Chapter 26 - Playing Pretend
Vern sat in front of the polished wooden table whose edges were lined with bronze—its corners adorned with fancy patterns. Every few seconds, he scooped a bit of leek soup into the spoon and sipped it. It had gone cold long ago, but to Vern, this might as well be one of the fanciest dishes ever.
His body was finally getting the nourishment it was owed, and Vern got to play pretend without having to do anything unusual. Every little while, a sound came from the other room, and Vern grew more annoyed.
The hell are they doing in there? Please leave already.
He was dying to take a look at that parchment with Cryptic Constructor's symbol on it. What could be in there? He had to find a way to get rid of this 'burden' in his mind. But before that he'd first need to figure out exactly who or what this Cryptic Constructor was.
Vern had given it some thought during his walk back from the library. The first idea was that it either had to be some powerful Observer or a god.
For quite a while in his life, he had taken the stance that gods didn't exist. At least not the way they were portrayed in all the legends. They were good for symbolism, but other than that, they were just glorified scapegoats and a means of self-justification.
He himself liked to call upon the name of Lady, but it was more of a habit that he'd built up over his childhood than some personal belief. Did Lady Lennix ever exist the way she was depicted in Luminous Litany? Just a few days ago, he would have replied with a half-shrug and a 'maybe.' Getting into debates over such abstract topics with no concrete facts always ended up being exhausting.
But now, with all this fresh knowledge, he was more inclined to believe that she might actually be the creator of Insight Spheres—just like the Primal Fundamentalists preached since the day they found those orbs with infinite knowledge.
But that was getting off the topic. Even if Cryptic Constructor was some god, they didn't seem the virtuous type from the impression he had gotten from Hensen and his neighborhood cultist.
This gave Vern another reason to read that steaming piece of paper in his pocket. He wanted to know what the fuck that Garfield was doing. Why would he go and decapitate a woman in cold blood? Was it due to the content of that parchment? Only if these men would get out of my face.
Shaking his head, Vern wiped his mouth with the handkerchief and piled up all the dishes—setting them aside.
What to do? He was feeling miserable right about now. There were too many gaps in his knowledge about the Observation. It was possible that he was being too paranoid, but really, who was to say that these Observers next door weren't looking at him right now, waiting for him to make a mistake?
He just didn't know anything clearly. What was the range of a person's observation? Can all Observers see through walls? Was there any way to tell if someone was an Observer? Would they realize that Vern was an Observer if he went back to his prior experiments with the shades of gray? What exactly was possible? And what wasn't?
Just how did any of this work?
UGHHH! Only if I still had that Observation Record of Subjectivity.
The Ariane he knew would have taken his outfit with her no matter what. Then, there was a good chance that she ended up reading that unorthodox book. However, she was going to have a hard time getting through it. Text-heavy books like that one didn't really grind her gears. She would still finish it, though. He was sure of that.
The corner of his lip lifted in a subtle smile. I can only be thankful it turned out like that.
She would be safer as an Observer. Right? Only if he could make his way to the inner districts somehow. But he really had no clue how to get past those Kingsmen who stood guard on the bridges.
But this reminded him, and he facepalmed. I can just go to Ascendant Council and ask them for another book. Hopefully, they would be located in one of the outer districts.
If they could put a book like that in the library just for him, then there had to be more where that came from, right? They must have had some goodwill towards him since they allowed him to read that book.
On top of that, they should've survived the Duskfall just fine. After all, they already knew something was about to go wrong with the world.
This was obviously assuming that their head station wasn't in some inner district guarded by Kingsmen.
Ariane had told him she read something about Yharl Ballin in the newspapers. So he simply had to ask around where their main station was. Well. I should have thought of that sooner. He could’ve straight up walked to their station instead of coming back to the hotel. Surely Eleonora's archive must’ve had something about them.
Hmm. Not really. He contradicted himself in no time. He remembered how he had gullibly walked into that 'burden' because he ended up in a situation with too big of a power imbalance.
Yes, Yharl Ballin seemed to have some goodwill towards him, but he had no clue about the organization as a whole. So it was indeed a better choice to come back to the hotel and sort things out.
This is why I hate this. He didn't know how cautious was too cautious. He just didn't have the information needed to strike a proper balance between being reactive and proactive.
But, well, this was a direction. He would ask about this Ascendant Council first thing in the morning. Hopefully, other guests would be amenable to the idea, thanks to that third-rate psychiatrist still doing lady knows what in the next room.
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Finally fed up, Vern stood up and walked to his desk by the window. First, he wrote a little about this situation in the notepad in tiny handwriting, hoping these men weren't as omniscient to be able to figure out what he was penning down. Then he pushed his notepad aside and cleared the desk.
No one would find it odd if a Fundamentalist delved into Fundamentals in his own room, right? So he opened the top drawer again and retrieved the insight sphere.
The transparent glassy orb had four golden lines that ran down its curved surface from top to bottom—dividing the whole sphere into four equal sections. Then there was a thicker horizontal line that ran through all the vertical ones, serving as a demarcating border that further partitioned each of the vertical segments into two.
This made for eight octants in the whole sphere.
Octants were how the fundamentalists categorized their findings. If they figured out a new phenomenon by studying the projection emerging from the southwestern octant in the lower hemisphere, their finding would then loosely be classified under Chaos Fundamentals.
The Coven of Truth that Vern belonged to—assuming a good chunk of its members hadn't been lost to the Duskfall—usually worked on fundamentals found in upper north-eastern and north-western octants. No clear-cut name existed for these two octants. Fundamentalists never managed to come to a consensus on the proper name for most of the octants, after all.
So Vern also retrieved the sphere's stand and a Lumenscope from the second drawer. The insight sphere was like a treasure trove that had its own peculiar method of exploration. He put the sphere on its stand, steadily fastening into its thin clamps. Then he settled the Lumenscope beside the sphere, which was a somewhat heavy if small yet long cylindrical contraption that tapered off towards its one end.
It was one of the most sophisticated pieces of machinery he had the pleasure of owning. The glassy cylinder had three compartments and a short conical beam emitter at the front, each more sophisticated than the other. The whole device was reinforced by an intricate lattice of polished brass, creating beautiful curvy patterns that seemed to be there for nothing else but visual appeal.
The compartment on the back featured a miniature winding assembly—a mesmerizing spectacle of gears and spindles providing the much-needed rotational force to the middle chamber that housed the two radiant stones as a pair of compact circular disks, which were arranged horizontally, one after the other. Then finally, there was the mirror assembly which—
THUD
A muffled thud sounded, and Vern instantly halted his ruminations on the intricacies of the Lumenscope, focusing on the sound. If he had heard it right, the sound came from the room next door.
They're finally leaving! Thank the lady.
Vern didn't betray his excitement and began winding the Lumenscope using its circular crank at the back as if to prime it for projection.
Tap. Tap.
Faint sounds of footsteps got closer and closer but then suddenly stopped. Vern's heart which was just beating out of excitement, shifted gears, sending blood surging through his body as a sense of unease spread in his mind. The footsteps stopped right outside his room.
Vern slowly and covertly reached for his gun at the waist, ready to brandish it at a moment's notice. Seconds passed by as he remained high-strung, waiting for a change.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
FUCK! Why?
He still got up. Not answering would only be worse. It would really make it look like he had something to hide. Assuming they already knew he was sitting on his desk, he couldn't even play it off as being asleep and having missed their knock.
Let's calm down. If it really comes down to it, we'll just have to see who can shoot better at a hand's distance. But they were two people. His odds weren't the best.
Taking a deep breath, he leisurely dangled his arms to his side—within a second's reach of the revolver. From what he remembered, there should still be at least three bullets inside the chamber. That should be enough.
Then instead of opening the door, he bent forward and looked through the peephole and as his eye focused, a jolt of cold terror shot through his veins.
A red pupil was staring back at him from the other side, enveloping his sight.
AAAH—
A shriek escaped his mouth, and his blood ran cold. He recoiled, somehow managing to not lose his marbles as he reached for the gun.
"WHAT THE FUC—"
But before Vern could do anything else, the world turned dark, and all he managed was to not fall head-first.
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TICK TOCK TICK TOCK TICK TOCK
The ticking of the clock in the otherwise silent ambiance seeped into his mind—awakening his senses. He opened his eyes, only to be greeted by the wooden floor.
Again.
What?
A few moments passed by as his groggy self tried to process the situation.
I was still working on figuring out the shades. What happened?
He pushed himself off the ground and used the doorknob to hoist himself up. Then he looked around, and nothing was where it should be. Why was the Insight sphere out on the desk? Why were there plates on the dining table? Why wasn't he hungry? Why was it Eleven o'clock already?
He left the support of the door only to find himself keeling over, almost losing balance. Somehow managing to not tumble ungainly, he navigated back to the desk and settled down on the chair in front of it.
His eyes appraised the beautiful orb as he tried to recall the details. He was still working on assigning grays to his perception.
Oh, yes. Someone had knocked on the door, disturbing his speculative trance of those beautiful grays—depicting light.
But after that…
What happened after that?
.
.
.
Minutes passed by as he sat there in silence. Nothing was coming to him. Was he just too exhausted?
No, that didn't make sense. He had already experienced something similar hundreds of times in his life, and once even recently, under the hands of Hensen.
However, fundamentals never fogged his prior memories. The insight sphere was out on the table, which meant that he might have peeked at the projection and lost some of his memories during the process. But usually, it only took around a minute before one became lucid after emerging from the projection of fundamentals.
This was the whole reason he had first started keeping a notepad with him, to be able to quickly jot down his experiences right after waking up from the trance. But it was different this time. He didn't remember anything before or after. It was somewhat similar to that situation with Hensen. But completely unexplained.
He slid the chair forward, and while doing so, he felt something on his waist. He frowned and lifted his shirttail, only to see the handle and chamber of what looked like a revolver.
His frown only deepened as he pulled out the bronze revolver and placed it on the desk. Its warm hue was accentuated by intricate engravings and filigree patterns that adorned its surface. Not the most beautiful work he'd seen, but nothing too shabby either.
It's not like someone else could have tucked a revolver on his waist, right? Then something had definitely gone wrong with his memories.
Could something have happened to fundamentals after the Duskfall? He remembered a few cases of Amnesia had propped up among the Fundamentalists. If it was something like that, it might be a one-off thing.
But that still didn't explain this revolver. Where did it come from? He didn't believe himself to be a frolicker that would run around stealing guns. Unless someone gave it to him, he didn't see why he would have one on him. Yes, he wanted to get his hands on a firearm after having to run around sneakily this morning, but this wasn't how he planned on getting it.
Shoving the Lumenscope to one side, he retrieved his notepad. It was better to write this down and then figure things out from there. Hopefully, whoever he had stolen this gun from wasn't hot on his tail or something.
Skipping the first few pages filled with crude sketches of men—drawn by the previous owner of this notepad, he reached the last page. And before he could pick up his pen to write about these new happenings, something caught his eye.
There were some new words written in small font, barely legible.