Chapter 18 - Cera - Investigation
Cera stared at the tombstones in front of her, on which crudely carved, were the names: Aliyah Thorne and Jeremy Thorne.
Wind picked up, and sun shifted its gaze, but she stood there, blankly looking at their gravestones. However, she had tried this before. Standing still and doing nothing for hours on end numbed the pain, but it didn't bring back Mum or Dad.
She had hoped and hoped that things would go back to the way they were. That their empty clothes would have magic breathed into them, and whatever god or devil had whisked them away would return them to her. That they would come back and scold her for not taking care of herself.
But reality was cruel. Crueler than it had any right to be.
If it was going to be so heartless—not just to herself, but half the city, why not just end it all? Why have those explosions stop? Wouldn't it have been better if they covered the whole city and turned everything to ash? Why leave the frail and vulnerable to fend for themselves in this unforgiving world?
Cera had seen it all in the past three days. Kingsmen had retreated to the districts closer to the Royals, leaving the grief-stricken at the mercy of lordlings with bigger fists or firearms. It was as if these deviants were just waiting for the world to burn, reveling in the prospect of chaos and disorder.
They had been just like any other person at the start—grieving the loss of their loved ones. She even used to call some of them uncles or friends. But soon, they didn't see the sorrow or distress in the eyes of rest. They saw opportunity.
An opportunity to turn their miserable lives around.
There was no one to enforce the law, and endless riches were sitting there unclaimed. Shops were looted, men were killed, women were raped, and young orphans were nabbed to fulfill untold desires.
Everything had gradually spiraled into a nightmare of anarchy.
The water pipes stopped working on the very first day, which probably had something to do with those explosions in the Ironhart district, where most of the city's pipes originated from. So when her body had finally refused to survive without food and water, she had ventured out, lining up for water at the hand pump, which was on the other end of the Tannery district.
It had been gloomy yet serene in the noon. Everyone, already dead from inside, filled their utensils with water and left in peace. But later that same day, Percival, that scoundrel, had set up a perimeter around the handpump with his gang of miscreants. Who had all somehow survived the culling.
When Cera went out once again in the evening to get more water, they were brutally pummeling any man that got near the handpump to death. Those not occupied with manslaughter, harassed women who ventured nearby, oblivious of what fate awaited them.
She had tried arguing with him, only to be 'generously' asked by that bastard to follow him back to his new dwelling in Crescent Bay, where most facilities had yet to be cut off.
Cera was obviously having none of it and had brandished her gun for the first time, escaping the scene with three other women. But what did that achieve? That bastard was still there, and people needed water. The river water was too poisonous to drink while the wells had been out of commission for a decade. Some chose to walk to other districts, but who said that was completely safe?
Kingsmen denied entry to anyone in the safer boroughs, prepared to eliminate any trespassers at the drop of a hat.
In the last two days, it had only gotten worse. More and more gave in to their base desires predating on those weaker than themselves. Those faint of heart remained cloistered in their houses, surviving off whatever they had hoarded before Duskfall.
Many tried rising against the scoundrels, only to be swiftly put down. Somehow, the rogues were cooperating better than everyone else. Again, what exactly could Cera do in this whole situation? Yes, she had a gun, but she wouldn't count on being a real markswoman if it came down to it. She had never even held a gun before, much less know how to aim properly.
She might manage if the target stood still a few meters away. But anything else like ten tall men closing in on her—and she was better off running away. Just getting around a few blocks required her to brandish the gun every other minute. But who knew how long that would work?
Every time she brought it out, her nervousness was apparent on her face—she knew it. So she solved this by sewing a holster into her outfit.
Cera wore Mum's black dress, which Dad had bought for her on their 20th anniversary. It had a high-neck black vest with elbow-length sleeves that clung tightly to her body. Its intricate floral embroidery of even deeper black rose mimicked the regalia of Empress Sinatra of last era.
A skirt as black as a raven's wing swirled gently around her, a ghostly wisp of despair worn above the high boots that encased her black stockings. A garter holster wrapped around her thighs, holding that majestic revolver while her hands, sheathed in inky gloves, were clasped tightly on her lap.
It had become much easier for her to maintain the façade of control when the revolver wasn't in her hand but still visible to the miscreants.
She wondered, was it even right to call this weapon a revolver? Probably not.
Von Industries had never commercialized this weapon, and its manufacturing process wasn't included in the tour. It might even be a secret, given how many options and modes it had compared to any other firearm she had seen in the market.
The dials had legend marking 'overcharge,' 'heated,' 'concussive,' and 'normal.' She obviously hadn't tried any of them. She had only used it to deter others as of yet and hoped that would continue to be the case. Who knew how much ammunition was left in there, and what if she ran out? The small thing had so many dials and levers that she didn't trust herself to open up the ammunition compartment without breaking something.
But all this reminded her. She had to get going. She had finally managed to escape the cycle of self-destructive thoughts, and it would be a very horrible idea to waste any more time standing here. Mum was gone, and Dad was gone. There was no denying it at this point.
So she picked up her satchel from the ground, looked at the tombstones one final time, and turned away, walking through the empty cemetery. Winds gently blew her hair in front of her eyes as she walked the land of dead, crossing hundreds of headstones with every step.
It is time for change.
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Because she was given the revelations of benevolent Ephram himself. The book that the red-haired man had given her was…eye-opening, to say the least. She had avoided it like a plague for the first day, but when her tears ran out, she wanted a distraction. She needed it.
So she read the book.
Cera sought to deny the drivel within, but after what had happened in the world, she realized it wasn't that far-fetched. It introduced her to the concept of Observation and the path of a Conductor. The possibility that one could view the interactions and relations of objects as tangible ideas just blew her mind.
But as she kept reading, it all started to click. These were the revelations of Ephram himself, the benevolent one, the great Conductor. However, right as she got to the crucial part, the book came to an abrupt end, followed by myriad warnings and a letter from Madam Helena.
Cera was indeed wondering why Madam had given her so many opportunities, one after another. It was all but obvious in the light of new information. One's personality and thoughts had to resonate with what the book preached, or becoming an Observer of that domain would be an uphill battle.
However, Madam wasn't a charitable person and had many conditions that Cera needed to fulfill before she would be graced with a real Observation record. Her letter, which she remembered verbatim for she had read it tens of times, said,
'Miss Cera, in light of our brief talk yesterday, I see great potential in you to become a Conductor that guides this new society. However, your reaction to the unexpected yesterday leaves a lot to be desired.
Observers aren't allowed to be faint of heart, for the whispers from beyond are a constant, and feeble-minded are better off never recognizing the reality.
Von Industries doesn't intend to foster anyone who would undoubtedly lose themselves before shading their perception even once. So I expect you to find an opportunity to enlighten yourself. This will either strengthen your resolve, or you will find yourself lost to the whispers.
The book will give you enough insights into Ephram's domain to get started on the right track for your viewpoint, but the rest is up to you.
A few locations and events that could give you this opportunity will be attached as another letter to this book by Alistair. However, keep in mind that these are novel anomalies that our intelligence network has got wind of in the past few hours. We do not know the extent of the dangers they pose and don't have the manpower to explore either.
So if you manage to learn something valuable or enlighten yourself, you can report it to Alistair at the Von Industries’ head station, and he will reward you appropriately. It could be future excerpts of the observation record or something else to your liking
Proceed with caution, and hopefully, the next time we meet, I will have a new Conductor under my fold.
~Helena Von Arden.'
She still didn't know what to feel about the letter. Madam was a pragmatist that wasn't willing to squander her resources on someone like Cera. And Cera was only thankful for that decision.
Yes, she was good at predicting things, but did that really give her any right to demand something from others? What if she failed and wasn't as good as Madam hoped? She would much rather delve into this new world by herself and figure things out one by one.
Did she really understand all of it? No. But that didn't matter because it was a path. It was a path to immense power, as described in the book, and if she followed it to the end, there was a chance.
A chance to fulfill that wish which she didn't dare voice into words just yet. But it gave her hope, so she would work for it. She wouldn't pick the coward's path like the man on the bridge. Mum hadn't raised her like that. Not when there was hope. Not when there was a new world waiting for her with its arms wide open.
Walking across the pavement that was akin to a path in a sea of dead, Cera retrieved a piece of paper from her vest's pocket. It had a short list of locations with a brief description beneath each.
These were the locations that could supposedly trigger enlightenment. She had long disregarded the ones that sounded onerous.
Yes, she was feeling bolder with that revolver stuck to her thigh, but she wouldn't walk into the wreckage of an underground factory that had exploded not long ago.
Nor did she have any plans of exploring that banquet hall of vanished in Westerleigh borough. According to the description, more than a thousand people of great renown had disappeared in that hall alone. That is to say, most nobles that attended the marriage of Duke Armen were lost to the wind.
So the only viable option was the Steamscript Relay hub in Starfall Heights. The description only mentioned that the relay pipes were behaving abnormally. She didn't know what that meant, but it sounded harmless enough compared to everything else.
But she wouldn't go in unprepared. The world had changed, and just the fact that this location was on this list meant something was wrong with it. So she would first figure out what to expect in there.
She knew the hub relayed messages to other cities, but she didn't have the first clue on how it worked. Where did the pipes come in? What did it mean for them to behave anomalously? So her plan was simple. She would first figure out everything about Steamscript, and only then would she dare venture into the hub.
The obvious place to find more about the contraptions of fundamentalists was the Symposium. However, they were some elitist snobs that didn't give commoners a second of their day even before things turned south. Who knew how they would react to her showing up to ask for information in a situation like this? And forcing the coven was not even an option. She wasn't the only one with guns.
Then the only sensible option was a library. So that was her next destination.
Eleonora's archive was in the Silverthread district, which was three bridges away if she cut through the Tannery district and exited from its north bridge. But she didn't want to run into that Percival bastard once again. So she would first go to Fulham borough and then cross three more bridges to get there.
As she finally reached the door to the land of living and exited the cemetery, many eyes turned to her. However, they retreated just as quickly, noticing the golden sheen peeking through her skirt. Not many had firearms in Tannery district, after all.
It was going to be a long walk.
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Eleonora's archive reminded her of all the history classes and research she was forced to do on the city's legacy. As far as she knew, the archive was built during the reign of Empress Sinatra and was named in honor of her first daughter, who was said to be a genius scholar of her era.
Then later, when covens rose to power due to their newly found fundamentals, they quickly took over most scholarly organizations. A very welcome change to the society.
The knowledge which was previously hoarded by noble families to maintain their edge on the masses, became obsolete in no time when fundamentalists worldwide worked together to solve society's problems. They were arrogant bastards, yes. But some of them deserved to be.
Cera dismissed her idle thoughts and focused back on the Majestic structure.
But something was amiss.
She had expected there to be at least a few people in there. But it seemed utterly devoid of life from a glance. Not just devoid of readers, mind you. But its grandeur and opulence. It was as if termites had flooded the place, leaving behind a desolate expanse stripped of its life and vitality. The grand door was missing, and so were most of the decorations.
She entered through the open doorway and found herself in a naturally lit hall that looked ransacked. All the golden framed paintings, chandeliers, and trinkets which she saw last time, were gone. Left were the books, unadorned furniture, and hundreds of drab-looking outfits that littered the floor.
Does no one fear the coven anymore? It's only been three days, for Ephram's sake.
Shaking her head, she got back to the task at hand. It was afternoon already, and it would take her at least a few hours to find something on the Steamscript relay without anyone around to point her to the correct section. Hopefully, she would have something to go on before evening.
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Apparently, the first floor only housed text on social studies and had nothing about a single gear, much less something complex like Steamscript relay. She didn't go through every book, but she noticed early on that most sections had similar books, and glancing at one's name was enough to get an idea of the whole section.
So she marched up the stairs. It was as destitute as the ground floor. The lamp holders were empty, and all the gold that was inlaid into the cabinets was scraped off.
Is gold even worth anything in a society like this?
Nonetheless, when she looked to her right, it entered her vision, and she recoiled, her heart racing with intense thumping as she clamped her eyes shut.
AGHH—
But she quickly covered her mouth and muffled her scream. She had to do better. She had to stop reacting to these situations naively. Madam would really toss her to the side if she couldn't even handle a dead body.
So she took a few deep breaths and opened her eyes.
It was the severed body of a handsome young man lying face-first on the ground. His bare back and torso looked unharmed, but he had no legs down his waist.
.
.
.
Huh? Where is the blood? The organs?
No. She was seeing things. This couldn’t be right. Was he actually…growing legs?