Mystikos the Generous! Master of almost-archwizardry!

The afternoon light slanted through the shop’s dusty windows as Corin finally settled on his purchases. The red leather tome, The Ultimate Sparks, rested under one arm, and perched atop his head was a pointy hat that, admittedly, made him feel absurd – and undeniably powerful. Tia clapped her hands, eyes sparkling.

“There! Perfect! You look… wizard-y,” she said, nudging his hat down gently.

Corin grinned, brushing a hand along the hat’s brim. Pride warmed him at her approval. It was small, silly, yet something about it felt like a tiny rebellion – one that carried no real harm, just a silent defiance against the rigid expectations he’d grown up with. A twinge of guilt flickered in his chest, but he pushed it down. A harmless rebellion, he reminded himself.

Tia spotted yet another ladder up, and asked, “Hey, Mystikos, what’s up there? Yet more cool stuff?”

“N-no no no. We’re not going there. It’s… my secret laboratory, okay?” he answered in a flustered tone.

“Kay~, it’s your bedroom, isn’t it? I bet it’s even messier up there,” Tia chuckled. But Mystikos just pulled his floppy hat’s rim down.

Meanwhile she was rummaging through the racks herself. She tried on several hats, each more ridiculous than the last, before finally settling on a slender, deep-blue hat with a silver band that complemented her energetic stance. Her hand hovered over a wand, short and delicate, made of polished gnarled wood with an inlaid spiral of iron, or at least some shiny grey-ish metal.
With a decisive nod, she picked it up.

“So… how do we actually learn this magic thing?” she asked, waving the wand just for the sake of it.

Corin opened the tome and flipped through the early chapters.
“Well… chanting, gestures, focus. We probably need practice, and maybe… someone to teach us, actually.”

Mystikos, hovering nearby and clearly delighted by the display, bobbed his head like a bird.
“Ah! You want a teacher? A real, professional wizard? I could, yes! Show you the secrets, the – well, parts I know – of true spellcraft!”

Corin’s eyes flicked to his coin thread. One thing for sure, his savings could barely cover the book, let alone a hat and private lessons.

Mystikos, oblivious to his silent calculations, was practically vibrating with excitement. “Two apprentices! Me! An actual archwizard! Well… not quite an archwizard. But nearly! Almost! But still… two apprentices! Can you believe it? Two!”

He waddled over to the ‘checkout’, a humble table and a small chest of coins, rummaging through a notebook with scribbled prices.

Mystikos muttered to himself, squinting, and finally eyeballed a total that seemed fair – roughly one crest for the lot: Corin’s book and hat, Tia’s hat and wand.

“Guild Marks, please!” he declared, leaning on the table for balance. “Need to record you as official apprentices, of course!”

Corin hesitated, hands hovering. He didn’t want the bliss of this little adventure shattered by the sight of his destined job – a knight.

Tia glanced at him, then back at Mystikos. With a small breath, she slowly pulled out a card of white glow – her guild mark bright against the dim shop.
Unlike before, it had actually gained some detail. Now her name was glinting through the gleam somehow – Celestia – and a cryptic stamp, not the city’s coat of arms, but something else.

Mystikos froze, eyes wide, jaw slack. He leaned closer, poking at the glowing stamp. “What… what is this? I’ve… never… seen… nothing like this!” His voice bounced between awe and confusion. “No predetermined profession, yet… signed by the gods themselves?”

Tia shrugged with a small grin. “Well, apparently someone wants me to have free will.”

Corin’s nervousness eased a little, watching Mystikos flail between fascination and disbelief. The little rebellion, the harmless adventure… it had just gotten even bigger.

“Two apprentices,” Mystikos murmured, pacing in tiny excited circles. “And… and… mysteries written by the gods themselves! Oh, what an extraordinary day!”

His gaze drifted toward Tia’s name, “Right I didn’t ask for you nam….”

Mystikos’ eyes practically popped out of his head. “Celestia??… the human goddess herself! Or… or perhaps… an apostle? No, no… maybe even her very Descending!” He flailed a hand toward the glowing mark.

“And yet – here you are, standing before me, wanting to learn sparks and light and… and… well, magic!”

He waved toward the items they had chosen, muttering to himself as if he couldn’t quite believe his luck. “Books! Hats! Wands! You’ve already picked them yourselves! Truly, this is divine providence… Yes! I shall gift these to you, my apprentices! As a sign… of… of something magnificent!”

Corin blinked, a little overwhelmed but relieved. His wallet could finally rest easy.

Tia, on the other hand, could barely keep from laughing at Mystikos’ grandiose declarations. Though a tang of worry clouded her joy.

“Gift them?” she asked cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course!” Mystikos declared, sweeping his arms as if performing a grand magic gesture. “You are apprentices – yes, apprentices! – and if the goddess herself is somehow… involved… then I, Mystikos, humble sage of almost-archwizardry, must honor you!”

He pointed toward their chosen items, “Consider these your first lessons in magic, gifted by… well, me. And maybe… divine intervention!”

Corin held up his red-leather tome, feeling its weight in his hands, the little thrill of rebellion mingling with the pride of being accepted, even if unofficially, into this tiny circle of magic.

Tia adjusted her wand and hat, grinning. The sun was dipping lower outside, the warm afternoon light spilling across the cluttered shop, and for the first time that day, the worries of societal expectation felt very far away.

Mystikos, meanwhile, crouched near her mark again, babbling about calculations and mutterings about celestial significance, divine blessings, and how exactly he might teach a goddess – or at least someone apparently chosen by one.

Every so often, he would glance at them with a mixture of awe and paternal pride, as if already imagining the sparks they would cast, the mischief they would get into, and the stories he would tell about the day his very own Celestia and another promising apprentice walked into his chaotic little shop.

As Mystikos fussed over his newfound treasures and celestial theories, the shop slowly quieted around them. The shadows stretched long across the cluttered floor, and the faint smell of incense and parchment hung in the air like a warm blanket.

Corin and Tia exchanged a glance, both silently agreeing that they had better start heading out before Mystikos discovered a new divine revelation and whisked them off for yet another round of “mandatory” lessons.

With their purchases tucked safely under arms and a sense of giddy accomplishment lingering in their steps, they slipped toward the door, stepping back into the city that suddenly seemed a little less rigid, a little more theirs.

Tia just shouted back, while descending down to the first floor, “Byeeee~ See ya~”

Another soft, muted bell sounds as they open the front door, stepping out onto the neat, not so chaotic pavement.

Mystikos leaned out of his big circular window, waving and shouting, “Meet me soon, my precious apprentices!”

With a chuckle and smile on their faces they waved back at him.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, the city’s twisting alleys slowly giving way to wider streets. Tia looked up at the grand spire, their original target, but was ultimately happy they ended up at Mystikos’.

Eventually, Tia furrowed her brow. “Right. I wanted to ask him more about teleportation magic,” she muttered, glancing sideways at Corin.

“Teleportation?” Corin raised an eyebrow. “Why that one in particular?”

Tia shrugged, her grin playful but vague. “Just… really cool, don’t you think?”

Corin chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s all the reasoning you’re giving me?”

“That’s all I need,” she said, tapping the wand lightly on her shoulder. “I mean… who wouldn’t want to know how to appear and disappear at will? Just getting to any place instantly sounds convenient for my lazy ass.”

Their conversation fell into a soft chatter about Mystikos, laughing quietly at the man’s chaotic energy. His floppy hat, his stumbling theatrics, the wild-eyed babbling about divine intervention – they both agreed he was weird, unpredictable… but ultimately a fun, fascinating person. “Like a storm, but a funny one,” Tia said.

“Or a very confused lightning bolt,” Corin chuckled.

By the time the tavern was in sight, their laughter had dwindled to soft smiles. Then Corin froze mid-step.
Three familiar figures were striding toward the tavern from the opposite side, their shadows long in the amber light. Balthan. Vesh. Rika. Too late to hide the hats, too late to tuck the wand away.

Corin’s stomach dropped as Balthan’s eyes caught the red leather tome clutched to his chest. For all the warmth and laughter of the shop, this was the part he’d half-expected all along: the weight of judgment.

Somewhere in the crooked alleys, Mystikos was probably bouncing on his heels, already plotting their next visit. Neither Corin nor Tia noticed how heavy their new treasures suddenly felt in their hands.

“Uh-oh,” Tia muttered under her breath.

Before they could even react, the trio was upon them, hands firmly but not unkindly grabbing Tia and Corin.

Balthan spoke first, not amused at all, “You two… Seriously?”
His deep voice, almost threatening as he said, “Up to our room. Now.”

In a flurry of motion, the two were pulled back toward the staircase, past Maressa greeting them, hats wobbling precariously on their heads.

Both Tia and Corin felt it. This feeling of being caught, it was inevitable, they knew that from the start. So now they had to face the consequences.

Inside their rented room Balthan, Vesh, and Rika circled them like a trio of scolding cats, arms crossed and eyebrows arched. “You two actually went out?” Balthan’s voice carried the weight of pure disbelief. “When you were supposed to lay low!”

Tia flinched slightly, “We.. We went to that wizard’s shop, Mystikos… Come on, we just wanted to have some fun, kay?” Her voice was more defensive than intended.

Corin, tugging at his pointy hat nervously, muttered, “It was just a short trip. And very educational.”

Rika snorted. “Educational? You mean you went wandering into some weird wizard’s shop and bought random stuff? Do you have any idea how reckless that is?”

Vesh chimed in as well, his voice filled with an unknown judging tone. “You two didn’t cast magic did you? And how did you even get to buy these things? You’re not even destined mages.”

Balthan’s words cut sharper than before. “Don’t tell me you showed your marks.”

The room fell still for a heartbeat. Tia’s fingers twitched at her side, and then, before anyone else could speak, she huffed, “Fine. I did. I had to, okay?”

“What?” Balthan’s voice rose, hot with anger. “Tia–!”
But she wasn’t done. With a determined flick, she pulled the card from her pocket and held it out, the faint glow already spreading across the etched surface. The room was washed in a pale white shimmer as her name burned clearly into view:

Celestia.

Below it, the sigil – still not of the city’s guild, but of someone else.

“L’ile, the god of destiny,” Vesh muttered.

Silence swallowed the room whole.

Rika blinked and straightened. “Wait… what?”

“I told you,” Tia said quickly, her grin shaky, as if trying to play it off.

“Mystikos said it himself. He thought I might be – ” she hesitated, then barreled on, “ – an apostle. Or maybe even the Descending of the human goddess Celestia.”

Vesh stepped closer, eyes narrowing, though not in suspicion this time – in awe. “That’s… impossible. A guild mark has never been overwritten by divine sigils. Not unless…” He trailed off, muttering something under his breath about prophecy and divine contracts.

Balthan swore under his breath and ran a hand over his face. “An apostle? Tia, do you understand what that means? If anyone else sees that mark, the entire city will be on us.”

For once, Tia didn’t crack a joke. Rika folded her arms tighter, staring at the glowing name like it might leap off the card. “I’ve never heard of anything like this. First blank mark, maybe a slip-up ritual – but signed by a god? That’s… that’s new.”

Rika let out a low breath, finally breaking the silence. “You’re not the only ones confused. Vesh and I… we’ve been asking around.”

Tia blinked. “Asking around? Right, that's why you were gone in the first place.”

“Religious folk first,” Rika said, tone flat but with a flicker of unease in her eyes. “Half of them swore this was impossible. Called it blasphemy, even. Said the gods don’t fail with the Guild system. But the other half…”
She shrugged, bringing her hand up to her chin. “They whispered it might be divine. Intervention, trial, test, take your pick. That maybe the gods hadn’t finished deciding for you yet, like they’re weighing options.”

Vesh picked up smoothly, his voice quieter, more deliberate. “I pressed the scholars after that. Scribes, chroniclers, even some former professors. They came up empty. No records of just glowing Guild Marks, none. The closest I found were… legends.”
He tilted his head, as though dredging them up again. “Stories of heroes destined from birth, their marks radiant. And… a handful of cases with unusually broad jobs – ‘Worker,’ ‘Villager,’ things so vague they could become anything. Scholars saw those as signs of limitless potential.” His brow furrowed. “But nothing like this. Nothing signed by L’ile.”

“And the priest,” Rika cut in, nodding toward Vesh. “Tell her that part.”

Vesh hesitated, then admitted, “The head priest met me alone. I asked him directly about blank marks, about the white glow, about… yours. He didn’t dismiss it. He called it godly. But he also warned me not to draw conclusions. Said speculation without knowledge is dangerous – half-knowledge kills more than ignorance ever did.”
His jaw tightened. “Even he couldn’t give me an answer.”

Tia stared at them, her grin completely gone now. “So basically… no one knows anything. Cool.”

“Pretty much,” Rika said.

Balthan, who’d been pacing the small room the whole time, finally growled low in his throat. “That’s not all.” He stopped, looking directly at Tia. “I asked too. Not scholars or priests – people in the crowds, merchants, even a few in places you’d rather not be seen.”
His lip curled. “Most of it was useless. Tips on washing clothes, tall tales about cursed marks, conspiracies about the Guild. But one rumor kept coming up: a blank mark as the result of a botched ritual. Wrong words spoken, wrong circles drawn. I think I had something. I hoped we could just redo the ritual and everything’s fine.”
He rubbed at his temple. “But then I see that” – he jabbed a finger at her glowing sigil – “and realized none of those drunks or hustlers knew a damn thing. Not with L’ile’s mark sitting there like it was carved into you by the gods themselves.”

The room sank into a heavier silence.

Tia glanced down at the shimmering mark in her hands, then shoved it back into her pocket, her jaw set. “…Well. That clears things up a lot. Not.”

She forced a crooked smile. “Well. Guess the gods just like messing with me.”

No one laughed.

Balthan growls out a very clear, almost parental warning: “You don’t show that card again. Not to anyone. Not unless you want the whole damn city at our throats.”

Soon the sun dipped low, just like the room's mood. No one really had the motivation anymore to go downstairs and eat dinner together.

Tia lay down on her bed, the others already turned away, brooding in their own corners. She stared at the ceiling with eyes wide open. Her fingers itched for the card. For the glow. For the truth.

If they don’t know what it means… I’ll find out myself.