"Many an Esoteric, even in this day and age, still thinks that the Formulaic Plane is a separate realm from our physical world. Fortunately for our society, the era of crude chants and dubious rites is over. I will not have our nation's future lifeline be subject to such ignorance."

The lecturer twirled a thin rod across a blackboard, pointing at a plethora of spatial coordinates, mathematic formulas, and mystical illustrations.

"The World is a cradle, and every phenomenon that transpires within it is governed by inviolable laws. These same laws are etched on a theoretical layer beneath our own, dictating everything from the cosmic cycles to the mere breath you take. It cannot be interfered with from the outside, nor is it fathomable to the simple minds of mortals. That is the true nature of the Formulaic Plane."

A young man raised his hand. He wore an elegant garb typical of Hautefoy nobility, with neatly parted silver hair and golden eyes. "Yet isn't esoterism the product of a change in the Formulaic Plane? I don't quite follow your logic there, Professor."

"You make a good point, Johann. Indeed, the basis of esoterism is to alter the rules of the Formulaic Plane for a transient effect." The lecturer snapped his fingers, conjuring a vigorous flame atop his palm. "Any changes in the laws of that realm naturally have consequences in the Physical Plane. In this example, I haven't simply invoked fire, but I modified the parameters of the space above my hand by slightly adjusting the formulas that rule over it. Hence, it was able to birth this little spark."

He stifled it with a firm grasp before moving on. "As I said, the Formulaic Plane cannot be disturbed by elements that aren't part of it. However, we, as Esoterics, can freely meddle with it. I ask this of you. How is it possible?"

Amidst the general silence in the amphitheater, Helene was the sole student to speak up. "It's the soul, isn't it?"

"Correct, Helene!" The lecturer grew passionate. "Metaphysical shadows—also named souls—are the byproducts of the constant friction between our existences in both the Physical and Formulaic Planes. In other terms, they're anomalies that subsist in both realms at the same time."

"For an Esoteric, a soul is the fuel that allows them to manifest specific phenomena in the Physical Plane through a momentary shift in the Formulaic one. This process is called a chant and serves as the most fundamental principle of esoterism."

The redheaded Leon tapped his desk from the highest row. "Erhm, I get the theoretical idea behind it, but I've been practicing esoterism my whole life without any conscious intent to change the laws of the Formulaic Plane. Actually, I only recently became aware of its importance. How was it possible for me to use chants without this knowledge?"

"You're Leonhart Fleundel, right?" The lecturer's stern gaze briefly gauged him. "I hear you're the first Esoteric of your family, so it's an understandable confusion. Tell me, young man, what are the four main schools of esoterism in Hautefoi?"

Leon tilted his head, grimacing. "Primordialism, Thanaturgism, Theurgism, and... Goetism... I think."

"Exactly!" The lecturer shouted, making half the class jump. "Motion and stagnation, sanity and insanity. Our founding myths speak of the first song ever uttered—an ode to these four pillars of life. It shaped the Formulaic Plane anew, creating the basis for what we now acknowledge as the Four Sacraments. That, my dear students, is the core of our esoterism... our Irrational Foundation."

"Oh," Johann muttered. "I get it."

"I don't!" Leon pouted.

Helene turned towards him, saying, "Think of it as an established system of universal rules pre-built for the sole purpose of dictating our esoterism. An Irrational Foundation is akin to guidelines that apply automatically whenever we wish to use a chant. It streamlines the process by converting our will into a set of instructions and carrying out the necessary changes to the Formulaic Plane in our stead."

"Thank you, my love! Your intelligence truly knows no bounds."

Helene nearly gagged aloud.

"Well explained, Helene." The lecturer nodded with a satisfied smile. "Without an Irrational Foundation, even the weakest chant would require an absurd amount of information, calculation, and time. Each nation has its own, and all its Esoterics detract their supernatural abilities from its tenets, which are themselves considered separate schools of esoterism. In Hautefoi, it is the Four Sacraments—"

Primordialism, Thanaturgism, Theurgism, and Goetism... Helene's thoughts lingered on the last tenet.

Goetism was the study of the unfathomable, that which escaped the constraints of human sanity and knowledge. It called forth a power that didn't belong to the world through dealings and pacts with gods, or as they were called in Hautefoy culture, the Others. It was an extremely dangerous field, and not only for its practitioners, hence why the Church highly restricted it.

Dangerous, huh... Luca's state flashed before Helene's sole valid eye—his constant groans, his unending agony... all of it her fault.

Curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she had meddled with entities she couldn't understand. Her careless fiddling with Goetic chants had ultimately reduced her friend to a husk of suffering... a mistake she was still struggling to correct.

You're stupid and worthless, Helene. You should have been the one cursed, not Luca. But it doesn't matter now. Helping him comes before all else, even the pitiful, vile emptiness you call life.

Yes, I must save him. No matter the required sacrifice.

—

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

"Helene... Helene... HELENE!"

Leon's unending calls shook Helene from her daze, forcing her gaze on him.

There was a lit candle between them, its flame swaying gently atop a well-garnished table. Mouth-watering dishes and a vintage bottle of wine that would cost more than a commoner's annual earnings lay before her, barely touched.

The young man was dressed in a stylish, dark-red frock coat with a ruffled shirt underneath, light brown breeches, and lace cuffs. In contrast, Helene only wore her usual tucked shirt and long skirt, the latter's ends still stained from the day's activities.

"Come on. Even if you're not interested in conversation, I refuse to believe that my food wouldn't warrant at least a few bites."

Helene looked over the gourmet meals, then beyond the terrace where they were seated. A garden of altars and effigies was spread in circular formations, oozing the pearly luster of Lapis Phylaca. Their gentle strands flew to the night sky in a beautiful dance, their twirl a mesmerizing display that enchanted even her.

They were on the Department of Theurgism's highest tower—technically a forbidden section of the building, and they were eating there no less.

Helene couldn't imagine what strings Leon had to pull to secure this place, so she indulged his demands for once, smiling as she took a sip of his famous lobster bisque.

Expectedly, it was delicious.

"Ooooh!" Leon's eyes sparkled at the sight of her smile. "That's what I like to see! Ten out of ten! This shall forever be sealed in my memory! So~ beautiful!"

Her brow furrowed. "You can stop the pretense when we're alone, you know? Actually, drop it completely. That shower of false compliments irks me to no end."

As the one who contemplated her own face every morning, she knew painfully well how ugly it was. A wretched, skeletal husk with a permanent scar and lips so thin they could cut paper. Her nose sported a prominent bridge, her chest was pitifully flat, and she had no curves to speak of. Even her skin tone had a sickly color, adding to her long list of physical flaws.

"But..." Leon seemed confused. "I'm sincere in my feelings."

"There's no way anyone would love me," she snapped. "That's me we're talking about—Haunted Helene. More than once, a Thanaturgist had tried to submit me, thinking I was a rogue ghoul. And it's not like I'm any better personality-wise. You're talented, handsome, and rich. Do yourself a favor and find someone else."

There was a pause as Leon met her glare. Then, he muttered, "Luca."

He was halfway through pronouncing that name when Helene grabbed the closest knife, reaching over the table and sticking it under his throat.

"What do you know?"

"Huh?" Leon tilted his head, unfazed. "I simply mentioned that friend of yours, Luca Seidel, I think? I believe he disappeared a few months ago, and most have already accepted the fact of his probable death. Plenty of apprentice Esoterics succumb to ambitious experiments, passing spirits, and bored criminals every year. Isn't it normal to ask about his whereabouts? Yet, your reaction to his name suggests something deeper behind his absence."

Helene cursed her hastiness. Damn it. I'm still on edge after this afternoon's incident.

Flashes of her murder appeared in her mind—the mixed stench of decay and fresh blood, the grating sound of stabbing flesh, the disgusting feel of a limp corpse... everything flooded her senses at once, causing her to throw up on Leon's dish.

"To be honest," Leon started in a relaxed tone, "When I first saw you, you creeped me out. You moved like those Shrine Devotees from the Church and glared daggers at whoever dared to breathe near you. I struggled to fathom how you would tolerate others around you, let alone make friends, hence my surprise when I found out you had two of them."

The glint in his eyes darkened. "When Luca's disappearance was announced, I decided to observe you. Maybe it was a twisted kind of curiosity, but I wanted to see how someone like you would mourn such a loss. To my surprise, you barely changed. For weeks, I learned your habits and scrutinized every move you made, yet I saw no sign of grief."

A sigh. "I remember slowly giving up while I followed you into one of your long outings to that lonesome shed, preparing to dismiss you as a deviant freak with no empathy, when..."

"You..." Helene's expression shifted. "You saw me?"

"It was your first kill, wasn't it?" Leon's features appeared abnormally soft in the candlelight. "You screamed and cried as you stabbed that student, as if you were in more pain than him. That was an interesting twist. Was Haunted Helene, the Department of Theurgism's creep, also a murderer? It fits right into the narrative I had built in my mind. I even suspected that you were the one who had killed Luca."

He caught her chin without care, delicate in his touch despite the blade pointed at him. "It wasn't until I entered that shed that I understood. Luca was cursed, right? By the moon plague. According to our laws, he should be promptly and safely disposed of."

Helene's grasp on her knife tightened, and a tear slid down her cheek. "I can't let that happen. I was the cause. I was the fool that meddled with powers I couldn't control. And he paid the price for my mistake."

"I was correct, then."

Helene pushed the knife towards him, though he caught her hand in time. He was strong.

"Correct about what?" she barked.

"You do not think like an Esoteric. No, you do not even think like a Hautefoy." He drew closer to her face. "In a nation where kinship is a frail link, the concept of friends and companions is a laughable joke at best. Nonetheless, for the sake of that flimsy bond, you went against your deepest nature—killing, lying, and suffering in silence. I had never seen that before."

"For Esoterics, guilt is a foreign concept. Most would have rejoiced not to be the target of their experiment's consequences. You, on the other hand, had no qualms about driving yourself mad for Luca. If your sense of friendship is that strong, I began to wonder... how would you look like upon falling in love?"

His hold was tight yet not uncomfortable, and his breath was sour from the wine. "That thought occupied my mind for a long time. I obsessed over it day and night, to the point of fantasy. Little did I know, I was the one that ended up falling in love."

Chills coursed down Helene's spine, and she forcefully pulled herself back. "You're mad. That's not love."

"One day, you'll come to understand the extent of my love. And even if you don't, you shall nonetheless remain my beloved light... forever."

A shadow stirred within his gleaming gaze—something wicked and deranged, not dissimilar to any Esoteric she had known. He was dangerous... but not hostile as of yet.

Despite knowing about Luca's case, he hadn't told anyone. That meant she could use him for her ends if she played her cards right.

"You speak endlessly of love," she said, carefully choosing her words, "Yet all I've seen are vain attempts to win me over. Fancy dinners, gifts, public declarations... do you think that matters to me?"

Leon's smile froze, visibly distraught.

I have you.

"You told me you were aware of Luca's state for months, but not once have you tried to help. You watched me agonize over his curse and choose not to offer your aid. Is that truly your definition of love? To gleefully watch your lover's torment without lifting a finger to help them?"

"N—No!" He rose from his seat, panicking. "Of course not! I would do anything for you! Anything. You merely need to ask for it."

Helene took a deep breath, extending her hand to him. "Are you sure?"

"I would give you the world if you ask for it."

Leon caught her hand like the most precious of treasures, bowing on one knee.

"Please, you need only voice your demand."

Although her viscera churned in disgust, Helene kept ahold of her emotions.

"Fine, then..." She pursed her lips. "Help Luca. Help me save him from this curse."

Leon planted a kiss on the back of her hand, heightening her foreboding and unease as he exclaimed:

"It is as you wish, my beloved."