past.”
“He would need a name,” the man with the ring of power proclaimed. “And I think I have an idea for what it can be.” He leaned over and spoke to his comrades in low tones, the magic in his ring making it glow.
“I have never known a Wizard who was knighted before,” Lord Kal said. “But I’d be honored for you to be the first.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say yes,” the Dark Knight rumbled. “And kneel.”
He did as he was told, instinctively bowing his head. Princess Diana gently pressed the tip of her sword’s blade first on the right shoulder, then the left. She recited the oaths of a knight, prompting him to repeat them. He did so without hesitation. “I now pronounce you a member of the Knights of Justice,” she intoned. Her lips quirked up at the corners in a warm smile. “Now rise, Sir Marvel.”
The newly dubbed Sir Marvel stood back to his feet, his chest jutted out proudly, both Thavma and Billy thrumming with excitement.
That day was just the first of many adventures for Sir Marvel, for Billy and Thavma, for the Knights of Justice. There would be dragons and demons and beasts from the heavens. There would be monsters in the form of men and men in the form of monsters. There would be magic, both good and bad, awaiting around every corner.
But that day, kneeling in the damp grass beside the burned out husk of a village and the still warm corpse of the manticore, was the start of their greatest adventure of all.