Aiden Sybil Edith

Alex woke up before the sun had properly decided to start its day, the sky still half-asleep and vaguely offended at being looked at. The Courtyard's enchanted window panels gently glowed a pastel gold, simulating a sunrise far more cooperative than reality.

He stretched, cracked a few joints, and took a deep breath. Today wasn't just another academy day—it was that day. The mysterious letter still sat on his nightstand, its words echoing louder now that his brain had fully processed them.

17 Gardenia, Arkwell Street. No "please," no "kindly." Just an address and the implied tone of someone used to obedience.

'He'—Aiden Sybil Edith. The name still felt like a riddle dressed in ten layers of mystique and brooding.

Alex dressed with more care than usual. Subtle, refined. Not princely, but not forgettable either. Breakfast arrived—some kind of enchanted quiche that hummed lightly (not a metaphor—it actually hummed). He ate quickly, barely tasting it, his mind already wandering.

By the time he left the Courtyard, the city was beginning to stir. Arcana's streets shimmered with floating signs, enchanted cobblestones adjusting for foot traffic, and delivery creatures zooming overhead. Alex walked briskly, ignoring most of it.

As he navigated toward Arkwell Street, pieces of whispered family lore began surfacing in his thoughts like lazy koi in a pond.

His mother, cryptic as always: "There are forces in the Empire even your father doesn't command. He is one of them."

His uncle, more direct and slightly intoxicated at the time: "You don't find him. He finds you. If he ever does—try not to insult him. Or blink too slowly. Or breathe incorrectly."

His older cousin, always dramatic: "He once turned down a royal summons with a five-word letter. It just said: 'Too busy. Handle it yourselves.'"

And now, here Alex was, summoned—not by flattery or fanfare, but by expectation.

The buildings shifted subtly as he entered the older part of the city. 17 Gardenia was nestled between a quiet apothecary and a tea shop that looked entirely too peaceful to be legal. The door was unassuming. Wood. Brass knocker. No glowing runes or dramatic lion-head handles.

He stood there a moment, exhaling slowly.

'Well, let's go see what terrifying wisdom looks like before breakfast's even finished digesting.'

He raised his hand and knocked.

The door responded with a soft, pulsing glow. Not blinding, not alarming—just a subtle shimmer that passed over its surface like a breath. It reminded Alex of a magical scanner, or some kind of ancient identity verification that didn't need to be flashy to be terrifying. The glow faded just as silently, and the door creaked open.

Despite everything he'd faced in his past life—wars, betrayals, political poisonings both literal and metaphorical—this moment brought a rare chill to his spine. Because this wasn't some powerful noble or tyrant mage.

This was him. Aiden Sybil Edith. A name not spoken so much as whispered. A name heavy enough that even Emperors bowed at its command—and unspoken commands at that.

Alex stepped inside, carefully.

The entrance was… simple. Quiet stone. Smooth walls. A short hallway, like the throat of a lion leading into its lungs.

And then it opened.

Gardenia.

The name made sense now. It wasn't a residence—it was a realm.

A vast hall, or perhaps an open garden entirely hidden from the city's view, unfolded before him. A radiant sun hung impossibly in the center of the ceiling—too bright to be fake, too gentle to be real. Flowers bloomed in impossible shapes, colors defying logic. Petals shimmered like stained glass. Trees twisted in architectural spirals. Herbs floated midair in rotating bands of aromatic mist.

His feet touched stone, but it felt like cloud. The air was rich and alive. Each breath tasted of memory and dream. A nearby bush rustled—not from wind, but anticipation.

All five of Alex's senses lit up at once. Sight, sound, smell, touch, even taste—everything dialed to a surreal intensity. The rustle of leaves played like music. The scent of each flower was distinct, purposeful, refined.

He felt disoriented in the way someone might feel upon realizing they'd stepped into a painting halfway through the artist changing dimensions.

'This… this isn't a room,' he thought. 'This is a message.'

Aiden Sybil Edith didn't do décor. He made statements.

Alex blinked, shaking off the trance before it swallowed him whole. As intoxicating as the space was, he wasn't here to admire magical horticulture. He was here because he'd been summoned. And by someone who didn't believe in wasting time on things like pleasantries.

His steps echoed softly along the stone path, the surreal atmosphere still tickling his senses—like every leaf was whispering in a language he almost understood. The garden didn't feel passive. It watched, listened. Maybe judged. But Alex pushed forward, reminding himself of the weight of the name that had called him.

Out of nowhere—because of course it would be out of nowhere—a ghostly shape materialized directly in front of him. It didn't walk or float in; it just was, in that rude and dramatic way only ancient magic could manage.

The figure was twisted, hunched, vaguely humanoid only if you squinted at it after spinning in a circle. It looked like a bundle of decayed herbs had tried to impersonate a person and nearly succeeded, if not for the occasional tendril of mist curling out of its chest and the faint aroma of dried roots and sarcasm.

It cleared its throat, which sounded more like a tree branch snapping in protest.

"About time," it grumbled. "You youngsters and your dramatic pacing. I was practically rooting here. Ha. Get it? Rooting? Because I'm—never mind."

Alex blinked. "Are you... supposed to be my welcoming committee?"

"I'm your escort, not your entertainment," the being huffed. "Name's Tollen. I'm a Dybbuk—yes, yes, cue the wide-eyed confusion. No, I won't steal your soul. Do I look like I want to process another memory archive? I'm retired."

The voice was raspy and worn, like an old librarian who'd been kicked out of several archives for having opinions.

Tollen squinted—or gave the impression of squinting, which was impressive considering he didn't have eyes. "You're the new one. Hmph. Figures. Edith always did love dramatic entrances. Come along, then. Don't lick anything. Especially the lilies. One of them bit a visiting prince last week."

Alex, equal parts amused and mildly terrified, followed as Tollen began shuffling—if it could be called that—deeper into the garden.

They walked for a while—though time in this place felt more decorative than functional—until the thickets of magical flora slowly gave way to a circular clearing. It was unlike anything Alex had expected.

In the center, an ancient yet surprisingly well-preserved sofa set sat like a crown jewel. Ornate wood carved with swirling constellations framed cushions that looked suspiciously more comfortable than the concept of sleep itself. A low table stood nearby, covered in an assortment of elegantly arranged snacks, some of which emitted faint glows or hovered an inch above their plates just to prove they could.

And seated comfortably at the heart of it all was him.

Aiden Sybil Edith

He wasn't floating ominously or surrounded by crackling auras of intimidation. He was reading a book. Calmly. One leg crossed over the other, a steaming cup beside him, and a half-bitten tea biscuit held casually in hand. He looked up as they approached, gaze sharp enough to slice through enchanted steel, but with a face as unreadable as ancient runes half-erased by time.

He didn't rise. He didn't need to.

Tollen gave a dramatic huff. "I fetched him. Alive, even. That's two silver coins you owe me, by the way."

Aiden didn't reply. He just closed the book with a soft snap and looked at Alex—truly looked.

Alex stood still, every instinct from his past life telling him to be ready.

The conversation, he knew, was about to begin.

Aiden studied him for a moment longer, then gestured casually toward the opposite sofa. "Sit, Alex. We don't stand while tea is judging us."

His voice was gentle. Not weak—never that—but like a soft breeze that had no need to raise its tone to be heard. Alex obeyed, the cushion practically sighing beneath him.

"You're probably wondering why you're here," Aiden continued, selecting a biscuit without looking. "Well, other than the obvious reason: you're interesting. I don't summon students for their résumé. I summon them because something about them pulls at the threads of the world. You have that tug."

Alex said nothing, unsure if he was being complimented or diagnosed.

"I've already made arrangements," Aiden said, setting down the biscuit. "You'll be under my tutelage. Officially. Privately. Quietly. Call it an apprenticeship, mentorship, tragic experiment—whatever suits your mood. But you'll study here. Under me."

Alex blinked. "I didn't think I had a say."

"You do," Aiden said, eyes twinkling. "In the sense that I'll pretend you had options."

He leaned back, surprisingly relaxed. "Now, I'm not a tyrant. You may choose your focus. Alchemy, strategy, magical theory, history, interdimensional diplomacy, obscure tea lore—yes, that's a real department—anything you're curious about, I'll open the door."

Alex hesitated, thoughts already spinning. Fields, options, the implications of being under his wing. It was like being adopted by a thunderstorm with hobbies.

"Think about it," Aiden said. "But not too long. Time's only polite if you keep it entertained. And Tollen starts complaining if I give you too much free will."

"You're welcome," muttered Tollen, flopped on a nearby rock with an expression that could curdle milk.

Alex finally exhaled, steadying himself.

'Well. So much for blending in at the Academy.'

Alex finally exhaled, steadying himself.

'Well. So much for blending in at the Academy.'

He reached for a cup of tea, partly to buy time, partly to prove to himself his hands weren't shaking. They weren't. Much.

The aroma was calming, like someone had distilled focus and layered it with a hint of lemon balm. He sipped, and for a moment, the pressure eased—not because anything had changed, but because now he understood: this wasn't a punishment. It was an opportunity wrapped in riddles and garden-scented illusions.

He didn't know what field he would choose, or what strange knowledge Aiden would unlock for him. But he knew this much:

He'd just stepped onto a different path entirely. And there was no going back.