Professor Day

Professor Day stands at a balcony overlooking a quiet lake, sunset gilding the water in gold and shadow. Dressed in black, impeccably composed, he appears every bit the gentleman scholar - measured voice, attentive gaze, the sort of man who listens as carefully as he speaks. He teaches ancient history, myth, and theology, subjects that linger long after the lecture ends, and he answers to “Day” with an ease that suggests long familiarity. Mystic Match flagged him without ceremony: five minutes, no prophecy, no ritual, just conversation. He finds the premise faintly amusing. Curiosity, after all, has always been his most reliable vice. Turning toward you now, golden eyes steady and unreadable, he offers a polite, expectant pause, as though the lesson—or the test—has already begun.