Archibald found himself in a barren landscape filled with the carcasses of great beasts.
The sky was grey and it seemed like it could rain at any moment with strong winds that carried dust and other impurities.
The last thing he recalled was creating a makeshift potion out of items he’d discovered within Twilight’s vault along with his blood after which he downed to become a Mystic.
In truth, he knew quite well that the chances of success were quite low; after all, not only was the potion severely lacking, but the main ingredient, which was his blood, was also lacking as well.
Yet, somehow, he found himself in this desolate landscape, and with that came the realization that he had succeeded... he had managed to become a Mystic.
It went against everything he understood about the world causing him to wonder just why the Tenets would allow such an error to occur.
Nothing made sense, but quite aware that this stroke of extreme luck worked to his advantage, he didn’t dare to question it for too long and instead accepted it for what it was.
With that understanding, he got to his feet and dusted his pants before gazing ahead.
If he was right, then this would be Ischia, the dwelling place of the Guardian of the Monster Wheel.
To begin his journey as a Mystic, he needed to meet the Guardian and so with the shirt on his back as his only belongings, he made his way onward.
Along the way, he came across several caves in the distance, both big and small with his instincts letting him know that those caves were definitely not empty.
He could have sworn that something was watching him from within those caves.
This prompted him to pick up the pace until finally, he arrived at his destination where the Guardian, Typhon, awaited.
It was a monstrous humanoid figure with four faces: one lion, the other bull, the third eagle, and the last wolf.
It possessed a gray-scaled torso with claws, bat wings, and large fur-covered arms with a dragon tail capable of pulling down the heavens.
Just catching a glimpse sent Archibald reeling as he immediately looked away and went on his knees after which he bowed.
Unsure of the right way to address the Guardian, he decided on the best way which was in a subservient manner.
The eight eyes of the Guardian flashed with traces of greed as they looked upon the hybrid kneeling before them.
Three out of its four mouths spoke, each one carrying a weight that weighed down heavily on Archibald.
Though it didn’t wasn’t to the point that it would kill him, it was enough to ensure that he wouldn’t be able to get back on his feet by himself.
"My apologies, great one, but I do not dare to do such a thing. Please, you must forgive me." Archibald remarked, worried that Typhon might get the wrong idea.
Upon saying that, an arched gate appeared next to the Guardian, one made out of body parts of different cryptids.
It was a grotesque sight but that was not what caught Archibald’s attention.
Instead, it was the eight circles that surrounded the lesser sephiroth at the center of the gate.
Of those eight, only four were open, with the other four appearing to be blocked by rather odd symbols.
For example, there was one that looked like the curse mark bestowed on the werewolves by the Pearl and another that looked like a malformed bat.
"What are those things?" Archibald asked, spurred by curiosity.
You... will... come... to... understand... with... time... for... now... focus... on... your... first... Trial.
Upon saying that, the Guardian remarked.
Your... first... trial... is... to... act... in... ways... unbecoming... of... a... responsible... man.
With his heart pounding against his chest, Archibald replied. "As you wish."
A moment later, he was whisked away back to Eventide, and soon after that, a black wave covered the barren land.
Arwen walked down a small, compact hallway lit up by a single gas lamp with a low roof and wooden floorboards, dressed like a traditional Henosian young lady with a long black ankle-length tunic with a pair of brown sandals.
She had her hair tied up in a bun with minimal makeup as well as jewelry.
There was a warm smile on her lips and an added spring to her steps as she carried a tray with a cup and plate, both covered.
Swiftly arriving at the end of the hallway where a wooden door was, she knocked on it and received an answer barely a second later.
The voice sounded exhausted.
She pushed it open and stepped into what could only be described as a mess of a room illuminated by one gas lamp that hung at the center of the ceiling and a lit candle that was placed on a desk close to the door, the latter of which was already close to dying out.
White Paper was strewn all over the ground, most with something written on them.
The bed was scattered, and on one of the walls, several more papers hung silently, all depicting the same picture of a young woman, no older than twenty-nine, with a young child no older than ten, with the former holding the hand of the latter.
The artwork would be beautiful, and in a way, it was. However, it was missing something crucial, a piece that would allow it to reach a perfected state.
"Alex..." Arwen breathed out softly as she shifted her gaze to the man quietly sitting on the ground at the foot of his bed, his gaze transfixed on the hanging papers.
It appeared as though he was trying to see something that wasn’t there though, judging from the melancholic air about him, he was failing miserably.
Taking a deep breath, she approached him and after placing the tray she’d brought along on the bed, she sat beside him and placed her head on his shoulder.
No words were shared and so, silence reigned with the two indulging in each other’s company.