Eldritch Guidance

John paced back and forth across the creaking wooden floor of the Mystic Emporium, his boots scuffing against the worn planks with each restless step. The dim glow of electric lamps cast long, flickering shadows along the shelves of curiosities—crystal orbs within silken boxes, ancient tomes bound in cracked leather, and jars of dried herbs of unknown plants. Yet none of it held his attention now.

Worry was etched deep into his face, tightening his jaw and furrowing his brow. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching for action, for answers—anything to dispel the gnawing dread coiling in his gut.

In the corner, Lunar, his white-furred hound, watched him intently, ears pricked forward and blue eyes sharp with concern. Though the dog didn't speak, the tension in his thick frame mirrored his master's unease. A low whine escaped him, but John barely registered it, lost in his spiraling thoughts.

Onyx's warning haunted him.

That thing—neither fully shadow nor flesh, a being that wore human skin as a mockery and spoke omens—had come to him at his favorite teahouse days ago, telling him that a rapid series of events was about to occur, but did not divulge what those events were.

Cryptic. Ominous. And worst of all—inescapable.

It was half-truths, riddles wrapped in meaning he couldn't understand—but Onyx's words carried a weight he couldn't ignore. Whatever was coming was inevitable.

And it involved Cid somehow.

That single thought gnawed at John like a rat in the walls of his mind. Cid had been mentioned by name, which was different from what Onyx had done in the past. For days now, John had tried calling, listening as the line rang and rang before cutting to that same damned answering machine: "You've reached Cid. Please leave a message."

John had been trying to reach Cid for what felt like an eternity. He had called the number several times, but each time he was met with the same monotonous voice of the answering machine, echoing his growing frustration. The thought of going to the university crossed his mind more than once, but he hesitated. He had no idea where Cid's dorm was located, and he had heard rumors that the university was strict about allowing outsiders into the dormitory areas. It felt like a dead end, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.

He didn't know what to do.

Onyx's words looped in his skull like a cursed incantation: "I would recommend that you have a good long talk with your latest patron, Cid." How? He didn't know what dorm he was in and he wasn't answering his phone. Something was wrong

"Was he hurt?

Had he stumbled into something he couldn't talk his way out of?
Or—"

The thought slithered, cold and unwelcome: "Had something bad happened to him?"

The store bell chimed.

The sound sliced through John's spiraling thoughts like a knife. He spun toward the door, muscles tense—half expecting Onyx to walk in to deliver worse news. Instead, the figure stepping inside was thankfully nothing like that entity.

It was Fenny.

The hood of his studded leather jacket was pulled low, casting his features in shadow, but the way he moved—like a blade cutting through smoke—was unmistakable. He shoved his hands into his pockets, the bits of metal on his leather gloves glinting under the Emporium's dim lights.

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Fenny: "Um, hi John." His usual confident swagger was gone, replaced by an uncharacteristic hesitation as he lingered near the doorway. His fingers fidgeted with the zipper of his leather jacket. "Are you okay? I've never seen you look... like this before."

John dragged a hand down his face, realizing just how ragged he must appear—his shirt rumpled, his hair sticking up in stressed tufts, the shadows under his eyes darker than the store's deepest curios.

John: "Fenny—" He exhaled sharply, forcing his voice steady. "Sorry, this isn't a good time for board game night. I'm... dealing with something."

Fenny: "No, I'm not here for that," he said quickly, raising both hands in a defensive gesture, the studs on his wrist cuffs catching the light. "Scarlett sent me. She's looking for someone named Cid—urgently. Thought you might know where he is."

A cold prickle ran down John's spine.

John: "Scarlett's searching for him too?" His throat tightened. "What happened?"

Fenny shook his head.

Fenny: "No clue. She just shoved me out the door, told me to find you, and ask if you knew anything.'" He shrugged helplessly. "You know how she gets when she doesn't want to explain."

Onyx's warning. It's happening. The realization hit John like a physical blow. The cryptic message, the urgency—something has happened to Cid.

John: "I don't know where he is either," he admitted, his voice hollow. "I've been calling for days. Nothing."

Fenny: "Damn. If you can't reach him..." He trailed off, the unspoken implication hanging between them: This is bad.

Fenny: "Is there anything I can do to help?" he offered, shifting his weight. The earnestness in his voice was a stark contrast to his usual sarcasm.

John barked a humorless laugh.

John: "Not unless you're an ace detective... detective." The words slipped out before he could stop them, tinged with exhaustion and a bitterness he hadn't meant to reveal.

"Didn't I come across someone that was a detective a while ago. No." John shut the thought down immediately. "I'm not even going to entertain that." he quietly dismissed.

John kept racking his brain, desperately searching for a solution. He might have been able to ask Onyx for help with Cid, but that was contingent on whether that elusive "thing" would even show up, and he had no idea how to summon it. He was aware of various patrons who might possess the connections or skills necessary to locate someone, but reaching them was a challenge. Many were out of the country, and those who remained in the city were often difficult to approach.

His mind raced through the possibilities. Then, like a beacon in the fog, Yin came to mind. She was wealthy, influential, and had a network that spanned far beyond the city limits. If anyone could help him track down Cid, it would be her. John felt a flicker of hope ignite within him.

"She might know something, or at the very least, she could connect me with someone who does and is good at finding people," he thought to himself, determination setting in.

John: "Actually, there is something you could help with," he said, turning to his companion, who had been watching him with a mix of concern and curiosity. "I'm going to go talk to Yin right now. She might have the information I need or know someone who can help. You're in contact with Ms. Scarlett right now, correct?"

Fenny: "Um, yeah," he replied, a hint of uncertainty in their voice.

John: "Good. It might take Yin a little time to gather the information, but since you work for YIn, you can relay whatever she finds to Scarlett," he said, his tone brisk and purposeful.

Fenny: "Sure…" he replied, a hint of uncertainty lingering in his voice.

John: "Great. Let's head to the Night Tower right now," he declared, stepping out of the front door with a sense of urgency. Lunar trailed closely behind him.

Fenny followed behind, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts. He was one of the few regular patrons who didn't overanalyze John's words; he simply accepted them at face value. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his stomach. He knew how challenging it could be to get Yin and Scarlett to collaborate. Their personalities clashed like oil and water, and their past disagreements often left a trail of unresolved tension. In Scarlett's case it left a lot of burnt buildings.

But for John?

Fenny exhaled sharply, watching as John walked towards the red light district. If John asked, they'd set aside their rivalry. If John called, they'd answer. And it was that, which Fenny truly found extraordinary about John.