The gray mist enveloped Noah once more, but this time it was not an opaque, impenetrable veil. It was a cosmic fabric, tense and vibrant, a palimpsest of reality where the base gray was overlaid with countless pinpricks of light. He saw them now: they were stars. White, red, and blue twinkles, like diamonds set into an infinite expanse of dark velvet. The vastness was both terrifying and sublime.
And then, the mist began to dissipate, or rather, to reorganize. It wasn't a vacuum, but an architecture. The vision that unfolded made Noah's breath catch. He wasn't floating in nothingness; he was inside a majestic ancient palace, so vast its edges were lost in the stellar mist itself.
Above him, a vast domed ceiling, made of what seemed like solidified light, held up the artificial sky. Imposing stone pillars, so wide a city could be built around a single one, rose from the "floor" of mist and vanished into the dome, supporting the colossal structure. The atmosphere was one of immeasurable solitude and ancient power.
At the center of this cosmic palace stood a structure that was not exactly a throne, nor a ruin, but something between the two. It was a slab or a monolith of dark stone, shaped like a suggested royal seat but eroded by time and the raw energy hanging in the air. Its surface was covered in deep carvings, etched in a strange language of swirling, geometric symbols that danced before his eyes.
And then, the miracle happened. Noah understood. The comprehension did not come through reading, but by osmosis, as if the meaning were injected directly into his consciousness. The carvings organized themselves in his mind, forming an enigmatic and solemn poem:
'Three veiled paths rise: that of the Fool, that of Error, and that of the Door.
Who walks them, deciphers the veil and drinks from the hidden chalice.
But beware: he who walks wrong will be devoured by his own step.
The voices echo—are they echoes or lures?
Silence holds the answer, but only for the one who dares to be silent.
Seven, nine, or ten? Discover which cipher unlocks the seal.
Master the Sefirah and the mirror will call you:
Are you the Lord, or are you just another secret?
For all paths, in the end, lead to the Lord of Mysteries.'
Noah felt a chill run down his spine. It was a riddle. A prophecy. A test. Curiosity overcame fear. The poem wasn't just to be read; it was to be deciphered. It was a primal need that burned within him.
As he absorbed the words, the stone throne glowed with a faint inner light. The carvings seemed to liquefy, detaching from the rock. The words floated in the air like ribbons of light, spinning and intertwining until they condensed into a single, shining star of pure knowledge. It hovered for a moment before shooting like a meteor toward Noah's forehead.
There was no pain. Only an impact of absolute comprehension. The star entered his mind, and the poem was etched into his consciousness indelibly, permanently. He knew he would never forget it.
As soon as the first poem settled, new carvings emerged on the surface of the throne, as if the stone were perpetually renewing itself. This time, they were three separate stanzas:
'The Fool sees without eyes and prophesies without a mouth.
Though he is a Seer, his path hides among three horrors:
one born of fear, another of dread, and the third of that which cannot be named.
Which one is true? Whoever errs will be swallowed by the laughter of the abyss.'
'Error is no accident, but a horse disguised in the wall of fate.
A worm that gnaws at the thread of time, opening cracks where order dares not enter.
How many errors fit inside one?
Whoever miscounts will see their own shadow leave the hourglass first.'
'The Door opens not with a key, but with silence.
Its gears are strange, as if the world were written backward.
Among a thousand paths, only one is the origin of the mage.
But answer: does the Door lead out, or is the outside lurking to get in?'
Noah stood paralyzed. The first poem was the main riddle. These three new ones were... the clues? The traps? Each detailed one of the "veiled paths": the Fool, the Error, and the Door. And each ended with a deadly question, a query that promised ruin for whoever failed to answer it correctly.
The light of the three new stars—each carrying the enigmatic weight of the verses about the Fool, the Error, and the Door—plunged into his mind, merging with his being with the force of an inevitable destiny. The knowledge wasn't learned; it was etched, like a seal into hot metal, becoming an inextricable part of who he was. The final questions of each stanza echoed in his skull, death-questions, philosophical traps waiting to be activated.
"N—"
A voice that cut him off did not come from the palace of mist and stars.
It came from outside.
It was distant, muffled, like a shout from the bottom of a well. But it was real. And it was urgent.
At the same instant, Noah felt a violent drain of his strength. It was as if a plug had been pulled from him, and all the energy sustaining his consciousness on that sublime plane was rapidly leaking away. The connection to the majestic palace, to the throne of enigmas, began to unravel.
The vision before him, once clear and terribly vivid, began to distort. The gray mist, once a cosmic fabric, became dense and oppressive, as if closing in around him, expelling him. Every particle of starlight seemed to retreat, blinking in farewell.
'Damn it...' The thought was a final gasp of lucidity amid the chaos. 'Am I being expelled from here?'
There was no answer, only the overwhelming sensation of being forcibly torn away. His legs, which he hadn't felt in what seemed like ages, gave out. He fell to his knees on the "floor" of mist, which now had no substance. The darkness, not that of the void, but of unconsciousness, enveloped him like a whirlwind, and the last thing he perceived was the gray mist swallowing him whole.
...
The smell was different. Mold, old paper, beeswax. Sounds returned first: the crackle of a fireplace, the ragged breathing of someone close by.
Noah opened his eyes.
The vision of the cosmic palace was replaced by the familiar vaulted ceiling of the Edgar Mansion's library. The dark wooden bookshelves, filled with leather-bound tomes, replaced the infinite pillars. And before him, not the throne of enigmas, but the wrinkled, pale face of his grandfather, Daniel Edgar.
The old man was kneeling on the Persian rug, his thin, trembling hands hovering near Noah's shoulders without touching him, as if afraid he might break. His expression was a mask of pure concern; his eyes, usually so full of calm wisdom, were wide with shock.
"Noah!" Daniel's voice cracked, hoarse with emotion. He seemed to be struggling to process what he had witnessed. The lord of the manor, normally so eloquent and controlled, now seemed deeply unsettled.
Noah didn't respond immediately. His mind was still reverberating with the echo of the etched stars. The information was no longer just poems; it was crucial data about his own existence. He had been informed, on a fundamental level, about what he was.
He was at the initial steps of the 3 paths. Sequence 9.
The Fool; Seer.
The Error; Marauder.
The Door; Apprentice.
The names echoed in his mind, titles that sounded both grandiose and absurd. Abilities? He knew their names, felt their dormant potential like a latent heat in his veins, but he was completely ignorant of how to use them. It was like holding the master keys to a kingdom without knowing which lock they opened.
He looked up, his eyes dark as obsidian—now carrying a depth that hadn't been there before—meeting his grandfather's. Daniel's expression was no longer one of total confusion. There was a subtle shift. It was a look of expectation. Of recognition. As if he already suspected something profound and was merely waiting for Noah to give voice to that truth.
And Noah did.
"Grandpa." He said, the word sounding both ordinary and laden with new meaning. "I think I might have a clue why I was abandoned in the rain that day."
Noah didn't want to bother explaining about the Gray Fog or the etchings in his mind, so he used an excuse.
"The book I read talked about seers; I tried to use the Cogitation that was written in the book." Noah spoke calmly, also avoiding eye contact with the old man. "I—"
"You can stop." Daniel interrupted, rising to his feet with a sigh. "I never imagined you'd be a Outcast like me, let alone a Seer—though I suppose it makes sense. I was a fool not to see the necessary details."
'Outcast?' The word echoed in Noah's mind as he tried to make sense of it.
And then—bam!—understanding hit him with the force of a truck. Outcast and strangeness? It was a combination Noah recognized from a series he'd watched in his life as Ethan White.
Wednesday Addams.