Transcendent Dinner at Mystikos’

The afternoon bled into gold without either of them noticing. What started as a few shaky sparks and sputtering pops stretched into hours of laughter and fumbling syllables, each little success bright as lantern flame in the gloom. When at last the smoke cleared and the room smelled faintly of singed parchment, Tia glanced toward the high window. The sky outside was already turning amber.

Her stomach gave a small, traitorous growl.

“Ah!” Mystikos clapped his ink-blackened hands, scattering ash into his beard. “The sun sets, the bellies grumble – nature’s way of saying ‘feed me or perish.’” He wagged a finger at them, eyes twinkling. “And since I’ve not perished yet, I daresay I know how to put together a decent stew. Unless you’d rather scamper back to your companions and eat something dreadfully ordinary?”

Tia hesitated. She thought of the Dozing Serpent, of Rika’s turned back and silence heavy as stone. Of Balthan’s gruff watchfulness and Vesh’s quiet eyes.

“Maybe… maybe it’s better to give her another night,” she said softly.

Corin’s expression faltered, but he nodded. “She deserves the space.”

“Excellent!” Mystikos leapt to his feet with startling agility for a man his age. “Then come, my illustrious apprentices. You’ve seen the first floor, cluttered chaos of invention. You’ve seen the second, humble classroom of burgeoning brilliance. But you have not…” He paused dramatically, sweeping his hat off his head, “…seen the third.”

He shuffled toward a narrow spiral staircase tucked behind a curtain. The steps creaked ominously as he beckoned them. “My sanctum. My lair. My most secret of laboratories and kitchens – two things that should never, ever be confused, and yet somehow often are.”

Tia shot Corin a look, half-amused, half-nervous. “This isn’t where you keep the dismembered apprentices, right?”

“Only the rude ones,” Mystikos replied cheerfully, already clambering up.

They followed, the air growing warmer as they ascended, tinged with herbs and something savory. The stairs opened into a wide loft lined with bookshelves that sagged under their own weight. Bundles of dried plants dangled from the rafters, bottles glowed faintly on cluttered counters, a single enormous window gave a view of the city rooftops, hazed gold by the sinking sun.

Mystikos spread his arms like a showman. “Behold! The Tower’s crown jewel. Half library, half kitchen, wholly impractical!”

And in the center of it all, balancing precariously on three legs, was a battered round table. Mystikos clapped it proudly as though unveiling a treasure hoard.
“Dinner!”

There was just one wooden chair and another couch, just like the one below. Soon after Corin and Tia flopped down on the creaky old piece of furniture a strong sizzle came from the other corner.

Behind Mystikos was a stove blackened by years of fire spells gone wrong, an iron pot bubbling faintly, and a wooden spoon that looked older than Ssarradon itself.

The smell though made Tia’s mouth water instantly – something like garlic, onion, also rich and meaty beneath it. She stood again, drifting closer, peering into the pot.

“What’re you making?” she asked.

“Stew!” Mystikos announced. “Probably stew.”

“Probably?” Corin echoed, voice dry but tinged with amusement for the first time all day.

“Stew is a philosophy, not a recipe!” Mystikos declared, fishing something vaguely root-shaped out of the pot and tossing it back in. “You take what you have, add what you shouldn’t, stir until it stops smoking, then eat before it changes its mind. My master taught me that.”

Tia bit back a laugh, watching as he slammed mismatched bowls onto the table with a flourish. The stew, once ladled, was thick and brown with occasional unidentifiable chunks – but the smell, surprisingly, was… nice. Savory, earthy, filling.

They sat, bowls steaming before them, while Mystikos tore a loaf of somewhat-stale bread into hunks and dropped them in the middle. “To great wizards and greater appetites!” he toasted, raising his own bowl before slurping loudly.

Tia braced herself, then took a spoonful. Warmth spread through her chest almost immediately, the flavors simple but hearty – some kind of roasted meat and onion, a hint of spice. It was nothing like Balthan’s careful balance of textures, the way he made tavern fare feel like cafeteria food.
This was blunt, rough, made to fill you, not to dazzle. And yet, after the day’s weight, it was exactly what she needed.

Corin ate quietly at first, hesitant, but soon his spoon found rhythm. Some color even returned to his face as Mystikos regaled them with stories of his “legendary duels” against laundry stains and the time he nearly blew a hole in his floor “but only to test gravity’s resolve.”

Tia chuckled into her bowl, tension easing from her shoulders. For a moment, it felt… normal. Not hunted, not fractured, not heavy with secrets. Just three people sharing a meal, the sky outside painted in fire and dusk.

When they’d eaten their fill, Mystikos leaned back, patting his stomach and sighing contentedly. “See? Stew always works. If magic fails you, if friends quarrel, if the world itself wobbles on its axis – stew.” He pointed his spoon like a sage. “Never underestimate it.”

Tia smiled softly, glancing at Corin. He caught her look, and though his smile was faint, it was real.

Mystikos didn’t stop talking once their bowls sat on the table. He leaned across the table, spoon waving like a conductor’s baton, as though stew fueled his tongue as much as his stomach.

“Did I ever tell you,” he began with grave solemnity, “that I nearly became an Archwizard of the Arcanum?”

Corin raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you did?”

“Oh, yes. I walked right up to the Spire with my best hat, my most polished boots, and an application form written in rhymed couplets. They asked me what spell I had perfected. I showed them my patented ‘Folding Socks by Arcane Compulsion.’ Do you know what they did?”

Tia shook her head, smiling despite herself.

“They laughed! Laughed! Said, ‘Mystikos, folding socks does not advance the glory of magic!’ Can you imagine?” He slapped the table, bread crumbs scattering. “No vision. No appreciation for the unsung struggles of humanity. I left that day with my pride intact and my socks perfectly folded.”

Corin gave a quiet huff – the ghost of laughter.

“And then there was the time,” Mystikos barreled on, “I tried to summon a grand spell. I wanted a dragon’s breath, naturally. Or at least a big campfire. Something dignified. Do you know what I got?” He jabbed his spoon toward them. “A wall of flames! It singed everyone’s clotheslines! Do you have any idea how expensive those were?”

Tia almost choked on her stew, laughing into her sleeve.

Mystikos beamed at her reaction, eyes twinkling under his crooked hat. “That bad image followed me for two years. Sat on my shoulder during every lecture.

Tia leaned back in her chair, warmth spreading through her chest – partly stew, partly laughter. Mystikos was absurd, ridiculous even, but there was comfort in his rambling. Like the world’s weight slid off for a little while, replaced by stories of pigeons and socks and impossible ambitions.

When the bowls were empty and the bread long gone, Mystikos declared the dinner a success. “See? Stew solves everything. Now off with you before I feed you dessert – it involves magic ingredients, and no one’s forgiven me for it yet.”

They laughed, gathering their things, and stepped out into the night.

The city had changed while they ate. Ssarradon’s streets were darker now, lanterns swaying in the evening breeze. The bustle of markets was gone, replaced by the quieter hum of taverns and watch patrols. Shadows stretched long over the cobbles, and every now and then the clink of armored boots echoed from an alleyway.

Tia tugged her cloak tighter as they slipped into the crowd moving downhill. The stew still warmed her belly, but her thoughts cooled quick, settling into unease. Mystikos’ words had been silly, harmless – but when he spoke of the Arcanum, of the Spire and the impossible heights of magic, something had twisted inside her.

The blank card at her side. The weight of Rika’s cold glances. The crier’s voice accusing her in the street.
And now… this hunger in her chest every time teleportation was mentioned. That whisper of a possibility.

She thought of home. Her mother’s cooking. Her father’s bad jokes. Her sister pretending to not care. The smell of fresh laundry on Sundays. That part of her still ached, raw and sharp, every night before sleep.

But then her mind turned to the others. Balthan’s gruff concern. Vesh’s steady wisdom. Rika’s fiery laugh when she wasn’t angry. Corin’s playful eagerness.

She wanted both. A way back – and a reason to stay.

“Do you think…” she began softly, glancing at Corin.

He turned his head, waiting.

She hesitated. The words were heavy in her throat. Do you think they’d hate me, if they knew? That I’m not from here at all? But she couldn’t say it. Not yet.

“…do you think Mystikos really almost joined the Arcanum?” she finished instead, forcing a half-smile.

Corin gave a weak chuckle. “If he did, I’m sure they still talk about him.”

She crackled. “True. You wouldn’t forget someone like him quickly.”

They shared a moment of quiet laughter, small but real, before the silence settled again. The city loomed larger around them the farther downhill they walked – taller taverns, busier corners, more guards lingering with watchful eyes. Tia’s heart raced when one patrol passed close, their polished helms glinting in lanternlight, but the men barely spared them a glance.

She exhaled slowly, clutching her cloak. Maybe… maybe she couldn’t hide forever. Secrets only grew heavier. And if she wanted them all – Rika, Corin, even Balthan and Vesh – to really accept her, then she had to give them the truth.

The tavern’s sign swung ahead, creaking faintly in the night breeze. Golden light spilled from its windows, voices muffled inside. Tia slowed, her feet suddenly heavy.

She wasn’t ready. Not fully. But she couldn’t carry it much longer.

Her fingers brushed the blank Guild Card in her pocket, cool against her skin.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow I tell them.

She lifted her eyes. The tavern door waited before them, shadows curling at its frame.

And together, she and Corin stepped toward it.

The tavern was warm the moment they stepped inside. The scent of roasted meat and spiced bread wrapped around Tia, mingling with the smoky haze that always seemed to cling to the rafters. Laughter rolled across the common room, tankards clinked, a lute twanged in the far corner.

And there, at their usual table by the back wall, sat Balthan, Vesh, and – her breath caught – Rika.

They were huddled close, a half-finished platter of roasted bird between them. A rare sight, Balthan’s booming laugh rose above the din, his beard glistening with grease. Vesh, more subdued, was telling some dry jokes that earned him laughters from both the minotaur and dogkin.

And Rika – her tail flicked lazily around the leg of her chair, her smile small but real.

Tia froze in the doorway. For two days now, Rika had been a wall of cold shoulders and clipped words. To see her laughing again, even a little, sent relief coursing through her so suddenly her knees went weak.

It was Rika who noticed them first. Her ears twitched, then she looked up, eyes meeting theirs across the crowded room.

The smile faltered, hesitancy flickering across her face. Then, quietly, she lifted her hand in a small wave.
“You’re back,” she said, voice uncertain, but not sharp. “We… were starting to worry. Thought maybe something happened.”

Tia blinked, caught off guard. She had braced herself for silence, or worse, another cold glare. Instead – concern. Uneasy, halting, but concern all the same.

Corin hesitated too, as though he couldn’t believe it. Then he nodded, his voice low. “We’re fine. We were with Mystikos. He, uh… he invited us for dinner.”

Balthan raised his brows but didn’t comment, just tore another bite of meat. Vesh inclined his head, calm as ever. Rika looked down at her plate, fiddling with her fork.

Tia’s pulse eased, just a little. She tugged Corin gently toward the table and slid onto the bench across from Rika. “We didn’t mean to make you wait,” she said softly. “But… thank you. For worrying.”

Rika gave a tiny shrug, not meeting her eyes. “You’re part of the group. Course we’d worry.”

Something in Tia’s chest uncoiled, loosening like a knot undone. Rika wasn’t smiling at her, not exactly – but the sharp edge was gone. The storm that had hung between them seemed to have thinned, if only to drizzle.

For the first time in days, the food on the table smelled good. Tia wasn’t even hungry, not after Mystikos’s stew, but she reached for a piece of bread anyway. Anything to keep her hands busy, to ground her against the whirl of emotions rising in her.

Because all she could think about now was the truth sitting in her chest like a stone.

For so long she had carried it alone. The secret of who she was, where she came from. The strange world she had fallen out of, the family she still dreamed of every night. She had thought she could bury it, keep smiling, keep moving forward. But Rika’s hurt had cut too deep. You don’t trust us either. Those words still echoed in her skull.

And Rika was right.

If she shoved this to tomorrow, she knew what would happen. Tomorrow she’d tell herself it wasn’t the right moment. Tomorrow she’d think of an excuse. Tomorrow would turn into another tomorrow, and another, until she was nothing but silence wrapped in smiles.

Her stomach twisted.

She looked around the table – at Balthan tearing through meat with ease, at Vesh sipping calmly, at Corin with his shoulders still slightly hunched, careful and wary. And at Rika, who ate quietly now, her tail curled tight but no longer lashing with anger.

They deserved the truth. If she wanted to belong – truly belong – she had to give them that.

Her fingers clenched on the bread crust. Her mouth was dry, but the words pressed behind her teeth anyway. Tell them. Tonight. Before you lose the nerve again.

Tia swallowed hard, forcing her voice steady. “Hey,” she said, a little louder than she meant to. All three of them looked up. Her chest thudded. “When you’re done eating… can we talk? Upstairs. Just us.”

Balthan raised a brow, but didn’t question. Vesh gave her a measured look and inclined his head.

Rika blinked, fork paused in midair. Suspicion flickered in her eyes – but also curiosity. She hesitated, then gave a short nod.

Tia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her palms were damp, her heart too loud in her ears, but for the first time in days, she felt… closer. Like the gap between them might actually be bridged.

She didn’t know how they would take it. Maybe they’d hate her. Maybe they’d never forgive her.

But she was done hiding.

The truth was waiting upstairs.

And tonight, they would finally hear it.