Chapter 76 - Epilogue - Duskfall of Sorrows

Cera awoke with a start as she reached out for something, and words spilled out of her mouth involuntarily, "I am sorry!"

"I..am…"

But then the sight registered in her mind, and the sereneness of this somewhat familiar environment calmed her down. Muffled sounds of thumping and grinding rang in her ears while that routine metallic smell assailed her nose.

Then, there were all the gadgets and contraptions that lined the wall, all overshadowed by that giant clock, which continued its mechanical march, one tick at a time.

Withdrawing her hand, she shielded her eyes. The opulence of this room was too dazzling for her still groggy mind.

But what was this situation? Why was she here? Wasn't she…? Was that a dream? Then, did she not become an Observer? No. No. That can't be.

The image of that terrifying wall of gold disintegrating everything in its path was still vivid in her mind. But what happened to everyone else? To Vern? Last she remembered, he…disappeared.

Did he come back?

Did he survive?

"How're you feeling, Miss Cera?" came a calm and serene voice from somewhere, and Cera almost jumped off the couch she was lying on. A mature woman with burgundy hair had her elbows planted on a table made of cogs and gears as she stared at Cera with an impassive expression.

Cera's brain churned, and she quickly realized what was going on. She had her inhibitions, but her heart didn't listen to her brain, and words came out of her lips in rapid fire, "Good Morning, Madam Helena. I—I am great, and I am sorry for asking, but do you know what happened to Vern? To everyone else? What happened after I…passed out?"

Madam turned towards the large clock for a second, and when Cera followed her gaze, her cheeks heated up, and a surge of embarrassment washed over her.

It was seven o'clock. In the evening. Not morning. But Madam turned back and continued to stare at her silently.

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This can't be right. Was Madam really mad at her for getting the time wrong?

Her amber eyes continued to peer through Cera, unblinking. When the silence grew too much to bear, Cera began fidgeting, hundreds of bleak scenarios crossing her mind.

Did he really…

But before her overthinking led to destructive thoughts, Madam replied, "Vern, who?"

Oh. That. Wow. I am stupid. Obviously, she doesn't know him by name.

"He…he was the Lennian Fundamentalist in the group."

This elicited a minor reaction in Madam's impassive face, and she replied, "Oh, him? I see. Alistair didn't report any names when he dropped you off last night. But yes, he did say that the Fundamentalist is doing well. He's joined the Vigil of Duskfall, too, if I remember correctly."

As if a boulder had been lifted off her body, Cera sighed with relief, and her body deflated as she sagged back on the couch.

"Anyways, Miss Cera, are you ready?"

These words, however, instantly snapped Cera back to reality. Her spine straightened as the gravity of the current situation dawned on her. She was in the presence of Helena Von Arden. A magnate of unimaginable wealth, political power, and maybe even...tangible power.

Didn't matter if she had just survived hell. This woman had handled far worse. Cera forced her hair straight in one stroke of her fingers, rested her hands on her knees, and stared back with a serious gaze.

Madam asked again, "Ready to conduct in this city of death?"

"YES MAM!"

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"Master, Lady Fily's team just reported back. Fifteen new incidents have cropped up in the city, seven of them in the Athenaeum district, while the rest are distributed all over the city. I've penned the summaries in here," reported Butler De Flanc in his servile yet monotonous voice that was followed by a rustle of papers.

Not expecting any affirmation, he continued, "We also have news from Master Arthur's team. They're done suppressing the pollution in Starfall Heights. They've publicized the explosion to be caused by an unstable Fundamentalist device that was left unchecked." They had to maintain the veneer of Objectivity, after all.

"The numbers are: thirty-seven dead, One-hundred twenty injured, and an unknown amount missing. Everything in a two-kilometer radius of the Steamscript station was evaporated—except, of course, Master Shinsei and others. Shockwaves were felt all the way up to Westerleigh borough on the other side of the city. And now, the nobles, and by extension, the crown, are demanding an explanation."

THUMP

"Hahh. That's enough, Akira. If it goes on like this, they'll be expecting us to carry around their bags in a few weeks. We can't follow their every whim," interjected Shinsei, more annoyed than usual. He squinted hard, trying to figure out what outfit the Butler was wearing, but obviously, his eyes couldn't see through the dark. That wasn't his blessing.

This was the reason he avoided Akira whenever he could. The man clung to darkness like moths clung to light. Shinsei considered himself somewhat of an eccentric, but this one was on another level.

T—T—TAP

The man wrapped his fingers on the table, surely cooking something up in that intelligent head of his. So Shinsei addressed the butler instead, "My friend, we don't work for the crown. Let those paper pushers know we're here to make sure humanity lives to see another day. If they want an explanation, they can investigate themselves. Our blessings are not to be wasted to give them gossip for their tea tables."

T—T—TAP

"Hold it, Zephyr," came the enigmatic whisper, a voice that threaded the air like silk yet held the weight of ancient tomes. He was probably one of the two or three people who knew Shinsei's first name and dared use it.

Shinsei clicked his tongue, calmed down, and waited.

"De Flanc, get someone from the unenlightened staff to pen a report with that information but ask them to spread it out in as many pages as possible. Let them know we'll cooperate, but only to an extent."

"Yes, Master."

"But Akira, my friend—"

TAP

"Zephyr," cut in the enigmatic voice, and the intensity of sounds in the room matched the lights’.

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The silence lasted for a couple seconds before the voice continued, "As you said, we have a job to do. We have the crown's permission to act in the city already, but we're far from having our roots all over it."

"In your own words, we need to take the path of least resistance, and I am telling you this is it. I will take care of the nobles if they overstep their boundaries. Until then, can you tell me what you have on the new Vessel that's harboring the result of Directorate's sin?"

Shinsei gently rubbed the handle of his sword as the texture helped him calm down. Knowing the man spoke reason, he let it be for now and started on the matter he was here for, "We have…nothing. Just by the nature of her current existence, any and all kinds of scrying have failed. As for her facial features, our Seers and Kingsmen have found nothing over the past couple of days. So it's very much possible that she's from a different city."

T—T—TAP

"As expected. Well, it's unfortunate that we can't guess her Viewpoint based on her personal history. De Flanc, look into Shade Sequences related to Eternal Directorate that also support light-based Visions like that explosion. That combination doesn't make sense."

"Yes, Master. Other than that, we have a couple more things. Kingsmen have requested our assistance on one of the matters that's been getting a little out of hand."

"…"

When no response came, De Flanc started again, "It's apparently a serial murder case where twenty people of different stations were found dead. They say that the victims died, flailing around babbling incoherently, very much mirroring what Observers go through when they succumb to the whispers.'"

"But unenlightened can't hear the whispers," countered Shinsei.

"…Interesting."

When he heard that phrase, a chill crept up Shinsei's spine. This was his cue to get the hell out of here. He had no interest in listening in as the madman grilled his butler for every little detail. His finding something interesting was a bad omen.

Shinsei stood up and began ambling in the direction he had come from, letting the path of least resistance guide him in the darkness.

"Zephyr."

Shinsei stopped and looked back. Not that it helped, for everything was a little too dark.

"How is the new kid?"

"Well, he doesn't have the blessing of some evil god. His Vision pollution quotient is instead quite low, even lower than mine. And I am supposed to be the turtle."

"Motives for joining?"

"Why the heck would I want to know that?"

"Viewpoint?"

"He kept mum."

"Smart."

"Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on him. May the clarity guide your path, my friend," Shinsei left those words in the air before leaving the darkness for good.

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"Who are you writing to, Master Vern?" asked De Flanc with a curious gaze as the scenery outside the carriage window faded past them.

Vern finished penning 'aaaaaaaaa' on the Convergence Note as he closely scrutinized the glyphs, which began glowing. They moved and transformed in a pattern, a pattern Vern couldn't understand for the life of him.

But he still replied with his official excuse, "It's just a test to figure out how much Representation it costs me based on the length of the message." It was true, too.

He was trying to figure out if the complexity of the message changed the cost or the way the glyphs moved. He had sent more than fifty different kinds of messages over the past few days.

"Ahh, that's very astute of you, Master Vern. I believe there might be some papers in Vigil's library that try to answer similar queries. However, I wager their study won’t be as rigorous as a Fundamentalist like yourself."

"You flatter me, De Flanc. Anyway, do you know anything about Convergence Notes in general?"

"Not much, Master Vern, but some have theorized it links fates. They say if you don't think of someone's name and viewpoint in particular when writing a message, one bearing the same fate as yours will end up being the recipient of your message."

"Fate, huh?"

But their conversation came to an end as their carriage halted abruptly on a deserted market road in front of a bridge. De Flanc rushed out of the carriage and opened the door for him. Vern didn't like it, but the man wouldn't listen.

"We'll have to stop here, Master Vern."

When Vern got out, he saw a group of twenty or so men standing on the other end of the bridge, guns, cleavers, knives, and whatnot in their hands as they eyed the lone figure atop the arch of the bridge.

"Since you wanted to hone your melee combat, Master Akira has temporarily assigned you under Lady Amelia, the Eclipsed Reaper, a Kingsman squadron commander that's cooperating with Vigil."

As the men clamored harder and began pushing forward on the bridge, the figure draped in black gripped the handle of the oddly shaped blade attached to her back. In a swift jerk of her hand, it opened up, transforming into a scythe, its edge gleaming with a deadly sharpness.

One of the men raised his hand high before dropping it in a chopping motion.

BANG

BANG

BANG

But that black figure disappeared from everyone’s sight, and all Vern saw was heads flying one after another, and a fog of blood soon permeated the environment.

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When one received a message through Convergence Note, a notion would grow in one's mind. But it was transient, and if one didn't pen it down quickly, the message would be lost.

If they tried to use any other surface to release the message, all they would write is some gibberish going through their heads. The note helped one channel that notion into words—without it, the message would be lost.

This was the reason Illeana always kept the Convergence Note she had 'stolen' from her uncle's manor on her person. How could she know what was going on in Karthain from hundreds of miles away if she didn't get all the intel?

But something weird had been going on for a couple of days. Every few hours, she would feel a notion birthing in her mind, begging to be released on a Convergence Note. In hopes of not missing out on some important information, she would make some alone time from her busy schedule, only to be greeted with some stupid message.

Someone was playing pranks on her. That had to be it. Either someone had figured out her Viewpoint's trace and identity, which would be disastrous, or that rumor was true, and she was very unlucky.

Messages on the Convergence Note had to go somewhere even if there was no destination, but they were almost never linked to a real human. Then, what had she done to be so damn unlucky?

It would be one thing if she was receiving anything legible. At least she could assess the emotions of the sender through the words, but this?

What was 'wwww' and 'bbbbbbb' supposed to mean?

It was driving her mad. And that was a big deal. It was making her lose control of her emotions.

But could she really blame herself? It had cost her so much time, tension, and anxiety. She'd had to excuse herself more than a few dozen times just to read some stupid message.

"Miss Ella, you're up next," shouted the handler from across the hall.

Illeana responded with a nod, already accustomed to her fake name. Dropping the silk gauze down her face, she picked up the violin and stepped out, ready for another performance.

Apparently, the new third prince of Karthain was going to be here at this ball, and she wasn't going to miss this chance to assess the emotional state, fears, and personality of her enemies.

But when she was only halfway across the hall, a notion birthed in her mind, and she halted. Pulling out a folded piece of paper and her rouge pot from the small silk pouch on her dress, she held the paper against a wall. Dipping her finger in the pot, she let the notion guide her hands.

'aaaaaaaaa'

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She closed her eyes and gripped the violin's bow tighter. And tighter. Her arms trembled, and right as the wooden bow was about to give way, she let out a deep breath.

This was it.

She had lost enough sleep and opportunities because of this stupid prank. Dipping her fingers in the rouge another time, she penned these four words in the most disturbing fonts she could manage.

'SHUT THE FUCK UP!'

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"The fate of our planet rests upon this vote. Members, declare your stance."

"Elysian Circle stands in favor."

"Aetheric Collective firmly opposes this blasphemy."

"Astral Conclave, aligned in favor."

"Coven of Truth echoes approval."

"Transcendent Circle, resolutely opposed."

"Veiled Sovereigns cast their favor."

"Twilight Society, shadows agree."

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"The scales have tipped in favor. As decreed, the Third Confluence of Visionaries shall be invoked under the Luminar sky of Year 732. Each faction must bear the sacred cost of summoning the era's Visionaries. Beware, for those who falter in their duty shall find no sanctuary among us."

"May the clarity guide your path."

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As the assembly dissolved into whispers, two figures lingered in the shadows, the former's eyes glinting with an unreadable emotion. The latter, on his knees, chimed in, "Mistress, the Coven of Truth voted in the favor of this motion. Should I go and knock some sense into Ruppert?"

"Not necessary. Our talks with Coven have broken down. This was expected."

"I see. It shall be as you say, Mistress."

"How's your rune?"

"I…I—"

"Speak!" interjected the cold voice.

"I…I can't maintain contact."

The figure stood up from the seat, turned around, and left as their words lingered in the air, "Sort it out or pass it on to a more worthy candidate. That rune is the only reason the Collective is paying the cost to keep you sane."

"Yes…mistress."