"Mystward," suggested Hem.
That single word startled the group, and before Mimado could pounce on the opportunity to belittle Hem, Diva opposed the idea without a second thought.
"Caretakers of mystica?" Even the twins doubted Lock's solution.
"You got any better ideas?" Hem questioned everyone, turning a wary frown at the twins. "Everything else stumps you, but you somehow know about the Mystwards?"
"It sounded cool, so we joined a cult," giggled the twins.
"Why am I not surprised?"
None of them had any solutions, yet everyone opposed the idea of having a Mystward involved in the most prominent case of the century. This was because of the ideology a Mystward held—and any solution from that group meant they accepted their mentality.
"So... which group do you belong to, Hem 'Lost' Lock?" Mimado snickered.
"THE..." Hem emphasized. "Mystward."
Mystward wasn't a different race. It was more of a cult—an ideology. And similar to any cult, some people twisted the true meaning to suit their lifestyle.
Unlike a normal cult, where the founder has a larger group than the newer factions, the true Mystwards were but a handful, while the cults formed later, by bending the original ideology, were far greater in number.
Great enough to rival the followers of Aurochs—all because of the first Mystward.
"Founder of chaos. Of course!" snarled Diva.
"I met him once," D'Las raised her hand. "He seemed nothing like the other crazy groups. Although... the fairies warned me to stay farther away from him than any other cult."
"We didn't know there were different cults with different agendas," the twins discussed amongst themselves. "I mean, shouldn't the word mean one thing—and one thing alone? And shouldn't all the followers follow the word aligned to said belief?"
Everyone but Hem was taken aback by the sudden wisdom from the twins.
"Learned that at the cult?"
"Yup!" The twins replied without missing a beat.
Mystica is, and has been, the backbone of Wanderlust since the beginning. Specialists have consulted with the wisest race on Wanderlust—the Hystorians—and claimed mystica to be the origin of everything. While the idea of a mystica creating another mystica before existing itself makes little sense, the Specialists believe in this theory to this day.
Theories are built, modified, and even changed based on the latest discoveries, but the magic held within a Mystica is undeniable. This belief has segregated Wanderers into many groups.
There are the 'Specialists,' who created their own religion—Lunarithm—by accepting both sides of the coin that made their world a possibility. A blend of lunar (symbolizing the divine, the cyclical, the mystical unknown) and algorithm (symbolizing structured knowledge, science, and the mechanics of Mystica, now harnessed through Ornyx).
Lunarithm followers believe that divinity flows through formulas, and that the mystical and the logical are not opposites, but intertwined strands of truth.
They were once hated for their unorthodox approach, but now they're considered the backbone of Wanderers' survival and advancement.
Then there are the 'Oxens,' who rely solely on Ornyxes and want nothing to do with Mystica, denying the fact that an Ornyx is even made from mystics. These people are usually those who are terrible at understanding, let alone wooing, a Mystica.
Hem falls under this harsh reality and can relate to their ideology, but he never once wasted time on religion. For him, the entire concept was a lock he'd long owned and discarded. And being Hem, well... that got him kicked out of every religion.
Craziest of the bunch: the 'Idolaters'—who worship one or multiple ancient Mystica, said to be the creators of everything.
You do not want to rub these folks the wrong way. Hem found that out the hard way.
A step below are Zealots: a religion which has several distinct categories, where one group only worships a single kind of Mystica, their devotion molding their entire being to host or satisfy that Mystica. The best examples of this are the Dreadmorne like Retterford, Divas like Mrs. Ford, and Sylvarin like D'Las.
The list goes on, shaped by agendas, leaders, and origins—groups like the 'Cultists,' 'Terters,' and so on...
It doesn't matter how many groups come into existence; the Idolaters always remain at the top, with the 'Zealots' coming in close second. One preaches hope hidden within many; the other proves their magic through harnessing mysticism. Only the top groups have the resources and the audacity to go against one another, or any other group, with Specialists being the one special exception.
The top groups had no real competition... until a single question, posed by a single individual, shook their foundations and knocked them off their high pedestals.
A figure shrouded in mystery, suppressed by every group, and lost to the passage of time, remembered only by the Hystorians.
Although suppressed, the question kept reforming in people's minds. And the person who took the belief to its next level gave a name to the group who kept the question alive: "Mystwards."
A Mystward doesn't worship a Mystica, nor do they profit from its essence in any way. They take care of them to uncover their inner workings.
They study the gods to become gods.
The undeniable concept of a True Source, and the Mystica acquiring their power from that unseen, unimaginable origin, was the greatest discovery of the first Mystwards.
Their true findings—yet another treasure hidden within the memory banks of the Hystorians.
While the question that followed the individual's ideology grew into something the four kingdoms united couldn't control, they instead co-opted the symbol, adding the "one true source" as a mark on every kingdom's insignia.
Hem caressed the tiny circle embedded in his badge. The gesture—the symbol—was enough to unlock the floodgates of memory, both enlightening and horrifying the group.
Hem didn't have to explain anything further. A simple gesture was more than enough for—
"—How can one take care of a god?" The twins scratched their heads, unable to find an answer. "They are gods! What can we possibly do to help a god?"
"Weird as it sounds..." Hem turned to face the Arachnivis. "They were the ones who first made a Mystica move from its comfort zone."
"That is hearsay," Mimado snapped.
"Have you figured out any of their questions?" Hem challenged, glaring at him. "At least one?" He stepped forward, forcing Mimado to step back. "Didn't think so." Then he shifted his gaze to Retterford. "I also have the power, right?"
Retterford swallowed his reply and turned toward Diva for assistance.
"Factor-less Fire," Diva reminded Hem, one of his failed cases.
"Vanished Execution. And Impossible Position," Mimado added gleefully.
Hem's face crunched up in frustration at the mention of the only three cases he had failed to unlock.
Getting stumped by an unsolvable lock wasn't the problem. He welcomed tough cases, relished the thought of one day solving them.
It was never about when the lock swung open.
It was all about the little clicks.
He had solved those three as soon as he'd stepped onto the crime scene. But then, hidden in plain sight, he found something else. A sinister lock, taunting him with its obviousness, mocking him to try again.
And his face split into the widest smile he could remember.
Now, there were very few mysteries he couldn't solve. He almost always closed a case within the first five minutes of arriving at a scene.
This was different.
This was an opportunity to finally feel excited again—to give his bored brain a proper workout.
And that thrill only intensified when the four kingdoms took an interest in the first case Hem would never be able to solve.
The Queen herself titled the file: The Factor-less Fire.
The factory stood in ruins, its skeletal remains draped in an unnatural silence.
No clear cause. No known accelerant—yet the fire had consumed everything in its wake.
The walls had crumbled, their edges not torn by heat but dissolved into ashen fragments.
Machines lay warped and twisted—not from explosion or collapse—but as if they had softened into molten metal and re-solidified in agony.
The ground bore no trails of spreading flames, no point of ignition, no direction of destruction.
Some sections remained untouched—walls where fire should have raged were merely dusted with soot—while other areas had been utterly devoured, their steel foundations turning brittle as burnt paper.
No gas leaks. No faulty wiring. No misplaced embers.
The blaze had no origin, hunger, or logic—only the undeniable truth that it had burned, leaving behind a mystery colder than the ruins it left behind.
The only clue lay with a Worker who had mistakenly witnessed the flames.
He was on leave—the entire factory had been shut down—yet, for some reason, he had traced his steps back to the place he had worked his entire life, only to find it being devoured by something unimaginable.
The old man's hazy memories made it impossible to stitch the clues together.
Hem wanted more time, but the ever-annoying public and higher-ups forced him out, labeling the case: "The one that stumped Hem Lock."
Everyone assumed Simon to pick up the case and prove once and for all that he is the greatest Sentinel alive. But unfortunately, he had greater worries and sinister plots creeping around his kingdom, to worry about a stupid fire that the Queen wouldn't let Hem solve.
This time, Diva ignored Hem completely, chuckling and congratulating herself for winning the battle of annoyance, the haunting puzzle returning to Hem's face a cherry on top.
A true Mystward had questions no one could plausibly answer.
Specialists simply weren't advanced enough, while the Idolaters lacked the connection they believed they had with the gods.
So, the only way to take down the entire flock of religions with a single stone was to arm himself with a true Mystward.
With such madness on his side, Hem felt he might finally have another chance to reclaim access to those three unsolved cases.
A Diva's stance always came with strong backing, be it argumentative or factual.
Without it, she wasn't any different than those fake redheads.
The change in Hem's demeanor made her believe he planned to use his newfound maximum authority to involve a Mystward in this case.
Lucky for her, Hem didn't know about the descendant of the first Mystward—or his involvement in the various confidential cases the government had quietly consulted him on.
Unlucky for her, with her idiot husband granting Hem unlimited access, the Mystward having just completed a case, and Hem being the greatest locksmith alive…
He would surely figure out the pieces within the day.
"Why not! Get yourself 'THE' Mystward," Diva said reluctantly, her gaze condemning Retterford to a slow and painful death.
"Oh, dear husband of mine!"
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