Felix is stuck in a never-ending cycle of job applications, rejection letters, and the crushing weight of existential dread. When a job offer magically appears in his inbox with a salary so ridiculously high it could pay off his student loans and bu...
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Felix leaned back in his chair, the mahogany's wooden legs creaking under his weight as he gazed up at the mural on the ceiling. He stretched twice, weary from trying to make a bunch of objects float a few hours ago. He blinked twice at the ceiling; the ornate design of intertwined mythical creatures and ancient symbols seemed to dance in the dim light of the study room, fluttering from side to side but not the corners--like a DVD logo. He swears that the era of each room got tweaked a bit everytime he enters it--this was a far cry from the modern architecture he'd seen from the room beside it. The place felt like it was pulled from an old storybook, and something about it made his skin tingle. That, and that Cain just randomly decided for them to lounge around here. "just 'cuz,". God.
Said man was sprawled out on a leather chaise, looking more like he was ready for a nap than a lesson. Nix, on the other hand, was perched on a nearby bookshelf, his golden eyes glowing with mild interest. The fox's tail flicked lazily, a sign of his half-hearted attention, paying more focus to the fruits Felix was feeding him.
"You ever wonder who painted these?" Felix mused aloud, gesturing to the mural. "They look like something you'd see in a museum. Old, important, and probably cursed. The usual."
Cain opened one eye, giving Felix a lazy grin. "Could be. But if they're cursed, you'll know soon enough."
"Comforting," Felix muttered. He rolled an eye at the paper airplanes the older man was trying to shoot towards him. He turned back to the mural, trying to decipher the stories hidden within the brushstrokes. There were scenes of battle, of peace, and of Wishmakers standing amidst it all, their hands raised toward the heavens as if they were drawing down the stars themselves. They were, actually, trying to draw a star--a four pronged star that shimmered from above.
"Those paintings, by the way," Cain drawled, "are older than most things you'll find here. They depict some of the first Wishmakers, back when the lines between our world and the other realms were a lot blurrier."
Felix raised an eyebrow. "Other realms?"
"Where do you think wish magic comes from?" Cain said, sitting up slightly, rolling back and forth in the chaise. "It feels like fancy trick, but it's a power that pulls from other planes of existence, bending reality just enough to make the impossible possible."
Felix let out a low whistle, impressed despite himself. "So, every time someone makes a wish, they're dipping into some kind of ancient power source?"
"Pretty much," Cain replied, closing his eyes. "That's why it's so dangerous. You're not just making something happen—you're manipulating the very fabric of reality. And if you're not careful, eh, reality tends to fight back."
Felix leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "And that's where the Wishmakers come in? To keep things from going haywire?"
Cain half nodded, or maybe he was just falling asleep again. "We guide the flow of that power, to make sure wishes are granted without tearing the world apart in the process. That's why the organization exists—because if anyone could just make a wish come true without any control, things would get messy."
