Monday, 9:30 a.m.
In class, Kaleem sat quietly by the window, a book open in his hands. On the cover, in elegant serif font, were the words: Basics of Mysticism. He flipped through the pages slowly, absorbing each word with uncharacteristic focus. The events of yesterday still lingered in his mind—how the agents from Silver Cresh had left abruptly, summoned to a mission of unknown nature. Yet before disappearing, they had given him this book and an address scribbled hastily on a folded paper.
Andrea had been especially adamant.
"Study it. Don't try to use your mystery or mana. At least not yet. It could kill you."
Her voice echoed in his thoughts as he kept reading.
> "When one successfully attunes to a mystery and gains access to its knowledge, they awaken mana—an energy born from the union of body, mind, and soul during the attunement. This mana becomes the fuel to access the mystery's forms."
"So this energy I've been feeling in me... it's mana, huh?" Kaleem muttered internally, amused. "Just like in those fantasy novels."
His pale fingers turned another page.
> "Most mystics choose to attune with lesser mysteries. Stronger ones can overwhelm the host—mutate them, possess them, or even erase their original selves. These failed attunements become what we call Mysterious Creatures."
His eyes narrowed as he read the next part:
> "Mysteries are jumbled clusters of unknowable knowledge. Without proper arrangement, contemplation, and restraint, one risks degenerating into a creature of chaos. Study, understanding, and anchors are vital to survival as one can only attune once."
Suddenly, a hand snatched the book from his grasp.
"Oi, what's with the blank book? You've been staring at it like it's the key to the universe," came the voice of Duke, Kaleem's long-time friend.
Kaleem blinked in surprise. Duke turned the book around, confusion plain on his face.
Kaleem coughed awkwardly. "Ah, I was just thinking about what to write in it. New project," he said, hastily grabbing it back.
"Note to self," he muttered, "don't read mystic books in public."
They both turned their heads knowing clearly well that he is hiding something as the professor finally entered. The hall fell silent, and the lectures began.
---
Four classes later…
Kaleem closed the book and exhaled sharply, slumping against his chair. "No wonder Andrea told me not to use my mystery," he murmured. "I don't even have an anchor yet. My attunement level is at zero, and my mana reserve is probably… 0.8? That's almost nothing."
He rubbed his eyes. His body still didn't feel normal. Though he looked the same on the outside—light skin, blonde hair with faint pink at the tips, and a slender, almost feminine frame—his eyes had changed. His irises, once a brilliant blue, now shimmered faintly with pink and green hues. Traces of the other side lingered in him.
He packed up his things and began walking down the hall, intending to head out and grab food. But something stopped him.
A strange wet slop echoed from a nearby lab. Then came a dragging sound.
Kaleem turned—and froze.
From the darkness of the hallway, a grotesque, humanoid-frog-like creature limped into view. It had mismatched limbs stitched onto its bloated body, hands of different sizes and races grafted in crude, spiraling seams. Its abdomen was distended, and hanging from its mouth was a leg—severed mid-thigh, still bleeding.
It swallowed greedily.
Then, in Kaleem's mind, a voice—not heard, but _felt_—whispered in a broken, wet rhythm:
"Eat. Stitch. Heal. Eat. Grow"
Cold sweat broke across Kaleem's skin.
"It hasn't noticed me yet…" he thought as he began backing away carefully. But before he could disappear around the corner, a group of three students rounded the hallway—a boy and two girls, laughing loudly as they walked.
The creature froze. Its head turned toward the sound. Then it found Kaleem.
"Dammit... these bastards," Kaleem cursed as he bolted, sprinting toward them without thinking.
Seeing him charging their way, the students parted.
"Is that Kaleem? Why's he running like that?" one of the girls asked.
"He must be late for something," the other said.
But the boy's face twisted in horror. "Wait, behind—"
Before he could finish, something sharp and red-black shot out behind him and pierced through his chest. It was a tongue—if one could call it that—wide as a human torso, slick, pulsing, and covered in barbs. It impaled him clean through, and slowly reeled his body back toward the creature.
The hallway fell into stunned silence.
Then came the sounds.
One of the girls screamed in sheer panic, urine staining her jeans as yellow swelling visibly erupted across her face like blooming hives. The other girl turned and ran, abandoning her friend entirely as the creature's mouth opened wider.
It swallowed the screaming girl headfirst.
Kaleem didn't stop to look. He turned left down another hallway—only to find himself where he started.
"What the...?"
He spun. The corridor was looping.
These buildings weren't designed like this.
He was _trapped_ that thing is affecting the building somehow.
Footsteps echoed again—frantic, uneven. The remaining girl, now splattered in blood and tears, sprinted toward him.
Kaleem saw the blood and understood.
Only one had survived.
He tried smashing the window, slamming his elbow into the glass, but it didn't even crack. Reinforced. Of course.
The girl saw him—recognized him—and rage overtook her grief.
"You... you could've warned us! You just ran! You coward!!"
But there was no time for apologies.
_Thud._
_Thud._
_Thud._
The sound of heavy limbs dragging across linoleum. It was coming.
The creature was close.
Kaleem turned his back to the girl and began counting his options. Then he remembered a specific passage from the book:
> "Though not advised, if one can control even a sliver of mana post-attunement, primitive magic can be shaped. But without an anchor, the risk of losing control, mutation, or loss of sanity is extreme."
He took a deep breath.
"Die trying... or die running," he muttered, steadying his breath.
The girl clutched the wall in horror. "What are you doing!? Run, idiot!"
But Kaleem stood still.
He turned to her and made a quiet shushing motion.
"Leave."
She hesitated, shocked. Then anger returned.
"Hope that monster swallows you slow, you bastard!" she screamed and ran, tears mixing with blood on her face.
Kaleem didn't flinch.
His fingers trembled slightly. Not from fear. From strain—the effort of focusing his will, reaching inward, coaxing the tiny, unstable thread of mana within him to the surface.
"I'm not dying today," he whispered.
His voice was no longer that of a scared student.
It carried weight.
And as the creature's bloated form twisted into view, dragging torn limbs in its wake, Kaleem's mana sparked like a dying match—faint, but real.
And something within his _Mysteries_ stirred.