Chapter 53 – A Symphony of Unity
After a long winding stairway, Adam, Emily and Oliver entered the underground hallways of the Vaults below Ziecherhein. As usual within Caine’s memories, the scent was off. Adam smelled only vague impressions of the cold stone, wood, and metal around him. The slow gushing of water through pipes was the only sound. Aside from the vague, eternal scratching behind the doors of cell DH-720, of course.
Lit only by the group’s torches, doors emerged from the darkness. Doors of all sizes, looks and materials which hid forbidden objects, unknown horrors, and remains of heretical sorcery; everything deemed to be too dangerous by scientists. One pair of heavily bolted stone doors with faded lettering was large enough for a horse and carriage to ride through. Adam could’ve sworn he heard metallic chittering behind the hand-sized bronze doors in the walls.
Knowing the place well, Adam led the group through the dark hallways and winding tunnels. Past vaulting ceilings, overarching bridges that spanned endless darkness, and grim statues of forgotten gods.
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Deep in the darkness of the Vaults, Adam looked over the edge of a balcony. The light of his torch revealed a deeper level, far down below. Turquoise salamander-shaped stones set into masonry glimmered like stars in the darkness. Somehow, it felt like the eyes were watching them, Adam couldn’t say for sure whether they did.
“How freakishly big is this place?” Oliver asked, his voice echoing in the endless halls of crumbled mosaics and faded reliefs of whales and bulls. Bones of giant animals reinforced the endless, finely decorated walls.
“Way broader than Ziecherhein,” Adam said. “And deep. Very deep. I’m not sure if anyone alive knows how big it is. Or was, after the disaster. But you haven’t scratched the surface. Neither have I, really.”
Emily shone her torch on the remains of a kitchen hearth, surrounded by painted tiles on the floor which depicted small figures baking bread. “Did people live here once?”
“Oh yes, long ago.” Adam gestured broadly towards the darkness around them with a twinkle in his eye. “Ziecherhein was built on top of the ruins of Yrgun, a city of the former Dachmean empire. Many buildings, like its towering necropolises, Domes of Paradise, and mansions survived underground. They have been repurposed, and connected to each other to form the Vaults. Just like the structures that lay beneath Yrgun, those are rumoured to be even older.
“That leads to what was once a house of a higher-class family.” Adam gestured with his torch towards a stone door reinforced with steel. “The chambers where they used to eat and sleep have been repurposed into a dungeon. Specifically designed to keep the last samples of coral fungus under control.” Adam gestured to a dark hallway. “That should lead towards a former Hall of Scents. Now, if you’d somehow make it across the traps, you’d find an enormous number of forbidden medicines. Effective and life-saving, but deemed so addictive it’d unhinge society.” Adam sighed. “I had preferred to see these wonderful buildings in their original state, of course. Still, there are tons of remains of the ancient days. I can’t show them though, since Caine doesn’t remember.”
Oliver peered curiously at the doors. “Anything in here that might be of use to us?”
Adam shook his head. “From all the inaccuracies and the lack of detail in general, I’d guess Caine has only been here once. Many doors, statues, and hallways that exist in the real world are just blank walls over here. So, I presume Caine hasn’t seen them and the ‘holes’ are ‘filled in.’ It actually took me some effort to find the route that Caine took, as pathways I used to take don’t even exist here. We could try to open doors, risking traps which may or not be there depending on how much Caine knows about them. But Caine should have no idea what’s behind doors he hasn’t opened. I think we’d find one of those cosy black voids in there, just like that hallway in the Menhir League.” Adam frowned. “I wonder why he would have permission to visit here at all. Not the Starwing Order or the crown, but the Menhir League determines who are authorised.”
Emily nodded towards the shimmering shapes in the distance. “Maybe Caine’s special guest has something to do with that.”
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After leading Emily and Oliver farther down the dark halls of the Vaults, Adam saw his destination. The green apparitions of Caine and the sophisticated old man were behind arched doors, finely decorated with painted dragonflies.
Adam frowned. “That’s odd… I believe this used to be an old amphitheatre. Why would they meet here?”
Emily shone her torch on the heavy doors, revealing three opened metal locks. “Do you know what they stored in there?”
Adam shook his head. “I guess we’ll find out. You guys prepared for battle, just in case?”
Emily and Oliver nodded stiffly.
Adam puffed out his cheeks and opened the door. After a series of dark hallways and antechambers, Adam’s eyes were blinded by the sudden amount of light within the amphitheatre. Braziers burned all around the enormous room and lit the ancient stone arches, pillars, and murals. The stage was built as a wide semicircle. Rows and rows of tiered seats allowed hundreds of spectators to watch the performance. The once colourful mosaics, tapestries and statues from the Dachmean empire, which glorified animals and the blessings of Instinct, had decayed. The flickering light of the braziers licked the teeth of fossilized monsters, worshipped epitomes of physical might. Long banners of the Pure were placed in front of the old Dachmean flags.
Two comfortable fauteuils stood on the stage. The two shimmering shapes sat in them as they faced the seatings for the audience.
Oliver pointed at one of them with a quivering finger. “Is… is that who I think it is?”
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Adam’s breath halted in shock when he saw the sophisticated old man with his white moustache. Even though Adam’s mind refused to accept this was happening, there was no denying this was the one who, besides himself, was described on the Tomb of Ziecherhein.
The Prophet.
The tall and skinny man, dressed in simple robes, smiled with a friendly, fatherly expression. An amulet, shaped like the Unity, hung from his neck. His pose was relaxed, although the sheer authority that shone from his eyes gave a clear message: ‘I am here to command, you are here to listen.’
Utterly lost for words, Adam stared at the green shape. His mind raced for an explanation as he felt the colour drain from his face.
Emily gasped and reflexively took a step back. “WHAT! No, this is… wrong!”
Oliver’s mouth hung open as his eyes flicked between Caine and the Prophet. “But… how could he be here?! In the depths of the Holy City?” He looked up at Adam. “During the Siege of Ziecherhein, maybe?”
Adam sighed after yet another of Oliver’s many questions about the siege. “How should I… wait, Caine wasn’t stationed here during the siege. And this whole city has been ruined ever since, so this memory must’ve happened sometime earlier.” Adam frowned grimly. I guess now we’ll see where Caine’s alliances truly lie.
Feeling his heartbeat in his throat, Adam touched the sprite that flew around the ghostly apparitions.
Their surroundings changed immediately. Caine disappeared. The Prophet turned into a man of flesh and blood, who casually sipped from a glass of liquor. Fortunately, he seemed oblivious to the presence of Adam, Emily, and Oliver.
A crowd of people who played musical instruments had appeared in the seats of the audience. All wore the fancy, expensive clothes of nobility, the Starwing Order, or the robes of the Menhir League. Their eyes glowed in the white light of the Pure. With a variety of instruments like violins, bassoons, and harpsichords, they played an intricate, complicated symphony. The Prophet listened calmly. Rings of tiredness underlined his closed eyes.
Adam, Oliver, and Emily stood unmoving in their stances, ready for an imminent attack. They stared wide-eyed at the bizarre scene around them.
From the outside, the closed door was knocked in a jolly rhythm. “Well, here I am!” Caine laughed. “All ready for this ‘appointment.’ Cosy location, kinda dark. Guess you take my history education more seriously than I thought, eh, Adam?”
“Caine Roosenburg,” the Prophet said, his voice calm and deep as the depths of an ocean. “Welcome.” Unlike his projections during sieges, the real Prophet didn’t have the white eyes of the Pure. Instead, his irises were a light shade of hazel.
Behind the door, Caine was silent for a moment. He walked in and shielded his eyes from the sudden bright light. His mouth hung slightly open as he witnessed the spectacle in front of him.
“Have a seat, my son.” The Prophet gestured to the empty fauteuil beside him. Stern, unblinking eyes weighed their subject. The orchestra of the Pure continued playing with euphoric expressions.
Caine’s body froze. His face paled as he stared dumbfounded. “You,” he said softly. He quivered and exhaled before he slipped into a combat stance and gathered all the Oquira around him he could muster.
The Prophet reacted with all the emotion of a stone. Apparently, he even felt safe enough to close his eyes and slowly take a sip of his drink. “Have a seat,” each word filled the room with an unrelenting finality. As if his voice carried the weight of a mountain. “Don’t make me repeat myself. After we’ve talked, you can choose whether to throw your life away in pointless ‘combat.’ ”
Caine stood still in his combat stance. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold, as his eyes flicked towards the exit.
The silence deepened. The Prophet merely frowned at Caine with those piercing, unblinking eyes. Somehow, the Prophet’s presence seemed to fill the room. The air became heavy and harder to breathe, pressing onto Adam’s chest like a great weight. It was like a sense of pressure enveloped them, suffocated them, in the face of overwhelming power. The orchestra stopped playing.
Caine shivered. After moments of indecision, he raised his chin, walked towards the other chair and sat down. “What do you want?” he asked with a smirk of confidence. Yet, the paleness of his face and the nervous tapping of his fingers told a different story.
The Prophet motioned with his hand and the orchestra continued. “Shh… listen for a moment.” He closed his eyes and smiled serenely. “I’ve always marvelled at what humans can achieve if they work together. As one. The people in front of us used to play schemes of politics in their lust for wealth or power. Until they joined me willingly. Now, they cooperate seamlessly to create something precious.”
Caine sat stiffly in his chair, his chest still rising and falling quickly. “Ah, you’re telling me I should join your crew, just because you’ve taught some idiots to hit a drum with a stick?”
The Prophet raised a white eyebrow. “Idiots?” He pointed towards a chubby man who played his violin as if he’d never enjoyed himself like that before. “Odoaker the second, he used to be chief advisor of the king. However, his work barely allowed him to attend to his marriage. He was nearly driven to suicide by the cheating of his lonely wife.”
The Prophet pointed to others. “Frederik was a renowned priest across the land but struggled with severe bulimia. His brothers had picked on him for being fat, you see. Narcissa sits over there, former leader of the silversmith’s guild. She had a severe gambling addiction and feared for her life after threats from creditors.” The Prophet looked at Caine. “All these people were role models in your society. But did they even get close to happiness? No. Behind their façade of smiles and success, their lives were an amalgamation of suffering. Caused either by faults of their own or the choices of others. The bitter reality of the Impure.”
Caine swallowed. He scanned the crowd and seemingly recognised several people. “As if ‘living’ as a dog on your leash is any better. There is happiness outside of the Pure.”
The Prophet sipped his drink. “Brief, scattered moments. Insignificant like a grain of rice in a black tarpit of suffering. You should know. After the mistreatment of your parents, you’ve fallen into a plethora of psychological problems. A void you try to fill with pleasures of the flesh and jokes with friends. In boasting, you try to quench your thirst for validation, created by the endless demands of your parents. But it is never enough.”
Caine looked as if the Prophet had hit him in the stomach. He bared his teeth in a mix of pain and anger. “How?” he asked softly.
“It is my duty to learn. To remember.”
“As if you’re better,” Caine hissed. “Oh, I suffer indeed, from the smell of your breath! You’re a psychotic, narcissistic murderer! You act like some divine ruler, but you’re human just like—”
Suddenly, the feeling of pressure, of unrelenting power, returned in a flash. Caine’s head recoiled as a loud crack sounded from his neck. Groaning, his fake confidence evaporated, Caine sank back into his chair.
What?! Was that Reminiscence? Adam’s gaze darted over the Prophet for any sign of sorcery, but he hadn’t moved a muscle. With teeth-gritting frustration, Adam realised Caine probably had no idea what happened either, so no sign showed up in his memories.
The Prophet didn’t even look at Caine, instead, he gazed at his fingers. “Human, am I?” the Prophet asked. “A matter of definition, I suppose. I’d say I’ve become a lot more over the years.” Slowly, he turned his head towards Caine again. “Anything clever to say?”
Caine closed his eyes in pain, tried to shake his head, and winced. He meekly rubbed his neck.
“Good.” The Prophet spoke as if that single word nailed Caine’s coffin shut.