"I read that Institute isn't just uhm… an institute, but rather an earned title passed down through the ages."

An earned title? Vern repeated in his head dumbly. He didn't give anything away with his body language, but turmoil raged in his mind.

"It's what the Lorendales would have become were they not…" he paused, his expression a little conflicted, "…massacred."

Dots began connecting in Vern's mind, but the guy continued, "I…I'm pretty sure you already know this, Lord Axiom, but from what I gathered last time during the confluence, no one else knows about this title."

"When I brought out the final communication they sent me during the confluence—the one of their massacre, everyone mourned for the spiritual successor of the Institute, not the potential Institute!" he spoke while gesticulating, a little riled up.

As if trying to hammer home that his insight really was unique, he justified further, "I—I even asked the person sitting next to me. He thought Lorendales were just some mad lunatics who were in bed with the whispers, not the up-and-coming Institute—a place grand enough to have sustained someone of your caliber."

The guy wet his lips as he continued, "Before they were killed, the Lorendale spokesperson told me their clan was trying to understand everything. To become this era's Institute!"

Vern's heart sped up as implications ran rampant in his mind, Does that mean there was an Institute in each era? And they have to earn that title through some methods?

But how?

He says they were trying to understand everything. Is that how one becomes an institute? By understanding everything? That sounded…vague. How did that even work? Could a single mind really hold all the knowledge needed to achieve that?

Hmm, no, maybe not a single mind, but an organization can. Lorendales were a clan of people. Is that to say the title is somehow automatically bestowed upon those who reach a threshold in terms of understanding?

What threshold? he frowned. And, more importantly, why? If he hadn't misunderstood this, then this title had to be more than just the right to be called the Institute. Otherwise, why would a group of hyper-intellectuals strive for it with such fervor?

So much so it got them all killed…

However, when his thoughts reached that point, his expression turned dark as another grim realization settled in. Is this why Rupert did it?

He never really doubted that Rupert would kill a clan of intellectuals for his own agenda, but this was beyond that.

What if…

He barely controlled himself from resting his head in his hands as his mind reached for even more hair-raising ramifications through this new information.

What if…Rupert slaughtered them because he wanted the title of Institute for his own organization?

For the Coven of Truth.

.

.

.

For Fundamentalists…

This… his brain couldn't keep up with every new gear that clicked in place as a vast mechanism full of schemes and power plays hidden from him until now seemed to loom high above.

He couldn't see all of it, but he was sure it existed, and this wasn't just his imagination.

This made him question, Are Fundamentalists a part of this?

Were there Observers at the helm of all great fundamentalist organizations who wanted to achieve the status of the Institute? Was that why the fundamentalism boomed so much in recent decades?

But then, why did Rupert scheme to end a massive chunk of the very same fundamentalists during Duskfall?

He quickly arrived at an answer to that last one, and his heart fell. Rupert wants to concentrate this knowledge within his own coven.

It was as if these big shots intentionally let the fundamentalism run rampant to use the minds all over the world to achieve breakthrough after breakthrough. Once they were close enough to the threshold required to become the Institute, they decided to cull the rest.

Vern's hair raised on end as a shiver ran down his spine. This is insidious, he hissed. Far…far more insidious than he ever imagined it to be.

As always, there was little proof for his wild conjectures, and a part of him was vehemently against any of this being true, but he knew this wasn't as unrealistic as it sounded.

Observers like Rupert saw far and schemed even farther. It wasn't inherently surprising that such a thing might be at play—just…disheartening.

.

.

.

Let's calm down here, he consoled himself. He'd guessed at the worst-case scenario. There was no guarantee this was the case. Life was rarely as black and white as it seemed at first glance. It was good to keep an open mind and not jump to terrifying conclusions with nothing to back them up.

Especially not because he'd connected some totally unrelated and unconfirmed insight from a person of unknown origins.

That's when—"Kind one, you've done it again." Miss Witness's voice jerked him out of his conspiracy theorist headspace, and he expressed his puzzlement, "I did…what, sorry?"

"The presence of Nexus grows yet again."

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Oh, right! He'd almost forgotten. Learning anything new related to the Institute seemed to have a restorative effect on the Nexus. Not sure how it works, but I'll take it.

This also confirmed the validity of this information. If fake tidbits about Institute could restore Nexus's flux, he would've done that a hundred times over already.

Sending a mental nod her way, he turned his attention back to the present. The poorly dressed fellow was sweating profusely as he wiped at his forehead again and again. He looked around with shifty eyes before eking out, "Umm, I…I apologize if I wasted your time, Lord Axiom. I don't know if this counts."

Vern wanted to shake his head at the disconnect between what went through his head and this guy's. I think this is the most important information I heard all day.

Heck, he actually lamented his position as Axiom right now. I can't really question him more down this line without appearing suspicious. Why would Axiom, who was literally a result of this very Institute, ask questions about this as if he didn't already know?

Vern wanted to stop everything else right here and grill the guy regarding each and every detail of his relationship with Lorendales. Like what exactly was the criteria to become the Institute? Why was it a legacy? What did it offer in return?

Alas, he sighed. As juicy as this bait was, he couldn't fall into the trap of short-sightedness—his performance as Axiom was supposed to be a long one. Breaking character so early would be an utter violation of his own principles and be nothing but harmful to his plans.

Balance… he repeated to himself, pushing away the urge to do something stupid.

He succeeded.

With a mental command, the complex contraption behind him shifted gears, the fulcrum rotating slowly as the newfound weight on one of the plates pulled the opposite one closer to equilibrium.

"Whah…" cried the guy, utterly rooted in the spot.

Ah, this sucks, Vern muttered to himself. He really wished he had an actual answer for the guy's query that wasn't Lady Sylphina's secret. He wasn't going to reveal it no matter what, but it'd have been nice to be able to reciprocate properly.

----------------------------------------

"Oh, here it is! The scale is moving!" cried out the burly man as he stroked his patchy beard. "Anyone wants to jump into the bet quickly? I think we've got a winner in me," he guffawed to little fanfare.

Illeana kept silent, her eyes focused on the cosmic scale with sharp precision.

One second…two seconds…three…

To her delight, the scale didn't stop its rebalancing early. The whole palace continued to shake as those chains rattled and rattled, tilting the fulcrum back to neutrality.

Before long, the burly man who'd been babbling stopped. His schadenfreude was replaced with confusion that soon turned into full-blown shock as he gasped, "This…is this real? He—he had an insight of that much value!?"

Illeana scoffed, "I suppose you're lucky we didn't have the time to formalize the bet and its rewards."

"Uh, um, wait! You said it'd be worth at least half of what he'd asked of Lord Axiom. It hasn't reached that yet. It—"

"It just did," she pointed with a chuckle.

Inside, however, she was surprised to an extent. Just what exactly did the weird guy say that was half as valuable as the method to hide one's enlightenment from gods?

Soon, the chains slowed down, and both the plates found a unique equilibrium. The left side leaned a bit less than a quarter ways down from their supposed center.

Close enough to fifty percent, she murmured to herself and turned to the burly man with a smug smile. Since the weird guy in question was still having a one-on-one with Mr. Axiom, everyone turned their gaze at her, and she accepted all their attention naturally.

She'd long become immune to such gazes. It'd just been a while since she'd basked in them. But truthfully, It felt a little different—better than in the past. These people weren't admiring her simply for being the daughter of a king but rather for her own merit—as silly as that merit was.

Keeping her smile in check, she waited for the proceedings to unfold, which they did pretty soon.

Mr. Axiom waved his hand, and the barrier surrounding the weird guy dispelled as he wiped the sweat off his forehead, disappointment clear on his face.

Ah, right. She'd totally forgotten. While this was more than a valiant effort on the weird guy's part to pull out such a valuable insight, he'd still failed to turn this ordeal into an equivalent exchange.

What happens now? she wondered. Everyone else who wasn't struggling to speak clearly had the same question going through their heads.

Mr. Axiom drummed his fingers on the armrest of that highback throne before speaking in a flaccid tone, "The balance wasn't achieved, so a true deal can not be struck…"

Those words crushed the sliver of hope that had remained in the weird guy. He closed his eyes, his shoulders drooping. He nodded and backpedaled silently.

"However," Mr. Axiom interjected, and everyone who was loading their schadenfreude-filled visages halted in their tracks. "Your insights are more than worthy of a potential fulcrum. Strive to strike this balance again in the future. If you succeed, you will have your answer."

To this, the weird guy snapped his head back up, surprise evident in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something but failed to actually utter anything.

Illeana, however, focused on a few choice words she just heard. This was it! The weird guy had done something to earn Mr. Axiom's recognition, so much so that he talked about a future where he'd give the guy another chance to ask this question.

What did that mean? Would they have another opportunity to be in Mr. Axiom's presence? If so, when? How? What did he say exactly!? She really wanted to know. What do I need to do to have that privilege as well!?

However, her thoughts were interrupted again. By Mr. Axiom, no less. He hadn't said so many words all at once since the start.

"Until then, know that gods care not for your kind. Avoid seeking attention, and you'll survive."

She entirely lost her train of thought with that remark. Was that how gods operated? She remembered Father had a slightly different opinion, but he wasn't exactly ordinary, so who was to say he wasn't biased?

"I—I understand, Lord Axiom. Thank you. Thank you very much for the opportunity," bowed the guy repeatedly, his voice turning more determined with each word.

Before long, someone else jumped to take the stage, asking for guidance from the aloof Mr. Axiom, but Illeana's mind was somewhere else.

She still kept an eye on the scale to gauge the shifts, but most of her attention was within her own mind—adjusting her questions and insight repeatedly.

Two or three of her company came out of their private questioning with Mr. Axiom beyond satisfied, while the rest cried out in dismay as they were silenced promptly for failing miserably.

None shared even their questions in public beyond that point, so there weren't new references for her, but she still changed her strategies with every exchange, be that a failed or successful one.

Seconds turned into minutes, and before she knew it, everyone else had gone through their turn. Except for the guy who was still banging his head on the ground, repeating the word god in languages she'd never even heard.

He'd given up the chance to question Mr. Axiom, saying, 'I dare not ask anything of a true god. Your attention is gift enough for me…' or something along those lines.

Not very helpful, she muttered.

Finally, the barrier of isolation fizzled away as the last person beside her came out, utterly dejected but not in denial that warranted forced silence. The man had been unable to budge the drooping plate of cosmic scale even a little with his insight.

She took a sharp breath and reoriented herself. Without any more hesitation, she stepped forward, and all the eyes jumped on her instantly.

It's time…