Mystikos the Great, the Transcendent, and the... uh Magical!

The streets outside the tavern were busy again, but not with the same weight they’d left behind in the guild.
Here, the air was filled with midday chatter, the sharp call of vendors, the thrum of wheels against stone. The unease of earlier still clung to Corin’s shoulders, but Tia seemed to shake it off like water, marching ahead with her eyes narrowed at the skyline.

“There,” she pointed, chin lifted. Between the tiled roofs, a spire rose – slender, but not delicate. Its stone was a deep slate streaked with veins of gleaming copper, like lightning frozen mid-strike. Sunlight caught the metal, making it pulse faintly as if the tower itself breathed.

Winding around the spire climbed a dragon, carved from greenstone so lifelike its scales seemed to ripple when clouds passed overhead. Its jaws gaped in a silent roar toward the sky, claws sunk into the masonry as if daring the wind to pry it loose.
Windows punctuated the tower at uneven intervals, some tall and narrow like arrow slits, others round and bulging with glass that warped the sunlight into strange colors.
And at the peak, thin rods of bronze arced outward, crooked like the prongs of a crown, crackling faintly against the blue.

It had an unmistakable air of magical nonsense.

“That looks wizard-y enough for me,” Tia said.

Corin followed her gaze, lips pressing into a line. “You can’t just say something looks wizard-y.”

“Of course I can. It’s tall, pointy, and unnecessarily dramatic.” She shot him a grin. “Like your future hat.”

He groaned softly, but his feet moved with hers all the same.

The climb wasn’t straight.
Ssarradon’s terraces stacked like layered shelves, and each step up meant weaving through new neighborhoods. They passed narrow lanes where dye vats steamed, staining the cobbles with streaks of blue and violet; wide markets where glassmakers held their wares to the sun, shards of color spilling across awnings. And quiet stairwells where cat-sized lizards lounged like miniature guardians of forgotten shrines.

Tia drank it all in with wide eyes, pointing out every odd carving and funny smell. Corin, despite himself, kept pace close beside her. His hand occasionally brushed the little pouch of coins at his belt – his savings, meager as they were.

If he did find something… what would he even buy? A spell scroll? A book? A staff? The thought both thrilled and terrified him.

Tia glanced back, caught his expression, and nudged him with her elbow. “You’re already thinking about it, aren’t you?”

He looked away, muttering, “Maybe.”

“Good,” she said, voice bright with mischief. “Because by the end of today, you’re coming out with at least one wizard-y thing. Hat, book, staff, whatever. I won’t accept less.”

The grand tower loomed closer, its stonework shifting from simple block to patterned inlays. There seemed to be a faint hum in the air, though whether from actual enchantment or just the atmosphere of expectation, it was hard to say.

Soon their journey found an end at the mage’s terrace.

The spire was impossible to miss. Even when the streets narrowed and buildings pressed close, its tall frame loomed above any roof, the wyrm of greenstone spiraling up around it like a guardian stuck mid-climb.
Tia kept her eyes fixed on it, marching forward with the stubborn certainty of someone who thought sheer willpower could cut through city planning.

“Almost there,” she said for the third time.

Corin said nothing. He was watching too closely. They had turned left toward the spire – and yet, when the alley spat them out, the tower wasn’t ahead, but behind them, glittering from a new angle.

Tia froze. “Wait. No. That’s not– ” She spun around, scanning the roofs, then jabbed a finger. “There! Okay. This time.”

They tried again. Right turn, straight stretch, tight alley and– For a heartbeat the dragon’s stony scales seemed so close she could almost see the chisel marks. Then they blinked into sunlight, and somehow the spire was farther than before, perched back on the skyline like a mirage.

Tia groaned. “Oh, come on! I swear it moved.”

“It didn’t move,” Corin said softly. His eyes were wide, awe glinting in them. “It’s warded. Spatial veils. Probably recursive marks around the whole block.”

“What–” Tia shot back.

He licked his lips, fumbling for words. “It means… unless you’re meant to enter, you never get there. I… heard that somewhere.”

“Right. So they build the biggest, showiest tower in the whole city, and then put a ‘no peasants allowed’ sign over the whole thing.” She threw her hands up. “Now that’s just silly.”

Corin didn’t argue. He was still staring at the spire, reverent, like it was whispering promises only he could hear.

Tia tugged at his sleeve. “Well, since Mr. Pointy Hat doesn’t get the VIP invite either, how about we find something actually open to the public before I lose my mind?”

It turned out “open to the public” meant a crooked side street that smelled of stale bread and hot leather. Between a bakery with steam-stained windows and a cobbler’s stall hunched a narrow door, its frame warped by age. Above it swung a sign so chipped it barely read:

Mystikos’ Tower of Transcendent Thaumaturgy.

The letters had once been gilded. Now they flaked like old skin. That “Tower” in question was three stories of leaning brick, no taller than its neighbors, with a chimney that coughed out weak curls of purple smoke.

Tia stopped dead. “Oh. Oh, this is perfect. Probably”

Corin sighed. “This looks… questionable.”

“Exactly! Look at that name – ‘Tower of Transcendent Thaumaturgy’? That’s either genius branding or total fraud, and I’m here for it.” She was already marching up to the door. “Better than nothing, right?”

Corin hesitated, one last glance cast back at the unreachable spire on the skyline, then sighed again and followed.

The bell above the door gave a reluctant muted ting as Tia shoved it open. She leaned a bit down, careful not to hit her head on the door’s frame. “Damn, is this a dwarf’s atelier?”
A puff of incense-smoke – or maybe just dust – drifted into their faces.

Inside was… not order. Not anything close.

Narrow shelves leaned against each other like drunkards, burdened with crooked stacks of books whose spines were cracked and whose titles were written in at least five different languages.
Bundles of dried herbs dangled overhead, if you can call it ‘overhead’ when Tia had to fear bumping into some of the lower beams.
Brittle leaves shedded onto piles of crystal shards and warped copper instruments. The air smelled slightly of burnt parchment, musty wool, and something faint and sharp – alcohol, maybe, or just rotting fruit.

“Wow,” Tia whispered, eyes gleaming. “This place is a fire hazard with character.”

Corin didn’t reply. He was staring, shoulders slumped.
This was not the gleaming marble halls or polished tomes he’d imagined when he dreamed of studying magic. It was… dingy. Desperate. But some stubborn part of him refused to walk right back out the door. Geniuses thrive in disorder… right?

They split, weaving through the contorted aisles. Corin trailed his fingers across a row of books, frowning when his hand brushed the same battered spine three times in a row – the titles identical, though one copy was upside down.

Tia plucked a heavy tome from a shelf: On the Folding of Space and the Inherent Perils of Teleportation. The cover crackled with flaking gold leaf, but maybe what’s inside could reveal some mighty teleportation magic. A potential way back home.
When she cracked it open the margins were scrawled with frantic handwriting next to complicated graphs, magical circles and sentences she bets she should be able to read.

‘???’ right on the first page, ‘What does this mean??’, ‘What???’.
On another page: ‘Dangerous! Do NOT attempt!’ circled thrice in red ink. She spotted ‘Howww??’, ‘Why?’, and countless other scribbles that rendered this book utterly unsellable.
She slapped the book shut, and couldn’t hold back a short snorted laugh before putting it back. “Yep, very reassuring. This guy’s basically me doing math homework.”

At the other side of the room Corin looked through a messy pile of books on an antique-looking wooden table. Just as he picked up the next one, it began to float for a brief second before dropping again like the most unmagical book ever.
Dangerously close to the edge was a more or less spherical orb. It sputtered weak glows until the light died down again.

Tia had her fun, Corin, however, looked like a child at a birthday party forced to smile politely at socks.
His lips pressed thin, but his gaze still snagged, traitorously, on a half-fallen scroll or the glint of a crystal prism, like hope refusing to vanish.

“Maybe we should– ” he began, but then he spotted it. Spying through a half-empty shelf – a bruised counter tucked around the bend of the ‘Tower’.
A brass bell sat on it, polished unevenly, with a tiny wooden sign dangling beside:

Ring Twice to Cast Calling Magic.

Corin hesitated. Then, with a sigh reaching through the shelf:

Riiing – Riiing.

For a moment, nothing. Then– thumping overhead. A muffled curse. The sound of something heavy being knocked over.

“Wait a second!” a voice called, somewhere above. “Mystikos will be there in just a moment!”

Tia slapped a hand over her mouth to hide a laugh.

The thumping continued, followed by a series of rickety footsteps. At last, a trapdoor creaked open at the back of the shop. Both of them turned toward it as a wooden ladder slipped down. Just a second after, it groaned under the weight of someone descending.

Down came a human. Face shaped by the passage of time just as much as his robe – it had once been fine velvet, now patched at the elbows with mismatched cloth.
A tangled beard hid everything down from the nose, streaked with grey and ink stains. But the crowning glory was his hat – a colossal, floppy wizard’s cap that wobbled dangerously as he squeezed through the narrow trapdoor, the brim smacking against the ceiling beams.
It got stuck, revealing his fading hair until he tilted it sideways with both hands and put it back onto his head.

“Ah!” he declared, hopping off the last rung with theatrical flourish. His eyes swept the room, gleaming with barely-contained ego.
“You stand in the illustrious presence of Mystikos! Sage of the unseen, master of the– ”

He tripped on a loose tome, stumbled, then straightened like nothing had happened.
“– uh, the thaumatic arts. Yes.”

Tia’s grin stretched ear to ear. Corin just groaned softly into his hand.

Mystikos leaned on his counter, fingers steepled, eyes narrowing in that dramatic way he probably thought was intimidating.

“And what mystical knowledge do you seek, hmm? My shelves are vast… though, admittedly, the number of those who come through this door is, uh… sparse. Very sparse indeed.”

Tia stepped forward, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
“Well, my friend here – ” she gestured to Corin, who shifted awkwardly – “he’s, uh, interested in learning magic. You know, destined to do so and stuff.” She said, leaving out the part about him being a future royal knight, hoping Mystikos wouldn’t ask for credentials before handing over the goods… if there were any worth to look into.

Mystikos nodded sagely – or as sagely as someone with ink-streaked robes and a floppy hat could. “Magic, yes! What sort of magic tickles your fancy, young – uh, soul?”

Tia shrugged and waved a hand. “Whatever seems… suitable. Something that you see fit, maybe?”

Corin sighed, but slowly, gently, a thrill began to grow. This was really happening, maybe he could properly start learning magic now!

And so began the hunt. Shelves were shifted, piles of books heaved and teetered, and Mystikos occasionally muttered to himself about “advanced elemental incantations” or “practical thaumaturgical experiments,” which often turned out to be a slightly chewed quill or a glowing rock.

After several minutes of shuffling and muttering, Corin’s hand brushed against a small, neat book tucked between two massive dusty tomes. He pulled it free carefully. Red leather, pristine, fine engravings glinting in the shop’s dim light.

The Ultimate Sparks.

Underneath, in almost imperceptible lettering: From Beginner to Archwizard Level.

Corin’s eyes widened, gingerly flipping the cover open. The first few pages were neat, orderly text explaining the fundamentals of chanting – the way sound and intention intertwined to bend Mana.
Diagrams of tongue positions, breath control, and hand gestures ran along the margins, annotated with tiny flourishes that suggested a nervous pride.

He turned a few pages and found a compact vocabulary list of Empyrean, the language of chants. Words for light, sound, motion, even simple elemental effects were listed with pronunciations and hints for inflection.
“Èpernea – light,” he muttered, rolling the word on his tongue, trying to imitate the markings that indicated how a syllable should rise or fall.

Next came exercises. The first few spells were tiny – a faint glow at the tip of a finger, a soft pop like a cork from a bottle, the smallest sparks that fizzled before they touched anything.
Corin grinned, recognizing a sequence almost identical to the spark spell Rika had shown him once. His heart raced as he traced the symbols for it in the book. Small sizzling sparks – like miniature shooting stars. His fingers itched to try them.

The pages progressed slowly, layering in more complexity – spells for moving tiny objects, illuminating a room with dancing lights, shaping sound into patterns. Even with the book’s guidance, Corin felt the weight of concentration needed, the way each word mattered, the way a slight mispronunciation could fizzle or misfire a spell entirely. But for the first time, the abstract idea of magic felt tangible. He could hold it, see it, imagine it taking form in his own hands.

Mystikos leaned over, squinting. “Ah! That one’s… uh… rare. Yes, yes, a fine choice! Comprehensive, ambitious, and entirely… readable.”

“Nice~ A proper book is always the best start”, Tia’s gaze swept the shop. “Do you… have anything for clothing? Proper wizard robes? I mean, I only saw books and other… stuff.”

Mystikos’ eyes lit up, and with a dramatic flourish, tugging at the ladder’s first rung. “Ah, follow closely, young seekers! The real wonders await above!”

He began the ascent, one careful step at a time. The ladder creaked ominously when his feet met the next rung. Midway, the massive floppy brim of his hat caught on a low beam. He halted, hands raised like a conductor mid-gesture.

“Blast it all,” he muttered, tugging and tilting, until finally the hat popped free with a soft whumph and landed slightly askew. “These joints of mine,” he groaned, rubbing at his shoulders and stretching his back, “they were not made for climbing ladders more than once per decade, much less daily.”

Finally, he reached the top, letting out a small sigh of relief. “There we are. Behold! The pinnacle of wizardly wardrobe, the armory of arcane attire!” Though neither Corin nor Tia were up there with him to marvel at whatever magnificent waited for them.

A few moments later, after they had both climbed up, they saw it.

The upper floor was… chaotic, but in a different way. Narrow rafters and low beams held racks of pointy hats, walls displayed wands, scepters, even towering staves.
Fabrics were piled in precarious stacks, some garments glowing or shimmering faintly as if impatient to be worn. A few robes swayed slightly, enchanted perhaps – or simply disgruntled at being left in a heap.

Tia’s eyes widened. “Okay… this is actually amazing.”
Corin’s gaze darted over the hats and staves, already imagining what he could do with them, his new little tome tucked under his arm.

Corin’s lips twitched. “Oh… wow.”

Tia and Mystikos collapsed onto a dusty couch in the middle of the room, exchanging glances like two judges preparing for a contest.
“Try that one,” she said, tossing him a deep blue robe with silver trim.

Corin groaned theatrically but complied. Soon he was swapping robes, waving scepters, and donning pointy hats that barely fit over his head. Some were comically large, some ridiculously stiff and pointy, others glittered in a way that made them nearly blind when he spun.

Tia snickered. “Oh, yes, the Dragon’s Breath hat! It really brings out your… eyebrows.”

Mystikos chimed in with mock gravitas. “A solid choice, though the Infernal Spiral does suggest… ah… a hint of uncontrolled ambition.”

Corin grumbled, spinning a wand between his fingers, but secretly he was loving every second. He’d never had so many choices, never felt so much like he was in a world of magic that was actually his, even if messy.

By the end, Corin had tried on nearly everything, hats askew, robes dragging, wands flicking the air as he experimented with small sparks and faint glows.
Tia and Mystikos judged with exaggerated flair, the atmosphere somewhere between a family shopping trip and a chaotic audition for wizardry fashion week.