The golden light seemed seared into everyone's vision long after the Angel's departure. Chaos in the Seventh District had not subsided; weeping, prayers, and the hurried steps of medics wove together into a net of panic. Erika stood rooted, the burning in his left hand faded, replaced by a chill that went to the bone and the relentless replay of that ominous purple-black stain on Cecilia's neck.
Footsteps, pounding like war drums, cut through the mourning. It was Wolfgang. He strode in urgently, several clerics in dark vestments at his heels. Their metal-shod boots struck the rubble with an air of unquestionable authority. His typically stern face was now layered with undisguised urgency. His hawk-like eyes swept over the remnants of the shaken student group.
"Report!" His voice cleaved through the din, forcing itself into every ear. "Casualties? Any wounded?"
Most students shrank back, none daring to speak first. Little Anna, her face pale and tear-streaked, took a sharp breath and forced herself forward, her fingers twisting the coarse fabric of her robe. "Pr-praise the Angel… It descended… purified the… the monster… Miss Cecilia, she… she was grazed by its claw… She and the other city students were… escorted back first…"
Wolfgang's brow furrowed, his eyes flickering almost imperceptibly at the word "grazed." His gaze continued its sweep, finally locking onto Erika—whose sleeve was torn from his earlier roll, exposing his left arm from the elbow down.
The Instructor's stare, as if drawn by a magnet, fixed on Erika's forearm. There, where the unmarked skin of an unbaptized should have been, was now clearly etched a complex, ancient golden pattern—identical in form to the Mark bestowed only after rigorous ceremony, yet somehow different. It felt… more primal.
The urgency on Wolfgang's face was instantly replaced by stark astonishment. He even took an involuntary step forward, as if to grab Erika's arm for a closer look. "You…" His voice was heavy with disbelief. "Have you already undergone the Golden Baptism?!"
The words landed like a stone in still water. Even the clerics behind him shot suspicious glances. The Golden Baptism—the ritual to formally receive power—could not possibly have happened unnoticed to some borderlands brat.
Erika's heart clenched. He couldn't explain the Mark's origin, just as he couldn't explain his ability to 'understand' the flow of energy.
But Wolfgang's question died abruptly. He seemed to realize his breach of composure and the troublesome questions it might raise—questions he wasn't ready to pursue. He snapped his mouth shut, swallowing his follow-up queries with visible effort, and harshly changed the subject, turning his gaze to the scorched ground. "…Has the area been checked? No other taint remains?"
Upon receiving affirmative nods from the clerics, as if shaking off an unwelcome thought, he barked orders: "Continue tracking other potentially contaminated refugees. Secure the quarantine zone." His tone was back to its usual flint, the earlier shock utterly vanished.
Then, without another look at Erika, he addressed the remaining students with finality. "The rest of you, back to the priory."
The return journey was silent and oppressive. The procession wound through the city's grand stairways and arched bridges. Sunlight streamed through vast windows, casting long shadows. They passed an open square—the Ring of Law. At its center, dozens of priests and sisters in immaculate white vestments stood in solemn rows, conducting their daily rites. Their chanting was ethereal and perfectly unified, accompanied by the low, spiritually soothing hum of some unseen instrument.
But Erika's attention was caught by the great crystal monoliths standing at the square's edge. Their surfaces held no words, only flowing streams of light representing the energy reserves of different sectors. A high-ranking cleric stood before them, announcing to the gathered citizens:
"In the name of the Eternal Circuit, the Holy Sanctum's energy allocation for the coming month is confirmed—stable and sufficient! All core sectors, including the Angel's descent, the Law Nexus, and the inner sanctum sanctuaries, will receive priority. May the Light endure."
A wave of relieved, almost grateful murmurs rippled through the crowd. In this city, powered by energy, stable supply meant survival and order.
Wolfgang, walking beside the group, let out a barely audible snort. In a low mutter meant only for those nearby, he grumbled, "Hmph. Stable supply… I wonder which forgotten corner will pay the price this time, drained dry for this."
The words were a cold key, wrenching open the floodgates of Erika's memory—Balthasar's longing for a 'direct harvest,' the city youths' lunchtime talk of 'energy shortages' and 'collection units,' the golden pillar that had scoured his home from the earth. The city's light and stability were indeed built upon the desiccation of countless Borderlands.
They finally reached the relative quiet of the priory. Its white walls glowed coldly in the setting sun, like a refined fortress. At the gate, a figure rushed out—the older sister in direct charge of Anna, a usually stern woman now unable to mask her anxiety.
"Anna!" She clutched the small figure to her chest, holding her tight. "Praise the Father of Light! You're safe, you're safe…" She inspected Anna like a precious artifact, then almost dragged her away from the group.
"Erika… goodbye," Anna managed a hurried glance back at Erika, her eyes full of worry and farewell, before being pulled into the priory's deep, shadowed portico.
Erika watched her go in silence. He expected to be led back to the familiar, rune-carved Contemplation Cell. But Wolfgang's hand fell on his shoulder, its grip firm, steering him with undeniable force.
"You. With me."
They didn't head toward the dormitories. Instead, they turned into a little-used corridor in the priory's side wing. The lighting here seemed dimmer. The intricate golden patterns on the walls grew sparse, replaced by a deep, almost light-devouring black stone. The air grew cold and still, smelling of ancient dust and something else—a cloying, metallic tang of stagnant energy.
Finally, Wolfgang stopped before a massive door of black metal. It was starkly out of place with the city's prevailing opulence—utterly unadorned, its surface smooth as a mirror yet black enough to swallow all surrounding light and sound. There was no visible lock or handle.
Wolfgang turned. His large frame cast a heavy shadow in the gloom, enveloping Erika completely. He raised his hands, not to strike, but in a gesture almost like an embrace, planting them heavily on Erika's shoulders. Those hands felt like iron vises, pinning him in place, cutting off any retreat.
The Instructor leaned down, his weathered, severe face coming uncomfortably close. His breath, smelling of leather and steel, washed over Erika. The look in his eyes wasn't the authority of the classroom, nor the shock from before. It was a deep, unvarnished scrutiny and calculation, laced with a hint of malicious curiosity.
He stared directly into Erika's eyes, his voice dropping to a low, almost indistinct murmur that nonetheless pierced like a poisoned needle.
"Listen, boy. No one else here now… Tell me the truth." His grip tightened. "Which side do you really stand with?"
Wolfgang's vise-like hands didn't budge, his hunched form casting a shadow that threatened to swallow Erika whole. The air was thick with dust and the scent of cold metal, the only sound the frozen space between their breaths.
"Which side?" Wolfgang repeated, his voice dropping lower, grating against the silence like coarse sandpaper. His gaze was no longer merely scrutinizing; it was dissecting, sharp enough to flay Erika open and peer directly at the origin of the Mark upon his soul.
Erika's throat tightened. Blood rushed in his ears, a roaring tide through which he could hear the frantic drumming of his own heart. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. Any defense felt pathetically frail before this absolute pressure.
In the deadlock of that silence—
The Mark on the back of his left hand pulsed. A faint, yet impossibly precise, beat. Not pain, but a… resonance.
In the very same instant, Wolfgang's fingers on his shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. Beneath the heavy fabric of the Instructor's dark vestments, four specific points on his torso—left shoulder blade, below the right rib, slightly left of the heart, and deep in the abdomen—responded. Four points of extremely dim golden light shone through, their glow captured by Erika's sharpened senses.
Their brightening and fading moved in perfect, inexplicable sync with the pulse in his hand. A flash, a dimming. Another flash, another dimming. Like hidden stars beneath cloth, blinking in silent, synchronized rhythm with a lone, distant star.
Wolfgang clearly felt the strange activity within his own body. A flicker of sheer astonishment passed through his probing eyes, instantly buried under a wave of deeper, almost tangible suspicion. He didn't look down, didn't release his grip. Instead, he leaned in closer, his nose nearly brushing Erika's forehead.
"Answer me, boy." His voice was a suppressed rasp, tangled with shock and something else, unnameable. "Forget the damned doctrine and the prayers… Tell me the truth. Which side are you on?"
The synchronized glow hung between them like a string of silent code, rendering the question far more profound, far more dangerous, and infinitely more enigmatic.