“It was a fun game, but I’m afraid it’s time for me to take my leave.” Orion smiled genially, speaking to Lumière and Selaphiel alike.

Selaphiel smiled in turn, his a bit more devious, and replied. “It was nice to meet you, friend of Mr. Croft. I hope your brother is faring well in the Capital.”

Orion’s eyebrow twitched. ‘This person… if he wasn’t so strong, and killing him wouldn’t threaten to unravel our game…’

He abandoned his thoughts, bowing towards the two regally before stepping backwards through the storeroom’s door, disappearing into the darkness of the hall.

After the King in White had taken his leave, Lumière turned towards Selaphiel, curious. “Why did you appear so suddenly here, Mr. Archangel? Of course, you’re welcome to go as you please, and you’re certainly invited to join the festivities, but I didn’t imagine it would be an event someone as revered as you would be interested in.”

“Do you think the praise of others who belove the Goddess elevates me? It is in fact my strength that brings me to such a high position. When it comes to the scripture of the Goddess, I will never once be mentioned. While I take the title of ‘Archangel’, being the strongest in Heaven’s Roses, I am not nearly as powerful as her true beloved. Those are the people who should be truly revered as her angels and saints.”

Selaphiel’s eyes softened, and he reached into his pocket. “The reason I came here initially is because I apprehended a mailman who turned out to be a low-ranking Nameless. Quite an easy task. However, that leaves the mail undelivered.”

“You’ve been delivering mail in his stead?” Lumière looked at the Archangel with disbelief, letting out a humoured scoff.

Selaphiel shrugged. “Until another Nameless appears, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. Regardless, the creature was carrying a letter addressed to you. It’s from the care home in the housing district of the middle borough. How someone like you managed to get your decrepit mother into such a nice place is quite interesting.”

“Are you insulting my mother before me?” Lumière’s eyebrow twitched, accepting the letter that Selaphiel had pulled from his pocket.

“It’s just the truth, Mr. Croft. There’s nothing insulting about reality if you choose not to view it that way.”

He turned away from Lumière, opening the door that Orion had walked out of and stepped into the hall. “I’ll figure out what’s so interesting about you, Lumière Croft. If it turns out to be a threat to our Goddess’s grace, I’ll kill you myself.”

Without another word, he too disappeared into the darkness.

Lumière let out an audible ‘tsk’. ‘The day you try is the day I finally call for Thomas’s assistance. I hope that day is never.’

He looked down towards the letter in his hands. ‘If they’re sending me a letter, has something happened? I’m aware that the care home likes to send letters that resemble their patient’s handwriting to their kids on their birthdays, but my birthday has long-passed… and my mother would never send me a letter of her own volition. She can barely remember that I even exist. Has something gone wrong?’

He opened the letter, brushing his finger against the sharp edge of the paper. It cut into the flesh of his thumb, staining the parchment in bright crimson. He winced, afterwards ignoring his pain as if nothing had happened at all. Still, his senses bit at him. Sometimes, he couldn’t turn off his blood tracking ability, as if it had become his natural instinct. He sighed, glancing over the first few lines of the letter. His brows furrowed, and he dropped the letter to the ground.

As it fell, it settled on the floor, text dimly revealed underneath the faint lamplight.

—— To Mr. Lumière Cassidy Croft, or whomever else it may concern, we are writing to you regretfully to inform you that the patient known as ‘Collette Soleil Croft’ has entered the late stages of her illness. It is quite possible she may not live another day. ——

He ran through the hall of the monastery, picking up his hat as he went, dashing down the stairs that led to the main hall. As the partygoers heard the commotion, their gazes snapped to the man who seemed too eager to depart that he forgot his basic manners. To the White Roses and Ainsworth, however, this sight was alarming. Lumière Croft wasn’t the type of person to draw attention to himself in a social gathering, and he certainly wasn’t the type to place so much weight on a matter to move as fast as he was. Nicole, Ramses, Midas, and Cornifer all exchanged worried glances. However, Ainsworth quickly dismissed their worries, wary of escalating alarm. After a moment of confusion, the party’s mood returned to normal, and the White Roses dismissed themselves upstairs, eager to investigate.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Lumière, keen on reaching his destination as quick as possible, had transmuted and absorbed the momentary fear that had occurred from the shock of the partygoers, temporarily enhancing his physical movement to a minor degree. Then, he pulled a Crown of Thorns necklace from his pocket, which he had started to keep on him in case of an incident. He used his ‘illusory murmurs’ ability to convince himself he was ‘Lain’ once more, this time to a minor degree, retaining his lucidity, and broke the necklace in his hands. Activating his ‘blaspheming’ ability, he gained a temporary enhancement to his physicality once more, increasing his running speed. His ‘Lain’ persona immediately became corrupted by a sudden surge of madness, and he was forced to abandon it to the back of his mind, becoming ‘Lumière Croft’ once more.

‘That Archangel… was this a slight towards me? Was withholding the letter and playing along with the game all an attempt to ruin me? Damn it, I should have checked in earlier… please don’t be too late.’

He ran through Cobbler’s Street, quickly reaching the flowering staircase that led up to the middle borough. Then, running with his full speed through the night, he hopped over a stall, crashing against the ground and rolling before continuing once more. He kept to the shadows when possible, wary of alerting the Peacekeepers that patrolled through the night. It was likely he could come up with a feasible explanation for his strange behaviour, but he did not want to be stopped.

He ran through the entertainment district, all the way down Orulinde Street, before reaching the housing district fifteen minutes later. On a corner bursting with flora, a large building lined by intricate marble pillars sat quietly, aware of its insignificance in the face of many other ornate buildings.

He snuck through the shadows of the building, where one attendant sat at the entrance, keeping watch. He climbed up the thick steaming outer pipes on the wall, singeing the skin on his palms, ignorant of his pain. Eventually, he arrived on the rooftop, where he walked to a familiar veranda he had visited many times before.

Before entering the room through the outer door, he cast the room ahead in illusory murmurs that mimicked the common sounds of the night, masking the sound of the door and his approaching footsteps. The room was akin to a normal bedroom, but several medical appliances littered the tabletops on either side of the bed in the middle of the room. As he looked upon the withered woman who slept peacefully in the bed, her breaths shallow, he smiled nostalgically.

“Why can’t I ever find you in good health, mother?” Lumière mused under his breath. “If I could remember anything about Father… would he hate seeing you like this? Why must your mind kill you quicker than your age…?”

Lumière’s father had long-died to some strange illness that Lumière had been too young to remember. Unfortunately, along with the illness, all memories of his face, personality, and demeanor had disappeared. He recalled nothing of the man.

However, staring at a framed picture beside her bed, he saw the warm smile of a hazy face. Was that his father? Why couldn’t he see him clearly? And why was that image so familiar?

As he stood next to the bed, the woman lying within it gradually opened her eyes, her eyelids fluttering. Her vision was hazy, but she saw the outline of Lumière standing beside her. Yet, she did not fear. Her cracked lips smiled wearily, and she spoke in a hoarse, hushed tone.

“Olivier, I’ve missed you all this time. Lumière won’t stop asking when you’ll come home. How will I tell him…?” Her voice cracked with each word, and she seemed unaware of her surroundings.

Hearing her words, Lumière’s gaze shook, and his heart sank. He remembered then the name of his father - Olivier Croft. A man with a warm smile that would bathe others in its joy. His memories felt estranged from himself. He couldn’t tell what was truly real.

“Olivier, I didn’t take him to your funeral… I couldn’t bear his sadness at the same time as mine… I met your brother. I told him of our son, Olivier. He was so excited to hear he has a nephew…” She coughed, her voice faltering further.

‘Nephew? I have an uncle? Is this one of your delusions, mother? You never spoke of such a thing… could you not remember this as well…?’

Ignoring the revelation, Lumière placed a hand against his face. Writhing silver flames burst out from his skin, but they did not pain him. His flesh gradually became overlaid by a mask- another face, a man he could barely recall. His countenance was blurry, but his smile was obvious. It was warm.

As Lumière’s mother gazed at him through her hazy vision, she could feel his joy. It was contagious. She smiled, and tears fell from her eyes. “Oh… Olivier. It really is you. I’m so happy… I wish Lumière could see you too…”

Her voice fell away once more, for the final time, a smile on her face. Lumière stood in silence, almost watching over her, with some semblance of hope that she would return. He didn’t know her. But he loved her. She was his mother. He didn’t want her to leave.

“I never really resented you.” Lumière muttered, his lip quivering. He refused his tears. “I… wish I knew you. I wish you knew me. Thanks for being my mother, for the few memories you knew that you were you. Thanks for trying your best to fight.” He ran a hand through her hair, brushing back the loose strands. Her skin felt cold, the light in her eyes fading.

“You were as wonderful a mother as you could be.”