Chapter 53 - Deductions

"he…is... aw…are!"

"it's ov…er"

"It's over."

Vern interrupted her rambles, "What's over?"

"It's over. It's over. It's over."

The sinking feeling inside him intensified with each word. He didn't have time for this.

THUMP

Slamming his hand hard on the table, he asked again with a frown, "What's over?"

Her wings fluttered erratically as her body struggled with even the smallest movements as if waking from a deep sleep.

By the time her wings had multiple failed attempts to function properly, she finally managed to push her head up and stared into his pupils with her tired yet bewitching eyes, "Please, run. One or two of you might just make it out. You still have time."

Vern stared back at her and shook his head, "We can't go anywhere. And what exactly are we supposed to run from?"

"Please..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes fluttered shut, almost hitting her head on the table. But Cera was quick to steady her. Retrieving a water canteen from her bag, she gently held it to the woman's lips.

It looked like she really needed it, too. She tipped her head back and drank more than half of what was in there. She must be hungry, too. Unfortunately, they didn't have anything to offer her in that regard.

But he was more concerned about the chain of events that led them here. It pointed to her being the source of anomalies. What was he supposed to do about that? And something far more pressing was underway. He hadn't missed the warning in her words.

So the moment Cera took back her canteen, Vern asked again, "Can you please explain? What did you mean? Who's coming?"

Her gently curved eyes peeked through her bangs as she looked at him blankly. Her face looked surprisingly healthy—even beautiful for someone stuck in a basement for about a week.

The four dots beneath her eyes enhanced that ritualistic aura that her attire emanated—complimented by an aquiline nose and impeccably sculpted countenance, she finally moved her crimson lips, "Please leave. Time's running out."

Does she not know what’s going on in the building?

He shook his head with a little more force, "We cannot get out of the building. The walls seal themselves, the windows shut us in, and the doors close. Would you happen to know anything about that?"

Taken aback, she let out a soft gasp and looked down, saying, "That…that can't be. Has the pollution really gotten that bad?"

Vern clung to the familiar word, "Pollution?"

But she ignored him and interjected, "Which is why I tried! I tried to keep you all away! I—I would have figured it out! I just needed a few more days. It would have worked out."

Her wings seemed to match her emotional state as they flapped faster against the back of the chair, "Why…why did you…have to come here…I—I."

TAP

"Get away, fledgling. She's trying to squander our time. Listen, woman! If you don't cease your Vision of this building right away, I will have to force you into it. Decide. Now"

She turned to face Ambrose, and her eyes narrowed to slits as if she could will him away with the force of her glare alone. Color seemed to return to her face, and her lethargy evaporated.

With a surprising change in the tone of her voice, she seethed, "I'm bending over backward to save you from the hell that awaits me, and yet you have the audacity to speak to me like this? It's never enough for the likes of you, is it? Nothing is ever enough."

She even began yelling, "I didn't want anyone to be harmed, but I was too naive. Really shouldn't have asked Fen to hold back. Fine, then. You shall die together with me." Leaning to one side, she touched the ground briefly. With a resounding thud, the ground beneath Ambrose hollowed out as marble hands erupted from its edges, latching onto his legs like vice grips.

"Please wait," Vern yelled.

Ambrose tried to jump away, his eyes glowing blue. Instead, he fell face-first, the arms sucking his legs into the ground. By the time he got back up, the hole created had stopped deepening around his shin and had closed up, trapping him where he stood.

Ambrose looked at his legs and then at the woman as he fiercely tried to shovel himself out with his cane. But it was as if it didn't matter. Any scratches that appeared on the ground disappeared after a few seconds.

Vern actually heaved a sigh of relief. This was not the worst case. It would have been a tragedy for him and Cera if a fight broke out here. And the woman's comments were starting to scare him.

What was this about sparing them? And then implying that they will die together just by being stuck in this room?

Anyway, he didn't want Ambrose's impulsiveness on top of all that to worsen the situation, and this would work wonders.

So, he instead chose to pacify her, "Please calm down, Miss. We are just a little on edge. Mundane objects are doing their best to maul us to death, and on top of that, we're trapped in this building, making us extra cautious. I assure you, it's nothing personal."

Vern monitored her expression, and noticing that she wasn't getting angrier, he continued, "I apologize for his misconduct, but I think we have something much more pressing to deal with. What were you just saying about it's over?"

Her icy expression quickly melted down as she ignored the struggling Ambrose and closed her eyes. After a short bout of silence, she sighed, "I was marked for extermination, and they just figured out where I am. They saw me—through you."

Cera gasped, and Vern furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to figure out the implications.

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Was that what had just happened to all of them? That drowsiness and that lack of control. That had to be it. But some things still didn't make sense.

"Then, why aren't you running away? You just said we might have the time to get out. Won't you have the same amount of time?"

She shook her head, "And do what? Anyone who notices me will become eyes for them to spy on me. Anyone and everyone. I'd rather not get chased like a dog."

"Can't you just keep moving? Hide again at a different place and fight them with your toys?" grumbled Ambrose from the back.

THUMP

She slammed her hands on the table and exclaimed, "Oh, absolutely! With my Cogwings busted and Visions requiring an eternity to set up, I might as well roll out the red carpet for my pursuers. Why give them so much trouble? I should just deliver myself to their doorstep, right?"

Ambrose muttered something under his breath as he continued to hack away, trying different forms of his cane to get himself out.

She was definitely pissed at him.

It sounds like her visions are better for fortification purposes. And her mobility is hampered because of the broken…Cogwings. That indeed sounds like she's better off in this station—

But his thoughts were quickly interrupted. Cera, who was clutching at the hem of her jacket, spoke up in a quivering voice, "Then why? Why didn't you—just kill us?" Walking up to her table, Cera looked her in the eyes and continued, "If you got rid of us, you could have avoided this."

Even Ambrose slowed down his persistent scraping of the ground and looked towards them with doubt in his eyes.

The silence pervaded the room for a while as she ran her hands through her headpiece, stroking that dim gem. "I—I…" She interlocked her hands and rested her head in their embrace on the table's edge. Then, the whole room seemed to shudder as if letting out a breath, and she uttered, "I give up…"

.

.

.

"Give up…on what?" Vern pressed her, the sense of urgency within his mind growing worse. She might have given up, but he had no such plans.

"It doesn't matter. We're all soon dead anyway."

"Why do you keep saying that? Who exactly is pursuing you? And what reason would they have to kill us alongside you? I am from the Finnesse household. My family knows how to hold a grudge."

"Yeah, shout out your family's name to the apostles, okay? If they can hunt me down like a dog—a Lightvein, they surely don't give a damn about whoever the hell you are. And obviously won't leave any witnesses like you alive." Then she mumbled, and luckily Vern picked it up due to the proximity, "Only if Mother was here."

Lightvein? He couldn't recall any household named Lightvein from his limited pool of knowledge about noble houses in Elmhurst.

But what was this about the Apostles? They filled him with greater dread. Were they really so powerful that a woman who could single-handedly pollute hundreds of Objects and control such a big station had lost all hope against them? That three Observers won't be able to matter much at all?

But what would he know? He wasn't even a real Observer yet. He hadn't shaded his perception, after all. He had wondered more than once if doing so would have changed anything.

If he had shaded his perception, he might not have fainted in front of that statue upstairs after using Instability Inducement. And it was possible that he might have been able to suppress the pollution, too.

But how was he supposed to access this Thought Space where he would have to imprint a vision? He remembered Cera being unsure about it herself.

And was it really the best idea to imprint Instability Inducement on his thought space? A Vision he picked up from a parchment that demanded one to gouge out eyes and sacrifice them? A Vision of Cryptic Constructor?

He shook his head. Now wasn't the time.

He had to figure something out right now. If this woman was serious, they were in deep trouble.

So he tried to push her again, injecting as much urgency as he could in his voice, "Can you please tell us a little about what you've given up? Is there any way to get out of this situation? What was your plan if we didn't come?"

She twisted her head a little to look at him past her arms and spoke softly, "I am sorry. I didn't want this to happen either. But I'd rather not let down my family in my end times and divulge details of Lightvein's legacy. They might still be watching us through one of you, after all."

Fuck this!

"How much time do we have?"

She closed her arms around her head and whispered, "I don't know."

This is scrapshit!

He turned around and somehow suppressed his urge to hit the pipes in front of him. Just what had she given up on? Why the hell did it matter if she gave away minor details about her Visions?

Can I get her to somehow speak about it while being vague?

Right when he began to cook up plans to do just that, he realized something else. No. I might be able to figure this one out myself.

He had a lot more information about her now. It should be possible to figure out something. He paced around the room as he let his thoughts churn.

So, what do I have?

She's marked by some entity, injured, and is in hiding inside a relay station.

She's been here for three to seven days. Does she not need food? No, that's beside the point. I need to start from the start.

She was probably in some kind of battle but managed to escape it. However, someone branded her, which is why she had to hide.

He even had an idea to confirm his previous hypothesis. He had seen a dent in one of the whistles atop the building. Hmm, given that these pipes are heading straight to the whistles, the dent should have landed her…

He extrapolated the distance from the center and moved toward what should be the direction of the east whistle. Though, he quickly ran into a wall.

Ignoring the stares of everyone else, he returned to the room's entrance and circled around to continue eastwards. In just a few seconds, he found it. There was a circular hole in the ceiling above and another one above it—opening into the roof. Stars shone through the hole, blocked only by the shape of the whistles.

He nodded. So she entered the building through here. But the holes are shaped too perfectly to be from a crash.

He ruled out a few inconsistent theories.

One explanation could be that her faulty wings initially led her to crash in the whistle, but after that, she somehow manipulated the building to gain entry.

That wasn't an important point on its own, but what it implied definitely was.

She chose to come here. To this station.

But why?

He chronologically went through all the events that occurred in the station since they entered. Knowing what he did now, he looked for a thought process behind the phenomena. She had been controlling some aspects of the station for sure.

Everything was triggered when I first configured the valves of that pneumatic tube. Back then, he had attributed it to his shitty luck and the workings of the anomaly, but now he knew there was probably a person behind some of it. That made it easier to figure things out.

The typewriters were definitely pollution. Not in her control. But the activation of whistles—that had to be her. The first thing that happened when I messed with valves was the whistles. It's as if…

.

.

.

Right. As if she was surprised by our presence and panicked. Maybe the fear of being discovered led her to activate the whistles. Right! Someone mentioned that the station only activated twice a day otherwise. This was out of the norm. Not just that. The whistles activated non-stop during the fight when we finally reached the basement.

Like some kind of…last ditch effort?

Perfect. He was finally getting somewhere. Not giving up this lead, he continued his deductions.

So, her main objective has been activating the whistles. But why? To send messages? But there's no way anything could have worked the way it should.

He had seen the configuration on the panels above—it was a complete mess. There was no way any kind of standard modulation could have occurred in those settings. Anything sent from here would be received as nothing but gibberish on the other end.

Not just that. There was a bigger problem. What was powering the whole system? This station was receiving no steam from the city. But the whistles did activate. So, she was supplying some sort of energy. But who knew how a lot of the components would behave if they ran on some unknown energy?

He brooded on all these points for a while, and a plan took shape in his mind. A lot of it was just half-baked ideas, but there was no way he was going to extend his neck to be chopped up by some apostle in a random abandoned station.

Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind and walked back into the room.

"The rhythm! Something is changing, woman! Let me out this instant. Don't play these games anymore. We need to work together."

"Oh, what will you do? Dance around? Don't worry, I'm sure the apostles will pause their plans just to admire your dazzling footwork."

Ambrose fumed at her words, a steely glint appearing in his eyes. But before he could do anything over the top, Vern walked in between both of them.

Keeping his words vague, he interjected loudly, "Miss Lightvein. I've grasped your intent. If we cooperate, I am sure we can execute the process flawlessly."