The great doors of the Sanctum sealed slowly behind Hongbo, cutting off the outside clamor and killing intent. Within, the hall was majestic and solemn, golden energy flowing silently between the massive pillars—yet it did nothing to dispel the lingering scent of blood and conspiracy.
"Summon the Healer-Priests. Now." Hongbo's voice echoed through the vast main hall, brooking no argument. He didn't even glance at the barely-alive, black-clad Cleric being carefully moved by junior brothers, treating him as mere debris to be cleared. "Take him to the 'Contemplation Corridor'. Stabilize him. Ensure he can speak."
The Contemplation Corridor—its name sounded peaceful, but it was the Sanctum's most secure facility for isolating and interrogating high-value individuals, protected by the strongest containment and silencing wards. "Stabilize" was merely a euphemism for keeping him alive long enough to extract information. His trusted Clerics moved to obey with swift, silent efficiency, clearly accustomed to such tasks.
But as they tried to move the black-clad Cleric—the one kept alive by his comrade's desperate Energy Feedback, now barely conscious—
A sudden change.
The corpse of the other black-clad Cleric—the one who had expended all his energy to save his partner and had already ceased breathing—suddenly convulsed violently. Then, beneath the black robes over his chest, an intricate, spinning dark crimson Mark flared to life.
The Mark flashed three times with unnatural speed, as if alive, and then—
WHOOSH!
A ghostly blue flame erupted from within the body, instantly consuming it. The fire was intensely hot, yet eerily released no heat, precisely and rapidly reducing flesh, bone, and cloth into a fine, metallic-looking, pale white ash.
The process was terrifyingly fast—over in two or three breaths. By the time the surrounding Clerics reacted, attempting to suppress it with energy, only a small pile of what seemed like ultra-purified ash remained, along with a lingering, cold, unnatural scent of scorching.
Information Scorch.
The term rose in the minds of all who witnessed it—a final safeguard planted on certain core researchers, triggered upon death and total energy depletion, ensuring any potentially informative physical or energetic traces were utterly destroyed.
Hongbo's face darkened instantly, his expression thunderous. He stared at the pile of ash, his eyes cold and sharp. One dead. Half the trail gone. Now, all hope rested on the half-dead captive sent to the Contemplation Corridor.
"Clean this up," he said coldly, then turned on his heel and strode deeper into the Sanctum. He had to interrogate the sole survivor himself—to uncover what they were truly researching, what secrets the Energy Feedback and the so-called heretical energy held, before other factions could intervene.
The Sanctum returned to its surface calm, but the undercurrents were raging. That pile of pale ash stood as both a silent warning and a question mark burned into the minds of all who knew.
The energy fluctuations from the Sanctum's depths were like stones dropped into a lake; though weakened by layers of barriers, their strange ripples were still keenly perceived by Erika, crouched in the shadows. Hongbo had taken the black-clad Cleric into the Contemplation Corridor—this was a rare chance. He might overhear something—about Cecilia, about Energy Feedback, about the hidden truths.
He knew nothing of the Sanctum's inner layout, feeling his way like a blind man. But he had his stride count, his intuition for energy flow. Like a vine clinging to life in a stone crevice, he pressed against the cold, ornate walls, minimizing his presence, inching inward guided by faint energy echoes. Each step was cautious, his perception stretched thin, evading potential patrols and wards while tracing the increasingly clear direction.
Hiding behind a massive pillar carved with angelic battle scenes, he could faintly hear voices from behind a sealed door etched with hidden runes. Filtered through energy barriers, they were muffled—but he could still distinguish Hongbo's steady, oppressive voice, and another—weak, yet unnervingly calm.
"...High Priest, what I can tell you is limited." It was the black-clad Cleric's voice, breathless from blood loss, yet devoid of panic. "That girl, Cecilia... her constitution is... unique. More than that, I cannot reveal. It concerns... Order itself."
Hongbo's tone betrayed no emotion. "Order? Withholding information from me, in my own Sanctum, is the greatest disorder. Why do you think the Inquisitorial Tribunal hunts you so relentlessly?"
"They chase shadows. Fear itself," the black-clad voice held a trace of scorn, barely perceptible. "While we... seek to understand the truth where light and shadow intertwine. Holding me is pointless. I know little more than what you are about to witness for yourself."
A tense silence fell, heavy with unspoken conflict. Erika held his breath, his heart pounding. Key? Mirror? What lay behind these cryptic words?
Just as he strained to catch more—
A cold, slick hand settled on his shoulder from behind—ghost-like and utterly silent.
Erika's hair stood on end, his spirit freezing in terror. He tried to struggle, but the owner of the hand was faster. Another hand clamped over his eyes and mouth like an iron vise, sealing all sight and sound.
A familiar, smoothly amused voice whispered directly into his ear, the warmth of the breath bringing only a bone-deep chill:
"Shhh—What mischief are you up to, little mouse?" It was the short Cleric, Kaelen.
His voice was hushed, carrying a cat-and-mouse mockery. "Whatever you're eavesdropping on, whatever you're scheming... take some advice. Don't." His tone shifted, turning serious—almost warning. "Some things... knowing too much does you no good."
Without giving Erika a chance to react, explain, or resist—indeed, under Kaelen's seemingly casual but crushing grip, Erika felt frozen, unable to muster even a flicker of energy—Kaelen simply dragged him away from the pillar, his steps light and quick, heading toward the Sanctum's outer corridors.
Erika's heart was ice, fear and frustration warring within him. Kaelen had found him. Which side was he on? Was his warning genuine—or a threat?
As he was half-dragged, half-marched toward the Sanctum's grand entrance, a clear, delighted voice rang out:
"Erika!"
It was little Anna. She seemed to have been waiting nearby, and now she rushed over like a happy bird, immediately clutching the arm of the still-shaken Erika.
She looked up, her face lit with an innocent smile, addressing Kaelen. "Thank you, Cleric Kaelen! I knew I could count on you to find him!" She turned her bright, shining eyes to Erika. "The festival parade is about to start—the best part! Come on, we'll miss the good spots!"
Kaelen released his grip, his expression sliding back into its usual insouciant mask, as if the warning in the Sanctum's depths had never happened. He waved a hand at Anna. "Found him for you, little Anna. Take your... inquisitive friend, and go enjoy the show."He placed a subtle emphasis on inquisitive, his gaze lingering on Erika with unspoken meaning.
Erika stood rooted, his arm held tightly by Anna, her excited chatter filling his ears, Kaelen's inscrutable smile before him, while the black-clad Cleric's words—key and mirror—and Hongbo's cold interrogation echoed in his mind.
He had been forcibly pulled back from the precipice, thrust into the illusion of safety. But he knew the vortex had already formed—and he was standing at its center.
The heavy shadow of the Sanctum and Kaelen's icy warning were forcibly pushed aside by Anna's skipping form and the tidal wave of celebration. Erika was practically dragged by her, swept into the broad Processional Way leading to the main venue—a thoroughfare drowned in brilliant energy streams and cheering crowds.
"Look, Erika! Look!" Anna pointed skyward, where giant birds woven from pure light essence wheeled and soared, shedding shimmering feathers of radiance. "The Luminous Messengers! You only see them on the biggest holidays!"
Erika looked up at the dreamlike scene, yet a faint throb pulsed in the Mark on his left hand. He could feel it—these weren't true living creatures but constructs driven by intricate energy channels, consuming power siphoned from some forgotten surplus zone. Wolfgang's muttered comment—"I wonder which forsaken corner will pay the price"—echoed abruptly in his mind.
"Yes, very beautiful," he replied softly, forcing a smile.
Anna, oblivious to his distraction, was utterly absorbed in the festival spirit. She pulled him through the crowded stalls. Vendors sold Sanctum Sigil candies made of syrup and edible energy powder; artisans levitated exquisitely carved models of the city within miniature energy fields; mask-sellers hawked their wares, including exaggerated, faintly mocking Old Royalty Jester Masks—though these sold far less briskly than the solemn visages of saints.
Anna stopped at a stall selling handwoven birds, her eyes glued to a small, lifelike sparrow crafted from gold and white thread.
"Do you like it?" Erika asked.
She nodded vigorously, then hesitated, patting her own empty little pouch before shaking her head gently. "It's nice just to look," she said with a smile—though a flicker of disappointment was unmistakable in her eyes.
Erika looked from the golden bird to Anna. He thought of the note in his pocket—go out together—her risking danger to bring him the book, her current effort to dispel the gloom around him with sheer joy. Silently, he walked to the stallkeeper and used a few of his meager seed-allowance coins to buy the gold-and-white bird.
"For you," he said, handing it to her.
Anna stared, stunned, then her face blossomed into a smile brighter than any energy stream around them. She took it with utmost care, as if cradling a priceless treasure, holding it tight against her chest. "Thank you, Erika! It's so beautiful!"
Watching her pure delight, a tiny crack seemed to form in the ice encasing Erika's heart, letting a sliver of warmth seep through.
They moved on, reaching the grand parade. Phalanxes of Sanctum Guards in heavy armor marched in perfect unison; choirs on slowly moving floats showered the crowd with particles of blessing-light; and great ceremonial carriages bore bas-reliefs depicting the deeds of ancient heroes and saints.
Anna watched, mesmerized, gasping in awe. Erika's gaze, however, lingered more on the sharp-eyed patrols maintaining order, on the discreet energy conduits snaking beneath the ornate floats. He even noticed how, as a float depicting the Eternal Circuit Blessing the Land passed by, the crowd's cheers grew particularly fervent—and the concentration of mildly euphoric energy particles in the air subtly increased.
Such perfect control, he thought, the notion cold within him.
"Erika," Anna suddenly tugged his sleeve, pointing toward a distant, towering spire—part of the Angel's Descent complex, looking especially divine in the festival light. "They say that's the closest place to the 'Light'. Cultivating there must make you improve really fast, right?"
Erika followed her gaze. The very sky above that area seemed more pure. He nodded slightly. "Perhaps." But his mind conjured the hidden annex, the container labeled Elysian-Vault-7, and the cruel Sustaining Infusion taking place within.
The revelry continued—a cacophony of sound and dazzle of light.
Erika stayed with Anna, sharing the overly sweet candy she offered, watching the parade pass by, listening to her chatter about festival legends. He played his part—the ordinary boy accompanying a friend.
But only he knew his soul felt split in two: one half immersed in this false, carefully woven peace; the other half perpetually suspended in the Sanctum's shadow, hovering over the riddle of the key and mirror, observing and calculating with cold detachment.
This moment of peace was like the fragile calm in the eye of a storm. He cherished it—and he guarded against it. For he knew, once the festival fireworks died and the crowds dispersed, the true tempest was yet to come.
Fireworks burst over the Sanctum, raining streams of molten gold across the sky, illuminating Anna's face, bright with pure joy and contentment. She clutched the gold-and-white woven bird tightly, as if holding her entire world.
Erika stood beside her, a faint, gentle smile fixed on his face, while inside, an invisible hand seemed to slowly tighten around his heart. Amid the din, the Mark on his left hand flared with a brief, razor-sharp pang—not a burn, but a strange sensation, as if something had lightly tapped against it.
Simultaneously, his stretched-thin perception, sifting through the chaotic, celebratory energy field around him, caught a fleeting wisp of a frequency. It was identical to the energy signature of the shielding field around Cecilia's container near the Angel's Descent.
But this ripple didn't come from that direction.
It came from deep within the Sanctum itself—from the Contemplation Corridor, where Hongbo had taken the surviving black-clad Cleric.
The smile froze on Erika's face.