The air within the Sanctum proper always carried a specific scent—an amalgam of ancient stone, cold incense, and the faint thrum of latent energy. Solemn and oppressive. Erika followed Wolfgang through successive archways and past guards, finally stopping before a heavy wooden door carved with intricate golden circuits. This was the antechamber to a Bishop's office.
"Inside, answer the Bishop's questions truthfully," Wolfgang instructed in a low voice, his tone calm, but Erika could sense a subtle wariness about him, like a predator in familiar territory still alert for unseen dangers.
They waited in silence on a bench outside. Time stretched, marked only by distant hymns and the low hum of energy conduits. Erika's heart beat a little faster, both from the impending Mark and a nagging unease about the unknown procedures.
After an indeterminate time, the heavy door swung open silently from within.
The first to emerge were two figures—a guiding Sister in plain vestments with a firm, kindly smile, and beside her, a smaller figure wearing the formal robes of a full Sister, not a novice's attire. The sight made Erika's breath catch.
Anna.
She looked a little thinner, but her complexion was good. Her clear eyes shone with irrepressible joy. She spotted Erika on the bench instantly, her face breaking into a radiant smile, her lips parting as if she wanted to run to him immediately.
"Anna," the guiding Sister said softly, taking her arm with a gentle but unyielding pressure, her eyes reminding Anna to maintain quiet and decorum. Anna reined herself in, but her gaze remained locked on Erika, brimming with excitement and the happiness of reunion.
Wolfgang's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Watching Anna and the Sister depart, he muttered, more to himself than to Erika, "A Sister? Seeing the Bishop? Unusual. The Clerical sequence, especially Sisters, typically operate in supported roles within the Auric Circuit's reach—assistance, prayer, administration. Their duties rarely require specific Marks for direct, confrontational power…"
His words held a professional puzzlement. Erika's heart, however, was in his throat, his tension mounting. The moment Anna disappeared around the corner, he focused his mind, reaching for the faint, private thread of their Mind-voice connection.
This time, it wasn't like shouting into a void.
A weak but clear response rippled in his mind, carrying Anna's unique, soft mental signature:
"Erika! At the final assessment… the examiners were… very satisfied with me. I'm not a novice anymore! I'm a full Sister! I don't have to be assigned to a remote church or… somewhere else for now. I can stay at the Sanctum for further studies! Erika, I couldn't have done it without your guidance and encouragement before!"
The message was brief, but it fell on him like a life-giving rain. The tight knot of his nerves loosened considerably, a wave of genuine relief and happiness washing over him. Anna was safe. For now, at least. She had earned her place here through her own efforts . It was the best possible news.
"Congratulations…" he sent back, filled with sincere warmth.
By then, Wolfgang was standing, gesturing for him to enter. Erika took a deep breath, pushing down the emotional surge from seeing Anna, and followed Wolfgang into the Bishop's chamber.
The room was spacious and solemn, lined with bookshelves, smelling of old parchment and high-grade incense. An elderly man in elaborate bishop's robes sat behind a massive desk, reviewing documents. He looked up at their entrance, revealing a wrinkled face with piercing eyes.
"Cleric Wolfgang," the Bishop's voice was even, carrying the authority of long-held power. "What matter requires my authorization?"
Wolfgang gave a slight, respectful bow. "Your Excellency. I bring this novice to request access to the 'Foundation Energy Current' and a circuit cultivation chamber for the inscription of his Mark."
The Bishop, about to return to his papers, paused. He looked up, his gaze shifting between Wolfgang and Erika. "A novice's first formal Marking is conducted en masse by the Indoctrination Hall at the appointed time. You know this, Wolfgang. It's more… efficient… for management." He lingered slightly on the word management.
Then the Bishop's gaze casually swept over Erika's exposed arm. His slightly clouded eyes narrowed abruptly, a sharp glint flashing within. He leaned forward slightly, intently reading the unique, primitive-looking Mark on Erika's skin.
After a moment of scrutiny, an expression of dawning comprehension—then one of mingled surprise and amusement—spread across the Bishop's face. He looked at Wolfgang, his tone turning distinctly nuanced.
"Oh—! I see." He drew the word out, tapping a finger lightly on the desk. His eyes returned to Erika, reassessing him like a newly appraised treasure.
"Wolfgang," the Bishop's voice held a hint of barely concealed marvel, "you've… truly found a rare prize this time."
The wrinkles on the Bishop's face seemed to smooth out momentarily under some invisible force, replaced by an unseemly, almost fawning enthusiasm that ill-suited his station and age. He practically sprang from his tall chair, moving around the desk with an agility belying his years.
"Oh, such a trivial matter! Why trouble yourself to come in person, Cleric Wolfgang!" He rubbed his hands together, his smile overly ingratiating. His eyes darted between Erika and Wolfgang before settling on Erika with fervent intensity, as if admiring a priceless artifact. "The paperwork? Not an issue! I'll see to it immediately! Guaranteed priority access!"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially to Wolfgang. "What if we use your private cultivation chamber? The energy channeling and privacy are top-tier! Of course, there are also a few dedicated high-grade chambers within the Sanctum, if you prefer…"
His words came in a rushed, eager stream, as if afraid they might change their minds. Then, as if remembering something, he clapped Wolfgang firmly on the arm with a louder laugh. "Haha! Wolfgang… you understand… ha… In the future, if there's any… convenience you can offer… do remember your old colleague here! Hahaha!"
The blatant implication and sudden familiarity made the room's atmosphere profoundly awkward.
Wolfgang remained utterly composed, even cold. He shifted slightly, deftly avoiding another pat from the Bishop. "My private chamber will suffice," he replied flatly. "Additionally, I request a standard maintenance cycle for its energy circuits and replacement of all micro-guidance rings."
"Consider it done! Leave it to me!" the Bishop thumped his chest in assurance. "I'll have it arranged right away! You may proceed directly there now!"
The formalities were completed with surreal speed under the Bishop's extraordinary zeal. Wolfgang said no more, giving the Bishop a slight nod before turning and leading a deeply perplexed Erika out of the room.
The heavy door closed behind them, muffling the Bishop's distasteful laughter. Walking the empty, quiet corridor, Erika finally dared to whisper, "Instructor, that Bishop… why did he…"
Before he could finish, Wolfgang, walking ahead, stopped abruptly. He turned his head and spat—a dry, contemptuous sound—onto the polished marble floor. The gesture itself, devoid of actual spittle, conveyed a disgust so potent it was almost physical.
"Disgusting," Wolfgang ground out, his voice low and icy. He didn't look back, but the tight line of his jaw and the sudden drop in pressure around him spoke volumes of his revulsion at the Bishop's performance.
He offered no explanation, but the word disgusting, paired with the earlier rare prize and the Bishop's sycophancy, was enough for Erika to understand:His primitive Mark held immense, possibly unique value—enough to make a Bishop debase himself for early investment or future benefits.
It brought no joy. Only a cold, heavy stone settling in his gut.
In silence, they returned to Wolfgang's private cultivation chamber, located in a more secluded part of the priory deep within the Sanctum.
Compared to his last visit, it seemed freshly maintained. The faint odor of ozone from recently activated circuits lingered, and the micro-guidance rings in inconspicuous corners shone with new lustre.
Wolfgang locked the door behind them, shutting out the world's noise and schemes. He walked to the room's center and turned to face Erika. The earlier disgust had faded from his deep-set eyes, replaced by a pure, task-focused seriousness.
"Good," he began, his voice returning to its usual flinty tone. "The irrelevant noise has been cleared. Now, focus all your spirit. What comes next is the true first step through the gate of power—inscribing the second Mark. It will belong to you, and it will inevitably bind you."
The air in Wolfgang's private chamber grew thick, heavy with silence broken only by the low hum of energy flowing between the micro-guidance rings. Erika sat cross-legged in the center of the energy-conducting array, following Wolfgang's instructions, pushing all distractions aside and sinking his awareness inward.
"Feel your existing Mark," Wolfgang's voice was a steady guide, a lighthouse in the dark. "It is your foundation, your anchor. Use it to sense the energy currents gathering around you. Do not resist. Guide them, like directing streams into a waiting riverbed."
Erika kept his eyes closed, obeying. He first felt the presence of the primitive Mark on his left arm. It pulsed like a sleeping heart, slow and potent, emitting an ancient, faint light. Next, he perceived the change in the chamber—countless hair-thin strands of golden energy seeping from the micro-rings in the walls, floor, and ceiling. They drifted toward him like attracted fireflies.
At first, these energy streams felt chaotic, brushing against his skin with a faint, prickling resistance. Remembering Wolfgang's warning, Erika didn't force them. He relaxed his body and mind, using his intent to gently "stroke" the primitive Mark on his arm.
Something wondrous happened.
The primitive Mark seemed to awaken, its pulse quickening slightly, emitting a unique pull. The once-disorderly energy streams, like soldiers finding their commander, began to align. They swirled around Erika, coalescing into docile, golden rivulets that seeped through his skin and into his body.
The initial sensation was one of strange fullness, like parched earth soaking up rain. But it was fleeting. The energy was swiftly absorbed, filtered by the primitive Mark, then flowed into his limbs and core in a purer, more manageable form.
"Now," Wolfgang's voice came at the perfect moment, "visualize the form your power should take. A shield for protection? A blade for sharpness? An eye for insight? Pour your will, your understanding of power, into the energy. Form the embryo of the circuit at your chosen location—usually the other arm."
Erika had already decided. He needed power not for glorious battle, but to pierce through deception, to grasp hope, to sever the chains binding Anna. His will was firm and pure—to see through falsehood, to perceive clearly, a sharpness underlying protection.
He drove this fierce intent like a blacksmith's hammer into the refined energy gathering and flowing within the meridians of his right arm.
Boom.
A silent thunderclap roared in his mind. His right arm was instantly awash with searing heat and sharp pain, as if molten gold was being inscribed into his very bones and flesh. The energy was no longer docile; driven by his will, it clashed, swirled, and condensed violently.
Sweat drenched his back. He gritted his teeth. He could "see" it—a complex, shimmering geometric pattern of pure energy slowly taking shape at a specific point on his right arm. It resonated faintly with the primitive Mark on his left, yet was distinctly different—less ancient and heavy, imbued with the sharp, stubborn character of his own will.
The process wasn't overly long, but it was far from easy. Erika's mental strength drained at an unprecedented rate, but he held on. With Wolfgang standing guard, with the primitive Mark providing a stable backbone of pure energy, and most importantly, with the unwavering flame of his determination burning within him, he endured.
Finally, as the last energy node lit up, the entire pattern contracted sharply and stabilized.
The light receded. The pain faded, replaced by a new, intimate sense of connection. Erika slowly opened his eyes and looked down at his right arm. There, beneath the skin, a new Mark had formed, emitting a soft golden glow, its structure intricate, a counterpoint to the brand on his left.
Dual Marks.
He had succeeded.
A wave of power filled him—yet at its center was a deeper, instinctive void. It was like a starved man tasting food only to have his hunger sharpen. Every cell in his body screamed for more, vaster energy to fill this newborn emptiness and fuel his new power.
Instinctively, he reached for more of the ambient energy, a flicker of greed in his eyes.
"Stop."
Wolfgang's hardened voice was a bucket of ice water, shocking Erika back. A large hand landed on his shoulder, firm yet gentle, severing his connection.
"Don't be impatient," Wolfgang said, gaze sharp. "A newly formed Mark is like a freshly forged blade. It needs tempering and acclimation—not blind gorging. Greed will choke you, or worse, rupture your channels."
He examined both Marks, especially the new one, confirming its stability. He gave a slight nod.
"Good. The Mark is sound. The consolidation was smoother than I anticipated." He paused, his brow furrowing as his gaze lingered on the primitive Mark. "To be honest, even now, I'm not entirely sure what that fool Balthasar did to you, or if you yourself…"
He left the sentence hanging.
Wolfgang clapped Erika on the shoulder, his tone carrying both the relaxation of a completed task and the unmistakable anticipation of future use.
"Excellent. This means…" He looked at Erika, appraising a newly honed, sharpened tool."In a couple of days, you'll be ready for use."