René froze, unable to comprehend what had just unfolded. His limbs were locked as though bound by invisible chains, his breath shallow. What is happening? Why can't I move? A figure had vanished before his very eyes, and now the woman approached him with steady steps, her presence heavy enough to crush thought itself.
"Speak thy name, young man."
The words struck him like a verdict. His heart hammered against his ribs; danger screamed from every fiber of her being. Yet beneath the terror, a feverish curiosity stirred in him—this was the unknown, the very mystery he longed to touch. Even if it cost him his life, he would not retreat.
"…Refer to me as René."
He forced calm into his voice before adding, "And you, madam? It would be rude not to ask, given this is our first meeting."
The woman studied him with eyes that stripped away pretense. "Camella. A pleasure."
Her hand moved without hesitation, slipping into his coat pocket and drawing out the small, tightly bound package. She unwrapped it carefully, holding it away from herself, as though wary of its taint.
From his place near the altar, the bishop observed in silence, while the other attendant barred the great doors of the cathedral. René felt a chill—the woman had not only known about the object, but exactly where he had hidden it.
She even knows it was in my pocket… refusing would be useless. Still, I spent six pounds on it…
Swallowing his pride, he spoke with disarming honesty. "I bought it at an auction in The Lizard's Fang. It takes place every fifteen days. No one else bid on it, so I thought, why not? An interesting item for such a low price. Six pounds."
His cheeks burned at the admission, but money was money. If they meant to take it, they should at least understand the value of what they seized.
Camella's lips curved faintly. She turned her gaze toward the bishop and gave a slight nod, as though to confirm René's truth.
In the same instant, his body loosened. He could move again. Relief mixed with unease—was it her will that had bound him, or the bishop's? Either way, the relic had branded him a threat the moment he carried it inside these walls.
But why was its price so low, why did no one else dare to bid? He asked himself.
As he pondered, his body betrayed him. His hand reached to the dagger at his belt, drawn not by thought but by some deeper instinct. His pupils dilated, crimson light flooding them.
"Watch out!" he shouted as his arm swung of its own accord, driving the blade toward Camella's heart. A wave of killing intent burst from him, filling the vast church like a storm of blood.
Camella reacted on pure reflex, slipping aside with startling speed and ease. Shock rippled across her face—this boy, who moments ago had seemed powerless, now exuded murderous force.
Then the bishop's voice thundered through the cathedral, shaking every pillar and stained-glass window:
"Bow before God's mercy!"
The weight of the words crushed René to the ground. Stone cracked beneath him as though gravity itself had multiplied tenfold. His vision swam red; blood streamed from his eyes, nose, and lips. Helpless, he collapsed, consciousness ebbing away.
The last thing he saw was Camella kneeling beside him, the cube glinting coldly in her hands.
…
It was already night when René awoke in a cold underground cell. The place was cloaked in darkness, only the occasional drops of water could be heard.
The mere faintest trace of light seeped through was a narrow drain shaft high above, where trickles of cold air slipped in from the world outside.
If he tilted his head just right, René could glimpse a fragment of the sky through the grating—three moons, blurred and distorted, their pale glow merging into a dim purple shimmer that barely touched the stone floor.
Sitting in silence, René reflected on what had happened. Even if he claimed it hadn't been his will, that he had acted under some unseen compulsion, he doubted they would ever release him. So, he waited.
The dagger is gone… I must have left it in the church when I collapsed. And I nearly harmed Miss Camella, inside a holy place no less. If I see her again, I must apologize.
Am I not worthy of this body Solomon left behind? He must have foreseen that I would face such trials—perhaps that was why he wrote of "certain requirements." This is what comes of lacking power… and will.
Leaning back against the damp stone, René lifted his eyes toward the shaft, where the faint shimmer of the moons trembled.
A splendid first day, I suppose. Could I even call this my birthday? I know it is the year 1558, but the day escapes me. Who would think that on one's very first birthday, they would end the night locked in a cell…
A soft chuckle escaped his lips.
The moons are beautiful, even from here. I wonder how they shape this world…
Time dragged on. Judging by the slow shifting of light through the grating, it was near midnight when René clasped the silver crescent around his neck and began to pray.
"Almighty Goddess, I seek Your aid. I have brought harm without intention, profaned the sanctity of another's house. Guide me in this realm of dangers and shadows, for I am a lost child of Yours."
Deep down, René knew the one he prayed to was not the same god worshiped by the church above.
Does she hear me? I don't even know her name, nor the proper invocation…
His exhaustion weighed heavy, and just as he prepared to lie down on the cold stone, a gentle voice broke the silence.
"It seems you are awake. Good. I bring news."
It was the bishop. He stepped into the cell, carrying a gas lamp whose glow etched his face in soft lines. René jolted upright.
"I am Bishop Henry. It is a shame we must speak here." His tone was calm, measured. "I will be brief. Cardinal Beowulf informed us of your coming. He left no name, but you fit the description. The dagger was confirmation enough."
René's pulse quickened. At last, he was one step closer to answers.
"Is Cardinal Beowulf here?"
Henry shook his head gently. "No. Nor will he be returning soon, if ever. As for the cube, it will remain safeguarded at headquarters. Your dagger will be returned once you are released."
He paused, his expression faintly sorrowful.
"Your compensation will be given in the morning—ten pounds, in cash. The cube is far more cursed than you imagine. It brings harm to its chosen owner, within certain bounds. You and Miss Camella were both caught in its effect within the church."
Relief mingled with shame. So it had not been wholly his doing. Yet the knowledge that his own body had turned traitor burned in him. He gathered the courage to ask the one question left:
"May I see Madam Camella? I owe her an apology."
Henry stepped closer. "If she wishes it, she will come. Otherwise, I shall pass on your words." His voice softened. "You must be someone of importance, for the Cardinal himself urged that you be allowed to join the officials."
The bishop's eyes steadied on René.
"This is an invitation. Serve under one of the branches of the Council of Continental Congregates—the Lunar Triad—or take your ten pounds and walk away. Should you accept, your questions will be answered, though not by me."
René's answer came swiftly, though curiosity sharpened his tone.
"When did he ask you this? And what kind of work is it? The sort that risks one's life? How much is the pay?"
Henry's lips curved into a faint smile. "Think of it as the safeguarding of society, reconnaissance, and more besides. Payment depends on danger and contribution, but even the lowest reward would satisfy most men." His expression darkened at the mention of Beowulf. "It has been nearly a year since I last saw him. That was when he asked me to await you."
He drew out two folded slips of paper and handed them over.
"One is a letter, left for you by the Cardinal. The other bears the address of the Triad headquarters. Go there tomorrow morning."
René slipped both papers into the inner pocket of his coat without opening them. Henry's eyes dimmed, disappointed that René would not read the letter at once.
The bishop remained silent, his lamp casting long shadows. René understood—Henry wanted his decision now.
I was going to do this work on my own anyway. Better to do it with backing, with a wall to lean against. Besides… I want to see what this city hides.
"I'll take the job." René rose to his feet.
Henry smiled at last. "Then tomorrow, at eight, you will report to the Lunar Triad. Certain formalities will be handled there. Go now—there is a car waiting outside."
A car? René's thoughts flickered. So technology has come this far…
Henry extended a hand. René shook it without hesitation.
"Pleasure doing business."
They left the cell together. The corridor was long and winding, carved of stone etched with figures whose meaning René could not guess. Lamps sputtered dimly every few paces, illuminating row upon row of cells.
"What about my dagger?" René whispered as they walked.
Henry did not slow. "What about it?" His smile was unreadable.
What do you mean, what about it!? You said I'd get it back once I left! René bit back his words. They were still in the depths, and mockery burned at his own impatience.
At last, they reached a staircase. Emerging aboveground, René realized they were inside a museum belonging to the church's piazza. Soon, they passed out into the night.
A steam-powered car stood waiting. Henry drew out the dagger and tossed it to him.
"Keep it safe. There won't be another chance."
René caught it just as the driver started the engine. He had no time to voice his gratitude before the car pulled away. Bishop Henry watched in silence, the glow of the lamp dimming behind René as he departed.
…
The night was silent, and at the same time, it was sinister. René was still in the process of getting used to the night, but he found the luminous purple sky quite charming. He was finally at home after bidding farewell to the bishop in front of the Great Church. René was thankful for receiving a free ride with a vehicle that looked strikingly similar to a 1920s car from his own world, though he was a little saddened that he hadn't been able to properly express his gratitude to Bishop Henry.
René stood in front of his door, pausing as a thought resurfaced.
Ah, I remember now. It is December 25.
His eyes grew misty with the realization.
"Happy birthday and merry Christmas, dear me."
A self-deprecating laugh escaped his lips before he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The day had been efficient by any measure—he had managed to recover the money he had spent and had even joined an official department, one which, as the bishop claimed, offered generous pay.
Yet, the moment he stepped through the door, the truth pressed down on him. He was in another world.
The familiar feeling of home was gone. There was no sound of his brother's laughter echoing from the other room, no playful quarrels with his sister over something trivial. Even the faint aroma of dinner—a quiet reminder of a household lived in—had vanished.
All that remained was silence. It pressed against his chest, made breathing difficult. His hands trembled as he realized he would never again hear their voices, never again walk through the door to find them waiting. The warmth of everything he had known had been ripped away, leaving him in a hollow, unyielding world.
René grudgingly entered, took off his coat, and tidied up the space before sitting silently in his chair.
At last, he took out the small slips of paper the bishop had given him. He needed to focus on moving forward—for it was the only thing left to do.
The first bore a simple not. "Address."
"Triad Administrative Department, City Center, Phaeton Avenue…" René murmured. "Center of the city? Not far… perhaps five miles. I can walk there daily."
He placed the slip with the department's address neatly on the large table, then pulled out the sealed letter left to him by Cardinal Beowulf. Breaking the seal carefully, he unfolded the parchment and began to read:
"To My Dear Fellow,
I write to warn you of the realms hidden from mortal eyes, where even the dust of Solomon rests undisturbed. Take heed, for calamities walk among us, visible yet unseen, their presence felt but unnoticed by the unseeing.
The masses move blindly, wearing masks that conceal their fate, unaware that each form reflects not only itself but the web that binds all spirits. You now tread a path unseen by others, where light and darkness entwine, and the boundaries between them fate.
Fear, for all is connected, and each thread you touch is part of the greater design. To ignore this truth is to risk losing yourself within it.
With caution,
Beowulf Darktide."
René stared at the words for a long moment before muttering with frustration,
"Cardinal Beowulf, I wish you hadn't spoken in riddles… How am I supposed to make sense of this?"
He let out a sharp sigh, his mind racing.
"Realms hidden from mortal eyes… Solomon's dust… so, ancient places, perhaps? As for calamities walking unseen… does it mean creatures blending into the world? And what's this about masks of fate, webs that bind all spirits? Sacred design? Damn it…"
The more he tried to interpret, the more his thoughts twisted into knots. The only clarity came from the line about treading an unseen path—it felt like a warning tailored for him. But the rest… it slipped through his grasp.
René read and reread the letter until no new meaning came. Finally, defeated, he set it aside and headed for the bathroom. A bath, and perhaps washing the bloodstained coat, would serve him better than chasing riddles into the night.
Maybe I'm the fool here... Maybe I was never meant to unravel things like this.
After a warm, cleansing soak, René changed into simple bedclothes and left the coat to dry. Midnight was near, and fatigue pulled at his mind and body. He lay down at last, grateful for even a moment's rest.
But rest would not come easily. He reached for the dagger, intending to examine it once more. He kept it close, just in case something happened. Slowly, he unsheathed the blade and studied the faint markings along its length.
"As Above So Below, Fate Beholds No Truths."
René's eyes widened. "…Latin?!" René whispered.
A language from my world. But these weren't here this morning… Could Bishop Henry have carved them? No. Impossible.
Just then, the air above his bed shattered.
A gate rip tore across the room like glass breaking under invisible hands. From the wound in reality sprouted black and red veins, writhing as though alive, framing a gate that pulsed with dreadful vitality. Beyond it stretched an illusory realm—blurred, unfathomable.
But one thing within was clear.
A colossal, unblinking eye stared through the gate. Enormous rings inscribed with unfathomable shifting symbols revolved around its pupil. Its gaze fixed upon René, unrelenting, unreadable
René stumbled from the bed, terror gripping him.
"What the f*ck…"