Erika scrambled back to his room, slammed the door shut, and slid the bolt home, his back pressed against the cold wood as he gasped for air. Anna's final, desperate gaze flashed relentlessly behind his eyes.
He forced himself to calm down, to focus. He reached out along the still-unfamiliar channel of the Mind-voice, sending a thread of thought towards where Anna had vanished, pouring all his will into the call.
'Anna! Can you hear me? Answer me! Where are you?'
No response.
Only a dead silence, as if his thoughts had sunk into a void, or… were being blocked, swallowed by some far greater power.
Fear, cold and suffocating, flooded him. This wasn't simple isolation or discipline. Anna's situation was far more dangerous than he'd imagined. The same force that could make black-clad researchers disappear, that could cover up a bloody purge at the city gates, now had Anna in its grip.
"Will I be next?"
The thought coiled around his heart like a venomous serpent. He remembered Balthasar's contemptuous "too weak", Wolfgang's pointed warnings about "acting alone", the probable fate of the technical brother… Within this radiant Sanctum, he was naked, walking a frozen lake riddled with traps, liable to plunge into the abyss at any moment—for knowing too much, or simply for being 'useless'.
He slid down the door, hugging his knees to his chest, seeking a pathetic shred of security. The loneliness had never felt so absolute.
Wolfgang? Inscrutable. His warnings felt more like drawing a line.
Anna? Beyond his reach.
The technical brother? Likely already gone.
His fellow students? Living a lie, dangerously naive.
Not a soul to trust. Not a soul to rely on.
His knowledge of the Auric Creed was superficial. He knew next to nothing of its power structures, its unwritten rules, its hidden factions. This ignorance left him blind, teetering on a cliff's edge. All he had was a Mark of unknown origin and a minor talent for 'Rule Deconstruction'—utterly fragile against absolute power and a vast, organized system.
"Too weak… I'm just too weak…"
Balthasar's words echoed in his mind like a curse. It wasn't just a lack of power, but a comprehensive poverty—of information, resources, allies. His mind, battered by fear and successive shocks, was in chaos, his spirit frayed to its limit.
What do I do? What in the world can I do?
Flee? The Sanctum was a fortress. Where would he go? The outside might be worse.
Submit? Throw himself on the mercy of Balthasar or Hongbo? That was walking into the tiger's den. And what of Anna?
Fight? With what? He couldn't even protect himself.
Despair, thick and dark, surged from all sides to swallow him whole.
He huddled there in the shadows behind the door for what felt like an eternity, until the light outside began to bleed into dusk.
Then, after the peak of fear and confusion, an unnatural coldness began to spread through him. When all paths seemed blocked, when emotion was compressed to its limit, a survival instinct—a near-fanatic calm—began to edge out the panic.
He could not just wait for the end.
He raised his hand, looking at the Mark on his hand, which still throbbed faintly. This was the only certain, unique thing he possessed.
He pulled out the cold, backup circuit from his robe. It was a key, perhaps overlooked.
Ignorance was the greatest danger. Weakness was a sin, but not an unchangeable one.
He pushed himself to his feet and walked to the center of the room. Though exhaustion still lined his face, a new glimmer shone in his eyes—the desperation of one cornered, ready to seize any possibility, regardless of cost.
He might still be weak. He might still be alone. But he could not do nothing.
He sat down cross-legged, placing the circuit before him, his gaze locking onto it.
If he knew nothing of the Golden Creed, he would start with what was in front of him! This circuit, this Mark, the Silent One system that had answered him once… He would actively dig, decipher, find any crack, any sliver of power he could use!
However slim the hope, however treacherous the path, he had to try.
For himself. And for the girl who had offered him the only warmth he'd known, and who was now in peril.
He closed his eyes, shutting out the external noise and the internal fear, pouring all his focus into exploring the secrets of the tiny "system component" and the Mark upon his flesh.
The darkness had fallen. He would have to carve his own glimmer of light from within it.
Erika sat on the cold floor, his fingers tracing the grooves of the backup circuit. It was still cold to the touch, its meager internal energy seemingly unchanged since the technical brother had pressed it into his hand.
A silent mockery.
A bitter smile touched his lips as he felt the pitiful reserves of energy within himself—all of it stemming from the single, inexplicable Mark on his hand. He was like a man guarding a puddle, watching a raging river flow past, with no vessel to collect it, doomed to thirst.
"One Mark… it's not enough…"
The memory of Wolfgang's complex, powerful chest-Mark flashed before him. That was the result of years of orthodox cultivation and accumulation. And him? He didn't even know how to effectively and safely store more energy within his own sole Mark! The basics of the Eternal Circuit Law taught one how to be a compliant 'conduit', how to channel energy through the Mark to perform rites. It never mentioned how to act as a reservoir, to lock energy within oneself and build a foundation.
He still knew so little about his own Mark, the very core of his power. Why had it appeared? What was its true potential? Beyond connecting to the Resonance Protocol and earning Balthasar's scorn, what else could it do?
He had no starting point.
No guidance, no mentor, no texts he could access that touched upon these fundamentals. He was a blind man thrown into the heart of a maze, surrounded by walls with no direction to even grope towards.
Forcibly summon the Silent One again? He quashed the thought immediately. It would be like hurling a boulder into waters that had just stilled. Hongbo and the Tribunal were likely monitoring the system for any anomaly. His last escape had been luck. A second attempt would earn him not knowledge, but cold chains, or worse… final 'Purification'.
Despair, like cold mud, crept up his ankles, his knees, threatening to drag him down into a suffocating bog.
He looked around the small, plain room. It had been a temporary refuge, but now it felt like a gilded cage. The Sanctum's radiance shielded him from external dangers, but it also cut off all outside aid and retreat.
There was no other way.
He could almost hear the cold, grinding sound of fate's gears turning, slowly moving to crush him. Anna being taken, the technical brother's fate, the covered-up slaughter at the gate… it all pointed to one truth: in this Sanctum, weakness was a crime in itself, and ignorance and isolation hastened the day of judgment.
He looked down at his slightly trembling hands.
Was there really… nothing he could do?
Just sit here, waiting for a doom he couldn't foresee?
A surge of fierce resentment, mixed with his fear for Anna, sparked—one last, faint glimmer in the near-still waters of his heart.
But the immovable, cold reality remained before him.
He closed his eyes, feeling a weariness and… a confusion deeper than any he had known before.
Erika's head snapped up. An idea, absurd and fragile, streaked through his chaotic mind like a meteor in the dark.
I'm different… I'm not like them!
The other novices were still struggling to coalesce their first Mark, while he, Erika, already possessed one! That alone proved he had the qualification, the potential to be 'favored' by the Holy Light. He was already ahead of everyone, his 'progress' far exceeding any of his peers.
A future cleric… a potential future asset…
The thought, once planted, grew like a weed. The Sanctum trained clerics to increase its power, didn't it? So, for a seedling that had already demonstrated exceptional 'talent', directly requesting more resources—advanced cultivation methods, a more abundant energy supply, even a mentor—didn't that sound… almost plausible? The Sanctum had no reason to refuse a believer who could grow into a powerful weapon. It was in their interest!
For a moment, he was almost convinced. It seemed a visible, relatively 'safe' path, climbing the ladder the Sanctum had set…
But the next second, icy reality doused that fledgling spark of hope.
He didn't dare gamble.
Beneath the Sanctum's golden gleam ran undercurrents of intrigue, cold calculation, and a logic that would sacrifice any individual for the 'greater good' without a second thought.
He was afraid. Afraid that stepping into the spotlight would bring not cultivation, but scrutiny. People would ask where his Mark came from. They would probe how he could 'understand' energy. They might connect him to the Borderland disturbances, the Deathbirds, even the purged black-clad clerics.
Then, he would no longer be a 'promising seedling', but an 'anomaly to be studied', or worse, a 'flaw to be cleansed'.
He was afraid he wouldn't gain resources, but would instead expose all his secrets, ending up like those black-clad clerics—dead in some forgotten corner, another cold statistic in the Sanctum's records, blamed on an 'energy creature attack' or 'unfortunate accident'.
"And if that happens…"
Erika's breathing hitched. Anna's despairing eyes filled his vision.
"What would happen to Anna?"
Who would save her then? Who would care about a 'heretic' officially disposed of by the 'Sanctum'?
And… what of those back in the border villages, perhaps still struggling, waiting for a slim hope… his people?
He carried more than just his own life.
This heavy burden prevented him from lightly gambling on a future that seemed bright but might lead to a deeper darkness.
Hope and despair, opportunity and danger, warred within him. He held a ticket that might grant him access to the stage, but he feared that behind the curtain awaited not applause, but a hunter's rifle.
He remained seated on the cold floor, the cold circuit clutched tightly in his hand, the brief light in his eyes once more clouded by deeper confusion and struggle.
He stood at a crossroads. One path seemed level but shrouded in fog, the other thorny and leading into the unknown.
And he could not bring himself to take a step.
Erika's internal scales wavered violently between fear and duty, refusing to settle. Every choice seemed to lead into deeper darkness, leaving him trapped in quicksand, unable to move.
Then, his gaze drifted absently to the window.
The setting sun was sinking, staining the horizon a magnificent, cruel crimson. The Sanctum's high spires and buttresses became vast, silent silhouettes against the dusk, like countless slumbering beasts. The day's clamor had receded, the night's full silence not yet descended. It was a moment in between, where light and shadow bled together and the outlines of things grew indistinct.
This bloody twilight, this chaotic interplay of light and dark, seemed to mirror his own heart—and to urge him, wordlessly, that when the rules of both light and shadow grew unclear, it was the perfect time for those who dwelled in the shades to move.
He could hesitate no longer. Erika shot to his feet. A reckless, desperate plan solidified, overriding all complex calculations: Go back. One more time, to the periphery of that research facility near the Angel's Descent, the one that likely held Cecilia.
Maybe… just maybe…
What if the purge had missed that one corner?
What if the guard rotation was in disarray from the internal power shift?
What if he could find some overlooked trace of the technical brother?
Or even… sense Cecilia's condition for himself, confirm if the "threat" was truly "eliminated"?
The idea was madness, walking a razor's edge. But he was out of options. Staying in his room, trapped in circular thoughts, would yield nothing. It would only allow Anna's peril—and his own—to grow. He needed information, any information! Even just confirming the heightened security would provide a clearer picture.
This wasn't a calculated reconnaissance. It was a desperate, last-ditch gamble, born from being cornered.
He took a sharp breath, tucking the cold backup circuit securely inside his robe as if it could lend some minuscule courage. He opened the door and, without lighting a lamp, stepped directly into the deepening twilight outside.
His form moved swiftly through the lengthening shadows of the corridors, a ghost hurrying towards an uncertain fate.