Mystica's Chamber – Day Eight of Academy Break
The moon hung high, spilling silver light across the velvet curtains of Mystica's chamber, where silence had long since become a companion. Since her conversation with Queen Lucy, Mystica had buried herself in research, eyes bleeding over old archives and encrypted intel, while Dove… well, mostly napped, smoked, and offered sarcastic support.
Their focus had been locked on the Western Region—The Ruined Lands. Demon activity had surged, not drastically, but notably. A 5% spike in breaches through the protective arrays, subtle enough to not incite panic, but too sharp for comfort. The knight garrisons stationed there had responded well. The elite—Seven and Eight Stars—only stepped in when Sync-class demons clawed through. But there was something off, something that curled in the gut.
More Advanced Horrors were surfacing. And worse—Gaia demons. Only Gaia demons. No Blood, no Dread, no Void—just the earthen monsters, repeatedly. That alone sent alarm bells screaming in Mystica's head.
One possibility haunted her like a phantom: a Demon Lord could be slinking among them. Hidden. Shapeshifted. Watching.
So she summoned backup—two of the strongest knuckleheads she knew.
Galen and Magnus arrived like misfit brothers answering a mother's call. Magnus came bearing cookies in one hand, the other already halfway to his mouth. Galen looked like hell—eyes half-lidded, hair a mess, his steps heavier than usual. Without a word, he made a beeline to the bar and yanked a bottle of wine off the shelf, collapsing onto the couch like gravity hated him personally.
"Alright," Galen grunted after a swig. "Why am I here? I was five minutes into pretending I don't exist."
Mystica sat on her bed, draped in a velvet nightgown that hugged her. "You good, Gally? You don't usually look like a ghost unless you've just punched one."
"I'm fine," Galen muttered. "Just feel like someone important is obsessing over me again. Always happens when nobles or the higher-ups from my land start sniffing around. Screws with my sleep. Feels like I'm being stalked by thoughts."
"Ohh, maybe it's one of those spicy ladies you ghosted," Magnus teased, chomping into a cookie with zero shame.
Galen side-eyed him with a grunt. "Nah. This reeks of politics. Or worse—family."
"Anyway," he continued, knocking back more wine. "What's the real reason you dragged us here at night? Don't get me wrong, love the drama—but if this is another one of your secret desires, just say so."
Mystica smirked, eyes glinting. "You make me sound like a temptress."
"Aren't you one, though?" Magnus asked, deadpan, genuine curiosity painted all over his face.
Mystica's smile twitched into a glare. "Shut it, Mag."
Mystica sighed, pushing herself off the bed and walking slowly toward the magical display orb at the center of her chamber. With a flick of her fingers, it pulsed to life, casting a pale glow and revealing a projection of the Ruined Lands—twisting rift patterns, flickering red hotspots, and unsettling fluctuations in myst readings.
"I didn't summon you two for a midnight comedy show," she said, her tone low but firm. "Something's off in the Western Region."
Magnus froze mid-bite, cookie halfway to his mouth. Galen, still sprawled across the couch like royalty on a hangover, cracked one eye open lazily.
"Demon activity's rising—not by much—but it's the kind of demon that's the problem," Mystica continued. "Gaia demons. Over and over."
"That's sus," Magnus muttered, brushing crumbs off his lap. "Last time I saw that many was during my mission protecting Queen Lucy. Had a couple Blood demons mixed in, but that was months ago. I think you guys know about it anyway."
He shrugged and shoved the rest of the cookie in his mouth. "But, I mean... if it's just one kind showing up, isn't that better than a full demon buffet?"
"You'd think so," Mystica replied, her gaze dropping to the edge of a nearby table. "But history says otherwise. Every time just one species keeps appearing, it's a sign. Their Lord is near. Sync-class demons don't move without orders. They're not random. They're chess pieces."
She turned back to the orb. "A plan's already in motion. Maybe even close to its end."
That finally got Galen's full attention. He sat up, dragging a hand through his snowy white hair. "Okay, but what made you zero in on the Ruined Lands anyway? We three clearly don't give a damn about those wastelands."
Mystica glanced over her shoulder. "Remember that little assignment I got from Queen Lucy? While experimenting, Dove and I discovered that Duchess Aveline had come into contact with Demon Lord blood. That's what triggered her transformation at death."
"Ew. That story's still not over?" Galen muttered. "And wait... who even is Aveline again? Nah, scratch that, don't care. But who the hell is Dove? Sounds like a pigeon."
"I told you about Aveline already, but clearly alcohol eats your memory." Mystica rolled her eyes. "And Dove's no bird. She's an alchemist—mad, brilliant, and occasionally tolerable."
She pointed toward the massive tub at the corner of the room.
Dove, leaning against its marble edge, exhaled a lazy puff of smoke. "Yo."
"Sh*t, how long have you been there?" Magnus blinked.
"I dunno. Whole time?" Dove replied flatly, barely looking up.
Then, as casually as a cat stretching in sunlight, she stood up—dripping wet, wearing nothing but her panties. Her short blonde hair clung to her face, and she didn't bother with modesty.
"She's blonde," Galen noted with a crooked smirk. "Dove, huh? Gotta say—you look pretty damn fine."
"Sorry, sweet cheeks," Dove said, striding toward Mystica with a towel in hand. "I only chase the ladies. Especially fine ones little minx."
She ran a damp hand gently along Mystica's hair, then let her fingers trail down the woman's neck before walking away.
Mystica's eye twitched. "Keep touching me like that, and I'll turn you into a literal pile of ash."
"As long as I don't fight back, it still counts as consent, right?" Dove said playfully, flopping backward onto the bed with a bounce.
Mystica smirked, biting back a laugh. "You're impossible."
"Exactly why you love me."
Magnus popped another cookie into his mouth, chuckling. "Man, this went from 'apocalyptic threat' to 'steamy novella' in record time. Can we get back to the rift-of-doom part?"
Mystica, still smiling faintly, gave a graceful nod. "Fair. Back to business."
She flicked her hand, and the display orb zoomed in, focusing on a jagged rift nestled in the canyons of the Western Region. Sickly green mist oozed from it like an infected wound.
"This rift didn't exist a few months ago. Now it's the size of a cathedral. And the myst around it—it's warped. Rotten."
Magnus leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Warped like... 'instant death' warped? Or 'lose your sanity and eat dirt' warped?"
"Little of both," Dove chimed in, already elbow-deep in Mystica's wardrobe, casually pilfering. "The myst's alive. Twitchy. Like something crawled through and left its venom behind. It's spreading."
"So," Galen said, eyes fixed on the ceiling, "you're telling me one of those pompous Demon Lords finally decided to drop by Amthar?"
"Yes and no," Mystica replied, her tone level. "Yes, because the myst signature is unlike anything else—pure demonic taint. No, because no one's actually seen what came out of it. Could be a group of Gaia demons working under stealth. But if there's even a chance Sylvathar made landfall... then we've got a real problem."
"Alright, so you want us to check out the rift and confirm if something walked out of hell, right?" Galen asked, stretching.
"Exactly. You and Magnus can handle that. Dove and I will scout the outer reaches of the Crescent Kingdom—see if this corruption has any tendrils reaching further."
"No problem," Galen said, standing up with a smirk. "And honestly? I hope it is a Demon Lord. I've been craving a real fight."
"You're definitely drunk," Dove said, snorting.
"Yeah, but he's dead serious," Magnus added, licking crumbs off his thumb.
"Don't worry, Featherbrain," Galen said, addressing Dove with a wink. "Sylvathar's the weakest of the ten Lords. I wish it were one of the nastier ones, but even a Gaia Lord's good enough to keep me entertained."
He drained the last of his wine and rolled his shoulders. "Damn, I drank too much. But at least I'll sleep like royalty tonight."
He started toward the door, waving lazily. "We'll check the rift tomorrow or whenever. If you end up fighting that bastard without me, let me know. I'll be pissed if I miss the fun."
He paused, glancing back with a grin. "See ya, Blondie Dove. Name finally stuck." And with that, he was gone.
Dove smirked as the door clicked shut behind Galen. "Man's got the ego of a war god and the alcohol tolerance of a toddler."
"Sadly, both are true," Magnus muttered, crunching down another cookie. "Still, he's not wrong. If Sylvathar really is here, we're gonna need all the firepower we've got. That bastard doesn't move without purpose."