I moved into the wall, feeling the usual resistance of a material object against the penetration of a projection. On the surface, the building appeared to be quite typical of the old architectural style common to the city center. Even the expansive hall I had just left didn't deviate much from this overall perception. However, as soon as I stepped through the "door," the deceptive nature of the initial exterior impression became immediately apparent.
Behind the painted image was half a meter of concrete wall, followed by an armored steel sheet about three hundred millimeters thick, and another layer of concrete no less substantial than the first. I had to restrain myself, wanting to bypass this displeasing obstacle as swiftly as possible, but to hide my ability to traverse it much faster than a typical raig, I moved slowly, counting the seconds to myself. As I progressed, I mentally condemned the paranoid individual who constructed this fortress. Such a concrete-steel sandwich could withstand a direct hit from a multi-tonne aviation bomb! What was the purpose of such excessive protection? Possibly to prevent any external threat from instantly killing those inside and to afford the Knights at least a moment to enter the Break in the event of an attack. Yes, it was paranoia, but I found myself in agreement with the approach.
The architects deserved commendation: externally, the former museum building didn't resemble such a fortified fortress. Beyond the wall was a well-illuminated room, approximately a quarter the size of the guest hall. At the farthest wall from the "door" was a large table, behind which Maya Grim lounged in a plush leather armchair, her legs slung over its side to avoid touching the massive monitor. She occasionally glanced at the screen, but her attention was primarily absorbed by a brightly covered book. Besides the table and the armchair, the room was virtually devoid of other furniture. However, a floor-to-ceiling solid glass wall occupied the room's center, bisecting the space into two equal parts. Predictably, there were no doors in the multilayered, presumably bulletproof glass.
What purpose could this glass serve here? After the concrete and steel barrier, who else other than the raigs could gain entry? Of course, one could attempt humor — materialize and knock on the glass. Indeed, the scene would be amusing. However, that contradicted my plan: to avoid materializing while inside this building. My task was to attract the girl's attention without leaving the Break, which could prove difficult. Unlike other raigs, I still couldn't exert even the slightest influence on the material world while in the shadow realm. And Maya, who seemed to have made herself comfortable at her workstation, appeared engrossed in her reading and oblivious to the faint silhouette of my projection.
I paced alongside the glass wall, still puzzled by its purpose. I'm not particularly fond of things that don't make sense upon first inspection. On the other hand, these people aren't fools to incorporate something entirely unnecessary, so this glass must serve a purpose, and the fact that I can't discern it slightly unsettles me.
By the way, if my interpretation of the book cover was correct, it appears that Maya is a fan of horror novels. I wouldn't have thought that this girl would be into such literature; it doesn't align with the image I've constructed of her. After lingering near the new obstacle for about half a minute, I found myself shamelessly admiring the girl's slender legs. Today, she was clad in a white t-shirt and denim shorts, and considering the way she sat with her legs on the table, the view was truly captivating. So much so that even without the influence of adolescent hormones, I found myself appreciating the sight of her.
Shaking off this hypnotic fixation, I pushed my paranoid thoughts aside and stepped through the transparent wall. Typically, glass is easier to traverse than concrete or brick, but the resistance was much stronger this time: as if I was tearing through a steel sheet. Having completed this lengthy and unpleasant step, I was surprised to notice a glowing silhouette where my projection had passed through the glass. And this glow existed — not in the Break, but in reality! What was happening?! How?!
"Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!"
Damn! I barely managed to restrain myself from instinctively drawing my weapon in surprise. Gaining Maya's attention was much easier than I had anticipated — it was enough to step through the glass and cause this strange glow. Now it made sense: this seemingly pointless wall that divided the room in half functioned like an alarm system, operating on principles I didn't understand.
"Good afternoon, Maya," I said, trying to keep my emotions under wraps as I addressed the Knight girl by name. There was nothing unusual about this since she was quite renowned.
In the Break, Maya appears much better than in reality: the almost sickly pallor and dark circles under her eyes, which age her and lend her such a weary, tortured look, are absent. Also, her natural black hair color and short haircut suit her far better. Yes, the leather armor of her projection essentially conceals her sculpted figure, but due to its design, it even imparts an elegance to her, covering yet simultaneously accentuating the feminine curves in just the right places.
Maya, it seems, transitioned from reality to the world of shadows entirely on instinct. Noticing the glow of the glass, she immediately cast aside her book and plunged into the Break. Now, her stance is almost combative: her hand rests on her sword's hilt, and her legs are primed to dash. Impressive! Her reflexes are excellent.
"That's strange," I say in as nonchalant a manner as possible, gesturing to my already fading silhouette in an attempt to defuse the situation. "I didn't realize we could be detected like that."
My tone seems to have had the desired effect as the girl's hand slackens, releasing the grip on her nodachi, and recognition flickers in her eyes. Yes, during the repelling of the Breakthrough, we were quite a distance apart, but my projection is rather unique: the absence of armor or a closed helmet makes it easily recognizable compared to the other Knights.
"BKDW welcomes you to our city," she greets me formally, bowing deeply as though addressing an elder.
I ponder her choice of words. Oh, right. One can only discern a raig's level based on his abilities or prana reserves. Due to Izao's soul shard, I appear as a second-level Knight to others. That implies I must have completed at least two Breakthroughs, and such an unusually appearing raig would certainly have been noticed during any of the battles. Hence, Maya's logic is clear: the Knight standing before her, evidently of the second level, should have participated in at least one Breakthrough. His striking appearance would have certainly been recognized had he fought in any battles for the capital region. Given that none of the locals had seen this Knight before, she surmised that I was a visitor, hence her greeting. Conveniently, the "Word" only forbids me from lying outright but doesn't compel me to correct those who deceive themselves.
"An unusual building for your organization," I respond with a nod to her bow.
"Yes, we quite like it too... How may I assist you, Maestro?"
Wait, what? What did she just call me? Why? Ah, right, I had uttered something similar during the fight: I'm not a master, but a maestro. So, either Slav or Greek must be associated with BKDW. Otherwise, how would Maya have learned of my words? And just like that, it seems I've inadvertently gained a pseudonym. Hmm... Maestro... Well, it does have a nice ring to it. I'll take it!
"I'd like to register and seek some answers."
"I can register you and issue a reward," Maya replies, studying my face intently. The sight of someone besides herself being so open in the Break is evidently new to her. It's clear that she's immensely curious about my identity, but she maintains her composure, sticking to formalities as, presumably, the organization's protocol dictates. "As for questions, I suggest you direct them to Max. He's currently on the second floor."
"First, I'd like to know more about BKDW," I continue. Registration is merely a pretext for my visit; information is my real interest.
"Good. You can head that way," she replies, pointing to an unremarkable section of the wall. "Then, up the stairs to the second floor. There are no doors, just a large open office. Max will meet you there."
"But you could answer one question too," I venture, observing the local custom of addressing elders formally and the younger ones casually, a cultural trait[1]. "What is this unusual glass?" I can't help but repeat my question, given my curiosity about this 'alarm'.
"It's just regular, bulletproof glass," the raig girl shrugs. "The trick is not in the glass," she continues, her face enlivened by a sly smile that slightly narrows her eyes. "It's the ability of Whiteshoulder — to enchant glass so it reacts to projections. The enchantment is temporary and needs constant renewal, but it's useful." Young as she is, Maya can't help but smile at the surprise flickering across my face.
Enchant glass? That's a unique ability that the raig known as Whiteshoulder possesses? I recall him from the catalog — an anonymous member of BKDW; his pseudonym originates from the bright white shoulder pads on his black armor. So, the abilities of the Knights aren't merely combat-related? This revelation alone has made my visit here exceedingly worthwhile!
"I'd wager he has no shortage of customers," I respond, mirroring her wide, open smile. I'm fairly certain that such an enchantment would draw a significant crowd.
"If you decide to join us, you can ask him yourself," she winks back.
She handles herself well for one so young. Intelligent, too. If I were younger, her words might serve as an added incentive to join their organization, if such a thought had ever crossed my mind.
As much as I find it pleasant to stand beside Maya, drawing out various reactions from her, it's not why I came here. Therefore, I hasten to wrap up the conversation.
"So, I head that way?" I point to the section of the wall she indicated earlier.
"Yes," she replies. What I appreciate about her is the authenticity of her movements. They're devoid of the exaggerated grace or contrived sensuality that Diana exudes. Her hand gesture is just a casual wave, not a miniature theatrical performance. "Should I prepare a reward for your participation in the localization of the Breakthrough?" The tone of her question disconcerts me somewhat. It almost seems to imply: you're such a mature and evidently well-to-do man — do you truly need this money?
"Is there any doubt that I am deserving of this reward?" I retort. Having nearly taken a step towards the wall, I pivot to face the girl, delivering my question in the coldest tone I can muster.
"Ah...um..."
There it is, confusion. She's accustomed to having her remarks, even when they're sharp or inappropriate, excused due to her pretty face. Now, she averts her gaze, her hands retreating behind her back, unsure how to react to my evident rebuke.
"That's not what I meant..." Her embarrassment only amplifies her charm.
Sure, as if anyone would believe that! I understand the constraints of the organization's budget, but I refuse to let them economize at my expense.
"I'll get everything ready," she finally musters the courage to meet my gaze again.
"Then, I won't say goodbye." With a spin on my heel, I step into the wall.
The passage through the wall this time proves much easier; the barrier is only symbolical, lacking the presence of steel or a half-meter of concrete — no more than one and a half bricks. The wall conceals an utterly ordinary staircase, much like those found in any office building. To avoid appearing rushed, I ascend the stairs at a leisurely pace, forgoing the option to leap past all the flights in a single bound, as my projection allows.
The upper floor resembles what we'd refer to as open space in my world: a working office area devoid of cabinets and partitions. It seems designed to accommodate around two dozen people. I'm momentarily surprised by the number of tables — even if I were to count the anonymous raigs, BKDW's ranks couldn't possibly number this high. However, I quickly realize the building is constructed such that only raigs can enter its interior. Likely, the initial design and procurement of furniture were based on expectations of attracting far more Knights than reality bore out.
Upon reaching the top, I anticipated Max Kraas greeting me in his projected form, but instead, BKDW's nominal head stands in the middle of the hall in his usual physical form, engaged in a rather heated phone conversation.
"Yes... I insist... This is our business..."
Upon spotting the hazy remnants of my projection in reality, Max gestures apologetically, signaling for me to wait until he concludes his call. Although he doesn't seem as worn-out as Maya, the signs of fatigue are still evident. It's clear that the young man hasn't slept since repelling the Breakthrough. Given that he recently turned twenty, however, a single sleepless night shouldn't be too strenuous on his youthful constitution.
"No, we will... I don't care what they think... It's a matter of principle!"
As he engages with the unknown caller, I take the opportunity to examine the room more closely. Despite the first floor's unconventional layout, the second floor is standard to the point of mundanity. Were you to photograph this place and post it online, nobody could distinguish BKDW's office from any other: identical desks; standard high-end chairs; popular office appliances and computers with monitors. Nothing particularly attention-grabbing. Furthermore, it's evident that only five desks are currently in use.
I readily identify Maya's desk by the stack of best-selling horror novels next to her monitor. I subtly adjust my position to get a better look at her workspace, careful not to alert Kraas to my interest. He continues to passionately dispute with his caller, steadfastly defending his stance on some issue unknown to me. Besides the reasonably sized tower of books, Maya's desk is cluttered with a variety of office knick-knacks and scattered notebooks. It seems, in addition to her work responsibilities and reading horror novels, she's preparing for some form of tertiary education. Given that she's around the same age as Izao, it seems fitting.
A photo in a frame also catches my eye. It depicts all three publicly known raigs alongside a middle-aged, bald man dressed in a distinctive chestnut-hued kasaya — the attire of Buddhist monks. Even in this image, the man radiates a sense of inner strength. Neat, almost calligraphic handwriting on the photograph reads, "Defeat yourself, and you win a thousand battles." Where have I heard or read this quote before? I can't recall, but it was definitely in a past life. Maya mentioned a mentor during our meeting in a cafe — this must be him. Otherwise, it's unclear why his photo would be placed next to a picture of a naval officer in a white uniform, presumably Maya's father, tacked onto the monitor frame.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"Yes! So pass it on!" With these words, Max concludes the call.
The familiar sound rings in my ears once again: "Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!"
The projection armor of BKDW's head is impressive when viewed up close. He's adorned in full European-style infantry armor, glowing with a golden hue — Milanese armor, if my memory serves me correctly. In it, the young man cuts an imposing figure, especially with the giant sword, which doesn't even have a scabbard, requiring Max to hold it.
"I welcome you to our humble abode." The armor doesn't inhibit him from executing a deep ceremonial bow.
"I wouldn't exactly call this building humble," I respond with a smirk to his clearly rehearsed words. "Good day to you, if, of course, after such a night, the day can be considered good at all." I promptly set the dialogue's tone as per my requirements.
Max's shoulders slump; like me, he's reminded of the black columns that ascended into the night sky at the mention of the Breakthrough.
"True," his resonant voice echoes from behind the visor. "For a month now, I've been demanding a place be set aside in the lower hall for a mourning wall!" Even without seeing his face, I can tell the guy is terribly frustrated — not with my visit, but in general. "And the PR department and their analysts say it's unnecessary to scare people! We're dying, and they say it'll 'negatively affect the satisfaction rating of the population'!" His armor jerks slightly as he quotes these words. "But today, I couldn't care less about their conclusions... We lost six, and if it weren't for you, I don't even know..."
Abruptly, he extends an open hand, which I shake reflexively.
"Did one of yours die?" I ask for confirmation.
"Ours? What? No! One guy from the Masks and five more lone Knights, but all of mine are intact. However, since they responded to the Call, they're all considered 'ours' to me!"
Hmm, I had assumed Max attained his position due to his father's influence, but it seems I was mistaken. This young man clearly has solid leadership potential. Furthermore, it's evident that he's sincere and doesn't lie.
"Is such a number of casualties among the Knights standard for Wilflaes?" I pose my question in such a way that a person who initially regards me as a guest would reinforce their mistaken assumption, which works in my favor.
"No!" Max responds immediately and forcefully. "Until tonight, we only had such losses during one of the five Breakthroughs! When children emerged from the portals, followed by horrific monsters. It was the third Breakthrough, and we didn't know yet..." He pauses, a hitch that demands further investigation, and I make a mental note. "We came to the defense of these 'children' only to be stabbed in the back." The pain in his voice is unmistakably genuine.
"Why do you hide information about the Breakthroughs?" He seems to appreciate truth and openness, so I pose my question directly. It feels like the right choice in this situation.
"Hide?"
"About what a Breakthrough is." Did I get it wrong?
"Oh... If only everything were as clear as tonight!" He clenches the hilt of his two-handed sword as if he intends to shatter it. "We only started suspecting that whatever comes from the Breakthrough obeys some system about a month ago..." Max's grip tightens even further. "We don't have any connection with the Knights from other regions. Everyone hides like mice and avoids contact! There's absolutely no exchange of information." His frustration with the current situation is evident. "And such a case, when there's no doubt at all, like these MAs from 'Steel Wave' — this is the first time it has happened."
So I didn't dream up those androids; that's reassuring. Meanwhile, Max is on a roll. Sleep deprivation and stress have taken their toll, prompting the young man to vent. This situation suits me just fine, so I silently nod, not interrupting his verbal torrent.
"Some author writes: 'Horrific monsters, half moles, half worms, with six arms and eight eyes, attacked us from the ground.' How could that possibly relate to what we witnessed during the second Breakthrough? When the ground bulged into mounds, and these furry monsters crawled out. Instead of legs, they had squirming tentacles that resembled oversized earthworms, even sporting eyes along their entire backs! Moreover, none of us had even heard of such a bestseller as 'The Hills Don't Sleep,' let alone read it! How could what we saw correlate with what was written in some book published half a century ago, and only in German at that?!"
Written? So I misconstrued the situation — Maya's love for reading horror novels wasn't a hobby, but a job requirement!
"And that's how it goes with almost every Breakthrough. The entity that emerges is so bizarre that it's generally impossible to correctly identify the source. We've written to Rome and reached out to the Dalai Lama, but even the Creators have remained silent on the nature of the Breakthrough. Only when we proposed last month: 'A Breakthrough is a temporary rift in reality, linking its material layer through the spiritual layer with the ethereal world of human fantasies,' did we receive a confirmation stating, 'yes, this is very close.'"
An ethereal world of fantasy? That implies that anything people have conceived in books, movies, cartoons, and games could emerge from the Breakthrough... Were I not a projection now, I'd be bathed in a cold sweat, as reality is proving to be far more horrifying than I had imagined. As for the fact that even the Creators couldn't provide an answer — that's understandable. They aren't gods, although many regard them as divine avatars. The capabilities of the highest-ranking sensums are undoubtedly vast, but they have their boundaries, especially in understanding the new.
"We're still gathering information," Kraas regains his composure, and his voice steadies. "You can't afford to make mistakes in this matter." I agree with him on this point, which I express with a slight nod. "While we're figuring this out, the Duke himself has asked us and the Masks to refrain from publicizing this definition. According to him, the unknown doesn't scare people as much as their own fantasies do."
I concur. At present, the average person only knows that each Breakthrough produces some new form of filth, but the Knights take care of it. Bremen is, of course, an exception. Aside from that lone incident, all other ruptures in reality have been localized with minimal harm to ordinary citizens, or they've gone unnoticed by them. It could be argued that people have already begun to acclimate to this spectral unknown threat. However, everything would drastically change if people were to learn that monstrous beings born from human imagination were spilling out of the Breakthroughs. History has shown us that humans can dream up countless horrors. News of this nature would undoubtedly trigger widespread panic. Thus, I am inclined to agree with the Duke's request to delay the disclosure of the precise nature of the Breakthrough phenomenon.
Furthermore, the Duke has demonstrated his political acumen in this matter. He didn't command; he requested, and I believe this subtlety explains why such a group as the "Masks of Novilter" has remained silent — they would have disregarded a command or any authoritative order, but a request...
"Wise," I comment thoughtfully on the BKDW chief's words.
"If there were similar organizations in other cities and countries besides us, things would be much easier..." A sigh from behind the visor betrays Max's sincerity. "Or if lone individuals, more knowledgeable than most... like you, were more willing to engage..."
A clever attempt, young man, but I won't be so easily ensnared. I simply look him in the eyes and shrug.
"As you can see, I'm not averse to contact, given that I'm here, but you're overstating my knowledge. You're correct that this Breakthrough alluded too blatantly to the actual situation." I respond as ambiguously as possible, so as not to lie but also to leave him with those delusions he's conjured up for himself. "Knowing the true nature of the Breakthroughs would certainly make it easier for novices to prepare for them than dealing with utter darkness, so I didn't understand the motivation behind concealing this information." A bit of conspicuous transparency, a clarification of intentions — these usually throw off conversational partners, leading them to believe in your sincerity during the discourse.
"Maya has been almost sleepless for a month now," Kraas gestures toward the mountain of books on the girl's desk. "She's reading books and manga, watching movies and anime; she's about to drop from exhaustion, but she won't quit." That explains the extreme fatigue and dark circles under her eyes. "However... I think it's all in vain. One cannot read every book, watch every movie, or play every game — no lifetime would suffice for this." He has a point in some respects, but I can also understand the girl's perspective. "After the losses last night, the Duke offered to give us a group of his analysts to aid us. They will summarize the content and provide recommendations."
Yet, something perplexes me. A complete stranger arrives, and Max just casually hands over sensitive information to the first person he meets?
"Nevertheless, many monster creators brazenly borrow from each other. Perhaps the analysts will come up with a system that could help," he says, though even if there is any hope in his voice, it is deeply concealed. He likely doesn't entirely believe his own words. "May I sketch your projection?" Max suddenly shifts the topic. "The image we have from tonight is not satisfactory."
Should I decline? What would be the point? I'll still end up in the Knights' catalogue. There's no escaping that.
"Of course," I reply, acting as if it doesn't concern me in the least.
It turns out that Kraas is the same artist who painted all those impressive portraits displayed in the lower hall and posted on the websites. This young man, it appears, possesses a wealth of talents. I'll have to pay closer attention to him if possible.
Meanwhile, after receiving my consent, Max steps into the material world. After rummaging around on his desk, he extracts a clean sheet of heavy, coarse paper that appears handmade. He places it on a nearby free countertop and smooths it out. I suppose I misunderstood him. Is he going to sketch me right now? That would take a significant amount of time, judging by the quality of his prior work. But my assumption proves incorrect. The BKDW chief, after ensuring that the paper lay flat, quickly returns to the Break.
"Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!.."
I should be accustomed to this roar by now, but it still manages to unsettle me each time, causing me to instinctively reach for "Word."
"Could you draw your weapons?" Max asks, half-turned toward me, his open left palm extended forward while his right hand rests on the sheet of paper.
"Fine," I reply. A positive image might prove useful someday. The better I appear in the sketch, accessible to anyone, the more significant the impact.
"Word" and "Purity" assume their positions in the classic high stance for theatrical performances. I knew I looked impressive from this angle; after we published a booklet with a similar photograph, a couple of directors I knew even reached out, asking, "would you be interested in appearing in our commercial?".
Initially, I was confused about what was happening... Kraas silently scrutinized me for about ten seconds, as if attempting to commit my image to memory in minute detail, then he closed his eyes and placed both palms on the canvas. He didn't take up brushes or pencils; furthermore, he was within the Break, yet the paper's white hue began to shift. Lines, strokes, and flourishes danced across its surface, gradually crafting an image of my projection — a detailed and remarkably accurate picture.
Prana Sheet... Izao's memory supplied the answer to my surprise. That's the name for the paper handmade by sensums, who imbue their energy into the work. Such paper is extremely receptive to any manifestation of spiritual flows. It's usually employed to determine a sensum's rank and potential. Yet Max, leveraging the power of his projection, and manipulating prana directly from the Break, manifested a genuine miracle... In less than a minute, he completed a picture that could rival the work of the finest artists. It boasted the sharpness and detail of a photograph, yet you could sense life in it — that elusive essence, the captured motion frozen within the picture that sets a great drawing apart from a mediocre piece. I wonder if this is a common skill among raigs, or if it's Max's unique talent? Hmm... The Masks' site features its own catalog of Knights, slightly different from BKDW's, so it's likely not a unique ability. Or perhaps natural artistic talent is a prerequisite, without which nothing would work? Despite the cost of such a sheet being nearly two hundred francs, I'll have to splurge and buy one to give it a try. I too desire to learn how to draw in this manner. Furthermore, once I've registered, the money issue that has been plaguing me lately will become less pressing. When the final touches were added to the paper, Max opened his eyes and, lifting his palms off the surface, examined the drawing.
"Thank you. What we had wasn't suitable for the gallery."
Actually, it's I who should be thanking him: with such striking artwork on display for all to see, I'm assured an impressive initial image. Even Liam Neeson, in his portrayal of Qui-Gon on the Star Wars posters, didn't look as fantastic as I do in this picture! This is genuine art, not the self-proclaimed masterpiece Melanie considered as she smeared paint onto the canvas.
"Do you realize that you're unique?" Kraas poses a direct question, to which I respond with a shrug, having no intention of elaborating. "Until tonight, it was assumed that all Knights are young, but you refute this belief. Every raig we've observed and know of possesses a single weapon, yet you wield two. And what a combination it is! The Sword of Truth and the Blade of the Hero!"
[1] TLN: In the original language, formal/polite "you" and informal/casual "you" are two different words, but English doesn't have such a distinction. The phrase had to be adjusted to clarify that their conversation is one between a senior and a junior.