Chapter 38 - Seeking Truth

Vern shook his head and closed the notepad. This distance can't be right unless it's not even a physical phenomenon at all.

Frowning, he dragged himself all the way back to his starting point by the Hartley St. to double-check his measurements. This time, the gravediggers had already moved quite a distance away from his chosen spot, giving him space to work in peace.

But obviously, he hadn't been wrong. The values were exactly the same as before.

This was quite peculiar and required further investigation. So he closed the notepad and marched back to Ari's room. She had a telescope there.

Surely, it would enable him to scrutinize this cosmic phenomenon with more acuity. Again, he wasn't an astral fundamentalist, but basic examination didn't need one to be a Savant in that fundamental.

Strolling back to that well-maintained dormitory, he beelined to her room and opened the curtain, uncovering the primary mirror of the telescope. He hadn't used one before, but the idea was simple enough—point it in the right direction, rotate a few dials, and ensure that the reflection was crisp.

There were a lot more control levers on the thing, but he didn't need to know how to use all of them. After fiddling with it for a few minutes, he figured out which dial affected what aspect, and got to it. Groaning a little, he bent over and looked through the eyepiece.

After another tens of minor adjustments to the position, aperture, focus, and magnification, he finally had that rift in sight—crisp and clear.

It was gorgeous.

It was a colossal chasm, its edges lined with blue and orange sparks that churned with too much energy. It was a significantly sharper view than the one he got from his naked eyes. He hadn't dared to look at that thing through his perception and completely buried all such notions after finding out its supposed immense distance.

Fascinated, Vern gradually shifted the telescope and began to survey the edges of the fissure. He was no astronomer and didn't know what to make of this, but it was so enthralling he didn't want to tear his eyes away from the sight.

Then, his hands moved instinctively and adjusted the tube to peer at what was inside the rift. Usually, all he could resolve were some stars that peeked from beyond—radiating more light than the moon.

But it was too beautiful. How could something so magnificent be hidden from everyone's eyes?

Involuntarily, he turned the dial for magnification, and his other hand moved to rotate the focus wheel to match it for the new position. As if the world had nothing else in it, he focused on the sources of light. They were…

No. Must be.

It was the light. The disturbing energy. It spoke to him.

Triloxthor

The rift, oh, the rift—it sang to him in an insane harmony. His eye glued to the Zeldranth, glued, stuck, ensnared. There were patterns in the chaos. Patterns! Whirling, swirling, twirling. Shapes no man should see, should ever see.

Xanthura Eryndor Qylxian

Felt the shapes coursing, coursing, and racing like a deranged heartbeat. His Yphyrxan were a runaway steam engine, no brakes, no control, hurtling towards...towards what? Alethrae? Revelation? The line was blurring. Reality was blurring. Rift and mind, mind and rift. Dancing. Together. Faster. Faster.

Teladrax Yhylum Zephontrax Eldryxan Theldron Xalimyr

Senses spiraling, spiraling into the vortex of his own cognition. His Vernathian was a wild vortex, unrestrained, no tether, plunging into...into where? Oblivion? Xalimyr? The boundary was dissolving. Perception was dissolving. Rift and soul, soul and rift. Whirling. Entwined. Quicker. Quicker.

But then, two triangles appeared in his mind, sparking with brilliant luminance. The moment they did, his mind jolted awake, and he closed his eyes, recoiling away from the telescope, and a shrill scream escaped his mouth. His heart ramped up with intense thumping as he looked at the telescope with wide eyes, his arms shivering uncontrollably.

It was those sounds again! I—I couldn't control myself.

Resting a shivering hand on his thumping heart, he sifted through his memories. And quickly realized he had lost agency the moment he turned the scope away from the fringes towards the center of the rift. His hands had begun moving on their own. It was as if his eye was stuck to the eye-piece, unable to tear away from the breathtaking vista.

He took deep breaths and backed up to the bed, leaning on its side, odd whispers still ringing in his mind. It seems as if that burden of Cryptic Constructor didn't fully activate. Which was a good thing since it wouldn't alert Hensen, but it also meant that he'd have to deal with the residual influence of those sounds by himself.

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Pinching his glabella, he mused, My curiosity isn't doing me many favors. It is one snag after another. I really need to relax a little.

But it was quite hard to focus at the moment, and his thoughts were being interrupted by unusual noises. So he gave up on any further ruminations and simply worked on gathering his thoughts.

.

.

.

After spending what felt like an hour with a splitting headache, he finally stood up and made his way to the shared bathroom at the end of the hallway outside the room. After washing his face with freezing water that came in a trickle from the tap, a cold serenity washed over his mind.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

That was no joke. Early Fundamentalists also had one accident after another due to their recklessness, but such was the cost of exploration. Yet, all the knowledge in the world would be of little use if he couldn't stay alive long enough to reap its benefits.

As a seeker of truth himself, it'd be contemptuous of him to give up after such a small setback, but it would also be stupid to not have fail-safes for situations like these.

Just like many other risky experimental settings, a proper protocol and general set of steps should be thought of to minimize the risk. Contingencies should be set up, and safety measures should be designed. It would have been significantly more straightforward if he was back in Nvoria. He could have worked alongside his Master to delve into these mysteries more safely.

Ahh. But then I'd have been anxious about Ari day and night.

It was foolish to think of what-ifs. So he ambled back to Ari's room, locked the door from inside, and sat on the chair as he jotted down his new experiences like some experimental report.

Then not even bothering to turn off the lamp, he flopped on the bed, and sleep claimed him instantly.

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Sunlight illuminated the room as Vern latched the small metallic lamp to his pocket watch's chain. With this design, his hands would be unfettered, free to wield the Ironsong or any other weapon he saw fit. And should he need to wrestle the darkness into submission with more finesse, the arrangement permitted him to unhook the contraption at a moment's notice.

He had to dismantle Ari's star-shaped lamp and scrounge some of its parts to craft this masterpiece. It wasn't a winding one like he'd hoped, but this would do. There was a clear indication of the amount of fuel left, and he had optimized its efficiency with some of the latest mechanical arts.

The actual fire was completely isolated from the outside environment, and along with the remodeled fuel chamber, it was effectively a portable lamp that wouldn't die out even if the whole thing was turned upside-down. Remembering another important task, he picked up Ironsong, removed the used shells, and refilled it with more bullets.

Nodding with satisfaction, he placed the note addressed to Ari on the bed. This time, it had a few more lines asking her to come to Hotel Inkwell if she saw the note. Who knew if he can find a way back into the inner districts so easily once again?

It was time to go meet Miss Cera and finally shed some light on this concept of Observation.

Thud.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Vern."

Ahh?

He turned around and noticed that Ari's friend was coming up the stairs, her chestnut hair falling to either side of her face in silky waves.

"A lovely noon to you as well. Miss…?"

"Selena. Not the same spelling as in Saint Salena cathedral—just Selena with two e's. Umm—did you find out anything about Ariane? Did she come back?"

Vern shook his head with a bitter expression.

"I see. I was actually just meeting up with some of our common friends. I asked about Ariane, but none of them had talked to her ever since that event." she said with a sullen look.

"Please don't worry too much, Miss Selena. It'd be great if you can find some clues, but if not, don't push yourself too hard. Ari is an adult herself, and if she went with those people willingly, there must be some reason behind it. Just make sure to let her know that Vern wants to talk to her if you end up encountering her."

Selena seemed a little surprised but nodded and began unlocking her room.

But then Vern remembered something, "Actually, I have another question. Do Kingsmen have any problem with people from exiting the inner districts?"

"Mr. Vern, you want to go to outer districts? It's not a good idea. My friends told me it's lawless out there. Bandits and looters roam around en masse and can jump you anywhere. One of my friend's uncles died out there before Kingsmen had fortified these boroughs. Bless Emperor for his quick actions."

Well, that was a valid take, but it wasn't as bad as the rumors made it sound. At least not yet. "I do understand the stakes, Miss Selena, but it's necessary for me to go out there. Would you happen to know if it's legal to do so?"

She seemed conflicted for a while before sighing, "It isn't the going out that's a problem. It's the coming back in. Kingsmen don't care about people going out, but almost no one does. Mainly because once you're out, there's no coming back. Not until you're some kind of nobility."

That will do. Vern reached his hand toward his head to tip the hat but quickly realized it wasn't there. So he nodded back and bid her farewell, "Just what I wanted to hear. I will be off then, Miss Selena. Please take care of yourself."

"Ahh. You too."

Leaving the dormitory with one final glance, he traced the same path he walked last night. Eleonora's archive was in Silverthread district, after all.

It was finally time to figure out what was up with this Steamscript relay. He still wasn't sure what to expect in there, but it was just an establishment with some machinery in it. But the fact that Miss Cera seemed to believe that it could somehow trigger Enlightenment must mean that something had gone wrong over there.

However, given her knowledge and sources, why would she take on something too risky? She had channels that were out of his reach. Maybe it was her aristocratic relations or something to do with Helena Von Arden.

"Halt right there."

He was jerked out of his thoughts as a piercing voice resounded above him, demanding he stop—which he did, for the blade on the man's back was shining too brightly under the bright sun.

At another glance, he noticed two more men garbed in a similar fashion. One was perched on the parapet of the bridge, another was sharpening his blades with an edge grinder, while the one above Vern stood on a ledge—his capelet flowing with the cold wind.

"State your purpose, fellow. You look like someone with a brain. Why come here? Did you not hear the Emperor's decree?"

Vern was reminded of the Kingsman that chased him like a death god yesterday with blazing blades in both his hand. There were three of them now. But he was on the side of the law this time.

Inhaling deeply, Vern steeled his expression and spoke solemnly, "My apologies, lordship. But I'd like to cross the bridge to the districts outside. A close friend of mine lives in outer districts, and I must go check up on him."

He didn't even turn around and simply shook his head, "Another one trying to play the hero? Not that I will stop you. Do as you please, but know that there's no coming back. Not until the Emperor edicts."

"Thank you, lordship." Not trying to overstay his welcome, he made a short bow towards the three men and crossed the bridge that was marred with trails of blood. Spreading his arms wide apart in a non-threatening gesture he passed the other two Kingsmen. They didn't even glance at him and he quickly reached the Silverthread district.

Traces of fights could be spotted everywhere. But having already seen enough of the same, he ignored it and wielded the Ironsong to intimidate the annoying pests that were already boring their predatory gazes on him from beyond the corners and alleyways.

They're waiting here in the ambush. Hoping to rob people the moment they come out. Well, that was abominable. But they quickly turned their gazes away the second he pulled out the revolver.

Smart too. I doubt it's worth looting someone with a gun when easier targets pass by every few hours. Not letting these random jerks stop him, he made for Eleonora's archive. Having already looked at the map a million times, he was getting familiar with the cardinal directions and could more or less guess the general route to his destinations.

Crossing one deserted intersection after another, he passed darkened windows that once glittered with the allure of gleaming contraptions, artisan tea shops now devoid of their fragrant brews, and desolate boutiques where opulent gowns hung like spectral memories of grand balls and brighter days. Every silent storefront a poignant sonnet to the grandeur that once was.

Until he finally reached the archive. A burnt-down archive.