Eldritch Guidance

"Long after King Fredrick's death, the mages of his court assumed control of Obsidia, transforming it into a Magocracy. Dissatisfied with the failure of the elves to provide a solution to eternal life, the mages turned their attention to other sources of inspiration. Their gaze fell upon the enigmatic giant race—beings said to possess an unending lifespan. The giants, with their legendary connection to the primordial forces of the world, became the Magocracy's next target in its quest to conquer mortality.

"The mages sought to unlock the secrets of the giants' supposed immortality by experimenting with their remains. Giant bones and tissue were procured, and through a series of grim and unethical experiments, they attempted to incorporate these elements into living subjects. However, these efforts ended in disaster. The unnatural fusion of human and giant biology proved lethal to the unwilling participants, resulting in a large death toll.

"Undeterred by their failures, the mages shifted their approach. They abandoned direct incorporation of giant remains and instead used magic to induce mutations in living humans, attempting to mimic the traits of giants. Their belief was simple: the closer a human became to a giant in form and essence, the greater their potential for longevity. Through these arcane experiments, they inadvertently created a new race of generational mutants, known as goliaths.

"Goliaths are towering, powerfully built individuals whose formidable strength and imposing stature bore a striking resemblance to the mythical giants, though on a more human scale. Among the most distinctive generational mutants, their defining traits were their extraordinary height, ash-gray skin tone, and a natural hairlessness that gave them a statue-like appearance. Standing between seven and eight feet tall (210-240cm) on average, goliaths' presence can be somewhat imposing wherever they went.

"Among all the generational mutants within Gix, goliaths stood out as the most prolific. A significant portion of the Gixian population carried genetic markers indicating descent from goliaths. Historians widely agreed that this widespread integration occurred after Gix conquered Obsidia and incorporated the goliaths into its society.

"Culturally, Gix placed an exceptional emphasis on height, valuing it as a symbol of strength, power, and prestige more so than most other societies. This cultural fixation extended even to the nobility, where records revealed a deliberate practice of marrying exceptionally tall commoners to ensure that their descendants would inherit greater stature. Given their towering height, goliaths naturally became central figures in this societal obsession. They were often seen as the physical embodiment of Gixian ideals, and their imposing presence made them particularly desirable as spouses and allies.

"The influence of goliaths on Gixian culture ran so deep that genetic tests on every noble family in the empire revealed traces of goliath ancestry. This fact underscored the enduring impact of these gen-mutants, whose traits had become interwoven with the fabric of Gixian identity and aristocracy.

"Of course, like all the mutants created by Obsidia mages, goliaths fell short of achieving immortality or extended longevity their creators had intended. Goliaths have an average human lifespan."

—"The Generational Mutant " By Robert Joseph

Cid sat in his little hidey hole nestled within the gnarled branches of an ancient tree, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Pain coursed through him like wildfire, each pulse a reminder of the reckless gamble he had taken with time manipulation. He could feel the creeping sensation of his body hardening, the slow, agonizing transformation into stone threatening to claim him. He clutched a knee to his chest, trying to focus on the faint hope that Scarlett was on her way, having rigged that bone bell to call her.

Above him, the wind whispered through the leaves, a soft, indifferent rustling that did nothing to drown out the agony or the fear. He focused on it anyway, clinging to the sound like a lifeline. Anything to distract himself from the inevitable.

"Scarlett… where are you?"

Cid closed his eyes, attempting to drown out the excruciating pain and the gnawing fear of his impending fate. Regret washed over him like a cold tide, each wave bringing back memories of choices made in haste—decisions that had led him to this precarious moment. He had always been the reckless one, the dreamer who believed he could bend the very fabric of time without consequence. Now, he was paying the price.

Suddenly, the tranquility of the forest was shattered by the unmistakable sound of footsteps—branches snapping and leaves rustling underfoot. Cid's heart raced, a mix of fear and hope surging within him. Was it Scarlett? Had she come to rescue him? But as a voice broke through the underbrush, his heart sank.

Fuse: "There are signs that something came through here. Cid should be somewhere in this direction," he called to others in his group. The tone of his voice was confident, almost triumphant, and Cid could hear the crunch of more footsteps approaching. Panic surged through him; he had to remain hidden, but the pain was becoming unbearable, and the stone transformation was progressing faster than he had anticipated.

He strained to listen, trying to gauge how many were in Fuse's group. The last thing he needed was to be discovered by them. Cid's mind raced as he recalled the stories from Scarlett of what happened to those who fell into the hands of the university. Apparently there was a secret department, that only Lazarus Vaal knew about, within the university that did some very unsavoury research for the government—and they might not hesitate to literally dissect him to learn about the abilities he received from John's guidance.

As he pressed himself deeper into the hollow of the tree, he felt the rough bark digging into his skin, a painful reminder of his reality. He had to think fast. If Scarlett didn't arrive soon, he would have to find a way to escape—if only he could muster the strength to move.

The voices grew closer, and Cid's heart pounded in his chest. He could hear someone giving orders, instructing their companions to spread out and search the area.

Mitra: "Check every nook and cranny. He couldn't have gone far," she commanded, her voice laced with determination.

Cid's mind raced as he considered his options. In his current state he couldn't use any of his magic or the book of Grand Design. And, with his injuries there was no sneaking away. He needed to buy time, to hold on just a little longer until Scarlett arrived.

With a deep breath, he focused on the sounds around him, tuning out the pain and the fear. He could hear the distant chirping of birds, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush, and the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. He needed to remain calm, to be as quiet as possible. If he could just hold on, if he could just stay hidden a little longer, perhaps they would pass him by.

Cid held his breath, every muscle locked in rigid silence. The footsteps were right there—just beyond the gnarled trunk of the hollow oak. A single misstep,and he'd be found.

The crunch of dry leaves underfoot vibrated through the wood, so close he could almost feel the pursuers presence pressing against the other side of the bark. A twig snapped. A boot scuffed dirt. "One step. Just one step to the left, and—"

Cid's pulse hammered in his throat, each beat a deafening drum in his ears. The remains of his petrified finger dug into his thighs, the pain distant beneath the razor's edge of panic. "Don't move. Don't even blink."

A shadow shifted at the edge of his vision. The hunter—whoever it was—paused. For one heart-stopping second, the world narrowed to the thin veil of rotting wood between him and exposure.

Then—

A muttered curse. The footsteps retreated, leaves rustling as the searcher turned away, moving deeper into the forest.

Cid didn't dare exhale. Not yet. Not until the last trace of sound had faded into the whispering trees. Only then did his lungs finally unlock, his breath escaping in a shuddering sigh.

"Still alive. For now." Cid silently thought to himself

But relief was a fleeting thing.

Suddenly, the tree behind him shifted, its bark creaking as if it were alive. Cid's heart sank as he felt the ground tremble beneath him. Before he could react, roots of ancient plants surged up from the earth, twisting and writhing like serpents. They shot toward him with alarming speed, wrapping around his limbs and torso, constricting him in a vice-like grip.

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Cid grunted in discomfort, the rough texture of the roots digging into his skin. Panic surged through him as he realized these were no ordinary roots; they were imbued with powerful magic. He could feel the roots siphoning his aether, leaving him feeling weaker and even more vulnerable with each passing second. Not that he could cast any spells in this state, but the sensation of his power being drained was a chilling reminder of how dire his situation had become.

As the roots tightened their hold, Cid struggled against them, but it was like fighting against the tide. The more he fought, the more they seemed to constrict, as if they were feeding off his desperation.

Emerging from a nearby thicket, Mitra stepped into the clearing with an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. Her striking green hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall of leaves, framing a face that was both beautiful and intimidating. The head of security at the university, she was known for her cold, calculating gaze that could pierce through the bravest of souls. As she approached, Cid felt a chill run down his spine, a sense of foreboding that intensified with each step she took.

Mitra: "Found you," she said, her voice smooth yet laced with an edge of triumph.

With a flick of her wrist, she commanded the roots that had ensnared Cid, tightening their grip around him as if they were alive, responding to her every whim. The magical tendrils constricted further, sealing away his aether and leaving him feeling utterly powerless.

Mitra called out to the others, and within moments, the forest echoed with the rustle of approaching footsteps.

Her disciples emerged from the trees like shadows given form—Enforcers, every one of them, clad in the white uniforms of the University's security division. Their boots crushed fallen leaves as they formed a loose circle around Cid's trapped form, some with a weapon drawn, others with curiosity gleaming in their eyes. One of them stared openly, at Cid's struggling form and the gnarled roots pinning him down. Like he was some kind of dangerous spectacle. A captured beast.

Among the enforcers, Cid's gaze landed on a familiar face—Alan

Cid let out a ragged groan, his head thudding back against the tree.

Cid: "Of course you're here," he mumbled, the words thick with exhaustion and bitter amusement.

Alan's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stared down at Cid, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions. The memory of Jafar's broken body flashed behind his eyes - the way the healers had struggled to stop the bleeding, the way his friend's breathing had come in ragged, wet gasps. Anger burned through his veins like wildfire, but beneath it festered something darker, more corrosive: guilt. They had broken their oath first by revealing Cid's true identity to Mitra. That betrayal had started this whole chain reaction.

Alan: "You look terrible," he finally ground out, his voice tight with restrained emotion.

Mitra's sharp voice cut through the charged silence. She turned to the four disciples flanking her, their gray uniforms marked with the silver sigil of Graheel University's enforcement division.

Mitra: "Cid has been contained," she declared, her emerald hair catching the fading light as she gestured to the writhing roots. "These binding roots should be suppressing his aether completely, but we don't know if he has any other tricks up his sleeve." Her cold gaze swept over each disciple in turn. "You four will maintain watch until reinforcements arrive. "

Torran: "Mitra, what if he starts-"

Mitra: "Then you follow protocol exactly as drilled," Mitra interrupted, her voice like tempered steel. She tapped the communication device at her belt. "I need to coordinate transport back to Graheel. Lazarus Vaal wants him delivered alive and conscious for questioning. There is a rare null mage that has been called into help with the questioning."

As Mitra stepped away to coordinate with the reinforcements, Fuse pushed through the circle of enforcers, his boots crunching on dry leaves as he crouched down to examine their captive. He leaned in uncomfortably close, his sharp nose nearly brushing Cid's face as he studied him with the intensity of a biologist examining a rare specimen.

Fuse: "So," Fuse breathed, his breath smelling faintly of mint leaves, "you're the infamous mage I've been hearing about." He tilted his head, his close-set eyes scanning every inch of Cid's face. "Honestly? You look like someone dragged you through a hedge backwards. Not exactly the terrifying mage everyone's been whispering about."

Cid's only response was a slow blink. Fuse's gaze traveled downward, his curiosity piqued by the unnatural angle of Cid's left leg. With a quick glance at Mitra - who was still engrossed in her communication device- he reached out and yanked up the fabric of Cid's pant leg.

The reaction was immediate. Henry gagged audibly, while Torran made a warding sign across their chest. Where Cid's foot should have been, there was only a petrified stump, the flesh transmuted to rough gray stone up to mid-calf. Veins of the creeping petrification snaked upward, pulsing faintly with residual magic.

Fuse: "What in the burning abyss?!" he recoiled slightly, his cocky demeanor slipping for just a moment. "Did you get bitten by a basilisk or something?"

Cid's lips twisted into a pained smirk.

Cid: "Just the consequences of fucking around and finding out." His voice was hoarse, each word an effort.

Fuse whistled low and turned to his companion.

Fuse: "Hey Torran, have you ever heard of a botched teleportation doing this to someone?"

The hulking enforcer scratched at his stubble, his deep voice rumbling.

Torran: "Can't say I have. But with magic this unstable?" He gestured at Cid's deteriorating form. "I'd believe just about anything at this point."

Alan chose that moment to step forward, his polished boots kicking up dust. His voice was deceptively calm when he spoke, but his knuckles were white around his wand.

Alan: "Does this have something to do with your little 'future sight' tricks? Or maybe what you did to Johannes?"

Cid's eyes locked onto Alan's. The silence between them spoke volumes, heavy with unacknowledged history and betrayals.

Fuse: "Doesn't seem to be in a chatty mood," he observed, rocking back on his heels.

Alan wasn't deterred. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper.

Alan: "Why did you say I worship a Nameless God? I'm no cultist." His breath hitched slightly.

Cid's eyelids fluttered, his strength clearly waning. When he finally spoke, his words slurred together like a drunkard's.

Cid: "It... doesn't matter. None... of it... matters..."

As the last syllable left his lips, Cid's head lolled forward, his body finally succumbing to the exhaustion he'd been fighting since he trapped Johannes in that temporal time bubble. The roots binding him creaked as they took on his full dead weight, their thorns digging deeper into flesh that was increasingly less responsive to pain.

Fuse reached out to check Cid's pulse, his fingers coming away dusty.

Fuse: "Out cold. And... I think the petrification is spreading faster now that he's unconscious."

Torran shifted his massive frame uncomfortably, the leather of his reinforced bracers creaking as he flexed his fingers near his weapon.

Torran: "We should—"

Mitra: "Damn it!" Mitra's shout cut through the forest like a whip-crack, sending a flock of shadowbirds scattering from nearby branches. The usually composed head Enforcer stood rigid, her emerald hair stirring in an unfelt wind as she glared at the communication device in her hand. The device now flickered erratically, emitting a sickly, distorted static that set teeth on edge.

Every enforcer froze mid-motion, turning toward their commander with expressions ranging from confusion to outright concern. Even Fuse's ever-present smirk vanished as he took an involuntary step back from the raw power crackling around Mitra's form.

She slammed the device against her thigh hard enough to bruise, her voice trembling with barely-contained fury.

Mitra: "Why can't I get a hold of anyone? Or the university? Or even the damned relay towers?" The words came out sharp as broken glass, each one laced with a dawning realization of how profoundly wrong this situation was.

Fuse swallowed audibly, his fingers twitching toward the protective charms stitched into his uniform collar.

Fuse: "M-maybe atmospheric interference from the—"

Mitra: "Don't be stupid," she snapped, then immediately pressed two fingers to her temple. The lines around her eyes deepened as she took a steadying breath. "Sorry... That was uncalled for." The apology came out stiff, unfamiliar on her tongue. She held up the malfunctioning device. "I spent six months petitioning the University Council for these devices. Called in every favor I had with the Techmaturgy Department." Her thumb traced the university seal etched into the surface of the device. "And now they fail us when we need them most."

A muscle twitched in her jaw as she forcibly smoothed her features back into their usual disciplined neutrality. The mask of command settled over her again like a well-worn cloak.

Mitra shook her head, the motion sharp enough to make her emerald braids sway.

Mitra: "No use dwelling on it. We'll have to transport Cid back the old-fashioned way." She turned toward Torran, already calculating weight distribution and rotation schedules for carrying the prisoner.

Torran knelt beside Cid's petrifying form, his calloused fingers hovering uncertainly over the stone creeping up the captive's limbs.

Torran: "Mitra..." Torran's voice carried uncharacteristic concern as he pointed to the dark veins spreading beneath Cid's grayish skin. "He's deteriorating faster now. At this rate, he might not survive the journey back to the city without serious healing—."

A new sound cut through the static—three rapid, metallic pings from the device in Mitra's hand, followed by a voice so distorted it was nearly unrecognizable:

"—any unit... respond... under atta—"

Then static.