The echoes of the Silent One's information still roared in his mind, the dull ache in his left hand a constant reminder of the price of his recklessness. Not daring to linger in the training cell, Erika walked out, feigning composure.
Standing in the center of the vast, empty Mark-Forging Hall, a thought struck him. He deliberately slowed his pace, adopting an almost instinctual method a shepherd might use to measure a pen. Step by step, using his own stride as a standard, he measured the distance from the training cell nearest the door to the heavy black metal gate.
Twenty-seven steps.
He committed the number to memory, like carving the first blurry coordinate in an unknown maze. Then, he pushed open the great door, merging into the relatively brighter light of the outer corridor and quickly making his way back to his own Contemplation Cell.
Back within the confines of his small, temporary space, his taut nerves relaxed slightly. His gaze fell upon the simple meal placed on the small wooden table at the room's center—a piece of dark rye bread, a bowl of clear broth with a few wilted vegetable leaves floating in it. Beside the utensils lay a folded piece of paper, its edges slightly rough.
He picked it up and unfolded it. Anna's immature, yet neat, handwriting greeted him:
Erika,
I hope you feel better soon.
The Sister said the Indoctrination Hall will have a few days off because of the upcoming Old Royalty Memorial Celebration! When you're rested, can we go out and see it together?
— Anna
Old Royalty Celebration? Time off?
Erika's fingers tightened on the paper. This sudden news was like a stone tossed into the lake of his heart, already filled to the brim with secrets and crises.
Anna's concern was genuine, her anticipation of sharing the novelty of the outside world with him was pure. It stirred a faint warmth in his icy heart, but more than that, it sparked a sharp anxiety.
Time off… meant a break in the regular order. Wolfgang's oversight might slacken, but it also meant unfamiliar brothers and sisters, increased patrols, and the chaos of the festival itself—all signifying unknown risks and… opportunities.
His eyes scanned the words "go out together" again. Walking the streets with Anna, like a normal novice? The image was beautiful, almost illusory. But could he? The burning in his left hand's Mark, the concepts of 'Energy Feedback', the 'Purification Ring', the 'three-cycle' deadline, and the Silent One's warnings of 'insufficient permissions' and 'log upload' shackled him to the shadows of his fate.
He couldn't enjoy this respite like Anna could. This vacation wasn't relaxation for him; it was possibly his final window for action.
He slowly refolded the note and tucked it into an inner pocket of his robe, right against the forged Scriptural Annotations. He felt Anna's kindness, but he was destined to be unable to give her the simple response she hoped for.
He sat down, mechanically chewing the dry bread, which tasted like ash. His mind, however, raced, replanning his already Urgent schedule.
Three days. Festival break. The Silent One's intelligence.
These factors had to be reintegrated. Perhaps he could use the festival crowds and the relatively lax security to attempt things normally impossible—like getting closer to the noble districts to gather information? Or seeking clues related to the 'Old Royalty', potentially suppressed by the Creed?
He swallowed the last of the bread, picked up the bowl, and drained the now-cool broth in one go. His eyes regained their focus, taking on a hint of grim determination.
He retrieved a piece of charcoal and, on the back of Anna's note, began writing simple words, outlining the preparations he had to complete in the next few hours:
Master 'Harmonic Convergence' (Based on the Silent One's guidance. Must be mastered quickly. Foundation for everything.)
Scout Patrol Patterns (Use passive Mind-voice listening to map guard shift changes and route variations before the festival.)
Plan Route (Combine step measurement and any available festival zone maps to plot a path to the target area, avoiding major surveillance.)
He couldn't drag Anna into danger. But this sudden festival might be the only chance he had to break the deadlock.
Outside the window, the Sanctum's light seemed to take on an unusual fluidity on the eve of the holiday. Inside, Erika took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began attempting to construct his first true 'mental barrier' using the chillingly precise 'algorithm' the Silent One had imparted.
The brief calm before the storm was over.
The festival's clamor washed over the Sanctum's streets like a tide. Multicolored energy streams replaced the usual monotonous gold, flowing between buildings; the air was thick with a false sense of jubilation. Erika pulled his novice's white robe tighter, hiding himself within the surging crowds like a fish swimming against the current, stalking towards the direction opposite the celebratory heart—towards the majestic complex known as the Angel's descent.
The closer he got, the sparser the patrols seemed to become, yet an intangible,Palpitations pressure grew heavier. It felt as if the very air in this district had solidified, saturated with refined, icy energy. The words from Anna's note—"go out together"—flashed in his mind, bringing a faint sting, which he forcefully suppressed. He couldn't afford distraction.
Using the 'Harmonic Convergence' technique drilled into him by the Silent One, he strained to converge his mental fluctuations, stabilizing them near that strange 7.83 Hz baseline frequency, like trying to keep a candle lit in a thunderstorm. He didn't dare probe actively, only expanding his perception to its limit, passively receiving the scattered 'noise' leaking from the surrounding energy field.
*[Patrol Beta-7, area C-12 clear. No anomalies.]*
[...Energy diversion to main festival venue stable. Core sector load reduced by 0.3 percentage points...]
[...'Wellspring of Plenty' output constant. Priority given to 'Descent Chamber'...]
Countless fragmented pieces of information flowed through his awareness, most of them dull patrol reports and energy dispatch commands. He sifted through them like panning for sand, searching for any fragments related to 'specimen' or 'observation'. The process was mentally draining. Cold sweat soaked his hairline at the temples, and the Mark on his left hand began to ache again, warning him he was approaching his limit.
He moved along the periphery of the Angel's descent complex, searching for a specific area where the energy flow felt relatively 'stable' and 'plentiful', yet suitable for imprisonment or observation. Based on the overheard information and his own energy sense, he pinpointed a subsidiary structure on the flank of the main building, shrouded by multiple layers of invisible energy barriers. The energy field here was thick as substance, but within it seemed to be a relatively calm 'core'—an ideal location to store a sensitive 'specimen'.
He found the entrance to a disused ventilation shaft, hid within the shadows, and focused all his spirit. Carefully adjusting his frequency, he attempted to pierce the layered barriers and catch sounds from within.
Success... a little!
A faint,blurry conversation, as if heard through thick glass, seeped intermittently into his perception:
[...Observation log... Date... Specimen vitality... stabilizing... Energy siphoning pattern... unchanged...]
[...'Feedback' pulse... intensity decaying... Source triangulation... still... failed...]
[...Preparing... periodic... energy infusion... to maintain... existence...]
The black-clad Clerics! They were inside! They were discussing Cecilia! 'Feedback pulse', 'source triangulation failed'... The keywords made his heart pound.
Holding his breath, he gathered his fraying mental strength, trying to push further, to perceive, to 'touch' the interior of that space, to find any trace of Cecilia's own presence—her emotional fluctuations, her life essence, even a shred of despair or pain...
Nothing.
There was nothing.
Inside that heavily guarded area, aside from the Clerics' icy discourse and the faint hum of instruments, there was only an absolute void on both the energy and life-perception levels. It was as if Cecilia, and every trace of her, had been utterly erased by the dense energy barriers and some unknown technology, leaving only an observed shell labeled 'specimen'.
This utter 'nothing' was more terrifying than sensing any agony or madness.
Erika severed the connection sharply, slumping against the cold metal of the duct, gasping for breath, his vision spotting. The agony of spiritual overdraft washed over him in a wave of backlash.
He had gained a lead, confirmed the location, even heard crucial information. But the eeriness of Cecilia's state, the difficulty of the explore, and the immense cost to himself lay on his heart like blocks of ice.
After catching his breath for a few moments, not daring to stay, he struggled out of the duct and melted back into the celebratory noise in the distance. He glanced back at the Angel's descent, its form even more solemn and mysterious under the festive lights, its shadow seeming to solidify, pressing down heavily upon the entire Sanctum.
He had found her, yet it felt like he had lost even more. How could he possibly pry open this absolute energy prison? And what had truly happened to Cecilia?
The festive clamor felt distant, muffled as if by a thick pane of glass. Erika staggered through the crowds feigning merriment, his body nearly spent. Each breath tugged at the piercing pain between his brows; the burning sensation in the Mark on his left hand felt seared into the bone. His mind echoed with the perception of that absolute 'nothingness'—Cecilia, seemingly erased from the very fabric of existence.
It was a chill deeper than death.
Back in his narrow Contemplation Cell, he locked the door, slid down its cold surface to sit on the floor, gasping. Dizziness and nausea from spiritual overextension washed over him in waves. He pulled Anna's note from inside his robe, his fingers tracing the words "go out together." A mix of guilt and frantic anxiety tightened around his throat.
He couldn't give her the promised response. He wasn't even sure he'd see the celebratory sunlight tomorrow.
He found her. And then what?
The thought pierced his brief, fleeting sense of accomplishment at locating her like an ice spike. He had found the cage, only to realize he was unarmed, unable to even approach. The immense energy barriers, the unknown guards within, and Cecilia's eerie state of 'non-existence' all declared any direct action futile.
A direct rescue? Suicide. He couldn't even be sure what was locked inside was still Cecilia.
Give up? The moment the thought surfaced, the Mark on his left hand flared with a sharp pain, as if mocking his cowardice. It wasn't just that he needed the potential clues about system vulnerabilities she might hold. It was that feeling of 'erasure' which touched his deepest fear. In the eyes of the Creed, was he not just another potential 'specimen' to be 'observed' or even 'erased'?
Leaning against the door, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to be calm, to sort through the fragmented clues like untangling a confused flock:
Location: Auxiliary structure on the flank of 'Angel's descent'. Extremely powerful energy barriers.
Status: Cecilia's life signature 'null'. Under constant observation. Mentions of 'energy feedback' and 'failed source triangulation'.
Time: 'Purification Ring' pre-heating. Estimated critical threshold in three days.
Self: Grasped basic 'harmonic convergence'. Weak spirit, poor physical condition, unstable Mark.
Environment: Festival period. Guard patrol patterns altered. Slight reduction in core sector energy load—potential opening, but also means more unpredictable chaos.
A dead end, seemingly impassable.
...Unless the objective wasn't 'rescue', but 'understanding'.
A dangerous idea quietly took root. If he couldn't take the 'specimen', could he steal the 'data'?
The observation logs of the black-clad Clerics, the analysis reports on 'energy feedback' and 'source triangulation'... this information itself was priceless! It could reveal the nature of the Blight's power, expose vulnerabilities in the Auric energy system, even point towards an unknown 'source' capable of opposing the system!
This goal, while still immensely difficult, seemed to offer a sliver more possibility than breaching the energy barriers directly. He wouldn't need to break into the core, just find a node of information exchange, a weak point in the data outflow... Perhaps the energy conduits the Clerics used to transmit reports? Or a less sensitive secondary 'Mind-voice' channel they might use for external communication?
The idea made his heart race. Recalling the Silent One's guidance on 'harmonic convergence' and dynamic frequency fine-tuning, a more precise, and even more risky, plan began to take shape in his mind.
He struggled to his feet, walked to the table, carefully refolded Anna's note, and tucked it back into his robe. Then, picking up a charcoal stub, he began writing new, more specific action steps on the back of a scrap of paper:
Deep Rest: Must recover spirit to minimum safe threshold before next move.
Pinpoint Comms Node: Use passive listening to try locating specific frequencies or physical interface points used by black-clad Clerics for communication with superiors or databases.
Simulate & Infiltrate: Research how to mimic low-level system signals or use increased communication noise during the festival to attempt 'tapping' the data stream.
Prepare Escape Route: Set absolute limits for spiritual exhaustion, and plan how to use the chaotic festival crowds for cover if discovered.
After writing this, he blew out the room's single oil lamp, plunging himself into complete darkness. Outside, the festival lights cast shifting patterns of light and shadow in the room, mirroring his fate.
He stopped thinking about Anna's invitation, stopped fantasizing about an impossible rescue. He focused his entire mind on that more Hidden, more lethal path—to become a thief of information, stealing a flame potent enough to Overturn everything from the very edge of the Sanctum's core database.
The celebration's noise was a dull throb through the walls. Erika leaned against the cold stone, the pain in his brow and the Mark's heat like tightening manacles. The absolute 'nothingness' of Cecilia was a poisoned barb in his thoughts, relentlessly churning.
Why couldn't he sense her?
Even a corpse should leave energy residue, or a trace of decay.
Unless...
His clouded gaze swept over the Sanctum's eternal radiance outside the window, and a neglected detail slammed into his consciousness—the Blighted purged instantly in the Seventh District! Their presence, within the pure, potent environment of Auric energy, had been as clear as torches in the night, allowing the Angel to target and erase them with such precision.
What about the reverse?
If there was something near 'Angel's descent', in the place holding Cecilia, that could perfectly simulate a high-concentration, stable Auric energy environment—perhaps even one more 'pure' and 'powerful' than the surroundings—then wouldn't Cecilia's Blight-tainted energy signature, its polar opposite, be completely masked, shielded, even neutralized?
Like a drop of ink in a pitch-black abyss—naturally untraceable.
The deduction chilled him to the bone. Not from fear, but from the utterly insane idea that sprouted uncontrollably in its wake.
What if... it needed a little 'ink' to make that 'stagnant water' visible?
A clear, theoretically sound logical chain assembled itself in his mind:
Premise: Angels are extremely sensitive to Blight-taint, especially within Auric energy environments.
Hypothesis: Cecilia's 'null' state results from her location being perfectly shielded by a stronger Auric energy field.
Inference: If a weak, controlled source of Blight contamination were artificially introduced near that area...
Result: The Angel's monitoring systems would be instantly triggered! They would converge on that introduced 'signal' like hounds. Their reaction intensity, vector of response, focal points of energy... all of it would outline the hidden area's perimeter and defensive priorities as clearly as a beacon in the dark!
He wouldn't even need to know what was inside. He just needed to see where the 'Angel' would strike.
Lure the wolf into the house... then, watch the tigers fight?
The thought ran ice through his veins. Where to find a 'Blighted'? How to control it to emit only a faint signal? How to avoid being 'purified' alongside the bait when the Angel came? A single misstep, and he'd be the first to be crushed.
It was madness. The chance of success was minuscule, the risks incalculable.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the dangerous thought. But the logical chain was branded into his awareness, inescapable. It was currently the only method that could bypass those heavy energy barriers and 'see' inside from the outside.
He surged to his feet, pacing the tiny room like a caged animal. Sweat soaked his undershirt, not from heat, but from fear and the near-self-destructive impulse born of being cornered.
No.
He forced himself to stop, bracing his hands on the rough wooden table, knuckles white.
Not now. This idea was a mutually assured destruction option, a last resort. He needed more information, a safer approach, needed... to find that theoretically possible, yet almost certainly unattainable, 'safe' source of contamination.
He took several deep breaths, forcibly shoving the crazy plan back into the depths of his mind, binding it layer upon layer with chains of rationality.
For now, he had to stick to the original, relatively 'safer' plan—attempt to steal data. At least that wouldn't immediately bring the Angel's judgment upon him.
He sat back down on the floor, forcing himself into meditation, striving to repair his over-extended spirit using the methods the Silent One had provided. Outside, the festival roared on, but within him, a deeper, colder, more resolute silence had fallen.
A dangerous seed had been planted. Waiting only for the right moment, or for despair, to make it sprout.