Three weeks.
Three full weeks… and nothing.
No signups, no interest, no hope.
Zerathos sat slumped over the table, his face mashed into a pile of parchment flyers like a defeated sandwich. "We're dead," he muttered.
Marek was pacing, flipping through his notebook. "We had good branding! Cool name!
Arashi just stared into the void. "One more week until final submission. One week until we fail magic sociology. One week until I'm stuck interning with the Mindless Custodian Spirits for the summer."
They all paused.
"NOOO!" everyone screamed in unison, echoing through the hallway like the death cries of the academically doomed.
Then, it happened.
A ping on their guild registry crystal.
One.
Just one interested party.
"WE'RE SAVED!" Zerathos yelled, flipping the table in celebration.
"DON'T FLIP THE TABLE!" Marek cried, scrambling to recover the registration sheet.
"Wait—!" Arashi pointed toward the door. Another group was entering the guild hall. A guild banner swung in the breeze, embroidered with…
LOST AND FOUND GUILD
One guy, solo, carrying like five backpacks and a broken mop. "Hey! I heard there's a client! Can I—"
Zerathos sprinted like a man possessed. "NOPE! WE GOT HERE FIRST!"
The Brave Heart guild nearly trampled the poor solo guildmaster as they slammed their approval seal down.
The room went quiet as they read the request.
"Strange Disappearance: Young orphan boy gone missing in the Outskirts. No further information. No official reports filed."
Zerathos frowned. "That's… vague."
Marek tilted his head. "And really depressing."
Arashi rubbed the back of her neck. "Why does this one feel… different?"
The seal burned on the parchment.
Accepted.
Fast
The request took them out of the human capital — which, as every student and citizen knew, was a far cry from a casual stroll. The capital was surrounded by sprawling plains, low mana zones, and occasional tear-scars from the ancient wars. No one walked out of town. That was suicide or stupidity, or both.
Instead, they stood at the Arcane Transit Platform, a raised crystal-choked runway glowing faintly with blues and silvers. Around them, people bustled and shimmered, and just off the edge sat what looked like a traditional carriage — if traditional meant hovering three feet off the ground, humming with unstable mana, and covered in glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Zerathos eyed it skeptically. "This thing looks like it's held together by a prayer and trauma."
Marek patted the side. "It's a Magitek Hyper-Carriage. These things go faster than most birds. Top speed clocks in near 700 kin per hour. The mana rail boosts propulsion, and the gravity sigils keep it grounded just enough to not throw us into the sky."
"Is that safe?" Arashi asked.
The driver, a tall thin man with glowing green goggles and a wide grin, answered without being asked. "Statistically? Ehhh. Probably."
They boarded anyway. They had no choice — there was only one week left, and they finally had a lead. Even if that lead was paper-thin and surrounded by mystery.
Inside the carriage, soft runes on the walls shimmered to life. The interior wasn't fancy, but it hummed with magic. Heat regulation, air cushioning, and a subtle barrier spell in case of projectile attacks. This wasn't just a ride. This was high-grade field transport for those who dealt with the wilds — monsters, rogue sorcerers, or worse.
As they sat, the city disappeared behind them — swallowed by speed and distance.
Zerathos leaned his head against the window, watching the landscape blur. The farther they got from the capital, the more reality changed. Less infrastructure. More open sky. Less noise. More silence.
A different world — older, maybe. Forgotten.
And somewhere in that silence… a child had vanished.
The hum of the Magitek carriage finally faded as it docked just outside the village gates, hissing with residual mana as it powered down. The world around them was quieter now, more rural. Cobblestone paths, old mana lamps that flickered uncertainly, and a heavy wind that carried the scent of earth and wilted flowers.
As they stepped off, the lingering presence of the curse that Zerathos carried whispered like a shadow on his shoulder.
"When you're back… you can summon me,"
the voice purred, curling around his thoughts like smoke. Then it vanished — quiet, patient, waiting.
They moved through the dusty streets, following the coordinates listed on the request.
The building they arrived at was a modest stone cottage, overgrown with ivy and lined with wind-chimes that never quite stopped ringing. Zerathos knocked.
After a moment, the door opened to reveal an elderly woman with wrinkled eyes and silver hair bound in a loose braid. Her expression softened when she saw them.
"You kids here for the request?" she asked, voice weathered like the hills.
Zerathos nodded. "We're from the academy. Came to look into the missing child."
The woman sighed, motioning them inside. The room smelled faintly of herbs and tea leaves. Old wooden furniture creaked with every step.
She settled into a chair by the fireplace. "His name is Akira," she said. "He's gone missing again."
Marek tilted his head. "Again?"
"He… runs off sometimes," the woman admitted, hands folded in her lap. "He doesn't get along with the other children. They… they bully him. Call him cursed. Magicless. Weak." Her voice tightened. "Just cruel things. He'd always come back by nightfall. But this time…"
She shook her head.
Zerathos frowned. "No trace?"
"None. It's like he vanished into thin air."
"That's… sad," Arashi muttered, lowering his eyes.
"It is," the woman replied. "He's a good boy. Just quiet. Not like the others. I worry this time something… worse might've taken him."
The group exchanged glances. The mission had felt small on paper — a missing kid, a quiet town — but something about the way the air felt around them… how the woman's eyes lingered on the dark corners of the room…
Something wasn't right.
Zerathos stepped outside, the sun high above. He narrowed his eyes, letting his heightened senses stretch out.
Nothing. Stillness.
Too still.
"Alright," he murmured.
"Let's get to work."