Zhou—now Klein—had half an hour of rest after the events in the foggy world.
He noticed four black dots on the back of his hand, forming a square. They quickly faded, but he knew—from instinct—that they were simply beneath his skin, waiting to be awakened once more.
'Four dots forming a square… does it match the four pieces of bread at the corners of the room? If so, maybe the dots will replace them in the ritual.'
Klein relaxed his body before exhaustion hit. The toll of the draining ritual was finally catching up.
He staggered toward the bunk bed and collapsed onto it in bliss.
He was out cold.
...
When Klein woke three hours later, his stomach was craving sustenance.
He turned toward a piece of bread he had left in a corner after the ritual, approached it, and took a small bite.
He ate the bread to his heart's content.
Only five pence remained in his savings, so he had to make do with what he had.
Still, the dry bread tasted unsatisfactory.
He went to the kitchen, opened a cupboard, and saw a packed piece of mutton.
'No. I must wait for Melissa.'
Then he remembered something. When buying the bread for the ritual, he had also bought potatoes on his way home!
The thought hit like inspiration.
He took two small potatoes, washed them, and placed them in boiling water, sprinkling some yellow salt.
Once the potatoes were cooked, he poured the boiling water into a cup for refreshment, placed the potatoes on a plate, and ate with delight.
'I used to love potatoes as a kid.'
After finishing, he gathered himself. Time to think.
'I need to learn more about mysticism, and maybe become a Beyonder.'
Klein decided he would gather more information in the upcoming gathering.
And he also needed to investigate the mystery of the original Klein's suicide.
He picked up a notebook—a diary beginning on May 10th—filled with lecture notes and small observations.
...
Klein quickly skimmed the notebook's first two entries.
On 14th May, the real Klein pondered whether every race once spoke the same language.
On the 16th, his mentor, Mr. Azik, and Senior Associate Professor Cohen debated the inevitability of the Steam Age. Cohen believed in human progress, saying there would have been an 'Emperor Robert' if not for Roselle. Mr. Azik emphasized individual effort.
...
The entries that truly interested Klein started from the 29th.
29th May.
Welch dropped by. He claimed to have acquired an ancient notebook—one from the Fourth Epoch. Oh my Goddess! An actual notebook from the Fourth Epoch!
...
The Fourth Epoch, the Epoch of the Gods, was the era before the current Fifth Epoch, the Iron Age, which ended 1,349 years ago. Its history was fragmented and incomplete due to the ambiguous records preserved by the seven orthodox churches.
...
18th June.
I've graduated! Farewell, Khoy University!
19th June.
I've studied the notebook's pages. It's actually written in a modified Ancient Feysac.
20th June.
We've deciphered the first page! The author's lineage is the Antigonus Family.
...
21st–25th June.
The Dark Emperor. The Tudor Empire. The Antigonus Family held high standing in the Solomon Empire? Hornacis mountain range. Nation of Evernight.
...
As Klein read, his mind instinctively filtered out terminology it deemed important.
...
26th June.
Can all these strange things be real?
...
The record ended there. Zhou Mingrui transmigrated in the early hours of the 28th.
Meaning the entry for the 27th held that chilling line in Hermes: "Everyone will die, including me."
Klein decided he needed to see Welch and that ancient notebook to get closer to the truth behind Klein's suicide.
Knock. Knock.
There was a series of quick knocks echoing through the hallway behind the door.
'Who is it?' Klein asked, standing straight.
"The police."
"Okay, I'll be right there!"
Klein quickly ran to the drawer, took out the revolver, and shoved it deep into a corner stove.
He opened the door, faking a yawn.
"Sorry, just woke from a nap."
The first person in view had two silver hexagons on his shoulder.
'An inspector!'
A poetically charming inspector, no less.
"Leonard Mitchell, Awwa County Police," the inspector said with a smile, holding up his badge.
He walked in without waiting for permission.
'I guess search warrants aren't a thing.'
"Mr. Moretti," a middle-aged inspector with deep gray eyes said, "we only have some questions."
"A-Alright then. Please, come in."
After the middle-aged inspector entered, he looked around, then met Klein's eyes.
"Forgive my lack of courtesy. Dunn Smith. Police."
"Not at all. Would you—"
"Do you know Welch McGovern?"
Klein was caught off guard, but answered, "The graduate from Constant City? Yes. We were classmates.
We got along well. I'd drop by his house sometimes, along with Naya, another friend."
Dunn Smith sighed. "I'm sorry. Mr. Welch and Ms. Naya have both passed away. Their corpses were found in Welch's home."
'What? Could it… have been suicide too?'
"Killed?"
"No. All signs point to suicide."
'I just knew it!'
"No drugs, no external forces, and no signs of struggle," Dunn Smith continued.
Lost in thought, Klein swayed his head side to side, noticing in his peripheral vision that Leonard Mitchell was reading his notebook.
'I should've hidden that with the revolver!'
"Expand on this," Mitchell said with a smile. "What do you mean by 'all these strange things?' And here—oh! In Hermes? 'Everyone will die, including me.'"
Klein was at a loss for words. The latter he could not explain, but the former could be covered.
He clenched his fists in fear, then loosened them, sitting at the edge of his bed.
"No idea. I can't remember. Not anything recent."
Sometimes, the best lies were half-confessions.
"There's evidence you saw Welch at his home on the 27th," Dunn Smith stated.
"Hmm… so that's where I was? My journal's my only reference, and that date is blank."
Dunn Smith took a sniff from his pipe. "Mr. McGovern owned a revolver. It's missing. I suspect we'll find it here."
"I-It's in the stove over there," Klein confessed awkwardly.
"Anything else?"
"Yes. Last night—uh, early this morning—I woke up beside the gun. It looked like I had failed to commit suicide.
Since then, my memories have been in fragments."
"At least you're still thinking."
"You can tell I'm being honest."
Dunn Smith turned toward the mirror. "Yes, that is the impression I get. Although, my thoughts don't matter."
"Huh?"
"We'll leave that to the expert. She should help you recall your lost memories."
'Expert? In psychology? Or something else? What about my memories from Earth?'
Klein felt a deep fear about the future. If discovered, would he be treated as a heretic or some child of the devil?
He gulped.
Dunn Smith left the room.
"You're quite lucky, you know?" Leonard Mitchell, the green-eyed poet, said teasingly.
"The way these things tend to go—generally speaking—it's typical for all involved parties to wind up dead." He smiled.
'Lucky, huh? If that's true, my secrets won't be exposed... hopefully."
He walked to the door, signaling Klein to follow.
'Guess I have to meet the expert immediately.'
A black carriage waited outside.
Outside—vendors calling, horses snorting.
"Get in," Dunn said, nodding toward the opened door.
Klein stepped forward—
A shout broke out nearby. An oyster seller held a thief by the collar. The horses were spooked, rippling chaos down the street.
'A chance!'
Without thinking, Klein bolted—running, dodging, turning.
He tore around a corner onto Iron Cross Street, lunging at the first carriage he saw.
"To the outer pier!"
"Alright then," the driver grunted, snapping the reins.
Klein watched the scenery shift, but after minutes, realized the carriage wasn't headed for the docks.
"Wait—where are we going?" Klein demanded.
"To Welch's home," the driver said flatly.
Turning slowly, he revealed a pair of gray eyes.
Dunn Smith!
Klein tried to speak, but his throat wouldn't allow it.
The world began to tilt, colors bleeding—
He sat on the bed, gasping.
Crimson moonlight spilled through the windows, indicating nighttime.
'A dream… just a nightmare.' Klein wiped his sweat-soaked forehead.
"It felt so real—haha!" He forced a laugh.
Turning, he noticed his door ajar.
The hallway was bathed in crimson.
At the end of the hall stood a motionless figure in a long black coat draped from his shoulders.
He slowly turned, half-shrouded in shadow.
Gray eyes. Cold and fathomless.
Klein stumbled back, unsure if he was dreaming.
The figure removed his top hat and gave a faint, courteous bow.
"Allow me to reintroduce myself," the man said in a low, even voice. "Evernight Goddess's Nighthawk, Dunn Smith."