Anthony had served the seminary for no less than a decade as a priest. Before that, he’d gone through its rigorous training as a seminarian, emerging as one of the few of his brothers to reach priesthood. He’d been present at the war against the government where he had trembled at the force of Barons clashing. He had felt fear then, but it had paled in comparison to what he had felt a few months ago when a Herald soul beast had come knocking at the seminary’s doors. If Jedidiah hadn’t been there, who knew what could’ve happened. Even now, the seminary remained wary of the soul beast’s phantasm, lurking around in places unseen, a remnant of its existence even in death.

But none of it compared to the weight on his soul when the world had trembled moments ago. It was the singular reason he and his brothers were darting through the misty forest, their minds prepared for death. Whatever had caused the world to tremble as it did, had more power than he had ever imagined. Even the battle between the Herald soul beast and Jedidiah paled in the wake of it. Whatever it was, the seminary would not survive its attack.

But it did not mean the seminary would not fight.

At the peak of Gold, he led his own contingent. And tasked with guarding the gates tonight, his team was the quickest to respond. There was no doubt many within the gates were trembling at the thought of another attack. Some of the new seminarians, those unsouled, were most likely unconscious from the pressure, but they would come awake soon. As for the threat, he was only here to survey, stall if he needed to. He’d sent the Silvers into the keep to alert the Barons before departing and hoped they would make it before it was too late for him. If the seminary was to survive, it would need all of them.

The trees, blurred in his vision by the speed of his movement, came to an immediate halt. They were tall and black, with rough barks that were dry and itchy—this he knew from having made contact with them ages past. He fixed his gaze around him, seeing farther in the darkness and mist than any human had the right to; better than even most soul mage of the same authority. The fragments he’d absorbed had given him an ability that excelled in the dark night, making him most suitable to the night. He was second to none, his way of the dying light showing leaps and bounds with each training.

The Monsignor claimed it wasn’t long before he would advance into Barony and he hoped the man was right.

Unfortunately, he had more important things to worry about as his eyes picked up something in the dark.

He approached cautiously, taking note of where he placed his feet. He did not see the ground beneath him as the mist did not let him, neither did he try. Focusing his reia into his eyes would trigger his gold eyes and he would see more than what was just before him. But he didn’t. In a mist of condensed reia, it would be a level of stupidity afforded only to those without the burden of knowledge of what would happen if they did such a thing. And he was not one of them.

In the distance, as if in defiance of the mist that veiled the earth, laid a child. Around him was a clearing devoid of mist as wide as fifteen feet in its radius.

Anthony put the boy no older than twelve years with his tattered clothes and disheveled appearance. The boy’s hair, a deep black with a smattering of brown was overdue for a trim. His skin that seemed to have once been pale was tan, reminding him of someone who’d been under the sun for too long, and he clearly needed more meat on his bones despite his age.

The child laid as stiff as the dead, unmoving. Anthony would’ve thought him dead were it not for the chaotic rise and fall of the boy’s chest as if having just run a marathon.

When they arrived at the clearing, he stepped into it and shivered at the sensation that came with the sight of the earth. It dawned on him then that he had never seen the forest grounds since joining the seminary all those years ago. The disappointment at seeing the bland black dirt and grass was surprisingly anticlimactic. A part of him attributed it to the looming fear still clinging to him.

He raised a hand and signaled for his team to halt. A single hand sign of no tactical inclination led them into position, scattering gold mages into the wind. The mist did not even tremble at their departure. It ignored them as fervently as it ignored all things. It was what made this child amusing, perhaps even dangerous. What had made the mist stay away from him?

Ten years back and Reverend Talus would’ve had your hide for that, Anthony thought, remembering how the priest had never permitted them to sign amongst themselves with a single hand.

“That right there is a downright bastardization of the hand signs of the seminary,” the man would say in his old—probably dying—voice.

It was unfortunate the man was currently stationed somewhere else, away from the seminary.

Ten years now, dying voice still dying, and he’s still kicking, Anthony thought with a whisper of a smile… Kicking those new priests, that is.

He almost chuckled at the latter but the whisper of the unknown held him in a stern state. Should the phantasm burst out, he would like to meet his death fighting.

A few minutes and an unflinching alertness later, his team returned to him with updates. They found him standing within the mist, well away from the clearing.

“Nothing for another mile,” Ogbu said.

The young lad was somewhere around the age of twenty, maybe nineteen. He was not a priest yet but, at gold, he was a prodigy of the class graduating come winter. Anthony did not spare him a glance even as he forgave the seminarian the inaccuracy of his report.

The next to report was Darius, and he did it with the accuracy of a priest who knew his duty.

“Not much a mile away,” the Reverend reported. “Saw a few soul beasts, perhaps two of them, too weak to challenge me, and maybe eight or nine reia beasts. ‘Sides that, nothing else. Though I think something had the soul beasts spooked, brother.”

Anthony’s attention did not leave the child, and he frowned. Something… Or someone.

The remaining five reports came in a similar manner. There were a few reia beasts spotted, none greater than silver rank, and barely a soul beast. It was to be expected, considering these were hunting grounds of sorts. Even if they had been restricted for a while now.

“Any idea what’s happening here?” one of his teammates asked. He was a man of American descent with a splash of Korean blood strong enough to show on his face and in his physique. His build was lithe, his eyes black, and his hair fell over his forehead as if always wet. But damn was he tall, maybe seven feet.

Anthony shook his head in response. “Not a dollop, Jimin.”

A moment later he felt a tremor in his core as a spiritual force scanned him a moment before his team felt it. He had not been the focus but it had remained discomfiting, regardless. He grit his teeth against the pressure, fighting to hide his discomfort as he added: “But we’re about to find out.”

To his side Ogbu fell to trembling knees and Anthony almost snorted.

Rookie.

Another priest arrived a moment after, wearing a cassock of white linen that flowed at his feet to the touch of the mist. As simple as the frock looked, Anthony knew it held an array of runes hidden in various stitches sewn into it. The new priest was almost as tall as Jimin, pale skinned with deep pink eyes, and kept his head cleanly shaved. In his arrival, he walked with a confident authority as he closed the distance between them, unaccompanied by anyone. Any who didn’t know the seriousness of the situation would’ve thought him a man on a stroll.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Anthony bowed at the waist respectfully. “Greetings, Baron.”

Behind him his men went down on one knee.

The Reverend afforded him his attention briefly and Anthony felt his core being scanned. It was like being pricked by a thousand tiny needles. He fought a shiver as he felt the man’s attention on him withdraw, the action leaving him vulnerable. He hated the feeling but knew he would have to learn how best to use it one day, as it was a skill that came with the authority of Barony. His true annoyance at it, however, was that he knew the priest possessed the ability to scan his core without being so aggressive about it.

“A day will come when you will no longer bow to me, Tony,” the Reverend said as he passed him. “When that day comes, I do hope you can go back to calling me by my name.”

The Reverend walked passed him, then his teammates as well, affording them none of his attention. The Reverend stopped at the entrance to the clearing, fifteen feet away from the boy, he raised a hand before him. Any who lived in the seminary knew the Reverend was more than a Baron, he was an accomplished rune master as well.

His finger moved as if writing in flowing ink, leaving a trail of translucent pink reia in the air before him. It stayed for the span of a second before disappearing, surprising Anthony. The Reverend frowned as it disintegrated. Then he did it a second time. When it disappeared again, it seemed as though it was expected.

With a wordless grunt the Reverend crossed the boundary onto a ground without mist and approached the boy. Taking him by the front of the shirt so that he dangled from his hold bowed backwards, he exited the clear circle.

Quietly, his voice barely above a whisper so that no one else heard, Anthony asked as the Reverend passed him. “What happened here, John?”

John’s response was simple enough to scare him.

“I have no idea.”

………………………………

The room was dimly lit and Seth stared at the ceiling above. Its walls were of black stone that reminded him of granite, and sparkled quietly only when he looked at them from a certain angle.

His last memory before waking up was of Jabari giving him that putrid drink and the thought of it almost made him gag.

If he was to hazard a guess, he’s been awake for at least an hour. The first few minutes had been spent in a quiet panic. Strapped to the bed he was on he’d not been afforded the space to toss or turn. He’d made no sound in his panic, wary of whatever might be beyond the walls, and blamed Jabari for the paranoia. In a dark room with no knowledge of how he’d gotten there, he took comfort in the knowledge that his minds didn’t continue to bicker with themselves. For the past hour he’d enjoyed the silence they’d brought.

Somewhat calm, he tossed his mind into his memory, picking whatever details he could. His trip with Jabari was fresh in his mind despite how long, and he knew it was not what he sought. What was fuzzy was more recent, more confusing. He thought of the canteen with the strange markings and wondered if the priest had poisoned him again. There was doubt there, considering the times the man had done so hadn’t led him to fainting, but it was not absolute. Jabari did things only Jabari knew with reasons only Jabari understood. He did not put it past the man to poison him terminally if he felt it would serve some agenda he did not know.

Slowly, his mind found the pieces of memory it sought. They came in clumps and clusters and he untangled them with the inconsistent patience of a child, picking and plucking as if at a mess of tangled wires. Memories after the drink came slowly. The sound of Jabari speaking. A certain request he could not fully puzzle out. An unwavering sense of fear in a world of neither sound nor sight, touch nor taste. He frowned at the last one but kept searching. Everything was important but one was essential. He’d been surrounded at some point but couldn’t make heads or tails of why, when, or how.

Irrelevant, he concluded and cast his thoughts further back. He’d skipped something in the reminiscence, moving too far forward into unneeded terrain. When he did, answers came to him in the form of educated guesses. Jabari had left him in the forest of mist which did not truly surprise him. He glanced around and estimated he was in the seminary, or somewhere affiliated to it. He hoped it was the latter. He struggled gently at the straps and they continued to hold him firmly, not that he had expected anything less. So he was not a guest here. Not a trusted one, at least.

This was going to be a problem.

The sound of bolts clicking was loud and echoed outwards. It left him unable to decipher the direction it came from. But when a door opened, hinges groaning with the pain of disuse or horrible maintenance, he knew it came from above him, or perhaps it was better to say it came from behind him.

When the footsteps came, it triggered his mind into a single remembrance. For, of all the things that had happened to him in the last moments of his time with Jabari, only one was truly important.

I must speak only to Dante Faust.

Behind him a man chuckled in a deep rumbling voice and Seth realized he had spoken the words. “You presume to speak to the man at the top,” the faceless voice said. “And with what power do you make such presumptions?”

With none, Seth thought. But what power he had, had nothing to do with what was required of him. If he didn’t speak with Dante Faust, he would have to… he would…

Uncertainty clouded his mind as his thoughts trailed off into incongruity. He had no idea what would happen if he didn’t speak to Dante Faust yet knew it would be bad. He had to speak with the man with red eyes.

The man occupying the room with him, whoever he was, wandered the room slowly, Seth’s only knowledge of this coming from the sound of his feet against the floor. It was quiet and soft, like a man who’d long since learned to dance, and not in the arts of the crazy stampeding Seth’s generation seemed to favor.

His host pulled a chair across a distance. From the grating sound it made Seth knew it was made of some kind of wood. The man placed it loudly against the floor when he came to a stop and Seth imagined him taking a seat.

“Your name,” the man said.

It was more a command than a question and Seth found himself inclined against it. He’d spent the better part of a year being commanded by a man who had kidnapped him on nothing but a potential threat of death. One year guided against his will had created a sort of inclination to being commanded in him. However, from this man it irked him more than it ever had.

So he steeled his voice as best he could, focused the pain of drawing an annoying sword longer than it had any right to be and answered, “I will speak only to Dante Faust.”

The man ignored him. “And how did you find this place?”

Seth’s response was voiceless. Only to Dante Faust.

A beat of silence passed between them for a moment, as though the man still expected an answer. Then he spoke again. “How did you get here?”

How indeed, Seth thought. At the edge of his memory, held back by nothing but sheer will, forced in a struggle back into the recesses of his mind where his traumas go to die, was a memory of a ship that did not exist and a crew that did not live. He heard the whispers of laughter and the gentle swish of massive knots tied with massive ropes done with a single hand. He watched a man with neither face nor form scale a massive beam like an acrobat in the circus. It brought him pain. And pain was something he didn’t want.

He stared at the ceiling and knew he would not answer.

“And the mist?” the man continued after a while. “How did you end up there?”

By the will of one of your own.

Are you certain? A whisper creeped into his mind. Seth frowned, knowing he had not thought it.

Jabari is a priest, Seth replied, his own thought oddly floating away from him like a possession carried away by flowing waters. It made him struggle to hold it. I think that was clear enough.

You do know priests pray, though. We never saw him pray.

We swear every mind has a retarded part, another thought echoed. And we swear we’re his.

Violence will help no one here.

Priests also don’t go around killing things and terrorizing people. Why should it surprise us to know Jabari never prayed?

Seth wasn’t ready for this. His minds had been silent since he’d awoken. To have them arguing now that he had company would not make things any easier. He already had a priest capable of killing him without breaking a sweat and was playing a verbal game of chicken with him for reasons he did not know.

We know, right? A thought offered. It’s like some kind of compulsion.

The way this thought came made Seth frown, and while his eyes remained on the ceiling, he noted nothing of it now. His attention had left the ceiling a while ago.

What do you mean? He asked. Again, his own thought sway, flickered. It remained difficult to hold onto. Worse, his sense of awareness seemed to sway with it. He did not like it.

There was a knowing tease to the thought as it answered. Dunno.

“Were you kidnapped, by any chance?” the priest asked.

It caught Seth’s attention momentarily and he missed his next thoughts. He wasn’t certain what shocked him most, the care in the priest’s voice or that he had actually not heard his own thoughts.

When we asked if we were sure he was one of his own, we meant if we are sure we’re even speaking to a priest, one of his minds clarified. We mean, we’re your thoughts, for priest’s sake! All you have to do is think about it and there’s no way you won’t hear us.

Seth’s frown deepened. In the past few months he never liked it when his minds mocked him.

“Is that what happened to you?” the priest that might not be a priest asked. “Were you taken from your family?”

Seth’s lips parted slightly, but he caught himself before sound spilled forth.

His minds chuckled. You have to admit, he almost got you there.

Seth gave them no attention as he said, “I will speak only to Dante Faust.”

The man sighed in resignation behind him as he came to his feet. His next words hit Seth like a boulder. In them he heard a touch of sadness and a taint of annoyance.

“Dante Faust is dead.”