Sunlight filters through the tall windows of the master bedroom, casting muted gold across the polished floor. The room is quiet, carrying the faint scent of old wood and clean linen. I stretch, letting the silk sheets slip from my shoulders, and rise.
The house feels right. Every room, every corner, speaks of careful upkeep rather than display. From here, I can see the street below, still and orderly, my life unfolding in measured steps.
I descend the stairwell, passing through the foyer, and make my way to the kitchen. I open the backdoor and step into the rear courtyard. It sprawls almost the full length of the house. Untended gardens hint at herbs and vegetables once nurtured but now left to their own devices. Empty stables stand quiet in the corner, and a reargate offers access to the alley beyond.
From the front, the house projects refinement. From the back, it wears neglect like a faded coat. The difference is striking—but manageable.
I leave it alone and step through the reargate into the alley. From the alley, I can see the backyards of neighboring estates—servants moving quietly among gardens and stables, keeping the rear faces of these grand houses in order.
The alley spills me onto the main street of the neighborhood. I walk toward the exit.
Vaporgates loom, releasing veil of mist upward toward the sky. I pass through, leaving the affluent neighborhood behind.
I turn to north and keep walking.
After a while, the Custodian building rises ahead. I enter through the front door alongside police officers and citizens alike, passing quickly through the lobby. I head straight to Arjuna's office.
He sits behind his desk.
"Good Monday," I greet him as I approach.
"Good Monday," he replies, eyes meeting mine.
"About Aram's disciples…"
"Are they dead yet?"
"I know how they look, from the portraits you showed me. But…" I inhale, exhale. "I don't know who they are, and it might take some time before I can track them down."
"How long do you need?"
"I'm not sure."
"That's new."
"Excuse me?"
"You're one of the few honest Hearthlight agents. Most would make something up on the spot."
I let the words sit. A beat passes.
"Why don't you just send someone to hunt these two down?" I ask.
"I'm not supposed to tell you this but—"
"But?"
"We can't hunt down alchemists in the open. The police here don't even know alchemy exists," he says. "Not to mention, the citizens already hate the police. We can't give them another reason. It's not like every citizen goes to Hearthlight Order to have their mind cognitively… replaced," he chuckles at the last word.
"HAHAHAHAHA—COGNITIVELY REPLACED—HAHAHA!" His laughter spirals into hysteria.
I chuckle alongside him.
He inhales, exhales, regains composure.
"I'm sorry—I shouldn't have laughed. It's… horrible, truly," he says, finally swallowing the sound.
"Yeah. Cognitive suggestions on a daily basis… it would drive anyone crazy."
"Well, is there anything the Custodian Order can help you with?"
"For now? I don't think so."
After reporting to Arjuna, I leave the building and flag down a carriage.
"Hearthlight," I tell the jarvy.
The carriage moves, wheels clattering faintly against the cobblestones. The city rolls by in fragments of brick, smoke, and passing faces blurred by glass.
After a while, the carriage slows and stops.
I step out in front of the Hearthlight building. Its red-brick façade rises tall, its windows reflecting the afternoon glow. I enter and head straight to Gary's office.
He's already seated behind his desk.
"Custodian Order wants me to finish off Aram's disciples."
"Oh, there's no mention of disciples in the notes we took from Aram," he says.
"I see."
He pauses.
His eyes narrow slightly, studying me—not suspicious, not warm. Measuring.
"You have something in your mind?"
"Back when we confronted Aram, you took papers with you—"
"Len," he cuts in smoothly. "My personal advice to you is… don't ask the wrong question. Don't destroy the trust you have built."
The air shifts. Not hostile. Just heavier.
"Understood."
We continue with small conversation—routine matters, minor updates, nothing of consequence. Words that fill space without revealing anything.
Then, between our exhchange—
I focus my left eye on him.
Abyssal Eye awakens.
The world subtly distorts at the edges.
He doesn't react when our gaze meets.
No flinch. No hesitation. No ripple in his expression.
"I think that's enough for today," I say.
"Yeah, go help the clerks for now."
I step out of his office and take a seat among the clerks. Paperwork. Ink. Signatures. Seals. The mechanical rhythm of administration. I work without error like usual.
My shift ends as the sun dips below the city's edge, light bleeding into amber and then into gray.
I don't return to my new house.
I return to my hotel room.
To my Ashlynn.
As I enter, she's already inside, sitting on the bed. She gives me a faint smile. Calm—but furious.
"Ash?"
"Yes, Len?"
"Are you mad?"
"What makes you think so?"
"I left without telling you."
She stands. Approaches me. Then slaps me.
"YOU BROKE YOUR PROMISE."
"I'm sorry, it's just—"
"Just what?" she cuts me off.
"Work."
"Work, work, work, work, work. THAT'S ALL YOU CAN SAY? IS THAT ALL YOUR EXCUSE?"
"Ash, I'm sorry. I truly am."
"Remember our first kiss, Len?"
"I do."
"After dinner. Our first kiss. You left that night. I woke up worried. Where were you?"
"Work."
"Work? Fine. I forgave that one time."
A step closer.
"Then the second time. Last week. We kissed in the morning. I thought I was the happiest woman alive. But you know what?"
I don't answer.
"Work."
"Yes. Work. You came home in shock. In tears. Something must have happened. I forgave that." She inhales slowly, exhales shakily. "This is the third time. THIRD TIME."
"I'm sorry."
"What even is your work, Len? What kind of clerk doesn't come home?"
"Ash… I can't explain. But I love you."
Her eyes soften despite the anger.
"I love you too."
She walks past me toward the door.
I turn and catch her hand, stopping her.
"Len."
Not angry. Not shouting. Just tired.
Silence remains.
Grief takes me.
I sit on the bed, the sheets still carrying the scent of her floral soap.
My eyes turn glassy. Tears fall.
"Ashlynn… don't leave me," I cry to myself. The sound is loud—but not loud enough to escape the room.
The only safe place I have becomes the place that hurts me most.
I lie down on the bed.
I cry even more.
When no more tears fall, I close my eyes and sleep.
—
I stand in my abyss. Above the vast water and between the endless horizons of darkness.
I was hurt and feel vulnerable in the waking world, but here that feeling is gone. I feel strong. Invincible. The Abyssal Eye washes away my anxiety.
I can be whoever I want.
I am not just Len.
I am not just Thadeo Owright.
I am Monsieur Abyss.
The water beneath my feet ripples. It echoes my name without pronunciation. I simply know it does.
I push time forward. I have other arrangements.
Moments later, Gary appears in the reflection beneath me.
He stands firm and composed. His face shows worry—but not fear.
I bend and tap the water. It twists and swallows me whole, then spills me out behind him.
"Good Monday, Gary."
He doesn't respond. His face remains calm. He is analyzing his situation.
"Gary?" I ask.
"Who sent you?"
The question strikes harder than it should.
For a moment, I simply stare at him.
"Sent me?"
A flicker of confusion passes through me. A genuine one.
The Abyss does not summon envoys.
I step slightly to his side, studying him. His pulse is steady. His breathing controlled. His eyes sharp.
He is not panicking.
"I am," I say. The words land like a command.
Yet he doesn't falter. He remains composed.
"Are you one of them?"
"What do you think?"
"I think I know who you are," he says.
He takes one heavy step. Then another.
His right fist swings from below, rising toward my chin.
It misses. I shift to the right and take three steps back.
"Do you think you can win, Gary?" I ask.
"I don't," he replies calmly. "But I can hurt you, Everwatcher."
He rushes forward, still composed, and swings again. I catch his right wrist with my left hand.
Immediately, his left leg drives into my stomach.
It lands.
It does not hurt.
I step back while still holding his wrist and punch his face.
It lands.
It hurts him.
Teeth scatter across the water's surface.
I release his hand and chuckle.
"Gary, you can't hurt me here."
He charges again.
He punches me straight in the face.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Every hit lands.
None of them hurt.
I raise my leg and kick him hard in the chest, sending him backward. He crashes flat onto the water's surface as if it were solid ground.
I lift my hands.
The water beneath him rises and folds over his body, forming a sphere around him. A clear bubble. It lifts one meter above the dark surface.
I flick my fingers. The bubble glides toward me and stops close enough that I can see his breath clouding inside.
I reach into the sphere and grab his hair, pulling his head out while the rest of his body remains submerged inside the floating prison. He struggles, but the water tightens.
"You will tell me what I want," I whisper near his ear.
"Never!" he spits, blood and water mixing between his broken teeth.
I push his head back into the sphere.
I hold him there.
Long enough for water to flood his lungs.
Then I pull him out again.
"We can do this forever."
He coughs violently, choking.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You're truly divine."
"What's within Aram's notes?"
"Recipes," he gasps. "Alchemical recipes. Old ones the Hearthlight Order already knows."
"Anything else?"
"Recipe for memorites. That's the only thing we didn't have. Other than that—" he coughs again— "that is all."
"Okay then." I lean closer. "You will forget about this."
His eyes widen. "What?"
"And my name is Monsieur Abyss."
As the name leaves my mouth, the bubble bursts.
For a brief second he drops—
Then the water beneath him erupts into dark tendrils. They coil around his limbs and drag him downward.
Deeper.
Into the endless black.
He leaves the Abyss.
—