[Joint Revelation Detected]
[Participants: Alain Vale / Dahlia Aston]
[Objective: Identify the Truth(s).]
Light flickered.
Truths? What is that even supposed to mean?
Alain blinked. At the same moment, Lia looked up.
This confirmed his suspicion—that this was the same Lia he had always known.
She seemed to notice him as well and promptly made her way over.
"…Alain?"
Her voice was small, hesitant. Not because she didn't recognize him, but because the place around them made recognition feel impossible.
Alain let out a slow breath. "Yeah. It's me."
She didn't move. Her eyes swept over him again, searching for something the scene might have stolen or replaced.
It made sense—he felt the same way. As if some part of him had been rewritten the moment they walked through that door of light.
Only when she seemed satisfied did she take a careful step closer.
"This is real, then?" she asked quietly. "You know…The Revelation, the letters that appeared out of nowhere?"
Alain looked past her. The garden stretched outward in impossible symmetry—petals opening exactly the same way on every branch, sunlight falling with mechanical precision.
And somewhere ahead, his mentor's laughter drifted through the air.
"It's real enough," he murmured. "Just… not ours."
Lia swallowed, her gaze drifting to the fading remnants of system text still lingering like smoke.
"Then that really is our objective," she whispered. "A war. We're supposed to stop a war."
Alain didn't know what Revelations entailed. He had heard stories about major noble houses preparing a massive event for their children and even celebrated their entering of a Revelation.
Looking at the situation, Alain was sure those noble houses had to have some loose screws in their heads.
"…Did you see your numbers too?" Lia asked softly.
Alain nodded, "Yeah. It was similar to the scanners, but much deeper, like it stared at my soul."
Lia stepped a little closer, lowering her voice. "Mine showed… Grade One Water, Stage One Insight. Ether around nine-hundred." She bit her lip. "And my second Rune was labeled as Dormant."
His eyes widened, "Really? Mine too… seems like our Runes have something to do with this whole thing."
Lia's eyes softened—fear, curiosity, both.
"Did you…have a trait too?"
Alain glanced away for a moment. Checking for any onlookers, the way he had always done when deals were made on weapons. The rate of bandits trying to nab them mid-deal were more than he'd like to admit.
"Yeah, it was called Equivalent Exchange."
Her brows knit. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"No idea," he muttered. "But every time I think of my second Rune, it starts hurting."
Lia stared, worry flickering across her expression. "Right, then let's try not to use it for now."
She stepped closer, hesitation flickering in her eyes.. Enough for him to notice.
"...Mine's Anchor, whatever that means," she admitted.
Alain nodded once, filing the information away. Anchor. Whatever it meant, it suited her. She was always the one to listen to other people's problems after all.
He turned back toward the heart of the garden. Laughter drifted across the marble, warm and bright, coating everything like a memory that didn't belong to them.
"We should move," he said quietly. "Just… blend in. Watch."
Lia followed his gaze, then exhaled slowly. "Right. The objective."
They stepped onto the main path, the marble warm beneath their feet. Every detail of the world seemed painted with impossible care. People passed by them: nobles in fine silks, guards in polished decorative armor, servants balancing trays of appetizers.
Alain had grabbed a skewer as they walked, just for the purposes of testing his tastebuds. The meat was good. Lia frowned when he did that.
"No matter how you look at it, that HAS to be Baldr." Lia pointed at the blonde man, now at the entrance of the gardens, receiving guests like it were his own home.
Lia whispered beside him, "He doesn't look like someone who's about to die."
"No," Alain murmured. "He doesn't."
A pause.
Then—
"Do you think we can change anything?"
Alain didn't answer immediately. His hand tightened at his side,
"We're still in the dark here. Let's get some information first."
They moved deeper into the crowd, keeping their heads down while their eyes searched for anything out of place. People laughed, gossiped, traded warm greetings—nothing felt unnatural.
The air carried the scent of wine and orchard blossoms, not the metallic sting of danger.
If not for the message that had burned itself into their vision, Alain might have believed this place was safe.
Lia leaned closer. "We should listen first. Figure out which factions are here."
Alain nodded. "And who benefits from this war."
A servant passed them by, bowing politely before hurrying off. Another group nearby discussed trade tariffs. Two soldiers debated their respective training regimens. A noblewoman recounted some childhood mischief involving a fountain.
All normal. Down to the smallest detail.
Which meant whoever intended to start a war—
They were hiding well.
Alain angled himself toward a cluster of armored envoys from the Jotnar side. Their voices were low but tense, each sentence edged with the discipline of men used to conflict, not peace.
"We lend our presence," one murmured, "but the Vanir have to meet us halfway."
"They will," another replied. "Baldr guarantees it."
Lia's brow furrowed. She whispered, "So both sides trust him. He's the bridge."
"Which means killing him fractured everything," Alain said quietly.
She nodded once. "So the question is… who gains the most from removing the bridge?"
The Jotnar envoys were heavily guarded. The Vanir nobles looked genuinely relieved to be here, not scheming. The servants moved with practiced ease, carrying trays or refilling cups.
Musicians played at the far end of the garden, their instruments humming with a tranquil melody.
Nothing obvious. Nothing suspicious.
Which meant the threat was either…subtle, political, or…already in motion.
Lia whispered, "We should get closer to Baldr."
Alain hesitated. Being near the center of attention was the last thing he wanted.
But she was right.
"We'll stay at the edge," he said. "Close enough to see. Not close enough to stand out."
They started toward the pavilion where Baldr spoke with envoys from both sides. His smile was sincere, his voice warm—not the face of a man about to be betrayed.
And maybe that was the point.
Lia glanced at him, voice barely audible. "He really is… everything they say."
Alain didn't respond. Instead, he kept moving, scanning each cluster of guests, every pair of hands, all exchanged items.
A voice rose above the murmur of conversation—warm, steady, carrying easily across the garden.
Baldr.
"Friends," he called, lifting a hand. "If I may have a moment."
The chatter softened at once. Envoys from all three sides turned toward him—Aesir gleaming in golds and whites, Vanir robed in greens and naturals, while Jotnar were armored in blackened steel. Even the servants paused.
Baldr stepped into the center of the pavilion, sunlight pooling around him like a halo. His expression held no fear—only calm conviction.
"Today," he said, "we attempt something unprecedented. A bridge between our peoples. A promise that words will carry more weight than blades."
Lia watched him with parted lips, awe settling over her features.
Alain felt it too—an almost magnetic pull, like charisma incarnate.
"But promises," Baldr continued, "are hollow without proof. Trust, real trust, must be demonstrated."
He opened his hands, smiling as if welcoming the world itself.
"To that end, I offer myself."
A ripple of confusion passed through the crowd.
Unshaken, Baldr went on.
"I stand here as a mediator. A man with no allegiance but to peace. To show my sincerity, I ask all who doubt me—Aesir, Vanir, or Jotnar alike—to test my heart."
A Vanir elder frowned. "Baldr, this is unnecessary—"
"It is," Baldr said gently. "Peace demands more than words. It demands vulnerability."
He gestured to the guards.
A rack was brought forward—filled with ceremonial weapons, runed implements, polished artifacts offered by each faction as tokens of unity.
"He's letting them attack him," Lia whispered.
Alain's pulse thudded. "A demonstration of neutrality," he murmured. "Like the old myths… but real."
Baldr placed a hand over his chest.
"I will not defend myself. Not with blade, nor spell, nor shield. Strike me with whatever you believe reveals truth—and if my intent falters, let the blow land."
Silence rippled across the pavilion.
A Vanir warrior stepped forward first, drawing a sharp war spear.
"You're certain?"
Baldr nodded. "Completely."
The warrior thrusted. Alain tensed—
—but the moment the point touched Baldr's chest, it dissolved into harmless dust, falling between his fingers.
A stunned breath swept through the garden.
Baldr laughed softly. "Good! Who's next?"
An Aesir mage stepped forward, drawing a spell in the air that Alain had never seen before. Light flared, darting straight at Baldr's chest, only to bounce harmlessly off him. The spell exploded in the sky like a firework, adding to the spectacle.
The venue made a collective gasp, everyone clapped, applaud roaring through the garden.
Baldr lifted his arms, inviting more.
"See? I hide nothing. I betray no one. Peace offered in earnest is peace protected."
Even Alain couldn't look away. This was more than bravado.
It was a proclamation.
Lastly, a Jotnar warrior stepped up, his bow drawn with a weird-looking green arrow. Looking closely, Alain could see a dark mist that surrounded the arrow tip—its point carved with a weird symbol.
ᚻ — Hagalaz
Baldr gestured lightly at the warrior, as if telling him to go forth with it.
Alain snapped out of his trance, the theatrics, the charisma. A violent shudder rippled down his spine, like nothing he's ever felt before.
'No! Wait!' He reached out—
It was too late, the arrow flew through the air…
Striking Baldr straight in the heart.
…his body went limp.