Chapter 50
Hoku nodded tentatively. "At the very least, we should bring her to safety." He flicked toward Abel, half expecting assent, but Abel only raised a hand to his brow and, after a long hesitation, he shook his head.
"Not yet," he murmured. "Li was right before, refusing to flee may prove the wiser course, even if it feels perilous. It might be like bypassing the only way out. Fleur and I already suffered that mistake… actually, we were never even granted the chance to progress."
Hoku and Mars exchanged surprised looks, and Mars swiftly inquired, "What are you implying? If this path is so vital to follow, then is that not all the more reason to step back and let us shoulder it instead?"
Abel responded steadily, "Leaving means nothing." He paused to clear his throat before continuing with a stronger resolve. "If I step aside, you are left with fewer hands. I cannot guard Fleur. If this were meant for the two of you, then I would never have been targeted. And if it was meant for me… then even though I long to protect her, I cannot."
Hoku looked away in silence, thinking to himself,'At this point, I can't decide whether the greater dread lies in the statue's eeriness or in the grim effort with which he strives to maintain composure, or in how grim he looks while struggling to hold his composure.'
As he gritted his teeth, he reluctantly released Fleur's arm and stood up, circling to the far side where Li remained still, studying his palm.
More of the statue's façade resolved itself from his vantage, and when Hoku idly tapped the surface, he discovered the noise was not an empty echo but a muted, inward note.
"I thought only the living could weep," he said under his breath.
Li regarded him with steady intent. "Here," he said, "many things without flesh may pass for life; sometimes it is taken, sometimes it is given."
Hoku only partially parsed the remark; if life could exist even in an object, and the statue was what he had been referring to, then Li apparently meant that beyond the cold solidity there was something else, and for reasons of his own, seemed to understand far more than he let on.
'But what would he have to hide when it's only just us?'
He knitted his brows and asked, "Then you can sense life that isn't truly there?"
"Not all that lives moves freely. Not all that appear dead were ever living." Li tipped his chin toward the teardrop orb.
"I didn't mention it earlier because I thought it was obvious, only that which is living can weep," he said. "But while the veil lay over it, I felt something; the veil suppressed the statue's energy and hid it from us. Now that it's gone… I'm sure you all can feel it as well." He paused, then added, "…perhaps all except you."
Hoku squinted. "Sense what?"
Li inspected Hoku's sword before saying, "Your blade is not yet wholly bound to you, and that compass or watch at your hip," he gestured, "draws more Vitalis than this statue ever could. Now—" He produced a small brass disc and held it out.
Hoku stepped back instinctively.
"What is that—" he began, but Li interrupted, "Just take it, so that I can drink this potion."
He uncorked the tiny vial at his throat and swallowed it. He cleared his throat several times, as if to steady the taste, and then added, "Otherwise the potion's effects will overlap with whatever that is, and you'll both be worse for it."
The change in him was subtle but plain: his irises had darkened, the shadowed lines around his eyes had eased, and an odd freshness settled into his face.
Hoku almost reached out by reflex as he began to wonder. 'Was that the restorative Mars had spoken of? Had Li kept quiet about having one?'
Before he could pursue the thought further, Li let a medallion drop into Hoku's palm; the instant it touched skin, it felt bone-cold, and a vertiginous scent rose in the air.
Hoku clasped his forehead as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He forced his gaze to the object.
A closed book topped by a delicate flower engraved upon it, it bore narrow symbols along the rim that resembled a language he could not name.
Though his sight stayed unnervingly sharp, his skull rattled painfully, and he shook his head until it slightly eased.
The only word that stood out among the etchings was a single signature.
Lunhard.
Hoku blinked and braced on the statue's base.
Once he was steadied again, Hoku crept around to the front of the knight.
Suddenly, Mars' voice called out Li's name.
Li shrugged, clenching his jaw to suppress the discomfort escaping down his throat. "Pulled it from the statue's chest, under the vines," he replied. "Fleur may have known somehow that it lay there. I wouldn't lift the veil until we saw the reason it hid that vitalism."
Mars rubbed his face in exasperation. "All right, but why give it to Hoku now?"
Hoku held the medallion up, studying it through his daze, when, unexpectedly, he asked, "Have either of you seen what this Lunhard looks like?"
"Why did you place it in his hands? You realize the position we'll be in should Hoku be struck down as well. I never even saw the spot you took it from."
The color drained from Mars's face as he staggered back, nearly losing his footing.
The name on the medallion made the arrangement plain: Li had not acted by accident.
By taking a potential artifact of Lunhard into his hand, Hoku had invited the attention that the statue bestowed on its own; if Lunhard guarded the very object they sought, then inevitably Hoku had just been recognized as the rightful bearer.
Mars's heart thudded against his ribs as the full consequence settled.
He exchanged a long, silent look with Li. "There's a pair of eyes on us, aren't there?"
Li drew his blade without the slightest pretense of haste. "Mn, but no matter," he said coolly. "We still have to get inside if we are to retrieve what we came for."
His eyes passed over the medallion, and he added, almost as if recalling an old secret, "We are blind to what we carry in memory, and why it returns.
…I cannot speak much of the fob, but the language on the medallion helped me recall one whose work always had a distinct signature."
Mars inhaled once, before inquiring in a tone both incredulous and seeking, "So the medallion was a key? Was it meant to be verified by a particular hand?"
Li regarded him silently for a moment.
"When the fob and the compass are joined, they are no longer separate artifacts," he replied. "A creation of this kind wouldn't depend on a trivial addition. If protection was needed, it would've been built in from the start. The compass was always intended to act with it."
Mars and the others had recognized the pocket watch by its unusual traits: it was bound by laws that were so arcane that only its appointed bearer could eventually grasp its magnitude entirely, and rumours linked its origin to the Abundant Creator, who had granted the watchmaker a sanction of repair, allowing him to mend what should have been beyond mortal or divine ordinance.
Despite the constant variation in speculation, one detail never changed—the elixir and its components would only accept a precisely crafted addition.
Li had been tracing prospects ever since his meetings with Mars and Hoku, but it was only now that an evidence scenario began to settle.
He had long suspected that the missing component could only have come from a specific individual.
Strangely, even with Lunhard's name tied to the affair, his suspicions refused to settle on the man himself.
They'd never shared an encounter.
Additionally, Li had recognized the identity of someone else entirely, someone he had once exchanged letters with through a mutual contact.
He kept the thought to himself, partly to avoid drawing conclusions too early.
At the same time, he remained wary of Lunhard's exact reach and influence.
From the moment they drew near, he sensed another presence, carrying the same disturbingly malignant aura he'd once encountered with White Rice.
Drawing a composed breath, Li turned his scrutiny back on Mars and exclaimed, "I only know what you've told me about this 'passages-keeper,' and that's little more than hearsay. You've insisted that he, too, is subject to stern laws, yet here you are without a clue beyond his deceit. Every passage that might've once offered a clear way forward has been intentionally muddled.
It's made me wonder if that's precisely why your lantern ended up serving as nothing more than a lure. If this individual can traverse the passages unseen, he would understand that a small candle flame isn't enough to expose him, but it would still stand out subtly against its surroundings.
He used quite a tactic of misdirection, even hiding it in plain sight."
Mars' brow furrowed more as he stepped forward, the crimson atmosphere carving distinct shadows across his face.
"If this were all arranged to mislead us, what makes you so sure the statue hides a door? Was that just an improbable assumption?"
Li's posture eased, and his sword suddenly slipped lower at his side.
"I never recognized the name on the medallion. The inscription held no meaning for me." He paused, clicking his tongue as he recalled the phrasing.
"A Smith once wrote, 'I do not build the future in a single day. I work slowly, so that when my creations leave my hands, they do not betray their purpose. Every still creation requires a key to turn it, just as every treasure requires a keeper to guard it from unsteady hands.'"
Li abruptly raised his hand, and Mars immediately discovered the bloodied scrawl cut into his palm.
A single word stood out amid the smeared lines:
'Danté'
His eyes widened as realization set in, and Li gave no further explanation.
He simply lowered his hand, as both men understood how precarious their situation had become.
. . .
Almost at once, the black ichor leaking from the statue began to surge, as if awakening into the next phase.
RRRRRAAAAGH-SHRRRK!
A low, rending groan reverberated as if the very core of the structure were being torn open.
Simultaneously, the air grew colder beneath the lantern as everyone felt a gale sweep along the water.
Mars and Hoku recoiled instinctively.
The lantern slipped out of his grasp, landing in the water with a muted splash.
The oily surface reeled from the flame as if repelled.
Golden motes erupted from the statue's panes, circling the dying light, while broken shards beneath reflected their glow like scattered constellations. Mars's face turned ashen.
"Is it yielding to the light, or trying to smother it?"
But his voice was lost to the mounting rumble.
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Unlisted Grades 1/49
Category: Continuants
Cartographer Occultist — A Cartographer Occultist perceives and records the Final Accords, the metaphysical remnants left behind when a person's will is severed from their body. Upon "death," if one's strongest desires or unresolved intentions persist, they bind themselves to the world like incomplete contracts. These residues anchor the soul within the Sequel, preventing its dispersion or its passage into the Reliquary for reincarnation within the next sequence.
When a soul's fragments are weak, thus lacking awareness, cohesion, or direction, they are drawn instinctively toward others of similar resonance, merging into unstable conglomerates. These aggregations, composed of scattered consciousness, continue to accumulate until they reach a partial, corrupted stability, sufficient enough to manifest a limited physical form. In this way, lesser spirits emerge, evolving from formless residue into imperfect, self-sustaining entities.
From mostly personal records, those bearing the grade of Cartographer Occultist are uniquely attuned to this phenomenon. Through our natural skill of mapping and documentation of Final Accords, we can trace the convergence of such remnants and discover where and how these fragments are drawn together. In doing so, we also gain the ability to anticipate, redirect, or sever the formation of unstable soul clusters before they mature into corrupted or hostile spirits.
One was reported in the dimension sustained by a floral grade.
He goes by the name of "White Rice."
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To be continued…