Chapter 11:The Great Tetragram Seal
"I know you might be wondering how I knew your name, and probably the fact you wish to undergo the hypnoapotheosis Rite," he muttered, his blue eyes locking on the girl before him. Through that pouch of hers, he could see the golden vals she had duped the Inquisitors of, and her tiny hands clutching a breadknife—the human instinct against danger.
He sighed.
"I mean you no harm. I merely wish to know your relationship with this Mephis," he said, extending a white handkerchief toward her, as she had been crying earlier—a standard act of etiquette. She dismissed it with a cautious, angry glare.
He exhaled deeply, his watch ticking in the silence. Two deductions formed in his mind: this was typical of the slums' reaction to nobles, or perhaps a protective facade. Mephis might have been more than an acquaintance. The silence was broken by the steady tick of his watch.
He observed her expression: her heart rate accelerating to about 120 beats per minute, blood pressure rising, brain on high alert, digestion slowing, with sweat beading from her pores in increasing volume.
She was in a controlled panic.
But was his face really that scary? Last time he checked, it leaned toward the handsome side.
"It seems you are scared, not of me, but of the fact the inquisitors took this beloved partner of yours." He clasped his hands together, meeting her eyes again. "They didn't."
He noted her response: eyes widening, pupils dilating slightly, heart rate dropping by 10 from earlier, breathing relaxing, muscles easing.
She was relieved.
"Then what happened to him? He ne..." She stopped abruptly, as if realizing she had nearly revealed something compromising.
Not that he didn't already know.
"That he never met you at the broken wall? Don't worry, I know all about it, and more about Mephis than you do," he added—and perhaps about the space-time dilation that had led the Church to send him here.
"What do you mean by that?" He detected wariness, apprehension, caution, a hint of relaxation, and curiosity in her tone, her voice echoing softly in the dim room filled with the scent of stale bread and dust from the worn floors. Progress was being made.
"I know Mephis's parents—long-time acquaintances—and if it will put you at ease, they are alive," he said, his fingers tracing the Decadem star on his crucifix. The girl gazed at him, her eyes showing caution mixed with awe, her grip on the knife loosening slightly.
"Then why haven't they come for their son yet?" she demanded. "He lives a wretched life, working for every dime, alone in a cold, detached house like this, and his parents just sit there doing nothing. Did they even love him?"
Her emotions surged, but her heart rate remained steady, her words sharp in the quiet space, accompanied by the faint creak of the floorboards as she shifted.
"That I don't know," he replied, standing from the stool. His work here was done; she knew nothing about the space-time dilation. Leinz or Bors might. "All I can say is that Mephis is alive, most likely kidnapped. I'll bring him back." He glanced at her hopeful eyes, wide and reflecting the dim light from the cracked window.
Though timid now, he was certain she was the one who, in the future, would stop the Tears of the Fractured Moon and survive into the New Epoch. Perhaps that was why Ian had chosen her.
A sound choice.
"So by the time you return from the Ascension rite, he shall be here waiting."
He moved toward the door.
"Thank you, Sir Steins," her voice called out, sincere and innocent, carrying across the room.
"And about your Ascension, I suggest you tell your mom, Auriel," he said, without looking back, as his figure phased through the wall as if it did not exist, the wood rippling briefly before settling.
Outside, he looked at the blazing noon sun, its rays casting long shadows over the slum's narrow alleys where voices murmured and carts rattled on uneven stones. He reached toward it, trying to grasp its light—its hope—but the rays slipped through his palm, warm yet elusive.
A simple truth: you cannot grasp hope.
Not for those who have lost it.
"Mephis, son of Andromeda, what sort of monster have you become?" he sighed, the words fading in the heated air.
Then he felt it—a tug on his subconscious. His eyes widened. The Great Tetragram Seal—an artifact used to veil the entire West Arctics, containing the Sequence Four Harbinger in a pocket realm of eternal landscape—was being overridden.
This was impossible; no mortal will, mnemonic or otherwise, could suppress an artifact.weakened dark god could or Perhaps the Sequence tree human deities and above,His eyes glowed a fierce blue, sharpening every detail as his vision extended across Valen: over cathedral spires piercing the skyline, bells tolling faintly; along bustling roads with merchants and pedestrians under the sun; past the grand gate with vigilant guards; across barren mountains with jagged peaks and wind-swept valleys; to the dark Nightingale castle, its towers rising against the horizon; over the Terdonia Great Sea, waves crashing with foam under sunlight; into Eden's frozen plains, glaciers cracking deeply; and beyond to the lifeless West Arctic, a vast white expanse of blizzards and tundras reaching the edge of visibility.
His gaze pierced the iridescent dome crowned by a huge halo—the Great Seal—now marred by a broken fissure, cracks spreading like fractured glass, with faint dark energy seeping in wisps that distorted the surrounding air.
Inside, it was clouded by a spiritual veil of darkness dotted with twinkles, shadows shifting across the sealed landscape.
Something capable of this was at least Sequence Three: The Divines.
How...
Even through the veil, he sensed distorted corruption leaking out, tendrils tainting the frozen ground, the Harbinger battling the cause of the fissure and veil, clashes echoing like muffled thunder.
He retracted his gaze, the slum's heat and noise returning in a rush.
This entity was more powerful than he had deduced.
He felt a slight bump as the dark-haired girl walked past, casting him an apprehensive glance, her footsteps light on the wooden balcony planks that creaked under her.
She paid little attention—how free it was to be a naive mortal, unaware of their impending doom, as the sun continued its path.
First, he needed to investigate Leinz and the other inquisitors who had come before.
Perhaps scour their memories for a direct lead on this entity. Depending on that, they would descend into The Vault Of Anubis.
He sighed.
Today would be strenuous.