Erika melted into the bustling night-time crowds of the Sanctum's streets, a world apart from the suffocating silence of the clerical precincts. Here, the night felt newly awakened.
Massive energy lanterns hovered overhead, casting an overly bright, almost harsh white light that drenched the broad thoroughfares in a false, manufactured daylight—as if trying to scour away any possible shadow with sheer, artificial brilliance. Shops remained open, their displays glittering with mechanized trinkets and enchanted wares that drew well-dressed citizens. Raucous laughter spilled from taverns, the air warm with the scents of food and cheap perfume. Children wove between legs; couples murmured on benches.
It was a picture of mundane, peacetime prosperity.
But Erika felt no warmth from it. He was a cold stone drifting through a warm current. His eyes scanned the surroundings with sharp vigilance. Every accidental glance from a patrolling Auric Guard sent his heart stuttering, forcing him to lower his gaze and quicken his pace, blending into denser crowds. He spotted newly added surveillance runes glowing faintly at the corners of buildings.
He didn't dare take shortcuts. Didn't dare linger near shadows. He stuck strictly to the brightest main avenues, using pedestrians and vendors as cover, making himself as inconspicuous as possible.
After a long walk, he finally saw it—the ancillary structures of the Angel's Descent forming a massive, silent silhouette against the night. It was a stark, eerie contrast to the surrounding liveliness. No bright energy lamps shone there; only a few windows emitted cold, scrutinizing light, like the half-open eyes of a slumbering leviathan.
He stopped, pretending to examine a stall selling glowing candies, watching through his peripheral vision.
The entrance had changed. The original Sanctum guards were gone. In their place stood guards with rigid postures, clad in simpler uniforms bearing a distinct insignia. They stood like statues, their sharp eyes scanning with a cold professionalism far exceeding the previous sentries.
Inquisitorial Tribunal.
His heart sank. As expected, the place had been taken over completely. Sealed tight. Getting close was impossible; even lingering too long might draw attention.
He forced his gaze away, feigning interest in the candies as ice pooled in his gut. The last shred of hope was gone. The purge here was absolutely connected to Cecilia… to last night.
Not daring to stay, he bought a bag of candies he didn't want and slipped back into the human current like an aimless night-stroller.
But the dark outline of that building was seared into his mind, and the Tribunal-guarded entrance proclaimed a silent, unequivocal truth:
This path is closed.
He walked on, the bag of candies heavy as lead.What now?
Erika forced himself to stay put, blending into sparse foot traffic, letting his gaze drift "accidentally" toward the building. He gambled that he looked like any other passerby—not suspicious.
He tried to recapture the mindset of his last successful reconnaissance—that state of merging with the environment, of tightly reined focus.
But instead of detecting stray energy leaks or anomalous sound…
He sensed nothing.
A dead, unnatural silence, as if all life had been vacuumed out, leaving only a guarded shell. This absolute nothingness was more disheartening than danger.
Just as frustration rose—
A Tribunal guard's head turned.
Unnervingly precise. Unerring. As if pulled by a string. His gaze sliced through the nighttime crowd like icy searchlights—locking directly onto Erika.
I'm finished.
Erika's blood froze. His mind blanked. Spotted! They had more sophisticated detection methods. His pathetic stealth was useless against true professionals.
Instinct screamed at him to flee—but reason crushed it. Any sudden movement would be an admission of guilt. He would be cut down instantly.
He forced himself to maintain pace and posture, mimicking a normal citizen under a guard's brief scrutiny—eyes lowered slightly, steps steady.
Waiting for the shout. Or the hiss of energy.
But none came.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the guard speak to a companion. Then a red-robed Justiciar stepped out—radiating authority.
And went straight to a nearby stall, not him.
"Identification token," the Justiciar ordered a trembling middle-aged citizen.
Relief slammed into Erika so hard he nearly staggered. He hadn't been targeted—just swept up in routine vigilance.
But he didn't speed up. Didn't show relief. He maintained his nervous, uninvolved demeanor until he turned a corner and broke line of sight.
Only then did he lean against a cold wall, gasping, soaked in cold sweat.
He had gambled and won.This time.
The Tribunal's alertness was beyond anything he had imagined. Any attempt to get close was dancing on the edge of a blade.
He had to leave.
Erika's legs carried him on instinct. He didn't run, but his pace quickened as though he could outrun the Tribunal's gaze. Only after several turns, when the Angel's Descent was gone from sight, did he slow, slumping against a wall in a quiet alley.
The night breeze chilled the sweat on his back. Fear lingered like a tremor under his skin.
Some lines in the Sanctum were never to be crossed.
And the Tribunal was that line's merciless guardian.
The path of external reconnaissance was blocked.
He fled back to the priory district, stumbling through the heavy metal gate. The familiar silence greeted him without comfort.
He paced the archives like a caged animal, fingers brushing heavy spines:
Basic Energy Channeling.A Primer on Mark Architecture.Compendium of Low-Tier Sacred Sigils…
Promising titles. But each book taught how, never why. Instruction manuals for wielding a precise weapon, silent about its forging or underlying physics. The deeper texts—true theory—were nowhere to be found.
"These… are still too early for me. Too distant."
He closed Introductory Energy Channel Geometry, the script as incomprehensible as celestial glyphs. Sliding down to sit against the cold shelves, he finally admitted the brutal truth:
He had no map.No guidance.He could wander forever and never touch true power.
Insignificant.Powerless.
The words burned in his chest.
But from within that pain, a thought long suppressed by fear pushed through—a stubborn sprout in darkness:
Find Wolfgang.
The idea sent a tremor through him. Wolfgang was dangerous, inscrutable. But he was also the only high-ranking person involved from the beginning who knew of Erika's peculiarities—and hadn't erased him.
"After all… he brought me here," Erika whispered. "If I just ask… how to get stronger… as an Instructor, he won't refuse, right? A teacher must instruct."
A fragile, self-deceptive hope—but the only viable path.
He needed guidance. A signpost in the dark.Wolfgang might be the only one.
Taking a deep breath, Erika stood. Straightened his robes. Suppressed his fear.And left for the contemplation cells.
A few low-level brothers told him the Instructor usually meditated behind the Indoctrination Hall.
He followed the directions.Reached the cell.The door was ajar.
Erika raised his hand to knock—
And froze.
Inside, Wolfgang was not meditating peacefully.
He sat cross-legged at the center of an energy-gathering array, eyes shut, face twisted in agony. Veins bulged on his forehead. Sweat poured. His fingers interlocked tightly before his chest.
The Auric Energy in the room surged toward him with terrifying speed—so dense it warped the air itself.
He was trying to break through.To forge his next Mark.
Erika's heart hammered. He hadn't expected this. The forging of a new Mark by a powerful cleric was a closely guarded, dangerous process. Any interruption could be catastrophic.
He held his breath and slipped into the shadows outside the door.
And waited.
Becoming an unseen witness to whether this inscrutable Instructor would cross the threshold of power—
A success or failure that might decide the fate of Erika's desperate plea.