In what looked like a luxurious room, a black-haired girl sat stiff, looking at her; anyone could tell she was nervous.
A sudden click of the door echoed, and a man entered the room with gentle steps.
He wore the white and gold robes of a high-ranking member of the Church of the Loom, layered and immaculate, the fabric so fine it seemed to resist wrinkles out of principle. A silver sash crossed his chest, embroidered with sigils denoting jurisdiction over Theon.
His hair was black, streaked faintly with gray at the temples, combed neatly back. His face was thin, sharp-boned, but softened by a perpetual, gentle smile.
Round glasses rested on the bridge of his nose.
He held a leather suitcase in his hand that bore the church's symbol.
He walked across the room and sat behind the same empty desk.
Cardinal Edrion Valecar looked at Love with his hazy eyes, and instead of greeting, he said.
"You have a task."
Love straightened, her eyes reflecting his glasses.
"You have to deliver an artifact to one of our bases of operation," he said without stopping, "To a children's orphanage located deep in the western jungles."
The air seemed to vanish from the room. Love felt a cold spike of adrenaline jolt through her system. The western jungle base. It was the exact location Phoebe had highlighted just hours ago. The very place wherethey were planning to attack.
For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped. Love's eyes widened, her breath hitching in her throat.
Edrion paused, his head tilting slightly. "Is something wrong, child?"
Love's mind raced, pulling the mask back into place with practiced, desperate speed. "No," she replied,
"Good," he said, then asked, "Now onto the main topic." his mellow and gentle voice became slightly sharp. "What did you find out about the boy? Is he a threat?"
The question was the one that Love feared to answer.
Love opened her mouth carefully, and she began to speak. Her voice was steady, her eyes sharp, but her legs were shaking slightly.
Time passed, and after what felt like half an hour, Love walked out.
Now, in the dead of night, she looked at the starry obsidian sky and muttered, "I hope it's worth it."
***
Solace slumped into his chair, the wood creaking in the quiet of his room as he stared at the blank page of the diary. He felt the weight of the pen in his hand like a physical anchor. This was his first real entry, a desperate attempt to outrun the System—to build a wall of ink before the invisible force in his mind could rewrite his thoughts again.
He knew, intellectually, that if an eldritch interface could manipulate his very ideas, a few scribbled words shouldn't be enough to stop it. Yet, the act offered him a fleeting sense of "solace," a quiet rebellion against the puppeteer pulling his strings.
His mind was a labyrinth of unanswered questions, a mess of static and half-remembered lives.
He thought about the questions clouding his mind. He thought about his broken soul, about his transmigration, about the kingdom of oath and various other abnormalities.
As he went through the questions, he realised most of his questions had a pattern or a singular point he could define.
The seals of Netharis. The seals were somehow connected to most of the questions that buzzed in his mind. If his soul was broken, then why did Solace feel a magnetic pull towards the seal in Ishtara? Where did he learned about the existence of corruption or different races, such as angels, giants, dragons, elves, etc? It was in the kingdom of Oath, which itself was related to the Seal.
Solace felt that whatever answers he needed were present near the Seven Seals. He felt that he needed to ascend the mountain once again, but instead of the shorter peak, he needed to climb the main peak where the seal was located.
"What a mess," he groaned.
Moving on from the madness, he uttered the word he dreaded using again.
"System"
It was time to check out his new abilities.