Chapter 118
Lin Yue held the transparent tablet-like artifact in her hands, turning it slightly under the light as if she had done this many times before.
"If there are documents or records connected to you," she said calmly, "it will find them and show them to you. It's like reading a living archive, something similar to Wikipedia, except all the information is pulled directly from every available source material."
She paused, her expression darkening slightly.
"Even the ones considered too dangerous… or too horrible to be officially recorded."
Nille's gaze sharpened slightly. "So it's like reading your lineage… and exposing its deepest, darkest secrets."
Lin Yue gave a small, almost tired smile.
"I tried it many times."
Nille glanced at her.
She didn't look away.
"I've seen things my family did… and things they had to do." Her voice lowered slightly. "It's… bone-chilling. The first time I used it, I actually vomited afterward."
A brief silence.
Then she shrugged lightly, as if trying to soften the weight of it.
"But I don't hold it against them. In this world, survival doesn't leave much room for comfort or innocence. After a while… you just accept it. It becomes part of you."
Nille didn't respond immediately.
Lin Yue stepped forward and carefully handed the artifact toward him.
"Just place a small drop of your blood on it," she explained. "It will activate automatically and begin reconstructing your ancestral background."
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer.
Then she exhaled.
"We'll give you some space."
She glanced toward Corazon.
"I'll go prepare some light snacks in the meantime."
Corazon nodded and followed her out without question, leaving the room quieter.
The door slid shut softly behind them.
Now alone, Nille looked down at the transparent interface resting in front of him.
It looked harmless.
Almost ordinary.
But he knew better now.
Nothing in this world was ever truly ordinary, not when it involved him.
He raised his hand slightly.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Not out of fear.
But anticipation.
If this artifact truly worked as Lin Yue said, then it wouldn't just show him names or family lines.
It would dig through everything.
Records.
History.
Buried truths.
Things people tried to erase.
Things even time had failed to forget.
"…Reading my lineage," he murmured to himself.
A faint, almost unreadable smile formed at the corner of his lips.
"Let's see what's waiting in there."
He pressed a drop of blood onto the surface.
And the artifact awakened.
As the transparent artifact continued reconstructing Nille's ancestral history, lines of information flowed across its surface like liquid light. What first appeared to be an ordinary but old family record quickly became something far stranger, a story stretching across continents, centuries, and forgotten ages.
The lineage of Nille's great-grandmother traced back to a little-known branch of the ancient Fajardo family, a bloodline connected to the historical expeditions of the Caribbean and South America during the age of Spanish exploration. Official records described the family as explorers, soldiers, governors, and settlers. Yet buried beneath those public accounts existed another history, one preserved only through fragmented journals, oral traditions, and symbols passed secretly from generation to generation.
According to these hidden records, the founder of this forgotten branch was connected to an event that should never have occurred.
During one of the early inland expeditions led by Francisco Fajardo, the party reportedly became lost while pursuing a route through an uncharted region. The area did not behave according to natural law.
Time moved strangely. Sound arrived before its source. Travelers reported seeing stars that did not belong to the night sky above them. Some claimed to hear voices speaking languages that had never existed.
Many believed they had wandered into a place where the boundary between worlds had weakened.
According to the oldest fragments recovered by the lineage artifact, the event that would eventually alter the course of the Fajardo bloodline occurred during one of Francisco Fajardo's inland expeditions into the unexplored territories beyond the known settlements of the Spanish Crown.
Official history recorded that Francisco Fajardo was a mestizo conquistador, explorer, and colonial leader who ventured deep into regions inhabited by indigenous tribes, eventually discovering deposits of gold within the territory of the Los Teques people. Those records survived.
What did not survive in official history were the stories whispered among sailors, recorded in forgotten journals, and preserved through fragmented oral traditions.
The lineage records referred to the incident simply as The Meeting Beyond the Mountain Veil.
It was said that while searching for a route through the interior highlands, Fajardo and a small party became separated from the main expedition. Witness accounts differed on many details, but all agreed on one thing.
Time itself appeared to slow.
Birdsong ceased.
The wind vanished.
Even the movement of water seemed suspended.
One surviving account from a ship's chronicler described the moment:
"The forest became still as if the world held its breath."
There, beyond a curtain of silver mist, Francisco Fajardo encountered a woman unlike any human ever recorded.
The reports described her as impossibly tall.
Not merely taller than ordinary people.
Tall enough that even the broad-shouldered conquistador appeared diminished in her presence.
Her features varied between accounts.
Some described her as beautiful.
Others as terrifying.
Several witnesses admitted they could not properly remember her face after looking away.
Only the feeling remained.
A feeling of standing before something ancient.
Something that did not belong entirely to the mortal world.
Those who later heard the stories aboard the expedition's vessels began referring to her as a Nephilim, believing her to be some form of fallen angel.
The priests who were informed dismissed the reports as exhaustion, superstition, or embellishment.
The records were archived.
Ignored.
And eventually forgotten.
Yet the witnesses remained consistent about one detail.
The woman and Francisco spoke.
No one knew how.
She spoke no Spanish.
Yet communication seemed effortless.
According to reconstructed accounts, she introduced herself only by title.
Seed Bearer.
A custodian entrusted with carrying divine influence into the mortal realm without allowing that influence to destroy its host.
What followed became the most debated section of the surviving records.
Witnesses reported that the two stood together for what felt like hours.
Others claimed it lasted only seconds.
Several observers later stated that while watching them, they lost awareness of their surroundings entirely.
As though reality itself had become distant.
One sailor wrote:
"It was as if we watched a conversation that had already happened long before we were born."
At the end of their meeting, the woman stepped forward.
She gently placed her hand against Francisco Fajardo's face.
Then kissed his forehead.
The moment her lips touched his skin, witnesses described seeing a faint golden light spread briefly across his brow.
Not fire.
Not sunlight.
Something else.
Something alive.
Then she smiled.
Turned away.
And simply vanished.
No flash.
No portal.
No departure.
One moment she existed.
The next she was gone.
Leaving only mist and silence behind.
The event was formally reported to several clergy members attached to the colonial administration.
Yet nothing came of it.
The testimony was considered too unbelievable.
The witnesses too inconsistent.
The records were filed away and forgotten.
Official history continued without mention of the encounter.
Life moved on.
Years later, Francisco Fajardo would never marry and left no officially recognized wife behind. However, scattered local accounts suggested that after his encounter with the mysterious Seed Bearer, he spent time among several indigenous communities. During that period, rumors emerged that he fathered a son with a woman from one of the native tribes.
No official documentation survived.
Only stories.
Stories that persisted far longer than records.
Then came tragedy.
In 1564, Francisco Fajardo was unlawfully arrested in Cumaná under the authority of the Spanish justiciar mayor Alonso Cobos.
Despite his years of service and exploration, he was condemned and hanged.
His death was recorded.
His name gradually faded into history.
But his bloodline endured.
The woman who bore his child never forgot him.
According to family tradition preserved within the lineage records, she deliberately ensured that the child carried the Fajardo surname in honor of the man who had treated her people with respect and whose life had ended unjustly.
Generations passed.
Empires rose and fell.
The descendants of that union spread throughout the Spanish colonial world.
Some entered military service.
Others became merchants, administrators, sailors, or settlers.
Over centuries, branches of the family crossed oceans aboard trade vessels that connected Spain's colonial territories.
One branch eventually traveled westward through the great maritime routes linking the Americas, Europe, and Asia.
By the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, members of the Fajardo lineage had begun establishing themselves within the Philippine archipelago.
Some arrived as part of colonial administration.
Others came through trade and migration.
A few simply chose to remain after their voyages ended.
The bloodline adapted.
Languages changed.
Cultures blended.
Generations passed.
The supernatural origins hidden within the lineage grew dormant, buried beneath ordinary lives.
Yet the Seed remained.
Waiting.
Sleeping within the bloodline.
Carried unknowingly from continent to continent.
From a forgotten meeting beyond a mountain veil.
To the shores of the Philippines.
To Granny Amparo.
To the Celestial Cloth.
And eventually,
to Nille Fajardo, the descendant in whom centuries of scattered threads had finally begun to converge once more.
As Nille continued reading the lineage records, a realization slowly settled into his mind.
The mysterious Seed Bearer mentioned throughout history was none other than the sister of the spirit boy he had encountered beneath the tomb.
Ancient myths across countless civilizations seemed to describe the same woman under different names. Some called her The Lady of Returning Rivers, a wanderer who appeared during droughts and vanished after restoring water to dying lands. Sailors spoke of The Silence Beyond the Tempest, a towering woman seen standing upon raging seas moments before storms mysteriously calmed. In distant mountain monasteries, she was remembered as The Pilgrim of Forgotten Roads, a traveler who appeared every few generations asking a single question:
"Do they still remember kindness?"
Among old Babaylan traditions, she was known as The Woman Who Leaves Before Dawn, a mysterious healer who arrived before disasters and disappeared before anyone could thank her.
The stories differed in detail, yet they all shared the same pattern.
She never sought power.
She never accepted worship.
She never remained in one place for long.
She would help, guide, warn, or save others, then quietly vanish without leaving a trace.
The artifact's conclusion was simple:
Seed Bearer Classification: Confirmed
Identity: Sister of the Tomb Spirit
Status: Unknown
Current Location: Unrecorded
Nille stared at the final line.
For thousands of years, she had wandered through history, appearing in myths, legends, and forgotten folklore. To some she was an angel, to others a spirit, a saint, or even a Nephilim.
Yet beneath all those stories was a far simpler truth.
She was a sister who had been separated from her brother when their world fell apart.
And perhaps, even after all this time, she was still searching for a way back home.
"this woman was separated from her people during the Great War of the Celestial Beasts, she had wandered through the hidden places between worlds for centuries. While her brother became trapped within the forgotten tomb, she continued searching for a way to preserve what remained of their civilization."
"Her solution was not conquest."
"It was hope."
"Rather than creating armies or kingdoms, she created the Seed of hope."
Unlike ordinary blessings, the Seed did not grant immediate power. It was designed as a living inheritance, a fragment of herself woven into mortal bloodlines. The purpose was simple.
One day, a worthy descendant would appear.
A person capable of carrying both mortal and supernatural existence without collapsing under the strain.
Francisco Fajardo became the first vessel.
Yet even he could not contain the Seed directly.
The power was too great.
Instead, it entered a dormant state, embedding itself within his descendants and dispersing across generations like roots spreading beneath the soil.
Thus began what later family records would call The Great Delay.
The Seed slept.
Generation after generation passed without awakening.
Yet traces of its influence remained.
Throughout the centuries, members of the hidden Fajardo branch developed peculiar traits. They displayed uncanny intuition, heightened perception, and an unusual resistance to spiritual corruption. Many survived disasters that should have killed them. Others reported seeing things that ordinary people could not.
Some spoke of hearing whispers before important events.
Others dreamed of places they had never visited.
A few recorded encounters with mysterious figures who seemed to recognize them despite never having met before.
To outsiders, these stories appeared to be coincidence.
To the family, they became evidence.
The descendants eventually formed a secret belief system known as the Doctrine of Silent Continuity.
The doctrine taught that bloodlines carried more than genetics.
They carried memory.
Purpose.
Destiny.
Its teachings claimed that history itself was guided by invisible forces working through specific families across vast stretches of time.
To survive persecution, these teachings were disguised beneath Catholic traditions during the colonial era. Prayers concealed older rituals. Family gatherings preserved hidden symbols. Stories passed between generations carried meanings only descendants could fully understand.
Yet even then, the Seed remained dormant.
Waiting.
Watching.
Growing.
By the time the lineage reached Nille's great-grandmother, the Seed had undergone centuries of refinement.
It no longer behaved like an external force.
It had become part of the bloodline itself.
Not a curse.
Not a blessing.
A possibility.
And then the records shifted.
The artifact's glowing surface carried the story across the ocean.
From Spain.
To South America.
To Southeast Asia.
To the Philippines.
There, another thread of destiny emerged.
The records spoke of a woman named Amparo.
Known later as Granny Amparo, she was a Babaylan whose spiritual sensitivity far exceeded that of her contemporaries. Even as a teenager, she possessed a rare affinity for sacred objects, ancient relics, and spiritual energies that most people could neither sense nor understand.
When she was fifteen years old, she came into possession of a mysterious cloth unlike anything she had ever encountered. The fabric was unusually durable, resistant to age and decay, and seemed capable of calming spiritual disturbances wherever it was kept.
To Amparo, however, it was nothing more than a useful piece of cloth.
What she did not know was that the artifact was actually a fragment of the Celestial Cloth, an ancient relic whose true origins had long been forgotten.
For a time, the cloth was secretly safeguarded by an ancient Tamawo assigned to watch over it. Over the years, the spirit developed a deep affection for the young Babaylan. He admired her kindness, sincerity, and the compassion she showed toward both people and spirits alike.
Unfortunately, not everyone shared those feelings.
A known female trickster, acting under a scheme connected a being named as Imto Dimas a female trickster Encanto, sought to damage Amparo's reputation. Through deception and manipulation, she orchestrated the theft of the Celestial Cloth and carefully arranged the circumstances to make it appear as though Amparo had been the one that stole it. so she will become unworthy of the trust.
The plan was designed to humiliate her in the supernatural realm ,and tarnish her standing among both mortals and spirits.
When the accusation surfaced, the Tamawo immediately understood what had happened.
He knew who was responsible.
He knew the theft had been deliberately engineered.
And he knew that exposing the truth would drag Amparo into a conflict far more dangerous than a damaged reputation.
So he made a choice.
Rather than reveal the conspiracy the Tamawo just accepted all blame himself.
He allowed others to believe that he had failed in his duty.
He endured the accusations in silence.
Not because he was guilty.
But because protecting Amparo mattered more to him than defending his own name.
The punishment was severe.
Bound by the laws of his people and unable to explain himself, the ancient spirit eventually disappeared without a trace. but not without gaining hold of the Dimas clan.
No farewell.
No explanation.
No opportunity to clear his name.
To Amparo, it seemed as though the spirit had simply left one day and never returned.
She never learned the truth.
She never discovered the sacrifice he had made for her.
Nor did she realize that someone had quietly given up everything to shield her from a cruelty she was never meant to see.
As for the Celestial Cloth, it eventually found its way back into her possession.
Believing it to be nothing more than an unusually resilient fabric, Amparo used it to wrap and safeguard her ceremonial weapons and sacred tools.
Never once did she suspect that she was caring for an artifact older than kingdoms, older than nations, and tied to a forgotten promise made long before human history had been written.
She used it to wrap ceremonial weapons and sacred tools before storing them inside a wooden chest.
What she never realized was that the cloth was no ordinary fabric.
It was a fragment of the Celestial Cloth.
A relic originating from the same forgotten civilization that had once sheltered the Seed Bearers.
Nor had it arrived in her care by accident.
The artifact had been entrusted to her by a Tamawo.
Unlike ordinary spirits, Tamawo existed partially within a mirror realm that overlapped the physical world. They were ancient beings charged with guarding boundaries and protecting certain supernatural artifacts.
One such Tamawo had been assigned to watch over the Celestial Cloth fragment.
Over time, the guardian developed an attachment to the young Babaylan.
Not because of her power.
But because of her kindness.
Her sincerity.
Her willingness to help spirits without expecting anything in return.
For a time, an unlikely friendship formed between them.
Yet fate rarely allows such things to remain simple.
Another figure entered the story.
A woman named as Imto Dimas a Encanto who nature was to create mischief thinking its fun and brings happiness , in the Philippines these Encanto were called Pilandok, a race if mischievous, cunning, and trickster human-looking standing chevrotain in Molbog beliefs, who is sometimes helpful with a twisted sense of humor.
Driven by jealousy and ambition, Imto observed the bond between Amparo and the Tamawo guardian who was only by what Amparo called him " Ginoo" but this closeness Imto was Unable to understand it, as she sought to destroy it.
Rather than attacking directly, Imto Dimas chose deception, and used her fake kindness and frienship, t hrough manipulation, false rumors, and carefully planted misunderstandings, she convinced the Tamawo that Amparo's intentions were not genuine, as she will eventually turn agaist his kind and kill them all.
He painted her as a human exploiting spirits for personal gain.
The lie spread.
The Tamawo's own clan reinforced those doubts.
Already suspicious of human involvement in supernatural affairs, they encouraged him to sever the connection entirely.
And so the Tamawo did.
Without explanation.
Without farewell.
The bond vanished.
From Amparo's perspective, the friendship simply faded with time.
She never learned the truth.
She never knew that the Celestial Cloth fragment in her possession was important as it has the ability to hide its presence, For decades, the Celestial Cloth remained hidden within Granny Amparo's care.
Unaware of its true origin, she treated it as nothing more than an unusually durable piece of fabric. Believing it to be a practical protective wrapping, she used it to safeguard her ceremonial weapons, sacred blades, ritual bells, and spiritual tools, carefully storing them within a sealed wooden chest whenever they were not in use.
To Amparo, it was simply a fabric, remarkably resilient, resistant to decay, and strangely effective at preserving whatever it covered.
Yet unknown to her, the artifact was silently fulfilling the purpose for which it had been created thousands of years ago.
Nille remained seated as the transparent tablet continued projecting records across its glass-like surface. Historical accounts, witness testimonies, archived reports, spiritual observations, and fragmented lineage documents flowed one after another, each piece adding another thread to a story that had been buried for generations.
Then he reached the section concerning Granny Amparo.
His expression softened immediately.
Of all the names that had appeared throughout the reconstruction, hers was the one that felt the most familiar.
The one that felt like home.
Record after record described her life.
Accounts from villagers spoke of a kind Babaylan who never turned away those seeking help. Elder testimonies described her willingness to spend entire nights performing healing rituals for families who could not afford compensation. Local records spoke of floods, storms, and spiritual disturbances that she helped communities survive.
Nille found himself smiling.
Not because the information surprised him.
But because it confirmed everything he already knew.
Even if she had officially adopted him from the orphanage, Nille had long suspected the truth.
It had never felt accidental.
When he was younger, curiosity had driven him to investigate his own background. Unlike most children, Nille had always been resourceful. He read documents he probably wasn't supposed to read. He compared records. He listened to conversations adults assumed children would ignore.
Piece by piece, he had eventually discovered what nobody had openly told him.
Granny Amparo was not merely his guardian.
She was his blood relative.
His great-grandmother.
The revelation had never truly shocked him.
If anything, it had simply explained things.
The way she looked at him.
The way she always seemed to understand what he was thinking before he spoke.
The way she treated him with a mixture of affection, patience, and quiet concern that felt deeper than ordinary guardianship.
Now, years later, he was reading her life story through the artifact.
And strangely enough, many of the details felt familiar.
Because he had heard them before.
As a child, he used to sit beside her while she drank tea and told stories.
Stories about strange spirits that wandered the countryside.
Stories about young war Babaylan hunter.
Stories about forgotten places hidden from ordinary people.
At the time, he thought they were simply stories.
Now he was discovering that many of them had been memories.
Real events.
Real people.
Real encounters.
His eyes moved across another witness account.
It described Amparo helping a remote village during a spiritual outbreak.
Another detailed her confrontation with a rogue entity near an abandoned river shrine.
A third described how she spent weeks caring for displaced families after a natural disaster.
Nille laughed quietly.
"She really did all of that..."
The old woman had never spoken about her accomplishments with pride.
In fact, she often left out the most impressive parts.
To her, helping people was simply something that needed to be done.
The artifact continued displaying information.
Photographs.
Records.
Spiritual observations.
Personal testimonies.
And with every page, Nille found himself remembering something.
A lesson.
A story.
A warning.
A piece of advice.
Things he had once dismissed as the ramblings of an elderly woman now revealed themselves as fragments of a much larger truth.
The more he read, the more he realized that Granny Amparo had known far more than she ever allowed others to see.
Not because she was hiding secrets.
But because she understood something important.
Some truths could only be understood when a person was ready.
Nille slowly leaned back in his chair.
For a moment, the mysteries of the Seed, the Celestial Cloth, and the forgotten civilization faded into the background.
Instead, he found himself remembering a simple memory.
An old woman sitting on a wooden porch.
A cup of tea in her hands.
Telling stories as the evening sun disappeared beyond the horizon.
Back then, he thought she was simply sharing folklore.
Now he understood.
She had been telling him his own history.
His own inheritance.
His own place within a story that had begun long before he was born.
And somehow, that realization brought him more comfort than any revelation the artifact had shown so far.
For the first time since activating the lineage interface, Nille felt genuinely relieved.
Because no matter how strange his bloodline turned out to be, no matter how ancient the forces connected to his ancestry were, one thing remained unchanged.
Before he was the descendant of the Fajardo Bloodline.
Before he was the vessel of the Seed of Hope.
Before he became a bridge between worlds.
He was simply Granny Amparo's grandson.
And somehow, that felt more important than everything else.
As the lineage interface continued unfolding the history of Granny Amparo, a new branch of the family record emerged.
The glowing text shifted, and a new name appeared.
Takeshi Tsukuyomi.
Nille's eyes narrowed slightly.
Unlike the previous records, which focused heavily on Amparo's life and accomplishments, the information surrounding Takeshi was strangely fragmented. Some sections were complete, while others appeared deliberately censored, as though someone—or something—had removed portions of history.
The first surviving records identified him as a former lieutenant and the twelfth son of the Tsukuyomi Clan.
Nille had never heard of the family before.
Yet as the artifact reconstructed what little information remained, he quickly understood why.
The Tsukuyomi Clan was not a family known to the public.
They were one of Japan's oldest hidden bloodlines.
A clan so secluded that even many awakened communities considered them little more than legend.
For countless generations, they had fulfilled a singular duty.
To guard one of the ancient spiritual gates separating the human realm from regions inhabited by Yōkai.
The records described Yōkai as an incredibly diverse category of supernatural beings, spirits, monsters, shapeshifters, demons, and entities that existed between folklore and reality. Some were harmless. Some were mischievous. Others were catastrophically dangerous.
The Tsukuyomi Clan existed to ensure those dangers remained contained.
Born in 1922, Takeshi Tsukuyomi was the youngest son of Osamu Tsukuyomi, the clan patriarch at the time.
The lineage records described the family as ancient stewards of the Moon Goddess, maintaining rituals, seals, and spiritual boundaries that predated many of Japan's recorded dynasties.
Unlike ordinary clans, their authority did not come from political influence.
It came from responsibility.
The further Nille read, the stranger the records became.
Certain references suggested the clan had participated in events considered impossible by conventional historians.
Ancient spiritual conflicts.
Regional purges.
The suppression of entities and individuals whose existence threatened the balance between worlds.
One surviving fragment referenced a controversial historical figure known as Himiko, the legendary shaman-queen associated with the ancient kingdom of Yamatai.
According to official history, Himiko was remembered as a ruler who brought stability to a fractured land through spiritual authority.
Yet the surviving Tsukuyomi records hinted at another version of events.
A version buried beneath centuries of myth and political revision.
The document suggested that the Tsukuyomi Clan had crossed paths with Himiko during the final years of her reign.
Why they met.
What occurred.
Whether they were allies or enemies.
The artifact could not determine.
The relevant sections had been removed.
Not damaged.
Removed.
Deliberately.
Nille frowned.
The omission was obvious.
Entire pages of information appeared to have once existed.
Now only blank spaces remained.
The deeper he searched, the worse it became.
Descriptions of Takeshi's early training survived.
Records of his assignments survived.
Mentions of his service as a lieutenant survived.
Yet every section involving major operations, political actions, clan interventions, or significant historical events had been systematically erased.
It was as if someone had carefully cut pieces from a book while leaving the surrounding pages intact.
The artifact attempted reconstruction several times.
Each attempt produced the same result.
Data unavailable.
Historical imprint intentionally obscured.
Access denied.
Nille stared at the floating text.
Even the lineage interface, which had successfully recovered information dating back hundreds of years, could not restore whatever had been removed.
That realization was unsettling.
Because it meant the deletion itself had been powerful enough to affect history.
Not documents.
History.
The last surviving records concerning Takeshi became increasingly sparse.
They described a man who eventually left Japan.
A man who crossed the sea.
A man who would eventually meet a young Babaylan named Amparo.
After that point, the records abruptly deteriorated.
Entire decades became fragmented.
Names disappeared.
Dates vanished.
Events became little more than disconnected observations.
The artifact flickered.
Then displayed a final notation.
Subject: Takeshi Tsukuyomi
Lineage Classification: Restricted
Historical Records: Incomplete
Primary Cause: Intentional Erasure
Recovery Status: Failed
Notice: Significant portions of the subject's life have been removed from all available historical sources.
Reason Unknown.
The glowing text dimmed.
And where the story should have continued, There was only darkness.
A blank space.
A void where history once existed.
For the first time since activating the artifact, Nille encountered something it could not explain.
His great-grandfather's past remained hidden.
Not forgotten.
Not lost.
Hidden.
As though someone, somewhere, had decided that whatever happened during that part of Takeshi Tsukuyomi's life was never meant to be remembered.
Nille remained silent as the final fragments concerning Takeshi Tsukuyomi faded from the artifact's surface.
Unlike the other gaps he had encountered throughout the lineage records, this one felt deliberate.
Calculated.
Someone had not merely hidden information.
Someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to ensure it remained hidden.
And Nille already had a suspicion of who might have done it.
His thoughts drifted back to the academy.
To the events that followed his awakening from the five-day coma.
At the time, Haruka Senzaki, the academy's assigned liaison and evaluator, had formally introduced several individuals connected to Yamatai Academy's administration.
Among them had been a name that now carried entirely different weight.
Osamu Tsukuyomi.
Back then, Nille knew nothing of the hidden lineage connected to his great-grandfather.
Nothing about the Tsukuyomi Clan.
Nothing about their role as guardians of ancient spiritual boundaries.
Nothing about their connection to his own family.
Yet now, looking back, the encounter no longer felt coincidental.
Too many pieces aligned.
The same family name.
The same hidden bloodline.
The same mysterious restrictions surrounding his records.
Nille recalled the academy database issue.
The strange access limitations.
The sections of information that even authorized personnel couldn't fully view.
At the time, he had assumed it was simply administrative bureaucracy.
Now he wasn't so sure.
If anyone possessed the authority and influence necessary to erase portions of history itself, restricting an academy file would be trivial by comparison.
His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest.
Then there was the masked man.
The figure the Right Dean had mentioned.
The one who seemed to know far more about Nille than he should.
The one whose presence lingered at the edge of multiple conversations without ever fully revealing itself.
The more Nille thought about it, the more certain he became.
The masked man knew him.
Or at the very least, knew exactly who he was.
Whether that man was truly Osamu Tsukuyomi remained uncertain.
But Nille no longer believed it was impossible.
Strangely enough, that realization did not alarm him.
Because despite everything, he had never sensed hostility.
Suspicion.
Observation.
Interest.
Certainly.
But never hostility.
And that distinction mattered.
For now, Nille chose not to draw conclusions.
He simply stored the information away.
As he always did.
Awareness.
Caution.
Patience.
Those habits had kept him alive far longer than blind trust ever would.
The artifact continued scrolling.
The Tsukuyomi records vanished.
The next entries appeared.
His parents.
For a moment, Nille stopped breathing.
The names appeared clearly.
Records flowed forward.
Photographs.
Travel permits.
Educational histories.
Spiritual evaluations.
The ordinary pieces of two lives. their old pictures taken from new paper articles
His father was recorded as a descendant of the Fajardo branch that carried the dormant Seed.
His mother belonged to a minor lineage or ordinary people with many different backgrounds whose records showed no extraordinary anomalies, though multiple evaluations noted exceptional adaptability and unusual resistance to supernatural influence.
The two met during a joint cultural research program involving traditions across Southeast Asia.
The records described their relationship as unusually stable.
Their compatibility ratings consistently exceeded expected averages.
One annotation simply stated:
"Observed resonance unusually harmonious."
Nille found himself smiling slightly.
That sounded exactly like something an evaluator would write when trying to sound professional.
The records continued.
Marriage.
Travel.
Research.
The birth of a son.
Him.
Then the timeline changed.
The atmosphere of the records shifted.
Several reports appeared.
Emergency communications.
Missing person notices.
Restricted investigation logs.
Nille's smile slowly faded.
According to the surviving reports, his parents died during a trip back home.it was short and ill fated
Only one returned.
bodies were ever recovered.
No signs of combat were found. in the car wreckage.
No survivors.
Only silence.
The official conclusion listed them as deceased.
Yet multiple investigators had appended personal notes questioning the ruling.
One report simply stated:
"Evidence was sufficient confirm death by car crash."
Another contained only a single sentence.
" Car Accident"
Nille stared at the words.
For a long time, he said nothing.
Then the records moved forward once more.
The next entry appeared.
His own name.
Nille Fajardo.
The artifact paused.
As though gathering information from thousands of scattered sources.
Then new text slowly formed.
Photographs.
School records.
Medical evaluations.
Witness observations.
Academy assessments.
Friends and Affiliation
A life reconstructed through countless perspectives.
The final lines appeared one after another.
Subject displays abnormal perception patterns.
Multiple recorded encounters with phenomena invisible to ordinary observers.
Lineage convergence in progress.
Historical probability exceeds established models.
Status: Active and ongoing
The text shifted one final time.
Then a single sentence appeared.
Unlike everything else before it, this line possessed no source citation.
No witness record.
No historical reference.
It simply existed.
As if the artifact itself had written it.
The bridge sought by generations has finally begun moving on its own.
The room fell silent.
The glowing text faded.
The transparent surface returned to stillness.
Nille sat alone, staring at his reflection in the glass.
The story had begun centuries before he was born.
A forgotten Seed Bearer.
An ancient civilization.
The Celestial Cloth.
The Tsukuyomi Clan.
Granny Amparo.
His parents.
Countless lives moving unknowingly toward a single point.
Toward him.
Yet instead of feeling overwhelmed, Nille felt something else.
Clarity.
Not every answer had been revealed.
Many remained hidden.
Some had been deliberately erased.
Others waited beyond doors he had not yet opened.
But now he understood one thing.
His life was never random.
The strange encounters.
The impossible events.
The paths that kept crossing his.
None of them were accidents.
They were threads.
And for the first time, he could finally see part of the tapestry they formed.
Outside the room, he could hear faint sounds coming from the kitchen.
Lin Yue and Corazon preparing snacks.
Ordinary sounds.
Comforting sounds.
Sounds of the present.
Nille closed the artifact and rose from his seat.
Whatever awaited him in the future could wait a little longer.
For now, there were still people waiting for him outside.
And that, he decided, was a good place to end the day.