The morning light streaming through Erika's narrow window was overly bright, almost aggressively so. He opened his eyes, the numb exhaustion from the previous night still weighing his limbs, but a strange intuition snapped him to full alertness.
It was too quiet.
Not silent—the eternal, low hum of the Sanctum's energy remained. But the sounds of people—the distant shouts from the training grounds, the hurried footsteps of clerics, even the faint rustling of attendants sweeping the courtyards—were all gone. The entire Sanctum precinct felt like it had been placed under a giant, soundproof bell jar.
This stillness, sharpened by the memory of the usual morning clamor, was deeply unnerving.
Pushing his door open, he found the corridor so empty his own footsteps echoed. The few low-level brothers or sisters he passed kept their heads down, moving with hurried, nervous steps, their faces pale masks of tension and confusion, avoiding all eye contact. The air carried a lingering scent, not quite erased by the cleaning wards—a mix of ozone and something else, thin but unmistakable: the metallic tang of iron.
His unease growing, Erika headed for the refectory. It was less crowded than usual, and unnervingly hushed. No boisterous conversations, not even the cautious clatter of cutlery. People ate in silence, their eyes darting, avoiding connection. Erika took his portion and sat in a corner, straining to pick up any scrap of information from the oppressive quiet.
"...heard the commotion last night was huge..."
"...shh, watch your words..."
"...the patrols... completely rotated..."
Fragments of whispers reached him, only to be swiftly silenced by sharper looks from companions.
This collective muteness was more alarming than any uproar. Something major had happened.
When he left the Sanctum precinct and stepped onto the streets connecting the academic and residential districts, the scene transformed.
A wave of noise and movement hit him.
The streets were thronged, bustling with life. Hawkers called out, residents chatted and laughed, children chased each other—a stark, hellish contrast to the deathly silence within the Sanctum walls. Sunlight bathed every face, as if the previous night's storm and darkness had never been.
This very normalcy made Erika's skin crawl. It was an ignorant, deliberately maintained façade.
He merged with the flow of novice clerics and sisters heading for the Indoctrination Hall. Unlike the subdued figures in the refectory, these younger students weren't yet fully tainted by the invisible fear. Excitement and curiosity lit their faces as they debated fervently.
"Hear about last night? Something big went down!" a red-headed novice muttered, unable to hide his thrill.
"Of course! East Gate Three was attacked!" his companion chimed in, eyes wide. "They say a powerful energy creature breached the outer defenses! Fierce fight right at the gate!"
"My uncle in Logistics said," a round-faced sister added, eager to share the secret, "he saw loads of damaged gear brought back this morning, and... well, let's just say it was brutal!"
"Grand Cleric Hongbo issued a bulletin," another student said, mimicking an official tone, though his eyes also shone with the allure of the 'legendary event.' "Called it an isolated incident. Told everyone not to panic, said the Sanctum's defenses are impregnable..."
Attacked? Energy creature?
Erika's heart plummeted, a cold stone sinking in his chest.
His mind flashed back to yesterday evening, to the grimy technical brother, his frustrated curse when he received the summons:
"Damn it! East Gate Three's guard tower energy channels are overloading again!"
East Gate Three! The very place the brother had been heading! And according to these rumors, that was where last night's "fierce fight" had occurred!
A coincidence?
Erika didn't believe it for a second. He had seen the memories in the black-clad cleric's mind, heard the cold arguments of the high-ranking, knew the filth hidden beneath the Sanctum's gleaming surface. This "energy creature attack" was nothing but a perfect cover for an internal, bloody purge!
That technical brother... what had happened to him? He was right there, near East Gate Three, repairing the channels! Had he seen something he shouldn't have? Had he... become one of the "relevant personnel" who needed to be "processed"?
A chill shot from his feet to the crown of his head. He remembered the brother's clumsy concern, hidden beneath the complaints when he'd shoved the backup circuit into Erika's hand.
The students around him continued to excitedly speculate about the creature's form and the guards' "heroic deeds." Each innocent word was a needle prick to Erika's heart. They lived in an official fairy tale, while he had glimpsed the sticky, dark reality behind it.
He looked up at the Indoctrination Hall's spire, gleaming with a holy light in the sun. But to Erika, that light was now blinding, forged from countless lies and blood.
Within the Sanctum: the silent fear of a cover-up.
On the streets: the noisy ignorance of a lie.
And he, caught between them, holding a cold backup circuit and a heart sinking into despair.
The storm hadn't passed. It had merely hidden beneath this carefully whitewashed "serenity." And the one person who might have shown him a flicker of kindness, the technical brother, had likely been snuffed out, a silent, insignificant casualty of that storm.
He clenched his fist, stepped through the Indoctrination Hall's bustling entrance, and forced all his shock and disquiet down beneath a mask of calm.
Erika entered the Indoctrination Hall. The classroom was more chaotic than usual. Students huddled in small groups, faces still flushed with excitement and lingering fear, trading hearsay and wild guesses about last night's "attack." The air vibrated with a restless energy, a mix of dread and morbid curiosity.
When Wolfgang's tall, straight-backed figure appeared at the lectern, all discussion ceased as if severed by a blade.
His gaze swept the room like a hawk's, carrying a sharp, murderous edge that felt freshly honed on a bloody battlefield, far more intense than his usual severity. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"I trust," he began, his voice low and cutting through the stifling silence, "that by now, all of you have heard, through various channels, about the events of last night."
A wave of suppressed gasps and rustling swept through the class.
"Unfortunately," Wolfgang continued, his tone terrifyingly level, "I was ordered to the scene immediately following the attack."
This statement landed like a spark in a powder keg, instantly igniting the room! Students could no longer contain themselves, whispering excitedly, a few bold ones even calling out:
"Instructor! Was it really as bad as they say?"
"What kind of energy creature was it?"
"What was it like, being there?"
Wolfgang raised a hand, a simple gesture whose invisible pressure silenced them once more. He didn't answer the specific questions. Instead, he shifted focus, his gaze seeming to drift over, and perhaps linger on, Erika's location.
"One of the primary factors contributing to the heavy casualties in this incident," he said, his words laden with meaning, "was—acting alone."
Erika's heart jolted. He felt that gaze like a physical weight. Acting alone... Was that meant for him? A reference to yesterday's command in the corridor: "Back to your room." Or was it something else?
Then, to the astonishment of all, Wolfgang did something unexpected. He sharply pulled open the front of his white clerical robe, revealing a torso of tanned, scar-strewn muscle, and—right in the center of his chest—a Mark far more complex and profound than those the students were used to seeing on arms or hands. It pulsed with a deep, liquid golden light.
"Whoa—!"
The classroom erupted in awe and chatter. For these novices, seeing the core Mark of a powerful cleric up close, feeling the vast energy it contained, was a profoundly shocking experience.
Wolfgang let them buzz for a few seconds before raising his hand again for quiet. He refastened his robe, hiding the mesmerizing Mark, but his words carved themselves into their minds:
"The Mark contains the energy we absorb, refine, and accumulate, bit by bit, through our daily cultivation. The amount and purity of the energy within you directly determines your combat effectiveness in a crisis, and even... your chances of survival."
His voice was quiet, but each word carried immense weight.
"When you choose to act alone, you often face continuous depletion without timely replenishment. Ultimately, you run dry, finding yourself isolated and... 'embarrassed'." He used the word "embarrassed" again, but in the context of his recent return from a blood-soaked scene, it felt heavy and deeply ironic.
"Yesterday's events have served as the most vivid and brutal warning for all of us," he said, scanning the room, his gaze once more ghosting over Erika.
"Therefore, I hope that in the future," he paused, as if choosing his words carefully, "you will possess a sufficient number of... 'trustworthy'... allies. Individuals you can confidently turn your back to, fight alongside, and rely upon."
"Trustworthy allies..." The students began to murmur the phrase, expressions turning thoughtful or yearning.
But Erika, sitting among them, felt a tempest raging inside him.
Wolfgang's words sounded to him like a completely different message!
"Acting alone"—Did that mean people like him, probing secrets alone, facing Balthasar's threats alone, trying to save Anna alone?
"Continuous depletion without replenishment"—Was that a hint about beings like the blindfolded sister used as a "battery" by Balthasar, drained of value and then discarded?
"Trustworthy allies"—Did such a thing even exist in this Sanctum of betrayal and schemes? Or was it a mere fantasy? Were Wolfgang and his two companions such "allies"? What had they done together last night?
He thought of the technical brother. Had he been "processed" precisely because he was "acting alone," unsupported and unseen?
Wolfgang's lesson, on the surface about tactics, sounded to Erika like a description of the Sanctum's coldest, most merciless laws of survival. Perhaps even a veiled warning and "admonishment" aimed directly at him, the lone operator.
He looked at the Instructor, who had resumed his stern demeanor on the podium, a tumult of complex emotions swirling within him. Wariness? Fear? Or... a strange sense of kinship, of recognizing a fellow creature trapped in a desperate situation?
He knew Wolfgang was far more than a simple Instructor. And today's words were far more than a routine tactics lesson.
Beneath the surface teaching of unity flowed an icy undercurrent, perceptible only to those who knew.
The lesson concluded under a shroud of heavy contemplation. Wolfgang dismissed the class with his usual sharp efficiency, devoid of any lingering pauses or the private glance Erika had half-expected, half-dreaded. He simply gathered his notes as if sheathing a blade recently displayed—one still stained with invisible gore—and strode from the room, leaving behind a wake of murmuring speculation.
Erika flowed out with the stream of students, the vines of his own confusion and urgency twisting and tightening within him. Wolfgang's pointed words, the official narrative's gaping holes, and, most pressingly, the fate of the technical brother drove him to act. He decided to risk another approach to the periphery of the Angel's Descent sector. Even from the edges, he might find some thread—a clue to last night's truth, or a trace of the brother's whereabouts.
Weighed down by his thoughts, he took a route back towards the priory dormitories that would allow a detour near the core sectors. The sunlight remained bright, yet it failed to pierce the gloom settled over his mind.
Near an archway connecting the priory gardens to a main walkway, he spotted a small, familiar figure in the distance—Anna.
She stood there, but none of her usual vivacity remained. She looked like a young plant blighted by frost, her head bowed, hands nervously twisting the fabric of her novice robes. Her body was angled partly away from his approach, but her eyes, filled with an inexpressible anxiety and fluster, kept darting towards him, only to skitter away again like a startled fawn.
Beside her stood an older sister with a kindly face. This sister wore a perfect, beatific smile, but her hands were locked around Anna's waist in a gesture that appeared affectionate, yet carried an undeniable, steely firmness, holding the girl fixed before her like a precious—and firmly controlled—object.
The wrongness of the scene sent a jolt of alarm through Erika. He instinctively quickened his pace, intent on reaching them.
"An—"
He had barely begun when Anna, sensing his approach, jerked her head up. Her pale lips trembled. Her wide blue eyes instantly welled with tears, a mixture of sheer terror and a desperate plea for help. She seemed to gather all her strength to whisper his name, a frail, choked sound:
"Eri—"
But the sound was cut off before it fully formed, smoothly and swiftly intercepted by the gentle voice of the sister beside her.
"You must be Erika," the sister said, her smile warming, her voice as soft as a spring breeze. Yet, the arm around Anna's waist tightened almost imperceptibly, making the girl stiffen and swallow her words.
"Anna speaks of you often," the sister continued, her tone fluid and natural, as if rehearsed. "Says you've been such a help to her. May the Grace guide you, kind child."
She gave a slight, perfectly measured nod, then shifted gears with practiced ease, infusing her voice with just the right note of apology. "What poor timing, though. I'm afraid we are in a great hurry to reach the Sanctum on urgent business, so we cannot linger. May the Light illuminate your path."
Without allowing Erika another moment to speak, she began steering—almost carrying—the visibly resistant but powerless Anna towards the main Sanctum buildings. Just before they turned the corner, Anna managed one last look back at Erika. Her eyes held a world of unspoken despair and entreaty before they were blocked entirely by the sister's form.
Erika stood frozen, his half-raised hand slowly falling back to his side. A profound coldness seeped into him.
The sister's smile had been flawless, her words impeccable. But Anna's abnormal fear, the forcibly interrupted plea, the near-captive posture…
"May the Grace guide you"… now rang in his ears with a cold, cruel irony.
He watched, helpless, as Anna's small form disappeared around the corner leading deeper into the Sanctum. A gnawing helplessness and a sharp sense of crisis seized him.
He remained standing there, the sun beating down on him, yet he felt no warmth at all.