Alan stood amidst the towering, ancient trees of Mount Gol's dense forest, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. The distant calls of unseen creatures echoed through the mist-laden undergrowth, a constant reminder of how far he was from the familiar halls of Graheel University.

The university's best scholars had analyzed the modifications Cid had made to the teleportation circle, and their conclusions were grim. The circle hadn't linked to another known destination—instead, it had dumped its target somewhere within this sprawling, untamed wilderness. Worse still, the professors theorized that Cid's reckless alterations had destabilized the spell's coordinates entirely.

"If the teleport didn't connect to another circle," one of the senior arcanists had said, "then the magic had no anchor—no safe point of arrival." The implication was clear: Cid might have materialized inside solid matter—a tree, a boulder, or even the earth itself. Such an end would have been instantaneous and brutal.

Yet Alan refused to accept it. After seeing what Cid had done, it was hard to believe that he would get taken out by faulty teleportation. If anyone could survive an unstable teleport, it was him.

Alan: "Then again," he muttered, as something rustled in the underbrush, "if he did survive… where the burning abyss is he?"

The forest seemed to breathe around him, shadows shifting in the fading light. Somewhere in these woods, Cid might still be alive—lost, wounded, or worse, planning something.

The university and the city police had mobilized an entire search party—over a hundred men and women combing through the tangled depths of Mount Gol's forest. Enforcers, scholars, and even a few mercenaries hired for their tracking skills scoured the undergrowth, scanning for any trace of magic that might lead them to him.

Alan was part of Mitra's group, a handpicked unit of her most trusted disciples. Among them were three senior enforcers, each seemed formidable in their own way.

The first was Fuse, a wiry, blond-haired man with an unremarkable face that belied his presence. He was the shortest of the group, but his sharp eyes missed nothing, and his quiet efficiency made Alan suspect he was far more capable than he appeared.

Then there was Torran, a mountain of a man who moved with the disciplined precision of a seasoned warrior. His broad shoulders and battle-hardened stance suggested he was part of the Lionheart college at one point, though he never spoke of it.

The last was Henry, a man whose very presence put Alan on edge. With his jet-black hair and his jacket pulled up to conceal the lower half of his face, he had a perpetually brooding air. His eyes, cold and calculating, flicked over the forest like a predator scanning for prey. Alan couldn't shake the feeling that Henry was judging him.

All three wore the white robes of the enforcers, marked with a unique silver sigil representing them as Mitra's disciples. Like Alan, they were her disciples, trained in both combat and arcane discipline. But where Alan was still proving himself, these men were veterans—each carrying secrets and scars from Mitra's brutal training Alan could only guess at.

Alan had learned there was a fourth senior disciple—one he hadn't met yet. The others had mentioned him in passing, dismissing his absence with vague remarks about him being "away on other business." Whatever that meant. There was an odd tension when they spoke of him, as if his name carried weight they weren't willing to explain.

As the search party spread out across the mountain, Mitra's group found themselves in a secluded part of the woods, far removed from the others. The trees loomed tall and dense around them, creating a natural barrier that made it feel as though they were in their own world. Mitra, the green-haired demon who served as their mentor, was with them, which gave everyone a sense of security. They felt emboldened by her presence, believing that they could handle whatever challenges lay ahead.

At least, that's what Alan kept telling himself.

Torran: "Hey, Mitra, I think I found footprints!" he called out, his voice cutting through the stillness of the forest. He knelt down, pointing excitedly at the ground.

Mitra approached, her keen eyes scanning the area where Torran was gesturing. She leaned down to examine the prints closely, her expression shifting from curiosity to mild annoyance.

Mitra: "These footprints are from Henry," she said flatly, shaking her head.

Fuse, unable to contain his frustration, chimed in.

Fuse: "You dolt! How are you mixing up our footprints?" He crossed his arms, a playful smirk on his face, but there was an underlying concern in his tone.

Torran: "Well, tell Henry to stop running ahead! I keep mixing up his footprints when he does that," he retorted, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice.

Henry: "Hmmp," was all he said in response, his arms crossed and his mouth still obscured by the collar of his jacket. He seemed unfazed by the banter, his focus elsewhere, perhaps lost in thought about the search or the weight of their mission.

Alan watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and admiration. The camaraderie among the group was palpable, even in the face of their serious task.

Alan: "Um, Mitra," he ventured, scanning the dense thicket of trees around them. "How accurate are those coordinates we got? Because 'the base of Mount Gol' sounds… well, vast."

Mitra didn't turn, her gaze fixed on the path ahead as she answered,

Mitra: "The teleportation circle's modification was a rush job—sloppy, desperate. But our analysis was precise enough to narrow it to this sector." She flicked a stray leaf from her sleeve, her voice cool and measured. "If we'd waited for the arcanists to refine their calculations further, we might have had a tighter radius. But by then, Cid could have slipped away. Time wasn't a luxury we had."

She paused, glancing back at Alan with an unreadable glint in her emerald eyes.

Mitra: "Don't worry. Reinforcements are already on their way. If Cid is still in these woods, we will find him—and he will undo what he did to Johannes."

The mention of Johannes sent a cold ripple through Alan's chest.

The main reason they were out here was the dire situation Johannes found himself in—frozen and floating in place, trapped in some sort of invisible force that no mage at the university could identify. It was a chilling thought, not knowing if Johannes was even conscious in that state. Cid was the one who had done this to him, and it stood to reason that he was the only one who could undo the damage.

For Alan, the stakes were even higher than just seeking revenge for what Cid had done to his friend Jafar. He felt a deep, personal obligation to help Johannes. The memory of Johannes arriving just in the nick of time to save him and Jafar from Cid's grasp was etched in his mind. Without Johannes he and Jafar would likely be dead. Alan owed it to Johannes to return the favor, to fight for him as he had fought for them.

Alan: "Do you think he's still in these woods?" he asked, his voice faint, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile hope they clung to.

Mitra nodded, her expression resolute.

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Mitra: "If Cid is still here, he'll be hiding. He knows we're searching for him, and he won't make it easy for us. But we have the advantage of numbers and determination. We won't stop until we find him."

Torran, who had been listening intently, chimed in.

Torran: "We need to stay focused. If we split up and cover more ground, we might increase our chances of finding Cid before he can escape."

Fuse nodded in agreement, his earlier banter replaced by a serious demeanor.

Fuse: "Let's make sure we keep in contact. If anyone finds something, we need to regroup quickly."

They were united in their purpose, and Alan knew they would do everything in their power to bring Johannes back.

The group then spread out, each member taking a different path through the dense underbrush. They were equipped with communication devices powered by aether, a technology that allowed them to communicate over short distances. The devices were small and lightweight, fitting snugly in their pockets, and they emitted a soft glow that pulsed gently, a reminder of the magical energy coursing through them. If anyone found anything significant, they were instructed to contact Mitra, who would remain nearby, ready to rush to their aid in case of trouble.

As Alan ventured deeper into the forest, he felt the weight of the mission pressing on his shoulders. The towering trees loomed overhead, their branches intertwining to form a thick canopy that filtered the sunlight into a soft, greenish hue. He carefully scanned the ground for any signs of Cid or clues that might lead him to the elusive figure. Every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs heightened his senses, making him acutely aware of the potential dangers lurking in the shadows.

He moved cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. The forest was alive with sounds—the chirping of birds, the distant rustle of small animals, and the whisper of the wind through the leaves. Yet, despite the natural beauty surrounding him, a sense of foreboding hung in the air. Alan couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, that Cid was somewhere close, hidden among the trees, waiting for the right moment to strike.

As he walked, Alan's mind raced with thoughts of Johannes. He recalled the look of determination etched on his face when he had intervened to save him and Jafar from Cid's grasp. In that moment, Johannes had thrown himself into danger without a second thought, embodying a bravery that Alan had never expected from someone of noble birth. That act of courage had solidified their bond, transforming their relationship from mere acquaintances to something deeper, forged in the fires of shared peril.

Alan had always harbored some apprehension about Johannes, primarily due to his noble status. He had grown up first hand experiencing the arrogance and entitlement often associated with the aristocracy, and he had braced himself for the same kind of self-serving behavior from Johannes. But saving his life had completely changed his perspective. The bravery Johannes displayed was genuine, a stark contrast to the cowardice Alan had anticipated.

In that critical moment, Johannes had not hesitated; he had charged into the fray, risking his own safety for the sake of his. Alan found that truly admirable. The courage Johannes had shown was a proof to his character, revealing a depth that Alan had not previously recognized.

Suddenly, a strong wind swept through the forest, rustling the leaves and causing an ancient tree nearby to creak loudly in protest. The sound echoed through the stillness, a haunting reminder of the forest's age and the secrets it held. As the wood groaned under the pressure of the wind, Alan caught a strange, faint sound that seemed to emerge from the depths of the forest. It was almost completely drowned out by the creaking, but there was something about it that sent a shiver down his spine.

He couldn't quite place what he thought he had heard—perhaps a whisper, or the distant echo of a voice carried on the wind. It was elusive, like a fleeting shadow that danced just out of reach. The sound was unsettling, and it filled him with a strangely profound sense of foreboding. Alan felt as if the very air around him had thickened, charged with an energy that was both unsettling and compelling.

Instinctively, he turned his gaze toward the direction from which he thought the sound had come. The trees stood tall and imposing, their trunks like sentinels guarding the secrets of the forest. Shadows flickered between the branches, and for a moment, Alan felt as though he were being watched. He squinted, trying to pierce the gloom, but the underbrush was thick, obscuring his view.

Alan: "Hello?" he called out, his voice steady despite the unease creeping into his heart. The word hung in the air, swallowed by the rustling leaves and the distant calls of birds. There was no response, only the wind continuing to weave through the trees, carrying with it the weight of the unknown.

There was a strange feeling welling up inside Alan, an inexplicable pull that seemed to draw him toward the source of the sound he had heard. It was as if an invisible thread connected him to that distant whisper, urging him to venture deeper into the forest. The sensation was intoxicating, a mix of curiosity and urgency that ignited a fire within him.

Yet, in stark contrast, another feeling surged within him, equally intense and insistent. It was a voice of caution, a primal instinct that warned him to turn back, to retreat from the unknown. This feeling was heavy and suffocating, a weight pressing down on his chest, urging him to heed the danger that lurked just beyond his sight.

Alan stood at the crossroads of these two powerful emotions, torn between the allure of discovery and the instinct for self-preservation. The conflict within him felt almost supernatural, as if something beyond himself was influencing his thoughts and actions. It was a sensation that transcended mere intuition; it felt as though the very essence of two forces outside himself was reaching to him, intertwining with his own spirit.

At that moment, Alan made a choice. He decided to follow the direction from which he had heard the strange sound, compelled by an instinct he could not fully understand. With determination coursing through him, he pushed through the dense underbrush, ducking beneath low-hanging branches and maneuvering around thick trunks. The forest seemed to close in around him, but he pressed on, driven by the need to uncover the truth.

After what felt like an eternity of navigating the tangled foliage, Alan finally emerged into a clearing. The sunlight poured down, illuminating the space, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the clearing. There, the shrubbery was charred and blackened, as if a fire had swept through and left its mark. The stark contrast of the scorched earth against the vibrant greens of the surrounding forest drew his attention.

Alan reached for his communication device, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Alan: "Um, Mitra, I think I found something," he said into the device, his voice steady despite the unease that lingered in the air.

Mitra: "Stay where you are, Alan. We're on our way," Mitra's voice crackled back, calm and authoritative.

For the next few minutes, Alan took a moment to gather his thoughts and observe the clearing. He began to direct the others, describing the path he had taken and the peculiar sight that awaited them. The anticipation built within him as he waited, wondering what the others would think of his discovery.

Before long, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and soon Torran and Fuse burst into the clearing, their expressions a mix of excitement and curiosity.

Torran: "What did you find?" he asked, his eyes wide as he took in the scene.

Alan: "Look at this," Alan gestured toward the blackened area, his voice tinged with urgency. "It looks like something burned here, but I can't tell what caused it."

Fuse knelt down, examining the charred earth closely.

Fuse: "This is definitely a clue," he said, his excitement palpable.

Mitra and Henry arrived shortly after, their expressions more neutral, as if they were assessing the situation with a critical eye. Mitra approached the blackened area, her keen gaze scanning the surroundings. She knelt down, examining the scorched earth and the remnants of the shrubbery with a practiced eye.

Alan: "What do you think, Mitra?" he asked, his heart pounding as he awaited her assessment.

Mitra remained silent for a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration. "This is unusual," she finally said, her voice low.

Mitra: "The burn marks suggest a concentrated source of heat, possibly magical in nature. It's not just a random fire. And, I feel a faint residual hum of some unique aether here."

Mitra rose to her feet, brushing dried leaves from her knees as she turned toward Alan. A slow, knowing smile curled at the edges of her lips.

Mitra: "Good job, Alan," she said, her voice tinged with uncommon admiration. "I think you just found the spot where Cid teleported."

Alan's eyes widened, his earlier exhaustion forgotten.

Alan: "Really? Are you sure?" he asked, his voice cracking with excitement.

Mitra crouched again, running her fingers over the scorched earth. The soil was unnaturally smooth, as if seared by an invisible flame. Tiny motes of residual aether drifted through the air like dust, detectable only to those with high aether sensitivity. She exhaled sharply.

Mitra: "Yes," she confirmed. "The lingering aether here matches the signature of teleportation magic. If Cid materialized here without a circle, the energy released would have been enormous." She gestured to the blackened grass, the withered shrubs. "This burn pattern? That's raw energy. No doubt about it—this is where he arrived."

Alan clenched his fists, his mind racing.

Alan: "Then he was here. Recently."

Mitra nodded, scanning the surrounding trees.

Mitra: "Let's look around," she said, her voice low. "If we're lucky, we might find traces of where he went next. Footprints, displaced leaves—anything." She hesitated, then added grimly, "And keep your guard up. A mage like Cid isn't someone we should underestimate."

Alan swallowed hard but set his jaw before nodding.

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