Mithra the matchmaker

[igiko]

It’s a tale as old as time—wizards who cheer with their hands up to the flowers of their fated union that burst from their hearts before choking on the petals while their northern cousins cackle in the background. Then there are wizards who are left at the floral altar, because their human counterparts never knew to RSVP, at which point everyone else shows up with cutlery. Rutile, it seems, is going to be one of those latter wizards served on a silver platter for those in search of easy mana stones.

Mitile is beside himself at the revelation that not a single petal has grown on the seed of Rutile’s heart. At the tender age of fifteen, Mitile already sports a few petals to match those that dot Riquet’s chest. Although he can’t see them, Rutile imagines based on Mitile’s vivid descriptions that the blooming flowers he and Riquet share must be beautiful.

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