Eldritch Guidance

-13 years ago-

Inside one of the training areas at Graheel University, a young Mitra, in her Lionheart uniform, dedicated herself to magical practice. In her hand, she held a block of wood covered in mycelium, its surface pulsing softly with life. Mitra’s brow furrowed in concentration as she poured her energy into the block, drawing upon every ounce of aetheric essence she could muster. The surrounding air shimmered faintly, resonating with the raw power she summoned.

As she stared intently at the mycelium, a bulge began to form on one side, subtly pushing outward as if responding to her focused will. She could feel the vibrations of the aether coursing through her, mingling with the organic structure of the mycelium, which seemed to awaken under her influence.

Mitra: “I’m so close!”

Suddenly, the bulge in the block burst forth with a forceful energy, and from it blossomed a stunning red flower, its petals vibrant and glistening like rubies in the light. The unexpected transformation momentarily took Mitra by surprise, but as the flower fully emerged, her expression contorted into one of disdain.

Mitra: “Damn it!” she yelled before throwing the block of mycelium on the ground.

This wasn’t the outcome she had envisioned; she had aimed to cultivate a mushroom, something that would showcase her growing mastery over magic. Instead, the simple beauty of the flower felt like a mockery of her intentions, a reminder of her limitations in the face of nature’s unpredictability. The flower brilliance only amplified Mitra's irritation as she grappled with the disappointment of her efforts, feeling that they had fallen short of her ambitious aspirations.

Mitra stared down at the ground, her feelings of anger and disappointment swirling within her like a tempest. Each passing moment felt heavier as if the weight of her self-criticism pressed her down into the earth beneath her feet. Some time passed before the voice of another woman brought her out of her self-loathing.

???: “Quite impressive.”

Mitra turned her head and found herself staring at a striking woman with fiery red hair that cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall of autumn leaves. Her bright red eyes sparkled with curiosity as she examined the block of mycelium, her delicate fingers tracing the contours of the pulsating mass.

Under her other arm, she cradled a small, open box that seemed to overflow with shimmering quartz crystals. The stones caught the light, reflecting a kaleidoscope of colors that danced around them, giving the impression of captured rainbows.

Mitra felt a wave of surprise wash over her as she recognized the woman standing before her. It was Alexandria Scarlett, the renowned Archmage of Enchantment and a revered professor here at the university.

Scarlett: “Growing a flower out of something like this is no easy feat,” she said while holding up the block of mycelium.

Mitra: “Ah! Archmage Scarlett!” she half shouted in surprise before bowing respectfully to the archmage.

Scarlett: “You can just call me Scarlett, dear. No need for so much formality around me.”

Mitra: “I could never for someone like you. It would dishonor my family.”

Scarlett: “Is that the warrior mindset of the Mayumi family? An obsession with honoring one's family. A cultural difference brought over from the eastern continent?”

Mitra: “Huh?”

Scarlett: “Well, dear. It really is OK. You don’t have to be so formal with me, but if you're not comfortable doing that, call me whatever you want. Anyway, I must say, growing this flower was quite impressive,” she said while handing the block back to Mitra.

Mitra: “Oh, um, thank you.”

Scarlett: “Hmm? Was that not what you were trying to do?”

Mitra: “Um, not exactly.”

Scarlett: “Ah, I see. Well then, come walk with me.”

Mitra: “Oh, um. Can I carry that for you then?” she asked while pointing to the box Scarlett was carrying, trying to be polite.

Scarlett: “Sure,” she said before handing the box to Mitra.

Scarlett turned and began to walk down the corridor, her steps steady and purposeful, and Mitra quickly fell into step behind her. As they moved through the training area and into a softly lit hallway, Mitra’s curiosity got the better of her, and she found herself peering into the small box nestled under her arm.

The box was filled with crystal quartz, each piece meticulously carved with intricate symbols. Mitra’s eyes widened as she studied them, immediately recognizing the runes etched into each crystal. They were enchantment symbols—delicate, precise marks that looked like threads woven into the translucent stone. From the pattern and arrangement, she could tell that the enchantment was intended to make the crystals glow, an effect that usually radiated a steady, ethereal light.

Yet, something was off.

Mitra: “Why are there gaps in the enchantment?” she mumbled.

Scarlett heard Mitra and responded.

Scarlett: “Because these are for training. It’s a new training program for enchanting I have been designing. Create an enchanted object that is ninety percent complete and get students to finish the other ten percent,” she said while counting to walk along.

Mitra: “Oh.”

Scarlett: “But, I must say, I’m impressed, Mitra. To be able to recognize the gap in the design so quickly. Are you perhaps seeking to become an enchantress?”

Mitra: “No, it’s not my focus.”

Scarlett: “OK. So, how’s your relationship with Yaren?”

Mitra: “Umm, it's fine, I guess?”

Scarlett: “You're not jealous or resentful of her, or anything?”

Mitra: “What!? No! Yaren is my best friend.”

Scarlett: “That’s good. I would hate to think that the difficulty you're going through would ruin your friendship.”

Mitra: “So, you could tell. That I’m having difficulty,” she said before she stopped walking.

Scarlett: “I know you're trying to learn mycomancy. And, I know Yaren has taken to learning it quickly, becoming the youngest user in centuries. I’m assuming that is weighing on you in some form,” she said while stopping to turn to Mitra.

Mitra: “Could… you tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

Scarlett: “I’m afraid not. Even as an archmage, I might be the worst person to ask for help in this subject as mycomancy is a type of fusion magic that uses four of the six elements. And, I’m a mono-mage that can only use fire.”

Mitra's shoulders slumped, her face clouding with disappointment at Scarlett's words. The realization that even Alexandria Scarlett—renowned as one of the one of the most gifted Archmage in recent history—couldn’t help her master this elusive magic felt like a blow to her spirit. She had held onto a quiet hope that Scarlett’s guidance would reveal some hidden path to success, a solution that no one else could offer.

Scarlett: “Oh, don’t make that face. I might still be able to help you. Like I’m doing with these quartz crystals to help others learn enchantment magic, I might be able to make you a special type of training crystal for you to learn mycomancy."

Mitra: “That’s possible?”

Scarlett: “It sure is,” she said, sounding confident. “Tell you what, how about I take you on as one of my disciples and help you out with this?”

Mitra’s eyes widened in shock, her mind racing to process what she’d just heard. She hadn’t anticipated Scarlett’s offer, let alone the prospect of becoming her disciple. The thought was so incredible, so far beyond her expectations, that she could barely believe it was real.

This was an honor that few even dared to dream of—a position that could unlock opportunities beyond her wildest hopes. Her thoughts swirled in a mixture of excitement and disbelief, her heart pounding as she tried to steady herself. The Archmage of Enchantment, one of the most accomplished mages in the last century, was extending an invitation to personally mentor her. For a moment, Mitra was utterly speechless, frozen by the weight of such a prestigious offer.

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Mitra: “You... would really take me as your disciple? But, don’t you already have eight disciples?” she said, sounding surprised.

Scarlett: “There is no rule that says I can only have eight. Although, it sounds like there is hesitation on your part. Every time I have offered to take someone on as a disciple, they have accepted immediately, almost like they were afraid I would take away the offer if they didn’t. But, you. You're the first to worry that I might have too many disciples.”

Mitra: “I am grateful for the offer. But, there are still a lot of things I still need to work on about myself first. I’d hate for you to take me on as your disciple and fail to live up to your expectations. Doing something like that might bring dishonor to my family. “

Scarlett: “Hmm. That honor thing. OK then. I won’t force it. But, I’ll help you out anyway. I’ll still make a special training crystal for you to practice mycomancy instead of practicing with that mycelium block.”

Mitra: “Thank you very much!” she said while bowing to Scarlett.

Scarlett: “But, I haven’t given up on taking you on as a disciple. I’ll bring up the offer again later, giving you some time to think it over. Maybe after my archaeological expedition into the wildlands six months from now.”

Mitra: “I will… think about it.”

Scarlett: “Good. And, Mitra. It's OK If you can’t learn mycomancy. Sometimes we need to recognize our limits and reorganize ourselves to take advantage of them or work around them. A limitation in one area means you can excel in another. At least, that is what my teacher taught me. And, he was right. Even with only one element under my belt, I was still able to excel in enchantments. I’m sure it is the same for you,” she said with a reassuring smile.

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

-Current day-

Midday sunlight streamed through the expansive glass windows of Mitra’s office, illuminating a spacious yet cluttered room. Despite its size, the office was packed with stacks of documents and shelves overflowing with books, each piled haphazardly atop the other. Though it wasn’t as chaotic as Lazarus’ notoriously messy workspace, it was still far from orderly. The recent formation of the Sleuth-Hawks had clearly burdened Mitra with an overwhelming amount of paperwork, as evidenced by the stacks that seemed to grow daily.

Mitra sat at her usual desk, her posture as composed as ever, while Alan and Jafar sat across from her, both still looking uneasy from the events of the previous day.

It had been a full day since the encounter with the slime creature, and Mitra had called them in to hear their account firsthand. As they began to explain the sequence of events, Mitra’s gaze remained fixed on a piece of quartz sitting on her desk, a smooth, translucent crystal etched with intricate runes. The crystal was a unique, specially crafted training tool, designed for her. Though the two young men spoke, her eyes never wavered from the object, her focus so intense that it seemed as though she were seeing through the crystal itself, pondering deeper implications beyond their words. Alan's voice, steady but hesitant, filled the room as he recounted the details of the encounter, but Mitra's thoughts remained locked in her quiet contemplation, her fingers lightly tracing the surface of the quartz.

She picked up the quartz off the stand it was on and moved it around in her hand.

Alan: “And then we went to the hospital after the police arrived.”

Mitra: “I see…” she said while lost in thought.

After a few moments of silent contemplation, she gently placed the quartz back onto its display stand on her desk, her fingers lingering on it briefly before releasing it.

Mitra: “You used lightning magic. I specifically told you never to use it without supervision.”

Alan looked like he was about to say something, but Jafar cut in.

Jafar: “With all due respect, Madam Mitra, it’s all my fault. Please don’t punish Alan for this. If I had not tripped, he wouldn’t have had to use it. If you need to punish someone, please punish me.”

Mitra: “Oh, don’t worry. I have some special training prepared for you,” she said ominously.

A look of dread slowly spread across Jafar's face. Part of him would have preferred being expelled from the Arcane Eye over enduring another round of Mitra’s “special training.” The very thought of it made him inwardly shudder.

Mitra: “If you objectively looked at what you were supposed to do, it should have been to keep running after Jafar fell.”

Alan: “I couldn’t leave my friend behind to get eaten by that thing!”

Mitra: “You have no control over your lightning magic, you could have easily fried yourself and your friend. Better one person dying than both of you.”

Alan: “How can you say that! That I should just let my friend die!” he yelled angrily.

Mitra: “You need to recognize your limits. You can’t save everyone,” she said, unfazed by Alan's yelling.

Alan: “If my limit is letting the people who care about die, then I’ll find a way around them!” he rebuked.

At Alan's rebuke, both he and Jafar exchanged looks of pure horror, their expressions mirroring a shared, silent dread. To their surprise, Mitra smiled—a rare sight that sent a chill down Alan’s spine. Ever since he’d first met her as a member of the Lionheart College, he had seldom seen her smile at all. Known as the “Green-Haired Demon,” Mitra was infamous for her stoic demeanor. No matter how grueling the training or how exhausted her students became, her expression remained eerily unreadable, her gaze cold and unwavering. It was a trait that gave her an almost inhuman edge, making her seem more detached from their struggles.

The only exception was her occasional, unsettling smirk—a brief, almost sadistic twist of her lips whenever they reached the brink of collapse. That smirk was sinister, but at least they understood it; they could brace themselves, knowing it signaled some new, painful ordeal. But now, the smile she gave was something different altogether—genuine, even warm. This unexpected shift was somehow more disturbing than any smirk she’d ever worn during training, leaving them both uneasy, as if they’d glimpsed a side of her they weren’t supposed to see.

Mitra: “Good. Remember what you told me here today. What is the correct path is not always the right one. If you throw away the people around you for yourself, you're no better than a black mage. In the words of someone I respected, ‘Recognize your limits and take advantage of them, or work around them.’ Make sure you train hard to prevent those around you from dying.”

Alan’s breathing steadied, his nerves easing after she confirmed his intentions with a calm, reassuring tone. The tension in his shoulders softened, and he managed a slight nod, feeling a bit more grounded. Yet, her lingering smile still unsettled him.

Alan: “Does that mean you're not going to punish me?”

Mitra: “I didn’t say that. I have some special training for you as well.”

The same dread that had appeared on Jafar's face was mirrored on Alan’s, his expression tightening with palpable anxiety as he processed what was coming.

Mitra: “But, we’ll hold off on that for now. Until your arm is healed, and our investigation slows down or is concluded. But, really? What is with you two? How do you keep finding yourselves in such trouble?”

Alan: “Luck, I guess?”

Mitra: “More like bad luck. Unless, there is something else?” she asked while looking intensely at Alan.

Jafar glanced at Alan, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty in his eyes, waiting to see if Alan would decide to reveal Cid’s identity to Mitra. He watched closely, wondering if Alan would take the risk or keep Cid’s secret.

Alan: “I don’t know how else to explain it.”

Mitra: “I…see. Well, I want you two to keep out of trouble. That’s why I put you on Joe’s team. He was supposed to handle a lot of miscellaneous stuff during the investigation—nothing related to combat or anything that could put you two in danger. And before you complain, I know you’ve been trying to rack up merit. There will be plenty of opportunity to prove yourselves in the future, just not in this investigation. So, I want you two to help comb through Sorin’s record in the archives like you were doing before. Except, based on Joe Striker's report, it seems that we’ll be adding looking into this Consuming Ooze cult to the list of tasks for you.”

Alan: “Do you, um, know anything about this cult?”

Mitra: “I’m not that knowledgeable about lesser cults, and I am currently in talks with a professor of the Grayscale College that do know about these things. All I know is that they are supposed to be an extinct cult that created slime monsters to eat people. And, the slime that we found at a few of our suspect locations seems likely related to this cult now.”

Alan: “Joe mentioned all that, but never explained how a cult goes extinct.”

Mitra: “It’s not that hard to understand. If all members of a cult die out, there is no one else to carry on their practice. Thus, they go extinct.“

Alan: “I guess it's kinda obvious when you say it like that. So, if all the Rattle Bone cult members die out, that cult wouldn’t exist anymore as well.”

Mitra: “Um, Rattle Bone is a little different from other cults in that regard. But otherwise, that is correct. Anyway, I want you to deliver this the next time you meet up with Rell or Joe,” she said as she pulled out a wax-sealed letter and handed it to Jafar.

Jafar examined the letter with growing curiosity, his fingers tracing the elegant wax seal pressed firmly on the parchment. The seal was crafted in the old-fashioned way, but it wasn’t just the traditional style that caught his attention. He recognized the specific type of wax—a unique, enchanted blend used centuries ago by only the most careful and secretive of mages.

Jafar knew that if anyone other than the intended recipient attempted to break the seal, the magic would alert the sender instantly, marking the intrusion. However, he also understood these wax seals had fallen out of favor long ago. Despite their initial appeal as a safeguard, the enchantment was surprisingly easy to bypass. Anyone with a steady hand could simply cut around the edge of the paper where the wax was affixed, lifting the seal without ever triggering the spell.

Mitra: “That letter contains instructions for your team on some things I want you to also do while going through the documents at the archive.”

Jafar: “What are we doing?”

Mitra: “You’ll find out once you deliver the letter. But, don’t get excited. It is just more paperwork for your team to do.”

Mitra concluded their discussion and walked Alan and Jafar to the door, watching as they departed from her office, their footsteps fading down the hall. She lingered in the doorway for a moment, observing them until they disappeared around a corner, leaving her in quiet solitude. Once the door closed behind her, an almost palpable stillness settled over the room.

She walked over to the quartz crystal she had been idly turning over in her hands while speaking with her two soon-to-be disciples. Now, with the office empty and the quiet settling around her, she picked up the quartz and studied it intently, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

For a long moment, she stood there, her expression unreadable as she turned the crystal slowly in her fingers, watching how the light refracted off its etched surface. It was hard to guess what thoughts occupy her mind, but there was a certain intensity in her eyes—a look that suggested she saw more than what others would see.

Mitra: “I won’t be like you…”

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