The sound of shuffling footsteps, distant sirens, and muffled voices blended together in a swirl of confusion as Kaleem's consciousness began to ebb. His entire body felt like it had been turned inside out, stitched together with pain and exhaustion. He was vaguely aware of being carried, his limbs heavy, his breathing shallow.
Through the haze, he could barely make out Andrea's voice. It was calm but strained, a hint of worry layered beneath her usually confident tone. He tried to focus on the words she said, but only fragmented pieces made it through the static in his head. "...he'll be fine..." "...he's going to..." Then, silence.
His vision faded into blackness.
When Kaleem woke, the light was too bright, the sheets too clean. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils. A hospital room. He groaned and turned his head, blinking slowly as his eyes adjusted. Sitting at the side of his bed was Andrea, arms crossed, lips pulled into a slight frown.
"About time, slug," she said, tone sharp but eyes soft.
Kaleem let out a dry laugh that turned into a cough. "Good morning to you too."
"Don't even start with me," Andrea shot back, leaning forward. "Do you have any idea how reckless that was? You almost turned into a walking, screeching nightmare."
"I didn't exactly have a choice," he muttered, wincing as he sat up. His body ached in places he didn't even know could ache. "That thing would've killed me."
Andrea rolled her eyes and then smiled faintly. "Still. Next time, don't almost become an eldritch horror in the process. I don't have the stomach to babysit a tentacled mess."
Kaleem grinned weakly. "So you're saying you care."
"Like a big sister," she said with mock seriousness, reaching out to flick his forehead. "And like any big sister, I reserve the right to scold you half to death."
Before he could answer, the door opened, and in walked a tall man dressed in a sleek grey coat. The air changed instantly. Authority radiated from his very presence.
"Captain," Andrea stood and gave a small salute.
The Captain Craig nodded and looked at Kaleem. "Kaleem. You're being officially recruited as a rookie into the Silver Cresh. Effective immediately. Your new obligation is to rest. You won't be of use to us half-dead."
Kaleem blinked. "Wait, what? Just like that?"
The captain smiled faintly. "You survived contact with a Class-3 Mystery and didn't die. You even fought back and lost control but somehow you managed to survive. The higher-ups have demanded you be recruited so that earns you a bed here, and a badge later."
Andrea gave him a nod, then placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be visiting you often. Get used to me barging in."
And she did. Over the next two days, Andrea was in and out of his room, bringing food, sarcastic commentary, and oddly enough—comfort. Kaleem had never had an older sibling, but if he did, he imagined it would feel a lot like this.
They talked about the attack, the aftermath, and the strange changes he'd noticed in his body. He still couldn't look at himself in the mirror too long. Not because of trauma, but because the reflection felt... wrong. Off, like it wasn't entirely his anymore.
"Your eyes changed," Andrea noted on the second day, tossing him a new phone. "Your old one got smashed to bits during the fight. This one's Mystic-reinforced. Try not to destroy this one, huh?"
Kaleem turned on the device and blinked. The screen shimmered, colors bending at odd angles. Text rearranged itself faster than his eyes could follow. Then it settled into normalcy.
"Everything looks... sharper," he said. "Like I can see behind the pixels."
"Mystic Vision," Andrea explained. "Some survivors develop it. It's not common, but not unheard of. You might start seeing things regular people can't—not that you haven't been doing that already—but now you might start seeing things much deeper. Use it wisely and carefully while not looking at what you shouldn't." She warns him in a grave tone.
He shrugs and nods slowly, still absorbing everything.
By the morning of the third day, Kaleem was discharged. Andrea met him at the hospital gates, leaning against a sleek black motorcycle.
"You ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
The ride was smooth, swift, and silent. The city blurred past him, a concrete ocean filled with neon signs and subtle shadows. After some time, they stopped in front of a jewelry store—tall, elegant, and completely unassuming to anyone who didn't know better.
"Welcome to the Silver Cresh," Andrea said, pushing open the door.
The inside of the store glistened with gemstones and glass cases, but the people behind the counters weren't ordinary sales staff. Kaleem could sense the energy in the air—powerful, restrained, and hidden beneath civilian smiles.
"Madame Andrea," one of the staff said, bowing slightly.
"Please," she said, waving it off. "No need for that."
Kaleem raised an eyebrow. "Madame? Really?"
She rolled her eyes. "Don't start. The people here respect me. A lot."
They walked past a hidden door behind a shelf, down a spiraling staircase into a vast underground facility. Kaleem felt a strange pull in his chest. Symbols etched into the walls, flickering lights, and strange mechanisms clicked and hummed softly.
Andrea stopped in front of a room and turned to him. "This is where your full attunement ritual begins. It's how we align your spirit with the path you've already stepped into."
She handed him a thick book, its cover made of old, soft leather. Gold-lettered text read: _Guide of Mystics Vol. 1._
"This will help you. Start reading. And don't skip the boring parts. The first three chapters cover 'Mysteries and Their Connection with Sanity', 'Anchors and Understanding How to Create Them', and 'Meditation Methods and Basic Rituals'."
Kaleem's eyes lit up. He sat on a cushion, opened the book, and began reading. Every word sent shivers down his spine—not of fear, but recognition. It was like the pages knew him. As if they were written _for_ him.
The first section explained how human minds, fragile as they were, needed anchors—beliefs, objects, symbols—to stay sane in the face of Mysteries. It talked of how one's identity could be hollowed out even with preparations in place, and how rituals helped reinforce the self.
He flipped the page.
"A true Mystic is not one who survives the gaze of the unknowable," it read, "but one who walks into it, to pursue the truth."
Kaleem smiled faintly. This was what he needed. Guidance.
As his eyes scanned the pages, each word seemed to shimmer faintly, as if vibrating in tune with his breathing. He became so engrossed in the text that he barely noticed when a woman in ceremonial white robes with silver patterns and a crescent moon on her badge entered the room.
"Rookie Kaleem," she said gently. "It's time."
He looked up, startled.
"Time for what?"
"For your initiation. The full attunement ritual."
Kaleem glanced at the open book one last time, then stood. He followed the woman through the halls deeper into the facility, passing doors sealed with magic lock arrays and sigils pulsing with light. They arrived at a descending staircase lit with dim blue lanterns, each step seeming to echo into the unknown.
"This is where we prepare those touched by Mysteries," the woman said. "Good luck."
Kaleem took a deep breath.
Then he stepped forward.