《The Ghost of Vermil》


 Chapter 1: Marco I

    It was said that angels and demons had descended on the earth a hundred years ago.


    It was said that they were still here.


    And the proof of that was the heavenly blessings and the demonic curses that pervaded humanity, all the kingdoms of ice and desert, of grass and sea.


    Marco Vermilon was one of the lucky ones, a lad gifted with an angel''s blessing. It was said that he was the most blessed in the Kingdom of Araya. The holy power he held equalled that of one entire troupe of the holy army.


    Despite his tremendous talent, he wondered why he could not see the soul of the dead priest before him now. Is he in heaven already? So quickly? Is he already at peace with his death? His casket was made of oak wood, its sides adorned with the holiest symbols, painted in gold. His name was Father Pietro and he was loved by the whole of Araya. That was why thousands of its common folks showed up in his funeral in Gallagher. It was like a parade, stretching the whole Pilgrim Road, leagues long.


    Though blessed and holy, everyone still ends back down in the soil. Marco realized. Not even holy power made the priest immortal.


    After the eulogy, the wooden casket was winched down to the ground. The presiding priest held a blessed artifact in his hand, enchanting it with a prayer and making it glow. A protection charm, to keep demons and grave robbers away from Father Pietro''s body. He placed it on top of the coffin where its light seeped into the engravings of the wood.


    Marco heard the whispers behind him saying, "Was he really murdered?"


    "I presume it was so."


    "Then was it really the Ghost of Vermil? He''s done some heinous offenses in the past."


    "Shh, the Earl''s family is right there. Do you want to lose your tongue?"


    Marco was about to turn to them, just to etch their faces in his memory but Mother''s firm hand clasped his shoulder, keeping him in place.


    "It doesn''t concern us," she stated. "The ceremony is nearly done, then we would not have to deal with this again."


    It does concern us. Marco thought.


    As they exited the graveyard, three men in gray suits caught up to them.


    "Miss Vermilon, can we have a bit of your time? We are inspectors from the Force."


    Mother''s face twisted darkly before calm washed over her. She took a deep breath and turned. "I don''t think this is a good time, Mr. Inspector."


    People were looking. If the Earl was here, they would not have dared humiliate her. But she was just the Earl''s daughter. Being confronted in this crowd was enough to rattle her demeanor. Mother was always like that. Despising the stares of people. Detesting negative attention.


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    People also stared at Marco but mostly because of the scar on his cheek. It missed his left eye by a hair''s breadth, tainting his face with a long dark line. A gift from the Ghost of Vermil. He saw the inspector''s eyes fall ever so slightly on his imperfection. Marco was good at catching simple gestures like that.


    "I''m sorry but the clergy had demanded an immediate investigation. We don''t have a warrant to search your residence or to arrest anyone. But we would like to have a conversation, if it would please you."


    "I am the Earl''s daughter," she muttered so faintly only Marco could hear. "Let''s come into our carriage then."


    "Thank you, my lady."


    They were smarter than they looked. If it were in any other situation, Mother could have refused them. But amidst this crowd, she had no means of escape.


    Marco spotted a shadow move in the trees as they boarded a carriage. He had an urge to check it but Mother beckoned impatiently, "Marco, please come up now, I hate all these eyes. They stare at us as though we killed him."


    When Marco glanced back at the trees, he had lost sight of it. There''s no way, he thought. We are miles from home.


    "The initial investigation revealed it was an accident," the other inspector began as soon as the carriage moved. His name was Ivan, based on their introductions. He had dark circles under his eyes. All of them had except the third one. This incident had clearly exhausted them.


    "All is settled then."


    "But we still wanted to look into these rumors that someone could have had a hand in this ''accident''."


    "Get to the point then," she snapped.


    "An hour before Father Pietro fell down the stairs, someone was with him. A lad just a little younger than your son here. About fourteen years old. Or maybe his age. They are calling him the Ghost of Vermil."


    "Are you accusing Marco of having killed Father Pietro?" Her voice turned coarse and grating. "He is the most blessed in Araya."


    "Then we would like to ask if you happen to have another son?"


    "No," she answered more calmly.


    Another inspector named Greg cut in, "The townspeople are saying otherwise. Problem is we don''t have records of him. No birth registration, no school papers. Nothing. Seems like we are chasing after a ghost."


    "I only have one son, Inspector. Tell them, Marco." She placed her hand over his.


    "He is at home," Marco replied.

 Chapter 2: Marco II

    The Vermilon residence rested at the fringe of their earldom. Among Araya''s palaces, it could be said to be among the smallest. It did not need to be larger, for the Vermilon family was small, as was their earldom of Gallagher where they have governed for over a century.


    It took nearly an hour from Gallagher''s capital to the Residence. And all throughout, Mother''s face burned with fury - something Marco had gotten used to. She loathed the mention of the Ghost of Vermil. Now she was upset with Marco as well, for his disobedience.


    It was to Marco then that the inspectors directed their inquiry for the rest of the journey.


    "Why is he not in the records of the capital?"


    "It''s¡­ complicated," Marco answered, glancing at Mother whose gaze was fixed outside the window, completely ignoring them.


    "We can deal with complicated."


    "He was disowned, about ten years ago now."


    "That doesn''t explain the records, but anyway, thank you for cooperating with us." They were too quick to accept answers. To Marco, it did not feel right. "Is he normal?" They asked.


    What is normal? Is being accused of murder normal? Is being accused on more than one occasion normal? His brother was the farthest from normal. But would the inspectors understand?


    "You can see for yourselves."


    The inspectors nodded. The quiet one groaned, "Some people from town said he was involved in several atrocities before." He looked right at Marco''s face. "Is that scar his doing too?"


    Marco''s words caught in his throat, unable to respond. Perhaps, leading them here was a mistake after all. But his silence seemed a good answer enough as the inspectors asked again.


    "What''s his name?"


    "I call him Lucas," Marco said. Although I''m the only one who calls him that.


    "Alright. Mr. Vermilon, I would understand if you would like to protect your brother, but is there a reason we should know why you''re cooperating with us so obediently?"


    He breathed deeply. A moment of contemplation passed. "Honestly, I wanted to know too. If he really did it, you know." Perhaps it was too blatant. He felt sorry for Lucas. But the itch of the question of whether his brother was truly capable of murder or not was far greater than his fondness for him.


    "I see," the quiet one said, peering under his hat. Somehow whenever that guy opened his mouth, Marco felt more and more dreadful.


    The coach stopped. They heard the clinking of gates opening. Then they were finally inside the Vermilon court. The gate to the front door was not too distant. The short stroll afforded them the scenery of rose bushes, carnations and tulips.


    "My lady, my lord," their attendants greeted with warm smiles as they alighted. The sight of the inspectors in gray astounded them; even though they knew the reason for the visit, all too well.


    "I''m tired. Sebastian, please tend to them." Mother sighed. Not a minute later, she had disappeared through the arching front door.


    Sebastian the old butler bowed and offered, "May I treat you to some tea and sweets?"


    "No need," Ivan said, "We are inspectors from the Force, sent by the clergy to investigate on the death of the Head Priest of Gallagher. Can you lead us to Lucas?"


    "Lucas?" The old butler was confused for a second but said, "Oh I see."


    Sebastian did not know what to call him. They never talked to him. Only Marco ever did. They never talked about him, except when Lucas would suddenly show up in the main residence. Then he would disappear like a ghost as if he was never there.


    "Where is he?" The quiet inspector asked after Sebastian hesitated.


    The butler looked to Marco instead, asking for permission or help. Neither the butler nor the helpers visited Lucas. There was no rule prohibiting them from going but nothing good would happen if they did.


    "I''ll lead you there, the butler is busy."


    "Thank you, young master."


    "Inform Grandfather then that we are here," Marco told him. "Please follow me."


    Marco did not need Grandfather''s permission to visit Lucas because like Mother, he did not want to have anything to do with any matters surrounding Lucas. He used to, but then an incident happened forcing him to disown his grandchild who was barely five then.


    He led them through the corner of the patio, past another less kept garden and towards the edge of the courtyard. The unkempt grass was a clear demarcation of where the servants dared to venture close to Lucas''s abode.


    "Tell me, does he have some kind of mental issue?" Greg the plump inspector suddenly asked upon laying eyes on the building where Lucas kept to himself.


    It used to be the meat and grain storage, with a few sleeping rooms for guards and keepers. But then Lucas disappeared one day from the Main Palace and they only found him here. The servants who had already left spoke of some gruesome tales of what Lucas did to the animal meat here, and how suddenly there were more animal carcasses in the store, some of them still with fur and feathers.


    The keepers were too scared to remain in the same building so Mother allowed them to reside in the smaller rooms of the Residence instead.


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    Now the storage building looked overgrown with moss and mildew. A parasitic vine of wisteria had swallowed half of the front facade.


    "Lucas!" Marco knocked. "Lucas! I want to talk to you!"


    "He must be fast asleep, it''s daytime anyway," Greg quipped. Nobody elese found it funny. "Sorry."


    Marco tried the door. It was locked. Is he not in? Then perhaps¡­ He remembered the shadow near the cemetery.


    "I''ll go around the back, and see," Ivan said.


    "No." To Marco it seemed like a foolish idea. He was not exactly sure why. "I''ll open it."


    Marco''s holy power could command anything he touches. Even the iron in this latch.


    INVIOLABLE EDICT! He chanted in his mind.


    A holy decree that granted Marco absolute command over inanimate objects and beings.


    He touched the handle, feeling his glinting holy power snake its way from his fingers through the wood grain of the door and into the latch on the other side.


    Clank! How ironic that a holy power would be used to break in into someone''s house. The inspectors might not see him as pious as before. Well, they were all accomplices on this.


    He pushed it ajar. This door could only be locked from the inside, so he must be here. Why is he ignoring me?


    "Lucas!" He called again but only his echo answered back.


    "Oh my god!" One of the men exclaimed.


    "These are¡­"


    Claw marks. Knife marks. Scissor marks. The entirety of the walls was covered in sharp dents as though a rabid animal clawed angrily at them. New scratches crossed over the old ones. It was Marco''s first time here too. He had never entered the house before, simply because Lucas never invited him in. Perhaps this was the reason why.


    It suddenly occurred to Marco''s recollection. The sound of a razor tearing flesh and the pain that followed. He touched his scar instinctively, feeling a phantom throb there that was long gone.


    "Larger than a bear''s," the quiet one commented. "We are in for an exciting development."


    "Are you saying he''s a - " Greg trailed off, but Marco knew what he intended to say for he had heard it from people very often. A devil.


    "We cannot judge until we''ve seen him. For all we know, this is the work of another entity. We only came here to ask questions, remember?"


    "Well, just in case, Mr. Vermilon, is your holy power enough to subdue him?" The quiet inspector didn''t seem so quiet anymore.


    "He''s not¡­ violent." And it was true. But could his holy power really subdue Lucas? Marco was yet to know.


    Something scuttled from the dark corner, sending Greg jumping. "SHIT. Fuck!"


    They laughed, "Calm your pants down man, it''s just a squirrel."


    The Granary room was empty and clean. So was the meat store. It made Marco doubt whether the servants were speaking truthfully about Lucas''s obsession on dead animals. Every wall was slashed with claw marks, not a square foot unscathed. The only place with any furnishing was Lucas''s bedroom where a single bed stuck to the window, and beside it stood a small desk with a chair. The room was neat. And surprisingly, the walls looked pristine, unmarred, unmarked.


    "Seems like your ghost brother isn''t here. Or is he? I think I felt chills." Greg made a joke again.


    The quiet one walked over to Lucas''s desk, reaching for the books neatly stacked there.


    "Please don''t touch anything!" Marco said.


    "My apologies, just curious."


    "It seems like he''s not here right now, so if you could go back to the Main Palace and wait there. I''m sure he''ll be back before dark." He always was.


    "Alright, we appreciate the cooperation. We''ll be waiting there then," Ivan obliged.


    The quiet one made a disappointed smirk.


    "I''m sorry I didn''t catch your name before," Marco told him.


    "Philip, my young lord."


    Philip. I''ll remember you.


    When they were out the door, Marco perused Lucas''s books. He never thought Lucas was studious. He never even thought Lucas could properly read. Marco had taught him before, but after a fateful altercation happened, Lucas was not allowed near Marco again.


    They were mostly literatures of Araya, materials on mathematics and history, a book on herbs and gathering. There were pages where he scribbled solutions and answered quizzes. Most of them he got wrong.


    "Where did he get these?" Marco wondered aloud. He had never seen him taking books from the Vermilon library. It was also off limits for him. Mainly because Grandfather took his office there.


    Pietro Mendel. Marco read a small scribble on the first page of an arithmetic book.


    "You were really acquainted with the High Priest then," Marco mused. "Why didn''t you ever tell me?"


    Well, because I never asked. And I never expected you to seek company from anyone. You looked so content living as a ghost. Marco answered his own thoughts, pondering how much more he did not know about his younger brother.


    A small calendar caught his attention as he turned to leave. A date was marked there, the day Marco was supposed to depart for his Second Year at the Academy, two weeks from now.

 Chapter 3: Marco III

    "What do you think of the three inspectors?" Grandfather asked, as he pretended to read ledgers.


    His most loyal guard, Sir Wilrick stood next to him, unmoving as a statue.


    "Two of them are inspectors but I think the third one is an exorcist," Marco replied with confidence.


    "How could you tell? Enlighten me, I''m not blessed with holiness."


    Marco was not sure why Grandfather, the Earl of Gallagher, summoned him here. But based on his dark countenance as he feigned disinterest, he must be upset. The Vermilon family name was being dragged to the mud after all. But he had always given Marco some sort of authority to act on his own as the next in line.


    "It''s a gut feeling. If he has holy power, he is pretty good in hiding it. But he is clearly different than the other two. And he might be after Lucas for a different reason."


    Grandfather''s head perked up at the mention of Lucas. "I forgot you gave it a name. Well, it''s good you think you have some sort of insight and inference. We''ll see if you''re right. And maybe we can also deal with that thing that you call your brother."


    "If there are no other matters then, I''ll take my leave."


    It was right before twilight that Marco spotted the light inside Lucas''s building.


    Discreetly, Marco took the back door and walked under the eaves to avoid unnecessary eyes. There was a path he always took that encountered the least people. He dashed under the cover of a line of trees, making for the stable by which time the servants should have finished feeding the horses.


    He rapped at the window to Lucas''s room.


    It opened to reveal a ghastly pale lad with bright golden hair - brighter than the blond hair that Marco had. Lucas had a striking feature where there was a black streak on the locks that covered a part of his eye.


    "I felt you coming," he said with a smile. He looked sweaty and there were twigs and dirt stuck to his robe. He had gone through the thicket.


    "Where have you been?" Marco said sternly.


    "Did you enter here? Who were you with? I saw three more distinct footprints." His complexion saddened. Marco still could not tell if he was enraged.


    "They want to talk to you. But i should ask, as your brother, what happened to Father Pietro?"


    "Oh, he''s already here," said a voice that was far too unpleasant. Philip stalked through the unkempt grass, a smoking pipe lodged in his hand. The other two were far behind, panting.


    Philip leaned over the window, "Hello there, young master. My apologies for the sudden intrusion. We were told that you had some contact with Father Pietro prior to his passing. Could we have a talk?"


    If Lucas was startled, he did not show it. But he seemed elated that a stranger addressed him with respect.


    "Hi, I''m Lucas," Lucas greeted them. "I had. I''d like to invite you in but there are no chairs here.


    "I think the Main Residence is a better place to talk," Ivan suggested.


    Lucas looked to Marco. Mother will be delirious if she sees him. "I think Lucas''s bedroom has enough space. Sorry for the poor hospitality."


    Ivan and Greg were confused but Philip understood. "Well, it can''t be helped."


    The three of them slumped on the bed, with room for but one more. Lucas took the small chair by the desk while Marco stood at the door. In the darkening light, the wounds on the corridor walls looked more foreboding, sharper and closer. Marco tried not to mind them.


    "My aplogies, young master, but can we talk to Lucas alone?" Ivan pleaded.


    "No." You might hurt him. He might hurt you. "I''ll stay here. You are inside the Vermilon Residence only under my permission."


    They seemed taken aback. "Oh-we did not mean to offend. Then we shall proceed."


    Marco was flustered. But Lucas seemed tranquil. Is he happy that I''m here? Or that there are more people in his room? Did the priest''s death even matter to Lucas if they were acquainted?


    "How did he die?" To their surprise, it was Lucas who asked the first question. Did he not know? Is he pretending?


    Ivan let out a cough and replied, "He fell down the stairs."


    "Really? He said he''d probably die choking on smoke from a pipe like that one." He pointed to Philip who lowered the pipe from his mouth.


    A threat? It did not improve the air in the room at all.


    "You were seen with him an hour before the accident. Can you tell us the purpose of your meeting?"


    "He lent me this book," he said, holding up a biology text.


    "Is that all? You met him that day just for that?"


    Lucas nodded, "Yes, that is all."


    A lie. This one Marco was certain. A part of the holy power gave the person an ability to discern dishonesty. Lumen Veritatis. The Light of Truth. Although not every blessed child had the ability, it seemed the quiet inspector possessed it too. Philip tapped on the headboard twice, probably also aware.


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    "And where were you when it happened?" Philip asked.


    "On my way back home."


    Truth.


    "Who accompanied you on your way back?" Ivan probed.


    "No one. I was alone."


    A lie, Marco''s holy instinct told him. Philip tapped on the headboard twice again.


    "How about the coachman? Surely you would have some company."


    "I walked home. I didn''t use a coach."


    Truth. If he traversed the Pilgrim Road by foot to the Residence, it would take him at least three hours.


    "Why did you walk home?"


    "I don''t have money to pay for a carriage." Unfortunately, he was disowned. The only reason Grandfather let him stay was because he was still young. But in a year or more, they would drag him out of the residence if that was what it would take to get rid of him.


    "Well, isn''t it dangerous for a young man like you to tread the Road by yourself?" Philip questioned.


    "It''s alright, people usually avoid me."


    Marco did not need the Light of Truth to discern that that was true.


    "Seems to me, your family doesn''t like you." Philip uttered.


    Marco flinched, annoyed yet helpless because it was true. Even Marco himself was not sure if he himself watched over Lucas with pity or with that faint hope of bringing back the good old times when his face was scar-free and Lucas was indisputably innocent.


    The inspector''s remark made Lucas quiet, his pale frame caving in. Then with a breath, he straightened his back again, saying, "Do you have any more questions? It''s getting dark."


    "Where were you earlier today?" Philip asked.


    Lucas was reluctant for a second but answered, "I visited him."


    "His grave?" Ivan said, surprised.


    Lucas nodded. Truth.


    Greg asked, "What is your relationship with Father Pietro? Are you very close?"


    "We don''t meet often. Only when I come out to the capital. Once a month, even less."


    "How did you meet him?"


    Lucas paused and stared in mid-air. "Ah, I can''t remember."


    "Can you try to recall?"


    He kneaded his brows in effort. "I don''t know. I can''t remember."


    Truth. Philip''s eyes rounded, intrigued.


    "When did you first meet?"


    "I-I can''t remember. I''m sorry." Truth.


    "Why can''t you remember?"


    "I¡­I¡­I¡­ forgot."


    Marco had an inkling. But he was not entirely sure if it was Father Pietro then. He was too young to exactly recall; Lucas, younger even.


    A ginger-haired boy was lying on the ground, dying. They called in a priest with a decent holy power to heal him but by the time he arrived, it was too late.


    Then the next day Vermilon almost lost its power. When Lucas was disowned, everything went back to normal, nearly.


    The inspectors would probably find out soon enough, if they dug deeper the stories surrounding the Ghost of Vermil. In his defense, Marco had done more than his fair share. Whether they prove Lucas''s involvement or not would be up to them.


    "I think you''ve asked enough. I hope you''ve found your answers."


    "Some of them, thanks to you, young master." Ivan stood up. The other two copied him. "I hope you found your answers too."


    "Will you come again?" Lucas got to his feet.


    "If there is a need to. But I feel like we''ll meet again, very soon." Philip said, talking to Marco than to the other. "Thank you, young master, for allowing us here. But I wonder what your motive is."


    "I have no motive."


    As the other two inspectors were out of earshot, Philip whispered close to Marco, "You seem to care for your brother but just little enough to not endanger your own position. Isn''t that sanctimonious of you?" Then more loudly he said, "Well, good luck in your studies. I hear you want to become a Holy Officer of the kingdom. You have the talent for it. But make sure to tie all loose ends." He looked right back at Lucas.


    Marco followed Philip to the door and spoke, "I know you doubt Lucas''s identity. I understand." After seeing all those marks on the walls, they were surely convinced. The Vermilons could be harboring not a ghost but a demon. "There is a way to check. I know that you know that he wasn''t lying about his visit to the priest''s grave."


    "Ah I see what you''re getting into. You''re smarter than I thought. And here I was unwittingly resigned to the idea that you were blinded by familial affection for a little brother." Philip gazed at his scar, blowing puffs from his pipe. "Then I''ll contact you, out of kindness and recognition of this¡­ resolve. Fitting of a holy scholar indeed."

 Chapter 4: Marco IV

    Mother was silent throughout dinner. She seemed well rested. Like every affair involving Lucas, this incident would be ignored and forgotten. Like words on sand, tomorrow the winds would blow it to oblivion. Vermilon would emerge strong, unyielding, and unsoiled.


    "I hope you are not forgetting to review your studies," his grandfather, Earl Wolfram Vermilon, reminded him.


    Marco put down his fork for a moment, "I still have classes with Kurt; we''re finishing on Arayan lineages this week. Then we''ll be moving on to some practicals for holy power applications. I''m improving on my sword handling skills with the help of Ser Hector."


    "Don''t get distracted."


    "I won''t."


    "Remember talent can take you only so far before you hit a wall¡­"


    "I need diligence and perseverance to overcome it, I know. Thank you for the advice Grandfather."


    Then Grandfather engaged his daughter into more political subjects. The conflict with neighboring Torinto on the farmlands and irrigation, the issue of uncollected taxes from sleazy merchants who seemed to underestimate Gallagher simply because it was a smaller state, the uprising that spread from the Arayan capital to the provinces. Marco pushed himself to pay attention because it would be his own duties in the future. Not too soon though, he hoped.


    When dinner was almost finished, Marco then brought up a most sensitive topic. "Grandfather, Mother, if I might have a request¡­"


    "What is it?" The old Vermilon looked up from his plate, wearing an expression that seemed to weigh Marco''s words before he even spoke them.


    "Can Lucas come to the Academy this year? He''s the right age."


    Mother slammed the cutlery down, the plates clinking. The servants flinched. "Marco, you are hurting my ears! In the morning I tolerated it. But not anymore."


    "He''s your son. He''s my brother. We owe him at least a chance to be educated. He studies a lot, he even has book-"


    "YOU DON''T HAVE A BROTHER! I HAVE NO OTHER SON. WHEN WILL YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU''VE SEEN IT. YOU KNOW IT! YOU''VE EXPERIENCED IT FIRSTHAND!" She touched his cheek where the scar grazed close to his left eye.


    Marco did not want to activate his lie-detecting talent because everytime she uttered those words, only one thing rang in his head. TRUTH. TRUTH. TRUTH. It did not exactly mean that it was true, but that she believed it to be true.


    Grandfather did nothing but watch as his daughter Anastasia turned apoplectic.


    Marco would have been fazed if this were the first time that Mother screamed her denials.


    He stood his ground. "You will force him out anyway in a year when he turns fifteen. Better to send him away with me now to the Academy."


    "I said no distractions," Grandfather said so casually. With regards to Lucas, he seemed calmer than Mother.


    Mother withdrew her touch and exhaled heavily. "I can''t listen to this."


    "At least you won''t have to deal with Lucas anymore. He''ll be miles off from Gallagher."


    "No, don''t speak its name like its a person."


    "I''ll make sure he won''t use the Vermilon name, I promise."


    "No."


    "Mother please¡­"


    "NO!" She sprang to her feet and fled, in her usual way of dealing with things out of her control.


    Marco sighed, helpless but not yet defeated.


    Grandfather took a sip from his wine, then said, "Please understand Anastasia. She''s been through some ordeals that she should not have gone through at her young age."


    "I know," Marco set his eyes downcast. He was not of pure nobility. Mother had once eloped with a commoner; when she came back she had two sons with her, although she only ever acknowledged one. Twice she fell in love. Twice she had her heart broken.


    She never talked about it. But Grandfather had a vague idea. Its from him that Marco knew. Marco had no recollections of his own father but of Lucas''s, he had a few. Unfortunately they were too vague, too faded, and too old to get any vivid imagery.


    Grandfather went on, swirling wine in his tall glass. "If bringing that thing with you would put your mind at ease, then I''ll allow it. We don''t need a parasite here anyway."


    "Really?" Marco jumped, strode to his Grandfather and gave him an embrace.


    "If I have known that doing this would merit me a hug from you, I would have done it sooner."


    "You are the best, Grandfather."


    "Talk to your mother about it."


    "I will. But swear on the holy angel, that you would not go back on your word."


    "Ha, sly bastard. You want to give me a heart attack if I break my word? Alright, I promise."


    The next morning, Marco had been trying to chance upon Mother but her stubbornness made his efforts futile. As long as the Earl supported Marco, it was enough. But it would have been nicer if Mother would have agreed to it too. That way Marco won''t be parting ways with her aggrieved. In two weeks, he and Lucas would be gone. Then for five months he would reside in the Academy''s quarters. It would be agony to be away from her thinking she resented him.


    Marco decided to tell Lucas the good news as soon as possible. Mother could not rescind Grandfather''s decision anyway.


    On his way downstairs, she was the one who called to him.


    "Yes Mother, have you thought about it?"


    "I lost sleep over it, thanks to you."


    "I''m sorry." He frowned.


    "I''ll agree," she declared, sorrowfully.


    Marco feared he might have misheard. "You agree?" At least now, she acknowledged Lucas''s presence even begrudgingly. Little by little, one step at a time. No need to rush.


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    "On a condition."


    "Why?"


    "Hear me out. You shall travel on two separate coaches. I talked to Father about it."


    "Two-Is there a need for that? Isn''t it safer if I were with him?"


    "You think you''re safe with¡­ that thing? When it nearly took your sight from you. That thing is an object of malice and misfortune. I will not be able to sleep thinking that you would be staying in the same carriage for three days. No, not possible. You are the future of Vermilon and you are my son. The last thing I want is for you to be harmed. You understand me?"


    "I - I understand. But who''s going to accompany him?" Lucas would be alone again.


    "I''ll get one of the attendants."


    Nobody would volunteer for that task, without a doubt.


    Mother continued, "And I''ll send a letter to the Academy to give it a chance for a test. If it fails, then it''ll have to live in the streets. That''s the consequence of your action, Marco. If it passes, which is far-fetched, it will stay in a different room, far away from you. It would take a commoner''s name. I won''t let it sully the Vermilon family. If it gets into another¡­incident, stay away from it. You understand me?"


    Marco''s spirit sank deeper and deeper with her every word. How could she detest Lucas so much? But at least, this is a chance worth taking. There was a glimpse of progress, no matter how small. Anything is better than Lucas being stuck in a storage building. I just have to make it work.


    Marco nodded perfunctorily.


    "Ugh, I feel like you are going to simply ignore everything I said." She threw up her hands in frustration.


    "Don''t worry, Mother. I can handle it."


    She stepped closer to him, her voice soft yet firm, "That thing is not your burden, Marco. How can I free your conscience of it?"


    You are right, Mother. He is our burden. Not just mine.


    "I''ll have to tell him the good news. Thank you, Mother. Thank you for giving him a chance."


    She looked deep into his eyes and without warning, she hugged him. He had outgrown her, so he had to stoop to her level. She mumbled, "You don''t know what you''re doing. But I know this is just who you are. That''s why I don''t hate you for it. And even though I wasn''t a great parent, you''ve grown up well."


    He felt something wetting his shoulder. She sniffed and wiped her tears.


    Marco wiped his own eyes as well.


    As he made his way to Lucas, Marco could not help but recall the last time Mother cried in front of him. It was when she was wiping the blood off his wounded cheek, frantically. Marco did not cry then. He had been in shock, afraid Mother might be right.


    He saw movement in Lucas''s window. He must be awake. His room lamp was still burned, despite the bright hour of the encroaching midday.


    "Lucas! I have good news!" He called.


    The movement in the room disappeared as he got closer. But he clearly saw a pair of eyes looking at him through the window.


    "Lucas," he called. When he got closer, he found his brother on the bed.


    "Hey, stop pretending to be asleep. I''ve got the best news for you." He knocked on the window.


    His brother awoke, rubbing sand from his eyes. "Marco!" He cheered, pushing the window open.


    "Were you playing with me?" A small uneasy suspicion settled in Marco''s mind. Shivers crept over him, his hair bristling. My blessing would have reacted. I would know for sure.


    "Playing, what do you mean?" He sounded terribly groggy as though he had not a wink of sleep in the night.


    "I saw you moving around."


    "Oh, really? Must have been the flame flickering."


    "Lucas, do you have someone in the house with you?" Marco asked, his instincts going haywire.


    Lucas denied it, "No."


    A lie. The door never opened. It should still be in the room whatever it is. But Marco could not feel any other presence beside Lucas''s. Is my power to discern the truth failing me? Does my bias affect whether I accept his word to be true or not? Could it just be my hallucination then? Marco was utterly confused. But he''s lying. Why is he lying?


    Lucas asked in a soft tone. "Did something happen again?" He looked guarded. Marco seldom visited him two days in a row. And usually, not for good reason.


    In his confusion, Marco nearly forgot why he came to his younger brother in the first place.


    "Oh, I just wanted to share some great news," Marco beamed, leaning against the window frame, putting off that matter for another day. Whatever it was, it should not ruin this glorious morning. "You''ll be attending the Academy with me, brother!"


    "Rea-lly?" Lucas swallowed a lump in his throat, his voice breaking as he spoke, "Y-you must be messing with me."


    "No, for real. I never asked you what you wanted to be when you grow up, but I believe it''s time to think about it."


    Lucas''s eyes began to well. He had to shield them with his arm. He wiped them along with the snot trailing from his nose. "I''m afraid this is a dream. What if I wake up and this isn''t real?"


    "Huh, you''re being poetic now because of all those books you''ve read."


    Marco reached through the window, pulling Lucas into a hug ¡ª Marco''s third in less than a day. The first embrace for Lucas in ten years. Reluctantly, Lucas inched stiffly toward him. He completely broke into tears, sobbing.


    How can a cry-baby ever hurt anyone? Marco thought, yet deep down he knew, Lucas was more than capable.

 Chapter 5: Marco V

    Training with Kurt took place in random places. Today the self-proclaimed genius selected a brick house that smelled of horse manure.


    "Your power relies on your surroundings," Kurt explained while covering his nose and mouth with his robe. "You must be able to wield anything around you to its full potential, even in this ¡ª ugh ¡ª noxious setting."


    Marco said in a muffled voice, his mouth shielded by his arm, "It''s filthy. Admit it, none of us wants to be here. I''m out! What on earth was going inside of your head when you thought of training me here?"


    "It wasn''t my fault, my lord. I asked the servant to search for a suitable house with no occupants. We visited this place before; unfortunately, some vagrants probably stopped by in between and left some disgusting... remains." Kurt rattled through his cover, pausing to catch his breath. "But this is fortuitous! Don''t you think so? To push your limits."


    "You''re just making up a reason. It''s okay to make a mistake."


    His genius trainer did not have the least intention of backing down. "Today, you have to do more than just impress me. You will have to defeat a veteran soldier of the holy army."


    A man in his fifties stepped into the doorway, clad in a black tunic, a sword strapped to his waist. In the glare of early morning sun, his gray hair sparkled in gold streaks. "The name''s Dirk of Caulway. It''s a pleasure to meet you, my lord," he said, voice deep and gravelly. He exuded the aura of a killer.


    "The pleasure''s all mine, Dirk of Caulway. Although pleasure''s not the word this morning. I must apologize that my genius of a teacher has brought you to a stench pit."


    "No worries, my lord. I have smelled worse." True to his words, he breathed in the foul air without covering his nose.


    I haven''t. Marco glanced over to Kurt who seemed to be dead set on continuing with today''s agenda.


    Kurt spoke, "You might possess far greater potent talent than Dirk, but he has you beat on experience. Defeat him, that''s the test for today. If you can''t, you''ll be going back here tomorrow and the day after that. Until you emerge victorious. But you shouldn''t command things you have used before. That includes the earth, air, grass and tree."


    In other words, he wants me to use the bricks of the house or the manure. "That means, today''s lesson is over if I defeat him?"


    "Yes?"


    "Okay then," Marco said, lowering his arm from his nose. "Let''s start right away."


    Huuuu... Marco let out tendrils of holy energy, flowing forth from pores on his skin, coalescing into streams of golden light that sought contact with everything around him. To the ceiling. To the soil. To the horse droppings. To the air. To the wall. Even to the rocks underneath the turf. Everything they touched, Marco gained control over them.


    Dirk pulled out his sword, enveloping himself in a light much fainter than Marco''s.


    Marco flicked one finger. INVIOLABLE EDICT! He launched a pile of horse shit.


    "AWW!" It was Kurt who yelped. "GOD FORGIVE YOU!" He frantically picked at the dung on his face.


    Marco broke into a laugh. "That''s a punishment for bringing your lord here."If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "You seemed to underestimate me." Dirk charged, undistracted, locked in on the battle. Indeed, he had a soldier''s discipline.


    "I never underestimated you." INVIOLABLE EDICT! The roof collapsed right before the old veteran. Light filtered into the small room. BANG! He broke through them with the sheer swing of his sword. CLINK. CLINK. Bricks after bricks were sent but Dirk knocked them away without breaking a sweat. Marco also sent balls of manure just for good fun; but the old man''s sense of humor must have died on the battlefield. His eyes glowed with concentration. One brick hit the soldier on the knee, but it did not seem to inflict the least harm. Heavenly Guard. A protective charm most soldiers learned. It could block most physical attacks, but maintaining it drained their energy quickly.


    Marco paused his barrage to prepare a bigger attack. Dirk grabbed the chance to advance on him, thrusting his sword forward to break through Marco''s brick shield. BOOM! Stones clattered to the ground. But a colossus made of brick and dung soon materialized before him. SHATTER! The shale roof completely crumbled as the colossus grew towering over the brick house. It stomped on the soldier. It swung its enormous arms down at him. Dirk sliced at the brick legs but any material he chipped came flying back to the golem, making it whole again. This was the extent of the power of Marco Vermilon. This is the difference between us. As long as I feed the colossus with holy power, it will be immortal. And I will not run out of holy power in this battle, not before you do.


    Having realized his strikes to be futile, Dirk made a beeline for Marco instead. He shot out with lightning speed. Marco could not catch him with his eyes. But he was prepared.


    Dirk''s sword thrust past Marco''s meager defense of bricks and dung. "You should have learned that this is not enough to stop me!"


    INVIOLABLE EDICT! Marco shot out more holy power all over his body. As soon as a single tendril of light made contact with the point of Dirk''s sword, Marco gained control. SWOOSH. The metal of the sword was utterly vaporized. I'' ll feel bad if that''s his favorite sword.


    But his holy gift did not have command over humans. SMACK! A fist landed on his cheek. He heard Kurt cheering. The bastard. Dirk jumped on a floating stone, about to launch another punch. He was indeed a fighter. Marco called forth his colossus, transforming it instantly into a tentacled stone creature. The tentacles whipped at Dirk from behind, slamming him outside the brick house. Before he could stand, the colossus pinned him down on all four limbs until he yelled defeat. "I surrender!"


    Marco had the urge to hurt him some more; but he stopped. I was just getting started. He ordered the colossus to step back and crumble to dust.


    "I''m glad I''ve seen your power before this old man retires. I know that the kingdom is in good hands."


    Marco extended a hand to pull him up. "Thank you for this lesson, I shall remember your name and prowess, Dirk of Caulway. I''ll have my teacher compensate for the sword. Forgive me for ruining it but you were too strong, you gave me no choice."


    Kurt came skipping, blushing and giddy, "My, my, you''ve truly grown, my lord. Who even among your age in Araya can come toe-to-toe with you? I believe no one. Thanks to me." He did not seem so upset any more about the dung Marco threw at his face. Some even got to his teeth.


    "The lesson is over now. I''ll be off. Please take care."


    All three of them were covered in manure. Marco was only smeared of excrement because he bore the brunt of Dirk''s punch which nearly unscrewed his head. With his blood running, he wanted to train some more. But he had a place to be.


    Gallagher was a landlocked earldom, but it teemed with farms of wheat and livestock. It''s capital, the Merchant City of Vermil, nestled within patches of agricultural lands and deciduous forests, was a strategic point on the Pilgrim Road where traders all over Araya gathered at the half-way point. Especially during the monsoon seasons when the sea would become hostile to seafarers, they would rather take the long earthen route than risk the waves.


    This month was not one of those times. Marco found Vermil quiet and lifeless, with only a few foreign caravans about. The city saw a short-lived boom during Father Pietro''s passing, but all the visitors and pilgrims had long since scattered from the Merchant City.


    What brought Marco back to Vermil was a letter he received two days ago. "Would you care for some tea?" It read, along with a place and time. It came from Philip the exorcist.


    Philip had chosen a great place, Marco had to admit. He himself was not a fan of tea but the black chamomile they served at this cafe seemed to soothe the pain on his injured cheek and put his mind at ease, even as his expected company drained his patience by the minute. He glanced at the clock. It''s been half an hour past one. Where is that damn fake inspector?


    The overhanging witch bells chimed and clinked when the door opened. Philip strode in with a pipe in his mouth. Without the other two inspectors that he outsized, he did not look so tall. He had shed his gray disguise and instead wore a simpler linen shirt for the hot dry weather. He did not appear so intimidating anymore.


    Still, Marco did not like him.


    "Young lord, what a pleasure!"


    "Have you been well, Inspector?"


    "I have, thank you. I can see you''ve been well too," he said, settling down opposite Marco, "Girl, please give me the same drink as the liege."


    "So, what have you found?"


    "I''m just wondering, my lord, what I am getting from this exchange."


    Clever. Does he want money? He doesn''t seem like it though. "Weren''t you after the truth regarding my brother''s identity? I led you to the right direction. I allowed you into the manor. Now it''s time for you to pay up."


    "And I thank you for it. But this is an information exchange. A barter if you will. I am not willing to disclose it if you-"


    "Then I''ll visit the grave myself."


    "And excavate the casket on what grounds?" Philip chuckled bravely, unbothered by the fact he was sneering at the future Earl of Gallagher.


    "What information do you want?"


    "A simple yes or no."


    Marco regarded the dangerous man in front of him, each time pondering if he was making a mistake. "Speak up then."


    Philip better choose his words more wisely.


    "Among the vile rumors surrounding the Ghost of Vermil, there was one about the Viscount Rupert''s youngest son. He died in the Vermilon Residence. Is that right?"

 Chapter 6: Marco VI

    Little Rupert was a bubbly fosterling with a wont for peril and adventure. Lucas, when he used to not know better, had been the same. Innocent and clueless, Rupert approached Lucas despite his attendants'' warnings. Not long after, they became inseparable, always together in trouble. Marco could not remember his face anymore. But there was no way to forget the convulsing shape of his body slumped on the ground even if Marco had wanted to.


    "Yes." Marco answered without batting an eye. Grandfather attempted to cover it up, saying the poor kid died on the road. His mischief had led him to a den of bears. Indeed, he looked as if he was mauled by a beast. But the Ruperts refused to believe it, not when there were more than ten witnesses and not all of them could keep their mouths shut. Not in front of gold coins.


    Philip looked pensively at the tea served to him. "I see, I see now. That saves me a lot of time investigating. But that still doesn''t really make everything certain."


    "Then you''re saying ¡ª"


    "The artifact in Father Pietro''s grave is intact. As pure as the day it was put there. If your brother had come within ten yards, then he had not shown any devilish energy or malice towards Father Pietro''s grave. That''s what it means."


    Marco breathed a sigh of relief. "Then my brother is free of guilt of this tragedy."


    "Not so fast. Ivan and Greg might give up on this because they''re only after Father Pietro''s cause of death. It being an accident appears undeniable. They cannot prosecute any suspects, because there was not a shred of evidence. But I am after your brother''s true nature. I am going to unmask him. Whether you stand in my way or assist me matters not."


    "Why go at such length? He''s innocent. He couldn''t have killed him if he bore no malice to him. You''ve checked the artifact yourself."


    Philip puffed a long draft from his pipe. "Call it instinct. Mind you, I''ve worked in this field for more than half my life. Sometimes people don''t need malice to kill, young lord."


    It was a simple question to ask Lucas. Whether he did kill the reverend. Yet Marco could not bring himself to do it. He left Philip to finish his tea.


    He wanted to buy Lucas some parchments and ink. He would also need a uniform but the Academy would provide it. All the while, Marco was praying he wasn''t making a mistake.


    "Marco," someone called. A lady with raven hair and a warm smile. An air of overconfidence about her. Catherine. "Have you been waiting for so long?" She tipped her sunhat to reveal her azure-blue eyes, bluer than Marco''s, brighter too.


    "No, not really. I met with somebody," Marco answered.


    "Oooh, my heart," she swooned, clutching her chest as though hurt, "Did you meet with your mistress?"


    "Quit it. The people would think you''re my fianc¨¦."


    "Look at your face. You''ll lose your hair even before your thirties at this rate. Kugh," she grimaced. "Well anyway, you''ll just grow them back with your holy gift. How convenient." She acted jealous.


    "That''s not how it works, Cat."


    "Oh indeed. I remember some bishops are bald. And not by choice because who would be bald by choice, right?"


    Indeed, the preservation of youth was a power afforded to a few. A specific requirement was required to obtain it as well.


    "What happened to your cheek?" She pressed it, grazing the scar and the swollen bruise.


    "A mark of hard work. I was training."


    "You never stop huh. We better hurry up then, let''s get some supplies."


    Cat hopped cheerfully ahead of him, her skirt flapping below her knees. "There''s a store here. Their papers are scented."


    They ended up buying more than they intended. "Well now you won''t run out of parchment and ink for two years," Catherine said, munching on a cake they bought at her favorite pastry.


    Stolen story; please report.


    "These are not all for me," taking a bite from his own cake.


    "You''re giving some to me? No thanks, I''m good. What I want from you is a flower. Buy me one," she said, tilting her head adorably.


    "Not to you. For my brother, he''s coming to school with me," he clarified.


    "Uck," she choked. Coughing, she jabbed at his arm. "Can you warn me before you say that."


    "Why? It''s not like talking about him is taboo. He''s my brother, you know."


    "Hmph, but are you really taking him to Demach? You can''t just ask for the Academy to admit him, you fool. With its reputation and all."


    "Aye, he needs to pass the test."


    "If he has holy power as abundant as yours, then he wouldn''t need a passing grade on a written test."


    But Lucas doesn''t have holy power. What he had was something¡­ mysterious.


    "The test is his only chance. I taught him Mathematics the best I can for a day or two, but he had been learning on his own with nobody to teach him. How can he catch up to those lords and ladies and scholars. I''m not even sure if he would finish half the test."


    Marco had to admit, it seemed beyond hope.


    "It''s futile then."


    "Not with your power. I need your holy power, Catherine." He looked at her endearingly, hoping his looks would sway her if she truly even had a shred of affection for him.


    Her brows furrowed. "YOU WANT TO CHEAT?"


    "Lower your voice!"


    "You want to cheat!" She whispered with the same intensity, "You, the shining star of Demach, will cheat the aptitude exam for your little brother! Oh my Lord of Goodness, you''ve just become a hundredfold more appealing to me."


    "Then will you help him?" With her gift of faultless memory, she could ensure Lucas''s passing grade. That was of course if Lucas was diligent to at least learn eighty percent of the questions that Catherine had memorized flawlessly. The Academy barely altered the questions.


    "No," she replied with a flick of a finger.


    It felt like a huge boulder got tied to his heart, yanking it deep into hopelessness. "But you said..."


    "You''re bright so I know you''ve thought of this, but I''m going to say it anyway. Let''s say he passes, what then? Are you also going to cheat all his classes, all his practicals, all his upcoming exams?"


    Marco stared at the parchment that might all go to waste. "I believe we can just weather through it. I can teach him some more, while he''s already inside."


    "You''re really sacrificing so much for him, huh?" She put down the empty plate, wiping the spoon clean with her mouth.


    "I just want him to experience school even if only for a brief moment. It might not last, but at least he has the chance to go."


    She fell into deep thought.


    He spoke, "But I guess what you said is true. It''s pointless. Without your power, how will he get through the test? Let''s just return all these parchments. The kind old lady would be sad though. But what can we do?"


    "Hmph, don''t act cutesy, it doesn''t suit you," she scorned him.


    He gave her a cold stare.


    "Alright, for you my friend, I''ll do it."


    "You''re an angel!"


    She smirked suddenly, "But grant me one wish."


    "What?" He did not like the sound of her.


    "You''ll do one thing I demand without question. Just one wish."


    He reeled away from her, disgusted.


    Her cheeks turned pink. "It''s not what you think, you pervert. Just you wait!"


    Truth. Lumen Veritatis told him.


    "Alright, I trust you. Then, we should start tomorrow. Mother would be thrilled to see you." But not after she learns what you have come for.

 Chapter 7: Marco VII

    Catherine Ashwood arrived wearing a new sunhat and the same brilliant smile that seemed to brighten her face by tenfold. She carried a retinue of three guards around her and a basket of oranges from their orchard. The Ashwoods owned an extensive part of Gallagher, mostly farms to the north. They managed plantations and cattle.


    Mother exchanged pleasantries with her, asking, "Catherine, my ball of sunshine. What brought you here?"


    She seemed to scramble for an answer. "Well, my lady, didn''t Marco tell you?"


    Marco plastered a smile on his face. "I just asked her for history lessons. She has great memory. It''s good for my training."


    "I hope you pay attention though; you tend to easily get distracted when you''re together. Don''t enjoy each other''s company too much. I''ll prepare some snacks for the... two of you." She left.


    Did she buy my excuse?


    "I hope I won''t be forbidden from visiting here after today. Promise me this won''t affect my family''s standing," Cat implored him, suddenly unnerved, "I am basically lending a hand to a person disowned by my liege."


    "I am your future liege. I will always remember this favor."


    "Stop acting like you''re so cool. You just lied straight to your mother''s face. It doesn''t bode well for Gallagher, I fear."


    Marco sighed, "You can''t back out now. I already told Lucas. He''s expecting us."


    "Lucas," she tried the name on her tongue. "It feels like meeting a secret brother of yours."


    "You''ve never seen him before?"


    "No, is he better-looking than you? I bet he is."


    Lucas was waiting in Marco''s room, the daylight splashing color to his pallid complexion. Marco lent him a pair of neater clothes than the ones he usually wore. Even the ones in Lucas''s closet were hand-me-downs from his big brother.


    "Oh, you''re already here," Marco said, closing the door behind him. "Have you had breakfast?"


    "I had." A lie. I''ll ask the servants to bring in food now.


    "This is Catherine Ashwood. She''s my friend, " he introduced them.


    "I''m Lucas." He bowed crudely in the gesture that commoners addressed the noble. "It''s a pleasure to meet you, my lady."


    Cat seemed to have lost all the light about her, seemingly stunned. She was well aware of all the rumors and the incidents that plagued the Vermilons. Not a second later, a forced smile crept back to her lips. "The pleasure is mine."


    Marco could not say that he did not expect her reaction. Even to Marco, Lucas remained an enigma. His little brother had an air about him that was simply unsettling.


    "I believe your brother told you why I''m here. I will be teaching you specific concepts the exam is focused on."


    "I understand."


    "Then we can begin. We have a lot to cover."


    Marco stayed by their side, reading on his own. A servant called from outside the door, bringing a tray of cookies and a jug of milk. "I''ll take it from here," he told the servant, grabbing the tray from her before she could glimpse the inside of his room.


    "Dig in." He laid the food on the center of the table. "Fuel for your thinking machines."


    A few more minutes ticked by when suddenly Lucas interjected, "I don''t think this is right."


    Catherine straightened abruptly. "What''s not right?" She sounded insulted. Her memory was perfect. She could not be wrong.


    Lucas glanced meekly at his brother before setting his gaze on his pale hands. "I understand that I lack... knowledge, and I might not make the exam but I still want to give it my best. I''m sorry if that offended you."


    So, he had realized. Marco closed the book in his hand and laid it on the table. Though it worried him, he regarded his brother in better light. "That will be hard, Lucas. You might miss this chance."


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "It''s alright. I want to prove that I can do well, too." He lifted his gaze, his face steadier, more determined.


    Indeed, all this time a bad reputation had preceded him. It was time to forge a new path in this opportunity to turn over a new leaf.


    "Well, I''m glad you think that way," Catherine interfered, "but your brother and I had an agreement."


    "It''s fine, Cat. The agreement still stands. You can help him but just don''t give him the specific questions."


    She sneered, "Oh my, all that holy power I burned just to be in vain."


    "I''m sorry, my lady." Lucas frowned.


    Catherine chuckled. "Don''t be. I''m just kidding. You and your brother are more similar than I thought. Both of you can''t take a joke."


    Because of her remark, Lucas''s lips arched into a smile. He lowered his head, trying to hide it. Marco caught a glimpse of it.


    Come lunchtime, they had to leave Lucas by himself. Marco wanted the meal served in his room so he could share some of the turkey with his brother. Mother however insisted to gather at the dining table, ''to dine properly with his guest''.


    "How is your study going so far?" She asked Catherine, handing her a bowl of skinned potatoes. "Here, the cook dipped it in cheese."


    "Marco is catching up on the Third Crusade on the Lost City of Atamar," Cat answered carefully. It was true that he was reading the book on the Third Crusade. Albeit only by himself.


    "Is he giving you trouble?" Mother craned toward her, speaking more softly Marco could barely hear.


    "Just the usual," she replied.


    Mother hacked onto the turkey vigorously. She knows. But she doesn''t want to talk about him. She doesn''t even want to acknowledge his existence anymore. Lucas is just a ghost to her now.


    Meanwhile, the Earl did not seem to care. He ate in silence. Whether he knew what his grandson was up to, Marco could not tell.


    "I couldn''t breathe!" Catherine blurted when they were back at Marco''s room. She threw herself onto his bed. "I thought the potatoes were going to stay lodged in my throat. Why, why did you make me go through such suffering? Miss Anastasia hates me now."


    Marco walked over to Lucas who was writing notes just like Catherine told him. "I''m sorry I couldn''t bring you something to eat. I''ll get some more biscuits."


    "It''s alright. I''m not hungry," Lucas said. Truth.


    "In the Academy, you can eat whatever you want. Look forward to it." He cheered him up.


    "Marco, can you show me to the garden for a minute? I need some fresh air. Your room reeks." Catherine called him over. A lie. She wants to talk.


    "I hope you get pollen allergy."


    "Are you cursing me?"


    "Would that I could," he said, leading her out. She knew the way to the garden herself; so he just followed behind her. "What is it?"


    She turned to him, the sunhat casting shadow over her face. "Rupert''s youngest daughter is also entering Demach. She will pass. She has talent for it."


    Marco picked up a yellow tulip. "I know. She might cause trouble for him." He handed the stalk to her. "Here, you said you wanted a flower."


    She accepted it, twirling her finger over the petals. "More than trouble. Did you know why Earl Wolfram decided to disown your little brother? I think you should mull over on that."


    Marco had a slight idea. Having lost the Vermilon name, any harm done to Lucas would not constitute as grounds for conflict or war. But then the core reason he wanted to bring Lucas along overruled any fear.


    Marco played with a small bud of rose that was yet to unfurl . "The Arayan capital is a new beginning for him. There he has a chance. Then he will become more than just the Ghost of Vermil."

 Chapter 8: Marco VIII

    The Pilgrim Road felt eerie and somehow foreboding the morning they departed for the Arayan capital. The sky was overcast. Rain was apparent. Not many people went out of their homes and braved the weather. For the better stretch of the journey, they would be alone.


    "Have you had a good night''s rest?" Before boarding the carriages, Marco had asked his brother who seemed uncomfortable in his new coat.


    Lucas had only one luggage to his possession. By its weight, it wasn''t even stuffed to the brim. Marco on the other hand had three. He needed that much to be away from home for almost half a year.


    "I had," Lucas had replied, palpably fighting back a yawn. The dark circles under his eyes told Marco he did not sleep much.


    "I told you the trip will take at least three days. You''ve got to be well-rested for it." He once took the Road after having pulled an all-nighter for a royal ball. He feared his head was about to explode from the aftermath. And the heat in the plains of Gallagher had only made it worse.


    "I''m very sorry," Lucas had said, eyes to the ground again. He was always quick to apologize. Marco did not know if it made one humble or submissive.


    Mother stepped out of the main door in her velvet. She pulled Marco into a hug, pecking a kiss on the unmarked side of his cheeks. "Take care. Rest if you can. Don''t get into trouble. You understand."


    "I understand, Mother," he had answered, reciprocating her affection. Marco glanced at his back to find Lucas gone. Like a ghost, he would always disappear without notice when Mother was about.


    His little brother was already inside his carriage when Marco checked. He carried a trusty gas lamp with him.


    Marco had told him, "You''ll always be right behind me. Ser Gerald will be leading the entourage. But Ser Harol would be right behind you. You''ll be perfectly safe. You should sleep if you feel like it. Alice here will take care of you."


    Alice did not look like she would. Despite the fairly cold morning, she was covered in sweat, her lips pale, her face a mask of dread.


    "Can I count on you, Alice?" he had asked her, just to steel her nerves.


    "Certainly, young master," she had nodded, boarding Lucas''s carriage on trembling toes.


    Now as their cavalcade trundled down the Pilgrim Road, Marco kept peeking out the window, looking back past the small band of mounted escorts between them, checking Lucas''s coach was still there. He opened a book to pass time but the clickety clack of wooden wheels and the clop of hooves rendered focusing impossible. He talked with his guardian instead.


    "Where is the first rest stop going to be?"


    Dunce, squire to Ser Gerald, seemed to ponder before answering, "With the pace we are going, my lord, we can make it to the Cobalt Passing by midday to give the horses respite. That is if the rain catches us not."


    Soon they were past Vermil and the wheatfields beside it. The greater part of the Pilgrim Road in Gallagher cut through rolling plains, flanked on both sides by a line of elms and birch trees, although not completely. At around midday, they reached the beginning of the Ashwood Forest, where the trees grew denser as they neared it. It meant they were nearly at the Cobalt Passing - a short bridge that arched over the Cobalt Stream, one of the tributaries that fed the Gallagher River and irrigated part of the Ashwood manor.


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    Somebody suddenly shouted, "WOLVES!"


    Dunce drew his nameless sword, "Everything is well, my lord, Ser Gerald will deal with them."


    "I know, but I''m curious."


    "If you say so, my lord."


    The cavalcade was halted. Marco looked behind them to check again that Lucas''s carriage was there. He stepped out too. Alice walked behind him, eyes rounded, alert.


    "Do not worry. They''re just wolves," Marco assured them.


    They walked to the front of the entourage, where they found about seven wolf carcasses scattered at the foot of the Cobalt Passing.


    "You made short work of them, Ser Gerald. Worthy of praise."


    Ser Gerald turned to him, "My lord, they were already dead when we found them."


    "Is that so? Curious. But it seems that these are fresh kill. Looks to be the work of a blade." Indeed, blood pooled clearly beneath their bodies, from long slashes that ought to have been inflected by a sword ¡ª skilfully. It had not been long since they were killed and scattered right across the Passing.


    "It is so," the old knight answered. Then he commanded one of the soldiers, "Ser Felix, reconnaissance. There might be fiends waiting in ambush."


    "On it, Ser," the soldier obliged. Felix was one of the few soldiers gifted with innate talent. It meant he did not need to train and pray for his blessing. He was born with it. The dark-haired soldier stripped his gloves and pulled out a wooden box from his leather pouch. Buzz. Buzz. A sound came from inside it. He prayed, holding the box close to his heart.


    "THREAD OF NATURE!" Felix chanted. A halo of light enveloped him before forming into thin wispy threads that reached into the box as he opened it. A small warm of bees scattered from it, each one connected to Felix''s palm by a thread of light. "Into the woods," he mouthed. Buzzing, the bees flitted into the trees, the threads right on their trails.


    "We should bury them," Lucas uttered, touching the fur of one dead wolf.


    "I''m sorry, Lucas, but that would a waste of time. Ser Gerald, please order your men to move them from the middle of the road, then burn them. Meanwhile, water the horses." It is better to burn the dead, lest they come back to life. That was one of the lessons taught early in Demach.


    Lucas looked forlorn. Marco stepped closer to him. "How does it feel to be way beyond Vermil? Have you been to the Ashwood Forest before?"


    "I hadn''t. The lands here are much greener."


    "This is the fief of Catherine''s family."


    "Oh, they own those plantations that we passed?"


    "Indeed, they do."


    Soon a pyre was set around the pile of wolf cadavers. As the smell of wood and fur and flesh burned, bees started returning to Felix one by one.


    "Nothing suspicious within a hundred yards, Ser," he reported to the Captain Knight after the last insect flew into the box, all threads cut and fading.


    Somebody is playing a gruesome prank, or is intending to delay us.


    "We should move along now," Marco yelled over the group.


    "But the horses had not had their fill, my lord. They also need to eat more," Dunce argued.


    "We will find another chance. We should cross the Ashwood Forest before night fall. We rest at Incador. Make haste."


    Despite their grumblings, they tied the horses back to the carriages and not long after, they were lumbering down the Pilgrim Road again.


    An uprooted tree blocked their way a few minutes later. Bees were sent but found no traces of the perpetrators. After the log was moved aside, they wasted no time in resuming their journey. The apprehension in Marco''s heart grew as the sky darkened, and before they made it past half the Forest, the storm poured. It made Felix''s bees useless in detecting danger. Still, they pushed forward even as the rain delayed their advance.


    The sound of pattering water drowned out the clatter of horses. When Marco looked behind to check on Lucas, the blanket of downpour limited his sight. He could only make out a little silhouette in the distance. But at least, they ran into no more obstacles.


    Dusk found them in the Ashwood Forest. Night fell and the Pilgrim Road turned pitch black. The forest was usually safe. Only a pack of wolves occasionally stalked in the shadows. Their howls could be heard even now. But they did not generally approach travelers who carried fire and sharp iron. There were places to camp beside the Road in the Ashwood Forest, Ser Gerald advised so, but Marco did not want to risk it.


    He was not afraid of wolves. He was even confident in defeating average cursed beasts. But there was something about today that kept him on guard.


    The storm did not show signs of stopping. It only kept pouring heavier instead. Once outside the Forest at last, they stopped at the small village of Incador. During his travels, Marco would always stay at the Tattling Wife ¡ª an inn that could accommodate their small party of two carriages and ten mounted escorts.


    "Where is Lucas''s carriage?" Marco asked Ser Gerald as they stepped out into the rain. In the thick downpour in the night, it was hard to discern any shape or light. The smattering of trees at the fringe of the forest also blocked their view.


    "They should be here soon," the captain answered.


    "I''ll wait outside, go see the innkeeper," Marco ordered. Did something happen?


    Incador was a town of loggers, managed by a relative to the Ashwoods. The town fed wood and timber to the Arayan Crown Land of West Bismuth. It was fast growing, but like Vermil when the southern monsoons were quiet and the sea was fair, Incador also saw little energy. Thus tonight, the town was nearly empty, with only a few residents about, a third of them inebriated.


    Something is wrong. Half an hour passed, and Lucas''s carriage was still nowhere to be seen. "Give me your horse, Ser Gerald," he commanded hastily.


    "The rain is dense, and the forest is unkind. Better to wait. They will be here soon." The captain tried to stop him.


    Marco glared at him, producing a tendril of holy power from his fingertip that turned into a huge orb of light, illuminating the facade of Tattling Wife. He declared sternly, "Give me your horse. Or I''ll suspect that it is you sabotaging this journey."


    "My apologies, I stepped out of line. But I''m only concerned for my lord''s safety."


    "Follow me then." He climbed onto the horse that Dunce brought. With the light orb in front of him, he rode into the black of night back to the Ashwood Forest.

 Chapter 9: Marco IX

    Rain splattered on his face as he raced through the Pilgrim Road. Lord, please deliver my brother safely to me. Behind him, he heard the thunder of other horses. Ser Gerald and his soldiers had followed him. Marco spurred his mount to a faster gallop.


    A shadow moved into the illumination of the light orb, a man in the steel armor of the House of Vermilon, an oxen sigil on his chest plate.


    "Ser Harol!" Marco called.


    The knight had lost his horse, and his strength. He dropped to the ground face-first before Marco could reach him. Alighting from his mount, Marco ran over to the dying man. A long gash opened both mail and muscle on his back. Raindrops kept washing the blood onto the ground, revealing the white of his spine.


    Marco rolled his body over only to find another slash that tore a wound on his armor and stomach. A huge wood splinter was lodged upward his ribs.


    "What happened? Speak!"


    Blood bubbled out of his mouth when Ser Harol tried to answer. "He''s... demon... kill..." More blood gushed out, choking him. Marco let him down. He was back up onto his mount by the time Ser Gerald caught up.


    "Is there a blessed child among you who can heal him?" Marco asked them.


    "I can try, my lord, but I doubt that he will make it," Felix trotted forward.


    "Try. One shall keep Felix company while the rest of you can join me. Hi-yah!" He rode on without looking back on who followed him, no patience for anyone.


    It did not take long for him to find the carriage with one of its wheels broken. A lamp burned inside faintly. When the light orb cast light onto it, Marco spotted black shadows feasting on mutilated corpses of escorts and horses alike. "GRRR!" They bared their teeth at him before they dashed into the dark, wary of his holy light. Same long gashes were present on the bodies strewn around the carriage.


    "INVIOLABLE EDICT!" In a burst of light, Marco gained command of the water around him. Every raindrop the light had touched stopped falling and followed his will. They clustered into sharp pointed javelins that glowed under the orb''s illumination. He launched them, CHIKK, managing to take down at least two.


    "Lucas! Lucas!" He yelled but nobody answered. He poured more holy energy into the orb, causing it to glow more intensely. STAR OF PROVIDENCE! Both corpses and shadows¡ª even the canopy far off into the forest ¡ª were cast in light. Wolves? Their fur looked uneven and burned. Some of them had exposed flesh and wound. The dead wolves at the Cobalt Passing! The rain had smothered the fire before they could be consumed by it. They had become cursed beasts. But which demon had inflicted the curse on them?


    Marco shot more water javelins immediately, but the wolves had leapt away, more afraid of the light than of him. Still, they didn''t retreat, only hiding behind the trees.


    "Ser Gerald, take care of them!" Marco jumped down and scurried to open the door to his brother''s broken carriage. "Lucas!"


    Under the bench, clutching his trusty gas lamp to his chest, Lucas was curled up on his side with his eyes open. But he didn''t seem to hear or see. Not until Marco approached and touched his arm did he seem to break out of a trance and utter, "Marco."


    "What happened? Where is Alice?"


    Lucas seemed to look around, searching. "I don''t know."


    Lumen Veritatis told him that it was true.


    "What happened to your escorts?"


    "I don''t know." Lucas sat up, strangely calm, void of any shred of terror. On the other hand, Marco''s pulse was racing.


    What is happening? "Lucas, I''m your brother, you can tell me. I found Ser Harol at death''s door. What happened to him?" He had probably passed away by now. Yet his last words were referring to a demon.


    "I don''t know. Is he alright?" He acted as though he had not the faintest clue of what was happening.


    "There are cursed beasts outside, Lucas. The dead wolves at the Passing had risen as cursed beasts."


    "They were dead. How?"


    How? Only a demon or a demon''s incarnate could animate dead creatures. "There must be a demon after us."


    Even then, Lucas appeared calm. He said, "Do not worry. They cannot defeat you. You are most blessed."


    Suddenly, the agitation raging in Marco''s heart was lifted. He chuckled.


    Lucas regarded him, puzzled. "Is that an odd thing to say?"


    "No, I was worried about you, you fool."


    Lucas smiled. "Really?"


    "Why are you glad? Do you like causing me worry?" He jabbed him on the arm. "Come, this carriage of yours is crippled."


    Ser Gerald and his troop had slain all the cursed beasts, lining them up in the rain.


    Marco counted them. "Where''s the other two?"


    "They were too elusive that it required pure holy power to capture them. They had disintegrated on contact," Ser Gerald answered.


    "Thank you for your hard work. Let me take care of the rest then so they don''t rise again." STAR OF PURGING! The light orb above seemed to shrink before glowing an intense orange. It floated to Marco who had unsheathed his sword. The orb dissolved into the engravings of the blade, making them glow. He stabbed each of the wolf cadavers, turning them into ash that got washed away by the rain. Anything touched by the STAR OF PURGING, so long as it contained demonic energy, would burn.


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    The Ashwood Forest was cast in darkness again.


    Every inch of Marco was soaked by the time they arrived back at the Tattling Wife.


    Ser Gerald reported, "We have lost five men, my lord, including Ser Harol, and seven horses. Your... brother''s attendant is missing. We did not find her body anywhere."


    "Thank you, captain. Identify their names as well. Send word to my grandfather. Tell him we will continue to West Bismuth. Report the cursed beasts on the Ashwood Forest. They have to raid it for other cursed beasts if need be, lest we endanger other travelers. But make sure word of their presence doesn''t get out or else we will lose tourists and business."


    Marco steeled his resolve. They lost almost half their party. But no, we cannot go back. If we do, Lucas might not be able to have this opportunity again. We press on. I have to press on.


    "My Lord..." Ser Gerald sought his attention again.


    "Yes, Captain?"


    "Just unwarranted counsel from an old knight, if I could. The wounds on our soldiers, it appears to me, could not have been caused by the wolves. Even as cursed beasts, they did not have the capacity to inflict such massive gashes. The branch lodged up Ser Harol''s chest could not have been done by the cursed beasts, as well."


    Indeed, death came for them first. The cursed wolves second. Images of the long scratches on Lucas''s walls came to Marco''s mind.


    "Thank you for your wisdom, Captain. Please also include on your letter that a demon could be at large in Gallagher. Although they might not be able to exorcise it, knowledge of its existence is still better than ignorance."


    Ser Gerald did not seem to take him at his word. In the knight''s mind, the demon was with them. They were leading it to the Arayan Capital.


    "I will do so," the old knight bowed and left.


    Marco remembered that Lucas touched one of the wolf corpses. Was it then that the curse was placed? But my instincts would have alarmed me? Am I really caring for a demon? Marco stood in the middle of the small room, deep in contemplation.


    The long claw marks in Lucas''s building.


    The lies he told the inspectors.


    His involvement with Father Pietro.


    The shadow in his room.


    And now this massacre of which he had no memory of.


    Marco desperately ached for a hot bath, but he visited his brother first in the room next to his. "Lucas, make sure to have some sleep. We still have two days left to our journey. We leave at the break of dawn," he told him.


    "I will." He seemed cheerful whereas Marco was constantly perturbed. The incident had not daunted him at all, because as he had claimed, he did not remember it.


    "Can you really not remember anything?"


    Lucas''s expression darkened. "I''m sorry if I can''t remember it." He cast his eyes to the floor again.


    No, don''t! Don''t say sorry. I don''t need you to be sorry. I need you to remember! Now the doubt that Lucas''s apologies were not of humility nor submission took root in Marco''s mind. It could instead be avoidance.


    Marco heaved his chest, bracing for the consequences of his next words, "Lucas, I sincerely want to help you. And to help you I have to know for certain. That''s why I''m going to ask you: did you kill Father Pietro?"


    Lucas''s face perked up, his eyes rounded in shock. There was hurt there and sadness and disappointment.


    Marco could feel the rift between them widening again. That rift opened when Marco started to believe Mother''s claim that Lucas was not her son, not his brother. That he was not a person that should be named. It only grew wider when Lucas gave him the scar and almost took his eye. Marco was desperate to bridge the gap between them that was why he was too hesitant to confront him in the first place; because no matter what Lucas said, Marco could tell whether it was the truth or a lie.


    That''s why he needed the Inspectors to ask instead, but they did not. And Marco was relieved they didn''t.


    Because Marco had been afforded a closer look into Lucas''s world, the hope of reconciliation burned anew. He thought Lucas looked up to him. He thought Lucas pined for the care he never got as a child. Marco saw and grabbed the chance to give it to him. It was the reason for all of this. But these efforts and lives lost were all in vain if the rumors surrounding Lucas were well-founded.


    Lucas gazed down. He muttered, "I didn''t do it."


    Marco waited for the Light of Truth to judge his brother''s truthfulness. But then it never came. Lumen Veritatis gave no answer.

 Chapter 10: The Dollmaker I

    The Arayan capital of Gallenport was a city of ivory and grime, of brick and mud, of music and misery ¡ª all depending from which eyes you view it and where. Nestled in the lustrous Gallen Delta at the southern tip of West Bismuth, the city was teeming with people who either came for seasonal earnings or permanent refuge. Ships docked and left the ports every hour, bringing and taking with them a mass of people and merchandise. The position of the port city made it a true cornucopia for trade and crime.


    Julius brought a whole wagon of wooden dolls with him but he did not come to Gallenport to trade.


    "What''s in there?" The guard shouted, giving Julius an unneeded shove.


    "Dolls, Ser," he answered meekly. He lifted the dirty blanket to show his crafts to the guard.


    "Fuck!" The guard winced. The life-sized dolls stared with unblinking eyes and muted lips. Some of them were already fitted with hair, some of them still crude and unfinished. "Holy Seraph, where will you need them?"


    "I do some puppetry. I hope to make some money here. I come from the steppes of East Bismuth, but the hive there only keeps on growing. It will reach my village in a few months."


    "Aye, I''m sad for you," the guard replied, without a tinge of compassion, "But these dolls are too big to fiddle with a string, aren''t they?"


    Julius gave him a calm reassuring grin. "I''m a very good puppeteer."


    "And this lass, she with you?" He pointed to a girl with rich raven hair.


    "Indeed, Ser, name''s Apple. Her mother used to love apples when she was pregnant."


    Apple regarded the guard, blinked her eyes and said, "The holy soldiers told us there is refuge here."


    "Aye, but the city isn''t so big, is it? You can move ahead." He banged on the wagon.


    Apple sighed, exasperated "There''s thousands of people lining up. Will we even get a chance, Father?"


    They had been in line since the day before. However, yet another guard stood in their way. He was dressed in a holier garb, a long gray blouse with golden threadwork. At his chest was the Star of Michael ¡ª a three-pointed star with each ray shaped like a sword ¡ª denoting that he was of the Michaelic order, the chief Guardian Order of the Crown.


    He held an artifact shaped exactly like the Star of Michael, with a sharp-tipped handle which he stabbed on the people''s palms. Then it would glow white though faintly. It shimmered the same dim light for most of the queue, but he would just tell them to gather at one particular spot afterwards, no exceptions. Their children and goats cried while the adults scratched their heads and voiced their grudges. Nobody had gotten inside since morning.


    Julius greeted warmly when it was his turn, "Wonderful morning, Holy Ser." He offered up his palm open.


    The holy guard did not seem to hear. He took Julius''s palm and stabbed it with no warning. Julius twitched at the sudden pain even though the pricked wound was shallow and small. He could not brace. The artifact glowed. Just slightly brighter than the farmer before him.


    "Huh, you''re better than most," he spoke for the first time. "Still, to the side."


    Julius asked, "Excuse my curiosity good Ser, but what does this artifact do? Can you enlighten this clueless craftsman?"


    He smirked proudly, "It detects holy and demonic power, although its sole purpose here is to detect demonic power. We cannot afford cursed flesh to endanger the city."


    "Is that so?"


    "Now move aside. We need to test your donkey too."


    It didn''t light up for the animal.


    Julius led the donkey to join the impatient crowd of people.


    "Please be gentle," Apple smiled at the holy guard.


    He didn''t care and stabbed her more fiercely.


    "Aw!"


    There was a sudden gasp on the line. "Holy Angel!" The three-bladed artifact flared as vividly as the sun. One whole leg of the star was glistening. "You have talent!" The guard was enthused, gleaming as though he unearthed a treasure.


    Apple was not the least bit surprised. "Can I join my father now?"


    "No, you stay on this side." He pointed to an empty patch of grass. Julius watched as Apple stood there alone. Some people on Julius''s side were openly expressing their envy. "If only I was gifted by the angels as well. How much harder should I pray?"


    Your hardest, Julius thought to himself, as if your whole life depended on it.


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    "But I want my father with me," Apple grumbled. "I don''t want to be alone here."


    The guard strangely became lenient and nodded, "C''mon, join your daughter." Then he proceeded to stab the rest of the line. The artifact saw no other spectacle after them.


    A sudden commotion swept through the crowd as the clinking of the portcullis being raised could be heard. They all craned to look in hopes of being allowed entry at long last.


    Here he comes, Julius thought.


    From beneath the shadow of the portcullis, an immaculate silver horse trotted out. It tossed its mane and neighed at its audience, as though it knew it was being watched. Its rider was an unmistakable Araia ¡ª sharp features framed by flaming golden hair reaching past his shoulders, eyes of the coldest jade and an expression of royal aloofness. Clad in a spotless cerulean doublet and a golden sash embroidered with his house''s three-pronged star, the Second Prince seemed to radiate divinity. Angelic. Godly even. Julius felt the unbidden aspiration to craft a doll in his likeness one day.


    "My prince, please grant us refuge!"


    "Blessed son of Araia!"


    "Long live Araya! Long live the king!"


    They suddenly erupted into cheers of adoration but a line of armed guards kept them in line. The Arayan prince put on a smile and waved at them. At this small gesture, some of his constituents broke into tears, having received attention from their liege. The hope and holiness he exuded brightened everyone who laid eyes on his saintly facade.


    Julius remained unmoved. I have seen holier things. Although, he could not deny the prince''s allure ¡ª better looking than he imagined, younger. A flawless reference, if nothing else.


    The second prince led his horse to the two of them, his hair bobbing and flowing with the horse''s pace. He spoke tenderly, "I believe you''ve shown the guard a miracle."


    Apple stared, bewildered. Julius could not discern if it was because of the prince''s radiance or what he had just said that had left her speechless.


    The prince laughed heartily, "What I mean is, the artifact of Michael rarely shines so brightly. I believe even my father in his lofty seat could have glimpsed it. Might I have the honor of knowing your name?" He stretched out a gloved hand.


    "Apple," she answered, accepting his gesture with a soiled hand which the second prince did not seem to mind.


    "Apple, it suits your innocence. I am Raphael."


    The name of an Angel ¡ª a privilege reserved solely for those in the direct line of succession.


    "You must be ¡ª" Raphael turned to Julius.


    "Her father, Your Highness. The name of this humble servant is Julius. A pleasure to meet you."


    "Pleasure is all mine. Araya values talent, even from among the lowborn. I would like to invite you inside where we can properly talk. Your future is about to change."


    "How about all of them? We''ve all been here since yesterday," Apple said boldly.


    "My prince!" They called for him. "Your radiance, please do not abandon us."


    Raphael looked to the crowd gathered on the other side, their sheep and goats shitting on trampled grass, their children picking at their noses. "Do not worry," he declared loudly, "The Captain of the Guards will be here shortly to bring you to where you can start a new life. Safe and free from danger. Please wait patiently if you can. Gallenport will always be open to anyone who needs aid and rescue."


    Some cheered but some were still incredulous.


    "I think that should ease their minds for now. What of you, Miss Apple? Are you reassured?"


    "The Guards will really come?" She asked more softly.


    Raphael peered at her, challenged by her forwardness. Not once did she address him respectfully. "I will see to it that they do. You have my word."


    Julius bowed vehemently at the prince, apologetic. "Forgive my daughter''s brashness. Growing up in the harsh steppes of East Bismuth emboldened her so."


    "Not to fret," Prince Raphael said, "I like her boldness."


    Everything was going well so far.


    Tugging the donkey''s reins, Julius took a long glance back at the barren expanse where a line of people waited hopelessly under the sun for a chance to find shelter in Gallenport. His quarry was nowhwere to be seen. They must be using another gate, he thought. They are not commonfolk after all. But I will see him. I will find him.


    Gallenport is big, but it isn''t so big.

 Chapter 11: Marco X

    One carriage flaunting the Vermilon banner of a dark oxen head on a green field approached the end of the Pilgrim Road, together with it a small retinue of two knights, their squires and servants.


    Inside the carriage, Marco informed Lucas, "There will be an inspection at the wall to prevent infiltration of cursed beings. It shouldn''t be a problem."


    Indeed, Lucas was unperturbed. Too unperturbed. Even Marco''s question from two days before had not upset him at all.


    Is he trying to pretend it never happened? Marco also pondered long and hard about why the Light of Truth could not judge Lucas''s answer then. That night he couldn''t sleep. Yet come morning, he was none the wiser. I have to ask the professor.


    "What kind?" Lucas asked.


    "It tests for holy or demonic energy."


    The stretch of the Pilgrim Road in West Bismuth had been bustling with wagons and commonfolk on foot.


    "They are all going to the capital," Marco said.


    "Why are they bringing their whole family?"


    "These poor souls have fled their homes, Lucas." Marco searched his brother''s face for any hint of sympathy but his face was simply... tranquil. "That''s because of the horde of cursed beasts attacking their homelands. Most of them come from East Bismuth where one of the demons had made its hive¡ª"


    "In Atamar. I remember. A hundred years ago, when the demon landed, Atamar fell."


    "Exactly. That might come up in the test." Marco thought it was a good opportunity to educate him. Through out their journey, he had been telling him tales from history. "We are in our fifth attempt to recapture the city but the citizens have lost faith that this Crusade would even succeed. Each failed Crusade only resulted in the hive''s expansion. If this one fails, the entirety of East Bismuth might become part of the hive. Then the war would be right at the front door of the West."


    "Is it true, that the angels and demons fought at Atamar?"


    "Well, that account was from a century past; so no one could know for certain. The crown''s Guardian Order preaches that it was the Angel Michael who fought the demon there."


    "If the demon is still there, then it means the Angel was defeated?"


    "Only because the then royal family stabbed Michael in the back."


    "The Kaelgraves."


    Marco nodded, proud that Lucas had paid attention. "The Kaelgraves of Atamar. Some people said the demon cursed them to immortality but no one had really seen them after the First Crusade. It was likely Michael had wiped them out, all those in their bloodline. Probably because he also had to deal with the Kaelgraves, Michael had lost. Remember Lucas, an angel and demon are always equal in power. Neither is stronger than the other. What injuries Michael suffered, he inflicted the same on his enemy. It is said that they are both recovering from the aftermath, that is why the hive''s growth had been impeded for a century. But Michael hasn''t appeared since. They even think he''s already gone."


    "It''s been so long. He should have recuperated by now."


    "Well, not exactly. A hundred years is just a blink of an eye to an immortal being."


    Saying that out loud, Marco realized how small he was. In the design of heaven and earth, he was but a bubble of flesh and water born only to disappear into oblivion.


    An old man glanced up at their carriage as they passed by. Marco caught his tired yet hopeful gaze. He pulled a wagon where his three children sat with their bare feet dangling among a cage of ducks and their belongings. The sound of tin and clay pots mixed in with the sound of his labored breaths. He trudged up the Road, legs soiled, his shirt even dirtier. He fastened his eyes at Marco as if in entreatment though Marco was not certain what he was asking. He opened his mouth to speak, but any words he uttered was lost to the wind as Marco rode out of earshot.


    A woman watched their carriage roll by. She was holding a hand over her rotund belly. She would be giving birth soon, Marco realized.


    He studied each one of them until he could no longer bear to behold them or smell them. He turned away, intending to close the window but stopped himself from doing so when he found Lucas intently looking on at the commonners. It was times like this when Marco wished he had the talent to read his mind.


    Their carriage came to a halt at the western gate. Ser Gerald''s voice announced, "Before you is Lord Marco of House Vermilon, heir to the Lordship of Gallagher."


    They were asked to step out while the Gallenport soldiers bearing the sigil of the three-pronged star inspected their carriage.


    An officer in the gray and gold garb of the Michaelic Order stepped towards them. He tested each soldier and servant with an artifact in the shape of the Star of Michael before approaching Marco.


    "My lord, your hand if I may."


    "Of course." Marco lay his palm open. Even before the tip of the stem of the artifact touched him, all three of the star''s blades burst into light, startling the officer.


    "I have not seen it glow this much before." He closed his eyes, and proceeded to place the artifact on Marco''s palm without drawing blood. It only glimmered more brightly. "Thank you my lord.


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    He moved to Lucas, addressing him, "My Lord."


    Lucas''s attire was bare of any oxen sigil but his stark golden hair betrayed his bloodline. "I am no Lord. I''m Lucas."


    The officer was confused but proceeded to place the artifact softly on Lucas''s hand. The Star produced no reaction, confounding its holder. Even those with no talent for the holy power could elicit a faint light from the artifact, because after all, life was a gift from the heavens. It was said that the soul is tied to the mortal body by a flimsy thread of holy power ordained by the divine lord. The Star of Michael should flicker no matter what, as long as it touches a living human being. Unless...


    "What is going on?" Marco asked the officer.


    "I do not know what to make of it, my lord."


    Lucas asked with flustered eyes. "Does that mean I am not allowed in?"


    The man explained, "The artifact should darken if it touches a cursed being. But it simply became inert."


    Crack!


    The officer''s face contorted in panic as a fissure flowered at the very center of the artifact. Its roots branched out until the Star of Michael collapsed in his hands. He gasped as its holy shards skittered across the stones.


    An artifact only broke when damaged or it lost the holy power contained within it.


    "Could it be that the immense holy power from my lord earlier had broken it?" The officer said.


    A lie. He must be scared of the huge cost he had to pay for the shattered Star of Michael. Marco had undergone this test several times; not once did his power break the artifacts.


    "Probably. Then please relay this to your master. He can meet me if any problem arises," Marco answered. There was no use in letting the poor man bear the blame. "Then, are we allowed passage?"


    The officer bowed and gestured with his arms politely, "Of course, my lord."


    Gallenport was a city thriving with life. The west entrance opened to a small square where merchants from outside the city unloaded their goods and hawkers haggled with them. People of all colors walked the streets. Houses stood next to each other with no room to breathe.


    "My lords, do you need somewhere to relieve your fatigue?" a bearded man with a pierced nose approached their carriage. One of Marco''s mounted escorts kept him at bay with a stern hand. When the escort told him who was inside the carriage, the man scampered away in fear.


    "What did he mean?" Lucas asked.


    "Girls," Marco replied.


    "Oh."


    "You might meet a girl here, Lucas. But remember your virtues," he cautioned him. He wondered if Lucas even knew what old men and women do. He had a text on biology. But did he understand it?


    "I don''t think anybody will even like me," he said plainly.


    Marco''s heart sank at his remark. The Earl of Gallagher had started introducing potential matches for Marco. In a year or two, he would likely be bethroted. Meanwhile, he was not sure if Lucas could experience liking a woman and being reciprocated.


    Gallenport shall give him the chance. Marco hoped.


    Above the mud-tile roofs loomed the white spires of the Araian Keep. In the height of noon, it''s glare was blinding.


    "I am supposed to have an audience with the king first," Marco said to his little brother. Every noble visiting the capital would make straight for the royal castle as soon as they arrived to pay respects.


    "Can I come with?" Lucas beamed excitedly.


    "I''m afraid not, Lucas. I''m sorry."


    Lucas was not recognized as a Vermilon. It would be an insult to the king to bring a disowned child before his presence.


    Lucas was adamant. "I can act like one of the servants. I can wear a cap to cover my hair."


    Still you have the features of the Vermilon blood. I cannot risk it. If they find out, our House have to answer for this slight.


    Marco was firm. "I''ll only take Ser Gerald with me. I''ll leave you with the rest of the guards."


    "I understand," Lucas replied quietly.


    The way from the square to the keep took longer than it was supposed to. The street was bustling with not only commoners who were slow to move out of the way but also dogs and cats and children running about.


    One of their guards yelled to a kid who almost got trampled by a horse.


    Marco reprimanded him, "Keep your wits about you, ser. It was the kid who nearly got hurt."


    "My aplogies, my lord."


    Past the fort of the Keep where sentries allowed them entry, Marco stepped out from the carriage. He ordered to Dunce, "Watch over my brother." The squire nodded, despite the disheartened expression on his face. "Come, Ser Gerald."


    The Captain Knight lumbered briskly behind him. "A word, my lord, if I may," he said as they were approaching the stairs to the Keep.


    "I am always grateful for your counsel."


    "It is about the incident at the west gate, where the artifact broke. I am not sure if my lord is already aware but the Star only becomes inert when in contact with an animal or a ¡ª"


    "A dead person. I know. Thank you for your concern, Ser Gerald. Please keep on watching over us."


    "It is my duty."

 Chapter 12: Apple I

    She felt as though she had turned into a princess.


    Apple sashayed through the halls of Demach in a flimsy pink dress that smelled of sweet perfume. Her ornate velvet shoes made her every step seem as though she was walking on clouds. She loved the feel of it. She touched the beautiful glinting jade stone of the necklace the prince had lent her, hoping somebody had noticed.


    "A great morning," she sang to the academy guard who flinched in surprise but quickly greeted back. "A pleasant morning, my lady."


    "Hihi," she giggled to herself. He thought I was a noble.


    She lowered to a curtsy the way she saw the highborn ladies do it.


    "Are you perhaps going to the Testing Hall?"


    She nodded, smirking.


    The guard returned her cheeriness and politely volunteered to lead her there.


    Be kind. Charm them. You are a natural at it. Father had told her. Try to find him. But also, have fun.


    The gallant Prince Raphael had a different advice. "Impress them. You do not need to pass the written test. Just make their jaws drop with your talent."


    The crown had gifted Apple and Julius a small house inside the city. They lavished her with new clothes, shoes and jewelry. In exchange, she had to attend the Demach Academy, later to pledge herself to the King''s Holy Army, under which she shall serve for at least ten years.


    A lass of fifteen, Apple could not grasp completely what that agreement entailed. Entering Demach was akin to a fantasy for a village girl. And the future seemed too far off. And ten years of servitude, too long. She loved the cakes they bought her however, and the freshly washed clothes that smelled of lavender. It seemed to her she was not losing out on this transaction at all. And she was about to attend Demach Academy with all the lords and ladies of Araya! No one could be luckier than I, she thought.


    After the contract was written in stone, Father had said to her, "We had no option but to agree. If they couldn''t get you under their reins, I''m pretty sure they won''t let anybody make use of you either. We just need to be careful, my sweet daughter."


    Indeed. Apple understood that much. With just a word from the highest ruler of the kingdom, they could either elevate her or destroy her. The King could have demanded for her servility but instead chose to treat her kindly.


    The mutterings and murmurs of other aspiring scholars soon reached her ears. I have to tone it down a bit. But be friendly. Be friendly. She inhaled and recomposed herself before she stepped into their view.


    The striking pink dress would catch anyone''s eyes. Some of them turned their heads, most of them boys.


    "I''m Apple," she introduced to no one in particular. "It''s nice to meet all of you."


    A few of them who looked as lowborn as her greeted back, mistaking her for a lord''s daughter.


    With just one whiff of the air around the crowd, she could pinpoint who carried holy energy and the poor souls who had none. More importantly she had a keen sense for sniffing out demonic energy. One her father said was superior among her age. The waiting hall, to her delight, smelled as clean as fresh parchment.


    She had smelled demonic energy before, and it made her retch. It was a smell too putrid to compare to anything.


    "Wow," Apple gaped, sniffing. "She has power more than mine. But it seems so volatile." Like a dam about to break. She could smell the bursts of holy energy seeping through the cracks of the vessel.


    The subject of her interest was a ginger-haired girl who stood taller than her by at least an inch. She wore a red torc necklace in the shape of salmons lined up mouth to tail ¡ª a house sigil that Apple found unfamiliar.


    "What are you doing?" The ginger head said, having noticed her sniffing closer than comfort.


    Now, they will think I''m strange! "You use a great perfume," Apple lied, "Is it perhaps from the tropic islands?"


    "So, you''ve noticed," she said proudly, "My uncle brought it from his last voyage."


    "I''m Apple of Heinstead." She offered a handshake.


    "Oh, a commoner." Her brow raised, suddenly indignant.


    One of the boys in her company spoke up aggressively, "You should have engaged her with more deference."


    They were enraged at her lack of due respect entitled to a noble, it seemed. It never quite rolled nicely in her tongue to address them as my ladies or my lords.


    "No need," the ginger head said, "In Demach, only holy power determines our status. I''m Diana Ru ¡ª"


    Diana suddenly froze, her eyes gazing behind Apple.


    She turned to see what had rendered her silent. Apple too was stunned. No way my sense of smell missed him at this close! There stood just at arm''s length was a lad of the prettiest golden hair in a loose-fitting black doublet. His hair so dazzlingly golden the princes paled in comparison. His chiseled features were adorned by a pair of eyes that seemed to mirror an ocean in the doldrums.


    Perhaps realizing that he had earned unbidden attention, he stared back at them confused but then bowed deeply in haste. "My ladies, my lords. Forgive me if I did something wrong."


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    "Why are you here?" Diana snapped, barely keeping her noble composure.


    Apple could hear the resentment, bare and crisp.


    The golden-haired lad rose from his submissive stance and answered plainly, "I''m here to take the Test, my lady."


    Other people grunted. His simple answer made Diana seem stupid. Her nose flared at the insult.


    "I''m leaving you alone for now, for my family''s honor," she said, turning away.


    A look of realization dawned on his pale milky face. "I apologize, my lady, if anything I did offended you."


    Diana paused and uttered without looking back, "Offended me? Is that how you remember it?"


    Apple watched her and her company melt into the crowd. A history of animosity. It certainly made academy life interesting.


    "Did you do something terrible to her?" Apple accosted the golden-haired stranger.


    "I think so. Otherwise, she would not have disliked me so much."


    Apple''s veins twitched at his response. "You think so?"


    "Sorry, did I anger you too?"


    She shook her head, lips arched, remembering her grace. "No." Well in his defense, nobles were easily vexed. "I''m Apple by the way, Apple of Heinstead."


    He took her hand. "I''m Lucas."


    "Are you a prince?" Apple had to ask even if it sounded stupid. Only a prince should look this heavenly.


    "I''m just Lucas of Vermil."


    A bastard then? Apple surmised. There was no chance he was just a simple commoner.


    But his smell... Why can''t I smell the faintest scent from him? She wanted to sniff him closely but that would be insanity.


    Soon they were called into the large auditorium to take the written test on Mathematics, Language and Poetry, History and Sciences ¡ª one field at a time.


    Apple took a seat at the front row where the professor and the other test-takers could glimpse how regally she was dressed. Laid before her, the parchment containing the Mathematical questions were at least as thick as her smallest finger, the scribblings and symbols so small they were intelligible to her.


    She flipped the first page and smirked, putting the leaf of parchment back down.


    The Second Prince is right. I just need to impress them with my holy power.


    She had completely given up on the written test. Most of the commoners did too, she realized as she glanced behind her.


    Except the golden-haired Lucas of Vermil. I knew it, he was lying. He wasn''t a commoner at all. He had been taught. He has knowledge.


    But it turned out, whatever knowledge he had seemed lacking as he began to show visible signs of struggle. Discreetly observing him from the periphery of her eye, Apple saw him scratching his head and crunching his face while turning the parchments over to look for easier questions. Even as he appeared too distressed to think, he kept scribbling and turning the pages, never giving up until the sand in the hourglass was finished and the professor yelled, "Quills up. Let''s proceed to the next one on Language and Poetry."


    Their parchments were collected, and new ones were placed on the desks. The Professor turned over the hourglass, announcing, "Proceed!"


    Apple did not even bother to look upon the test. Songs and poetry were for the highborn. Her eyes naturally wandered to the bright figure in the corner of the auditorium. He was undeniably in panic but he seemed unable to relent.


    He was in the same state of hysteria in the tests on Arayan History and the Sciences.


    After the storm had subsided and the last paper collected, the professor informed them, "Results will be posted in a day or two. If you wish to take the aptitude test on your holy power, please head over to the Henge Field. You can ask the guards for directions."


    The other lads and ladies filed out of the room but Lucas remained dazed in his seat as if in a stupor.


    Diana stood over him and grumbled in challenge, "Hey, I want you to witness how strong I am. I''ll see you at the Training Field. I want you to fear me."


    He looked downcast at the empty space where the parchments had been, wordless. He did not even seem to hear her.


    She slammed the table in ire.


    He jerked alive, noticing her at last. He piped, "I''m sorry. My lady, were you saying something?"


    "You are just blatantly ignoring me now. Just you wait, you have no family to protect you now." She stomped away.


    He watched her disappear through the door.


    Apple walked up the steps toward his spot. "Lucas of Vermil, how did the test go?"


    His face was drained of color, even much more pallid than before. "I don''t think you will be seeing me here in a week."


    "Don''t fret. You have another chance. We can go together to the Henge Field."


    He saddened, "But I don''t have holy power."


    Apple knew that much. He did not smell of the pleasant aroma that divinity exuded. He did not smell of anything at all. She wanted to get closer to sniff him but stopped herself. "Then, since this might be the last time we see each other, why don''t you just come and watch me? You''ll be impressed."


    "Can I?" he asked, brightening.


    "Of course."


    They were the last ones to arrive. More than a hundred test-takers took the written test everyday weeks before beginning of term. Fewer than half of them had sufficient holy power to be called talented.


    They were scattered among the grass, looking up at a professor standing on a stone dais. Around the perimeter towered haphazardly broken slabs of marble etched with holy runes, as though they were trying to contain something. Apple soon found out why.


    The rancid disgusting smell of a demon suddenly pervaded the grassy space.

 Chapter 13: Apple II

    Apple covered her nose.


    "Eeek!" It screeched. Its stench was akin to a rotting flesh, to an excrement, to vomit. All of them all at once, and more.


    "A great afternoon, are you tired?" The professor greeted, carrying a strange creature inside a cage barrier made of pure holy power.


    "Eek!"


    "Ooh, this cursed beast is excited to meet you as well. This is a cursed tumbleweed that had absorbed a blood from a demon''s corpse. It isn''t so dangerous on its own."


    A cursed grass. Its leafed tentacles seemed to throb and rustle with some non-existent breeze. It was held in place by an iron stake instead of holy energy.


    The young lords and ladies gawked in awe.


    "The others suggested to simply use artifacts to gauge your latent powers. But that is a bore. I already know how powerful you all are...," he said, his gaze falling on the likes of Diana and others of similar calibre. It lingered on Apple as well but only for a split-second. "...or how weak." He eyed the golden-haired lad beside her.


    "Evade it or defeat it. Remember not to step out of the marble henge circle. If it looks like you''re about to lose a limb, I''ll step in."


    He jumped down from his pedestal, released the barrier on the cursed weed and set it down so casually on the ground, burying the iron stake. Some people backed up a step but those confident in their holy power appeared ready to pounce.


    "May god favor you all," the professor said before retreating.


    There was a moment of quiet where each one of them calculated each other''s thoughts. Seeing the black tumbleweed laid in front of them helpless, everyone realized it was a race to exterminate it.


    FWOOSH! A fire erupted from a boy''s palm engulfing the weed in bright red flame. When the smoke cleared, the weed emerged unscathed, its leaves and thorns intact.


    "You see, a tumbleweed waits patiently for the rain. The taste of water raises it back from the dead. But this particular cursed being is not looking to be drenched in water."


    "Holy energy," Diana said.


    The professor clapped. "Right on the mark!"


    As if on cue, the grass gave a thunderous growl. Its branches twisted and pulsed before bursting with long spindly tentacles of leaves and thorns that lunged for the group of students nearest it. Some of its limbs were making straight for Diana.


    "In particular it''s looking for the tastiest meal," the professor chuckled evilly.


    Diana jumped back as she produced her weapon. It was a holy relic in the form of a twelve-faceted die. She shone like the sun as she released holy power all over her body, from every pore. She concentrated it all to the die in her palm which soaked it all in. "Give me something good! DIE OF FATE!" The die flickered and vibrated with a drumming sound of anticipation. As the thorny demonic vine was about to close in on her, Diana had managed to produce a spear burning with holy light. Swish. Swish. She deflected them all. Every time a vine came for her, she slashed at it effortlessly.


    It was amazing how skilfully she could wield a weapon that she obtained through a gamble.


    While she was holding out on her own, all around her was pure pandemonium.


    A girl got caught by her shins and nearly got dragged but a lad wielding a sword managed to save her by severing the tumbleweed''s tentacle.


    "Are you hurt?" He asked, helping her up.


    "Thank you."


    "Name''s Yuri, remember it." He gave her a flirty wink as he slung the sword over his shoulder, leaving her with flushed cheeks. He was a lad of brown hair and dark blue eyes ¡ª a noble''s features, with a noble''s haughty bearing; although Apple could not say who he belonged to. Because he carelessly looked away from his adversary, a vine succeeded to rope onto his wrist and yanked him as he screamed, "OH SHIT!"


    The girl ran after him, but suddenly more demonic vines attacked her.


    There, another man was on the floor choking. The professor had to save him. A clever commoner stood next to the stones to fend off the devil plant. Each aspiring scholar was left to themselves to survive.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Those who could hacked at the cursed being, and those who couldn''t prioritized evasion. Meanwhile the tumbleweed kept on growing bigger, its vines more and more numerous. It was feeding on all the holy energy from the inexperienced talents of Araya.


    Its infinitely stretching fingers tried to reach beyond the marble stones. The enchantment then activated as the runes glowed. An electric barrier materialized to stop the tumbleweed''s vines from crossing the circle, imprisoning it in the Henge Field together with them.


    A stray tentacle went to Apple''s direction who had her nose covered the whole time. Time to show off. She thought.


    She picked a pretty flower from memory, recalled its faint sugary fragrance and materialized it in her hand. SONG OF CREATION! She sang. A pink flower bloomed out of thin air in her hand. Begonia. When twirled by its stamen, its petals shot out individually, floating around her. With a flick of her finger, the pink petals shot like arrows onto the encroaching vine, obliterating it into cinders.


    As if having found a new mark, most of the tumbleweed''s innumerable tentacles directed its attention to her.


    Watch me. She glanced over her shoulder just to see if Lucas was not too distraught to watch her next gorgeous display. Interestingly, the golden-haired commoner was as still as the marble slabs, calmly looking on at the chaos unfolding before him.


    She belted, "SONG OF CREATION!" At her feet, begonias bloomed into existence in bright pink clusters, their brilliant hue contrasting perfectly with the green of the grass. Like an orchestra, the flowers'' petals danced to the rhythm of Apple''s hands. They rose beautifully like fluttering butterflies as she rose her hand. They twirled into a tornado of pink sharp petals that met the black cursed vines head on, drilling a tunnel of light into the leafy and thorny mass until they buried the dark core of the tumbleweed in pink and white. A moment of peaceful quiet fell on the Henge Field at last. She did all that without moving her feet.


    Apple felt like doing a curtsy or a simpler bow. You are welcome, she thought. She kept her giddiness to herself as the rest of the fighters looked on, their jaws agape. Sighing in relief, Yuri picked up his sword and smiled proudly at her. Diana clutched her flaming spear, disappointed yet accepting of the result. The professor was nodding his head in recognition. Surely, this spectacle was enough to make up for her unanswered tests.


    "Wow." Lucas gawked behind her.


    Eeek! The smell of something demonic attacked her nose. Petals fell off as the cursed weed jerked beneath the pink mound of flowers. It was still alive. SONG OF CREATION! Flowers bloomed around her again. She could do this for three more times before she would run out of holy energy.


    "I think you''ve realized it by now that the tumbleweed is not something you can defeat so easily. I never expected you to do so, to begin with," the professor declared over the crowd of holy children who were dreading another battle.


    Surely there was a way to defeat it, Apple pondered. After severing all its vines, its reek only grew stronger, more revolting. It absorbed the petals into its body, very gradually. Not even done with its food, it grew one singular thorny vein that snaked into the sky. Then it shot towards Apple''s direction once more!


    I can do it. I can do it. Apple raised her swarm of begonias, contemplating whether to intercept or defend. If her counterattack failed, the vine would burst through and pierce her. But it was also her best defense. The tumbleweed was brainless. It would not change its aim. Thus, she gathered the begonias in a swirling spire but it was too late. The spire could not form fast enough. The smell of the cursed vine made her head painful as it blasted past the petal column.


    "No!" The professor screamed, leaping to his feet.


    Seeing the rain of petals, Apple understood a second too late that the right choice was to evade. I am going to lose more than a limb.


    PUPLUCK! Apple felt a touch to her shoulder but it wasn''t the tumbleweed. She found herself on the ground, having been pushed aside. She looked up at the calm yet intent face of Lucas of Vermil. He had used one hand to shove her and used the other to receive the brunt of the impact of the cursed vine in order to protect his face. But the plant''s thorny finger had penetrated through both flesh and bone and nearly punctured a hole through his head as well, had he not tipped his head aside to avoid it. Still the thorns had grazed a wound on his neck.


    The professor appeared beside them at once, face aghast at Lucas''s injury. Meanwhile, the rain of petals concealed the scene from the spectators. Even as they gasped and cried and ran to help, they couldn''t have known what had happened. Whether Apple was safe. Whether she was dead.


    But Apple was witness to it all. As was the professor beside them.


    She saw how the blood trickled down Lucas''s arm and drenched the petals on the ground. How Lucas strained as he held the vine in place even as it tried to coil back to itself. And how suddenly the tumbleweed lost strength and started to lose its pitch-black hue, eventually crumbling to ash amid the rain of flowers.


    Lucas grunted as he wrapped the bleeding hand with his shirt under his loose-fitting doublet. He mustered a pained smile when he faced her, saying, "Sorry I can''t stay for longer. It was beautiful." Then he dashed off to the periphery of the marble henge, clutching his bleeding hand.


    They rushed to her. "Where did you get hurt?"


    "She survived it!" They cheered.


    Apple could not hear them. The world became mute. All her thoughts had ground to a halt. All she could think of was Lucas''s smell. And how it made her want to retch.

 Chapter 14: Marco XI

    The pub smelled heavily of liquor. Without having been to many of them himself, Marco could not say if it was the most renowned in Gallenport. Ale flowed by the tankards, the smell of roast goat wafted from the kitchen. A stocky serving girl struggled to quell an ongoing banter between inebriated men over a chess match. Marco felt the need to step in, as a noble who ought to keep peace in the kingdom. But he refrained himself, pulled the cloak over his face more tightly and searched above the raucous crowd.


    Where could you be? You must have already felt that I''m nearby.


    In a circle of bald and gray old men, he recognized the familiar frame ¡ª stout hunched shoulders, a bald patch on the top of his head circled by a smattering of withered silver hair. Will you keep ignoring me?


    Marco stopped a serving lady. "A flagon of ale. Now." He flashed her a silver coin.


    Carrying the ale with him, he set the flagon on the table right under the old man''s nose. "Can I trade for a bit of your time?"


    He glared at him with the deep-set eyes of an old bear, chugging the drink in his hand in one draft before he addressed the others around them, "Sorry folks, this young noble must take a liking for old men like me. See, I haven''t lost my charm, eh?" He snickered with the few yellowed teeth he had left.


    "Will you stop that, professor," Marco muttered under his breath, "They might take me for an infidel."


    "Ho-oh-oh," the man he called professor reeled back, acting disgusted, "Hold your breeches, young man." He reached for the flagon offered to him; but Marco''s hands were quicker, pulling the drink away, spilling some.


    Marco threatened with cold eyes, "Shall I reveal your name?"


    The old man realized the moment for japes was over. "Such a mood-killer. Let''s talk outside. Give it to me."


    Marco moved the ale out of the old man''s reach, not until he obtained what he came for. "You were too difficult to find, you are aware I spent half a day just seeking. Now look, it''s an hour past sunset."


    "You should''ve understood by then that I didn''t want to be found, you numbskull! For all your talent, you''re dull and overbearing. I was having a great time. I was enjoying the last seven days before Demach opens, before entitled nobles such as you make hell out of my life," the professor gruntled. "Those fogeys there were bragging to me about how many wives they''ve got. Heh, their tongues were unbridled especially under the poison of liquor. You could never coax the crones in Demach to spill liberties like that, you know. Who would even brag about wars they didn''t even fight in? Or ridicule the nobles, even the crown? You would never guess how many flaws I found about the king''s family."


    Marco craned his head back in distaste, "Pish! Professor Mallory, no one will regard you with respect if they find out about your weird habits. Which noble would marry you then? You can drop the disguise now. We''re well away from your pack of dotards."


    The professor looked around in the dark alley before enveloping his hunched figure with dim holy light. A quiet and slow transformation began. His hair cascaded healthily down the back, the silver repainted in coal. His plaque-covered teeth turned clean white, the empty spaces filled in until not one tooth was missing. His ragged smock was washed away with light, revealing a neat purple dress that hugged a bountiful bosom and a swimmer''s waist.


    The professor had turned into a lady, utterly unrecognizable with not a trace of the irritable old codger from the pub to be seen. Although the geezer''s attitude might have remained. Professor Mallory''s talent was disguise. She could change her face, not her disposition.


    "Ahh," she sighed with a breath ripe with spirits, like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon. "So, cut to the chase, my delightful un-troublesome student who so diligently visits his professor out of academy period. Surely, you did not come to scour the streets of Gallenport just to vex me."


    Marco could not help but furrow his brows at the undue sarcasm. He was starting to believe that she was truly angered this time. He handed her the ale. "I''m very sorry, Professor, but Lumen Veritatis failed to return an answer for one instance."


    He remembered Lucas''s crestfallen figure, and the words that he said denying his hand in Father Pietro''s demise. It would have cast off all suspicions, if only the Light of Truth had returned a verdict.


    "For just once, your holy power fails you for just once, then you come to seek me? Isn''t that too petty?" Despite her aggravation, she grabbed the flagon and took a swig.


    "It''s important to me. It was a question that could''ve endangered our bond. I risked it, for nothing."


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    "And of course, it couldn''t wait until the next week. You sure make use of the Light of Truth so wantonly like matches in a box you burn for fun. It exacts such a heavy toll on one''s holy reserve. God, I could only probably use it twice a day before I run dry. But you have such a huge reservoir, so I understand. Then, just recite to me the requisites for Lumen Veritatis." She took a gulp of ale.


    Marco straightened his back, taking a deep breath. He felt like one of her students again. "One, I must stand impartial. I must expect neither the good nor bad, the evil nor holy, the right nor wrong. Await only for the truth. Two, if a question is asked, the question must be asked without intention to harm, only to know. And three, I must recognize that the truth has many forms: one shard of truth ¡ª a thousand facets. Lumen Veritatis affirms the existence of truth, not the meaning of it." The scholarly side of him feared he had failed to explain clearly.


    "Hmm, certainly among the best in the class," she praised him, taking a draft. "Do you think you failed on any of them? Ruminate on that now and give me an answer before this drink is finished. Remember that''s the trade you made. My time for this flagon of ale." She began drinking with renewed haste.


    Marco had asked himself often if his bias ever affected the verdict of Lumen Veritatis. There is no such absolute truth, even when unveiled through the eyes of god. One person''s truth might still be different from another, because of the prejudices and cultures that had shaped them. Even so, the Light of Truth should have given an answer.


    Marco had never hoped for the good or bad. Right nor wrong never played into the intention of the question. Marco was ready to accept any answer, even if it would be difficult to deal with. He never meant harm towards him by asking the question. Even if Lucas felt offended, it was Marco''s perspective that mattered. He was the one asking after all. And the third requisite, Marco understood it perfectly. Even the truth could be twisted.


    "I satisfied all three, Professor Mallory. The Light of Truth should have succeeded then."


    "Then there are only two possibilities left," she said, wiping the froth off her lips. The flagon was empty. "The speaker must have higher power that rendered Lumen Veritatis useless. Or... you were asking the wrong question."


    * * * * *


    Whenever Marco came to Gallenport, he was treated as a guest of the King. They usually prepared a room for him in Michael''s Cradle ¡ª a tower that stood lower than the Keep and served as quarters for their visitors. He usually stayed there until Demach opened. After which, he would be staying in a large suite in the Academy dormitory.


    In order not to offend the Araias, Marco still accepted the offer to stay in Michael''s Cradle. But it was not in his power to bring in a disowned Vermilon inside the King''s holy walls. The repercussions were too unpredictable for him to risk it. Thus, despite Lucas''s grumblings, he had no choice but to live in a flat in the city. Marco chose a bigger one for him, in the row of houses neighboring Araia''s walls.


    He should be home by now. The Test must have been mind-taxing. Marco planned to treat his brother to steak. He had been showing him around, taking him to the Church and the Peony Garden, to the heater and the Royal Menagerie.


    After meeting with Professor Mallory, he headed straight for Lucas''s apartment. Felix greeted him at the door, in a simple tunic over mail. Marco assigned him and Dunce to the task of looking after his brother, even when their reluctance was plain to see. "My lord, how fares your day?"


    "Not too bad. Is my brother back?"


    Felix looked worried. "He returned from the Academy with blood on his clothes."


    His or someone else''s? Marco thought to himself. "Where is he?" He looked around the empty living room that had yet to get a taste of furnishings.


    "In his room. He''s been there for five hours, my lord."


    "And you didn''t even bother to ask if he was well?" They do not talk to him even now.


    "My apologies, I have been lacking in my task."


    Marco knocked several times with no answer before undoing the lock by himself. "Lucas," he called softly as he pushed the door ajar. He found him not on his feather bed but by the foot of it, curled up like a centipede on the floor. Shirtless, he slept cuddling his trusty gas lamp to his heart, his breathing steady and peaceful. Torn pieces of his old clothes were wrapped around his neck and shoulder, as well as his right hand. Blood seeped through them, dyeing them red. The stained doublet and tunic were neatly hung by the window.


    You did not want to stain your mattress, so you slept on the floor? He was wounded. He should not be thinking about dirtying his bed. Marco intended to wake him, to tell him that it was alright to stain the sheets. That the chambermaids would be paid to wash it.


    He tapped on his uninjured shoulder. "Lucas, wake up. You have your bed, why sleep on the floor. It''s cold. You haven''t even put on a shirt."


    Lucas groggily opened his eyes. They were the color of a blue ocean, a stormless one. He sat up and murmured, "I fumbled the test."


    "It''s alright." The test was the least of Marco''s worries right now. "Let''s get this wound sorted. How did you even get injured like this?"


    "I joined a friend in the Hedge Field. She wanted me to watch her. She''s very talented, though not more than you."


    A friend? A she-friend?


    "The instructor brought in a cursed tumbleweed for the test. It was so strong, but I managed to take one vine off," he said proudly, raising his bandaged hand, "I don''t know if it''s enough to impress him though."


    "You don''t need to impress him. So long as you''ve given it your all. That''s enough for me."


    Lucas seemed to brighten. "But, why did you come?"


    "I wanted to treat you to steak, but your recovery takes precedence," Marco replied, and called the Vermilon soldier in. "Felix, you said you have some skills related to healing."


    "Indeed, my lord," the soldier who had been eavesdropping by the door stepped out.


    "I don''t need it," Lucas declined.


    "He can help you. It must be painful, so at least let him try, Lucas," Marco persuaded him, confused why he would refuse treatment.


    "I''ll be fine," he insisted, suddenly upset.


    Is he afraid of Felix''s holy power? Marco asked, "Lucas, he won''t harm you. Why are you declining Felix''s support? If you don''t want Felix, I''ll call in somebody. I don''t want you to suffer."


    Lucas raked his golden hair with his uninjured hand. "I want to be alone," he whimpered.


    A lie. The Light of Truth told Marco.

 Chapter 15: Apple III

    With the fine end of the brush, Apple painted the lips a bright carnation. For the eyebrows, she dipped another smaller brush in coal-black paint and drew the thin lines delicately. She leaned back and admired her work, squinting.


    From a box of hairs made of dyed wool, she picked a ginger wig with a little hat on top and glued it onto the head of the wooden doll. "There, I shall call you Rosie."


    Rosie was a bright young woman from the Torinto marshes, come to Gallenport chasing her dream of becoming a theater actress. Apple imagined her some life story. Whenever Rosie was on stage, her eyes spoke words her mouth couldn''t say, or her body couldn''t show. But during a play in the presence of the king and his unbetrothed third son, she misspoke her lines and missed her cues. It was a disaster. But the prince noticed her distress¡ª


    "Hang it along with the others if you''re done," Father told her, abruptly ending her daydream. He was sculpting a face from a block of pine. The process was long and tiresome to watch, albeit the result was astonishing. Apple preferred adding the final touches, deciding the color of their eyes and hair, crafting them a personality that set them apart from the rest of her father''s dolls.


    Rosie was cumbersome despite her lanky frame, Apple realized, when she lifted her by the armpit and carried her across Father''s atelier. Fumbling with the chain and latch, she kicked the door open to a room that smelled thickly of wool, paint and varnish. She pulled down a pulley and hooked it to Rosie''s back. Then grunting, she hoisted her up. She etched Rosie''s name on the pad of her foot with a charcoal stick, blowing away the dust.


    Rosie joined an army of life-sized dolls strung up by the ceiling, tens of them with different faces and shapes, not a single one of them like the other. With the lack of support, their pinewood jaws dropped open, their heads tilted askance in random angles, their hinged arms limp by their sides. From within the shadows, the sound of wood joints creaking teased Apple''s hearing. Kiik. Kiik.


    "Shh," Apple shushed it. "It''s not time yet." She closed the door on them, slid the latch close and ensured it was properly locked.


    She joined his father, stood by his side and watched wordlessly as he carved the rough outline of a nose from the workpiece. He would brush off the sweat off his temple with calloused hands then proceed on his labor, toiling in passion and quiet.


    Amid the tapping rhythm of mallet on chisel, the events from yesterday came back to Apple''s recollection. She remembered the rankness reeking off the lad from Vermil. Even if she covered her nose, she would still have smelled it. It was cloying and pungent, dead and evil. Yet could he indeed be the one the white dove is alluding to?


    He saved me. I would have died if he didn''t push me. Would he do that if he was a devil? Lucas did not possess an ounce of holy power. The vines would never have attacked him. It was my fault.


    Apple''s mind was in turmoil. I must observe him first. Only when all doubts are laid to rest must I speak of this to Father. I''m sorry, Father. She gave him a voiceless apology in her mind.


    Even the professor told Apple to not divulge to any soul what had transpired there beneath the rain of petals. Yet keeping it a secret might seem to be a hard burden. His injury was far from trivial. Everyone would be curious. One palm was holed through. Could a person even recover from it? She should have paid him a visit. Unluckily, she did not know where he lived.


    "You seem in deep thought," Father asked, turning away from his woodwork. "What''s on your mind, little dove?"


    "I''m looking forward to the results tomorrow," she lied, not with ease.


    "I''m sure you''ve made it. You''re a brilliant lady, just like your mother," he said. "I believe you''ve left them astonished they couldn''t even believe their eyes. You still haven''t told me about the friends you''ve met during the Test."


    "Thank you, Father. There were a lot of nobles. Their blessings are incredible too."


    "Is that so? No one suspicious?"


    Apple smiled, "Not that I noticed. A lot of them are pompous and demeaning but that''s just the way they are."


    Father laughed, "Indeed. The highborn are all the same, in Gallenport, Cape Torinto, the Scarlet Isles, even at home. But worry not, darling, you are better than them." He went back to his chisel and mallet.


    Home was a strange word to Apple. Perhaps her father had known a home once, but Apple had never had a place to reminisce and dream of and long to return to. All her life, it was a new shed just slightly bigger than the last, one white dove as bright as the next.


    The white dove that had summoned them to Gallenport arrived seven days prior. It had perched on the open windowsill, cooing for attention. Tied around its leg was a rolled-up letter with a wax seal stamped in the image of a pigeon in flight - a sigil that was all too familiar to her now.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Apple had always waited excitedly for white doves. They brought adventure and purpose. Packing what little belongings they had, they left their shed in the countryside, never to return there again.


    Once the quest in Gallenport was accomplished and another white dove perched in, the pair of them would take to the roads again. But not yet, she hoped.


    Apple was beginning to be fond of the city, wishing they would not have to leave so soon.


    Thud. Thud. Thunderous knocks rapped on the door. She smelled a recognizable scent. Not a welcome one.


    "I''ll go," Apple said, not wanting for Father to stop his work.


    She opened the door to a bulky man donned in the peculiar fashion of missionary priests. His face was hidden under a tall hat with a cascading dark veil around the brim. His wide fitting skirt draped until his ankles. On his back hung a long enormous sack, the white fabric mottled with dark stains.


    "Uncle Patrick," Apple greeted with a strained smile.


    From beneath the veil, a coarse hollow voice sounded. "You haven''t grown much since I last saw you. I see the city has been kind to you."


    She picked at the neat white blouse she had on. Uncle Patrick raised his large hand to pet her hair.


    "Keep your filthy hand off her." Father hissed. He walked over to them and pointed the sharp end of the chisel over Patrick''s heart. The difference between their statures was stark. Father''s height could not reach the top of his shoulder.


    Patrick said, tucking his arm back to his side, "I believe it best to take this confrontation inside."


    Apple made him a cup of tea. He accepted with a polite thank you and drank it under his dark veil.


    He asked them in his deep gritty tone, "Have you found him?"


    Of course, a white dove was sent to every member of the order who were able. But how many more are coming to Gallenport?


    Father has come back to his sculpting. He said as he hammered, "I am yet to."


    "But is it certain he''s coming to the city?"


    "If he doesn''t, I will turn every rock in West Bismuth until we exorcise or exterminate him."


    "A demon disguised as a noble young lad. I don''t think you would need to look that far. Then I will be around the city. I will exterminate it if I am able to. I will call for your help if I can''t."


    "Doesn''t the letter say, to exterminate or exorcise depending on the situation. For all we know, he could be possessed," Father argued.


    "He''s a noble. One less bastard to inflict suffering on the masses," Patrick replied, voice ripe with conviction, "And they breed like roaches. They would not even notice he''s gone."


    Father gave him a glance over his shoulder. "Well then, don''t die."


    Patrick stood up, towering over them, the crown of his hat almost grazing the ceiling. "You can always find me by the old temple. Thank you for the tea. Take care of yourself, Apple. Glory to Gabriel," he bowed, slung the huge sack onto his back and disappeared through the door, stooping low in order to not hit his head.


    "Glory to Gabriel," replied Apple softly. To Father, she asked, "Does he have some sense like mine in order to locate him?"


    Father paused his sculpting, staring at the air as if in retrospect. "I''ve only worked with him once in one of the Isles. I could not tell how, but he could always find them he said, no matter how long it took. As shall we."


    * * * * *


    Apple was back in the grounds of Demach Academy the next day, flaunting this time a different pair of footwear ¡ª snug blue-dyed leather sandals with a pink blossom on each ¡ª and a light red coat with silver buttons. Her raven hair draped in a braid, the masterful work of Father''s deft hands. She had adorned herself with a bud of rose tucked over one ear. She felt like the prettiest.


    "You''re here!" Yuri suddenly jumped in front of her, putting on a cocky grin. "Did I tell you last time that I think you were really incredible?"


    Yuri had meager talent, her nose told her. But he boasted striking features and overflowing grit. During the Test in the Henge Field, he displayed swordsmanship that could rival those of the new recruits of the holy army. And though born with a silver ladle, he did not hesitate to save anyone during the rampage of the tumbleweed, be them a noble or commoner.


    "You seem happy," she said, "I believe you got in."


    He chortled smugly. "Of course, I passed."


    A mass of young aspirants swarmed the board, some of them drawing away languid or weeping, a few of them erupting in joy. Apple''s eyes flitted through the area, searching for the uniquely bright golden hair of her hero. He''s not here. Will he come later? Or did he already leave?


    Yuri, like a kind gentle lord, parted the crowd for her.


    "Oh, thank you, you did not need to do that."


    He winked at her. "Anything for my friend. We''re friends, right?"


    She nodded, with enthusiasm. He hadn''t told her his name yet though. "You''re a noble. Which house do you belong to?"


    He shrugged, "Nothing important."


    So, he doesn''t want to tell me.


    The names on the board were ranked. She scooted over to the first parchment, confident that her name was there. A title on the top read:  Divine Ordination ¡ª Class Aleph.


    Her eyes skimmed down the list, finding noble names dominating the top ranks. She saw Diana Rupert at eighth. When her name went past the tenth, sadness slowly crept in. I didn''t answer the written tests. I should have expected it. When her eyes went further down, she gave a yelp.


    "There''s my name," she rejoiced. Yuri gave her a proud smile.


    20. Apple of Heinstead She was twentieth out of thirty in the first class.


    She expected it but seeing it written there in ink brought a certain kind of joy. But it was short-lived because on top of her name was 19. Yuri Amberworth. He scored higher than me. Thanks to the test, I''m sure.


    How about him? Did he make it?


    She stepped over to scan for his name in the other departments. He said he did not have holy power, so he should be in the other courses. She scoured the lists on History Studies, Alchemy, Mathematics, Literature, Arts. There were a couple of Lucases but not the one from Vermil.


    "Looking for a friend''s name?" Yuri asked


    "Indeed, but I don''t think it''s there."


    "How about the Ordination class? Did you look through it? What''s his name?"


    "Lucas of Vermil."


    "I see, he might not be in Aleph but there are also two other tiers. The classes are mostly named differently based on the average holy power they hold. Aleph is first. After us are Classes Daleth and Heth."


    She returned to the leftmost part of the board, jostling past nobles and commoners taking a peek.


    Class Daleth did not contain his name, nor did the third one. She almost missed it but on the same parchment as Heth, after the last name, just under it was written the words: Divine Ordination ¡ª Class Zayin. It had only one student.

 Chapter 16: Marco XII

    "Oh my Holy Angel, you''ve found me again!" Professor Mallory threw her head back exasperatedly. Unlike from the last time, she was not projecting a bald grumpy old fossil. She wore spectacles held up by her sharp nose and a loose-fitting purple caftan lined with symbolic embroideries from her hometown outside of Araya.


    "I bribed your assistant," Marco said, pulling a chair to sit in front of her. "But I didn''t expect you to be in Demach at all before the Opening. A wise move."


    "I''ll kick my assistant out. It will be your fault," the professor grumbled, eyes back to her book.


    "Please don''t," he begged, laying a plate of chocolates in front of her. Who could refuse chocolates? "I lied to her, I said it was extremely urgent."


    "You''re not allowed to consume food inside the Bibliotheca."


    "I''ll put it away then."


    "No way," she said, slamming down on the plate before he could take it away. "So, what do you need? Were you able to get answers this time? I''m sure if you''ve asked again with the right question, the Light of Truth will give the verdict."


    "I haven''t yet," Marco said solemnly, "But I came here for a different reason."


    "Uh-hu." She put a chunk of chocolate in her mouth.


    "I know each professor has a privilege to recommend one student, regardless of birth¡ª"


    "You want me to recommend someone," Professor Mallory cut to the point straightaway.


    "Yes, if you haven''t submitted a name yet."


    She dropped the book gently, saying, "That''s a big favor to ask. A plate of chocolates won''t cut it."


    "I know, but I wanted to take my chance anyway."


    "So, is it a girl you like?"


    He answered her with a deadpan expression. "He''s family."


    "Well, I can certainly recommend him. I don''t understand though, if he has power similar to yours, he could have easily cleared the Henge Field Test, although not without bruises."


    "He doesn''t have holy power."


    She munched on another bar. "Oh, is he a genius then? We will need more of them, especially now that the King advocates for faster progress."


    "He''s not very knowledgeable," he informed her in a lower voice.


    That made her indignantly inhale a lungful. "You mean to make me recommend an idiot to Demach? I know to you I might seem a drunkard and a worthless lady easily swayed with food, but Marco I still have some reputation to uphold."


    "Please don''t call him an idiot."


    "Then I''ll call you the idiot, wasting my time like this." She dragged the plate to her side, preventing Marco from taking it back.


    "Please, Professor. I don''t want him to feel depressed. He really wants to study here. Isn''t Demach a place for making dreams come true?"


    "Indeed, if you have merit! I cannot stain the Academy''s reputation by admitting someone like him. But you already know that." She peered at him and leaned forward, intrigued, biting on a bar. "Now, I''m curious who could make a genius like you stoop this low? Tell me his name at least."


    "Lucas. Lucas of Vermil," he answered, still clinging to a sliver of hope she would grant his plea. I''m prepared to entreat with her. "I''ll do anything, professor. I can be one of your assistants for a year."


    "Hmm, Lucas of Vermil, a commoner that you say is your family," she mumbled, resting her chin on her knuckle in thought, "The name rings a bell."


    Has she heard about his uncomely reputation already? But we''re well away from Vermil. That would make things more difficult.


    "Ah I see now, come with me!" She bolted to her feet, scaring some students studying silently in the Bibliotheca.


    She led her out of the gargantuan library of Demach.


    The direction she was headed to seemed to be the white marble edifice. "This is the way to director''s office. So, you''re recommending him then."


    She flashed her a hand. "For once, shut up." The ends of her purple caftan billowed in her heels as she crossed the grounds in long strides. He rushed after her in silence.


    "Oh, a nice day to you, Mallory, Marco," an elderly professor greeted them in the hall.


    "A nice day to you as well, Professor Lock," he said.


    They turned to the right wing housing the instructors'' offices, not towards the director''s. Marco felt his hopes being squashed. "Professor, where are we going?"


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    She stopped before the door that read: Prof. James Hilbury. She gave it three vigorous knocks unbefitting of a lady like her.


    The administrator of the infamous Henge Field Test. The man had suddenly earned a rather bleak reputation in Demach. They said he was adamant in his proposal to conduct a combat test instead of the more peaceful gauging of students'' holy power with a trusted artifact. The other professors had argued that it was usually those who have higher holy power who would be good in combat, so the results would be more or less the same, regardless of the nature of test to be used. Yet he had been insistent, and on the actual day, one girl almost died if he hadn''t stepped in on time.


    Marco also had planned to meet him soon, to inquire about Lucas''s injuries. He suddenly remembered how stubborn his brother was on refusing treatment. He must be in a lot of pain. What if it festers? Ugh. His mood was ruined just thinking about it.


    "Professor Mallory?" James Hilbury said, quizzical, upon opening the door. "What a welcome visit. Come in. I see you brought a most celebrated student."


    "We won''t be long," she said, stepping inside.


    "A most pleasant morning, Professor," Marco greeted him, still clueless what she led him here for.


    She asked, "Didn''t you recommend Lucas of Vermil for admission?"


    Marco thought he heard it wrong for a second.


    "I did, indeed," he replied, equally confused at the interaction. He took his seat behind his desk where a few rolls of parchment sat on top.


    She turned to Marco, "You should have gone over the bulletin before coming to me. Did it even occur to you?"


    Several thoughts ran through Marco''s head. Did he use it?


    "May I know why you recommended him, Professor?"


    James Hilbury leaned back in his chair. "First you must tell me why you came here."


    Professor Mallory spoke, "He requested for me to recommend the commoner, saying he lacks holy power and intellectual aptitude. But it seems not to be the case if you as the administrator himself submitted his name. You must have seen something."


    James reflected on it for a moment. "Lucas of Vermil. He''s from your House''s jurisdiction. And looking at it now, he resembles you. I hope I''m not stepping on lines here."


    "Indeed, he''s family." He was breaking her promises to his mother by openly declaring his blood relations with Lucas. But he was not so bothered by it when they were miles from the Palace.


    "I thought you weren''t being literal," Professor Mallory whispered beside him.


    "May I know now, professor, the reason you vouched for him?"


    He leaned towards them. "It''s true his written test results were pathetic. But I presume you''ve heard by now of the unfortunate incident in the Henge Field. That girl almost died, if not for him."


    Now it made sense. "He came home injured. Is that how he got them?"


    He nodded, "He shoved her away, but he couldn''t evade in time. I wanted to find him, but he disappeared like a ghost. Luckily, you''re here now. Tell him the good news. He''s in the Ordination Course."


    Ordination? How can he attend there without an angel''s blessing?


    "But how did he do it?" Professor Mallory pressed, "My student claims he doesn''t have holy power. The tumbleweed has a demon''s blood. It can only be defeated by either a greater holy or demonic power. No freshman would have been able to do it."


    "He doesn''t have a pint of the blessing in him, that is why I put him in a special class: Zayin. I am as curious. I wanted to observe him. Maybe Lord Vermilon can shed some light to it?" They both turned to Marco.


    He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I wish I knew."


    A memory came back to Marco. It was from a time when he didn''t bear a scar on his face yet, and when Lucas still had a room in the Palace.


    Lucas had called for him, leaping and hopping. "Marco, look at this. Come! Come!"


    They dashed to his room where he had folded torn pages of a volume into paper birds, spread all over the carpet. "No, Lucas, grandfather would smite you!" Even as a small child, Lucas had received more physical chastisement than Marco had.


    "Not after he sees this!" The little boy launched a bird into the air, making Marco wonder what was so special about it.


    Then a minute passed. The bird circled in the room, never losing height, never dropping.


    "See? I have talent like you!" He was so ecstatic that Marco did not feel the need to correct him. He still couldn''t sense a shred of holy power in his little brother even in this bout of miracle.


    He launched another paper bird. Then another one. They joined the first one in flight like a flock of ducks.


    "You try too!" He handed Marco a couple. Lucas sent the paper birds in flight with some mysterious force. It did not have color nor smell. Marco could not tell what it was, even now.


    Lucas''s room filled with a flock of paper birds circling above two little boys playfully snatching them from the air and throwing them again.


    The sound of laughter was later replaced by Lucas''s sobs that night. They whipped him for he had destroyed a whole book on some important subject Marco had now forgotten. Grandfather was not the least bit happy about it. Meanwhile, Marco simply felt relieved that he himself was not hurt.


    After meeting Professor Hilbury, Marco went straight to Lucas''s house with a sober expression on his face. He hoped he could be happy about it. If he''s in the Divine Ordination class, then they might encourage him to use that unknown power of his. Marco had no inkling as to whether it would be good or not. He was planning to send Lucas to History Studies, where he could simply attend Demach without trouble. But it was not in his grasp now.


    Too many uncertainties. He sighed, exhausted. But we''ll brave through it. I never expected anything to be easy in the first place. The moment he brought Lucas out of Gallagher, he had steeled himself to deal with any problems that might arise. Compared to the incident in the Ashwood Forest, what setback could be worse?


    He ordered Ser Gerald who accompanied him as his guard. "We will be moving tomorrow to the Academy Dormitory, please make the preparations, Captain."


    "I will, my lord."


    When they arrived, he told Felix the same. "We will all be departing tomorrow for the Academy. Find a suitable carriage."


    Both knights were surprised but they did not dare ask the question. They needed only to oblige.


    Lucas was in his room, as he always was. The only time he set foot in the living room was whenever he crossed it when leaving the house and coming back. His guards reported he did eat his meals diligently but not together with them. He would bring them to his room all the time.


    "Lucas." He knocked.


    "Come in," he heard him answer.


    His brother was staring out the window. He had wrapped new bandages over his wounds. It was the clean fabric Marco brought, instead of his old shirts.


    "Are you feeling better?"


    "I am. You should not worry about me," he said calmly, his gaze trailing after a sparrow in the sky.


    "It''s my role, as your brother. I wanted to share some news. You should pack your things," he told him.


    Lucas whirled to him with a start. "Are you sending me back?"


    "No, no," he shook his head. "We''re going to Demach. You made it!"


    Lucas''s usually tranquil countenance visibly brightened with delight, not too different from back when they were still clueless boys sending paper birds into the air. "Are you serious?"


    Ordination Class or another made no matter now. Gallenport had just given Lucas the chance Marco had prayed for.  I should be happy for him. This is what I wanted after all.

 Chapter 17: Apple IV

    "I welcome you all to Demach!" The director''s voice boomed through the largest auditorium in the Academy. A middle-aged man of small stature, he stood like a child in front of the line of instructors behind him. As he delivered his words, his tone caught attention without being domineering, his air trustworthy without the need to implore.


    Seated at the second row in the pew, Apple''s eyes kept darting behind her, searching for one particular golden-haired student. A sea of faces stared back at her. The auditorium was packed. It was difficult to pinpoint him, especially that his smell was non-existent.


    "Since it''s your first day, we have prepared a feast! Let us get to know each other. Your seniors will be joining you as well in the Morning Garden. Just one rule: Don''t trample the flowers. Tallow would kill me."


    The Morning Garden was nestled in the very center of Demach such that to the west loomed the tall spire of Bibliotheca, behind it a view of the Royal Keep; to the east the Henge Fields, the pool and the training grounds; to the north the professors'' marble offices, and to the south the auditoriums and the dormitories. The garden displayed an impressive expanse of white flowers: daisies, lilies of the valley, snowdrops, pale roses, magnolias, and laces. Most of them were brought in from other parts of the world: the less-trodden corners of Araya, the nearby Scarlet Isles, the famed continent of Handilen and places cartographers had not heard of.


    "This is the obsession of one Professor Tallow," a sophomore by the name of Quain had taken it upon himself to approach them. "She collects white flowers. She disappears every break. When you find a new species of white blossom here, then you''d know she''s back."


    "Why the white flowers though?" Apple inquired.


    Quain turned to her, startled at her lack of use of any honorifics. He shrugged, "Who knows. Maybe it''s her own kind of drug."


    Most imposing of all was the stone behemoth that crouched at the very heart of the Morning Garden. It knelt on one leg like a knight swearing its oath to its liege. Its face cast to the ground; Apple could make out the shape of its closed eyelids. It was dressed in a carpet of moss embellished with white orchids that might or might not have been intentionally planted there. If it could stand, it would tower over the spire of the Bibliotheca.


    "It''s called the Guardian of Demach," Quain said when he caught her staring at it. "Legend says that when enemies breach the gate of the Academy, the Guardian will wake to crush them."


    "I heard that before. Is it true though, can it come to life by itself?" Yuri asked, taking a sip of his juice.


    "An artifact? A giant artifact?" Another student asked, zealous. She went by the name of Hannah of Copperhill. Yuri had saved her during the Henge Field Test. She had followed Yuri around since. She was a little timid, but Apple sniffed holy power inside her twice that of Yuri.


    "No one had seen it rise before. It''s not in any records either," Quain replied. "I just want to give you a heads up. You see those numbers on your chest?"


    Next to her name, Apple''s blue uniform had a small hexagonal emblem flashing a number pinned to it. An artifact. "Isn''t it for tracking and attendance? It shows a number but why is it in the three-hundreds?"


    "Yes, indeed. That''s your rank among all students under the Ordination Course, not just in your class or in your year, hence the hundreds. But that ranking can change anytime starting from tomorrow. It''s a little fun game that the Divine Ordination course plays but everyone takes it rather seriously, in order to stir up competition and learning. You can change your ranks depending on your merit and demerit points."


    "So, a reward and punishment system? They seem to know how to motivate us."


    "You can also steal the number from a high ranker by defeating them in a fair match."


    Apple looked at Yuri''s number which was 289, while hers was 290. I could easily take his number from him.


    Sensing her malice, Yuri covered his pin. "Hey!"


    The number flashing on Quain''s was 48.


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    "You''re among the top fifty. But you''re just a sophomore," Yuri gawked.


    "Oh," Quain blushed at the remark. "Don''t be impressed. You should meet the top of my class then. He''s currently third. Marco Vermilon. That man right there."


    They followed his gaze to a column of white lilies where a lad of dark blond hair was passing by. He stopped for a moment to greet a freshman just a little bit shorter than him. As Marco Vermilon walked away, Apple recognised the freshman to be the root of her unrest. For a fleeting second, the look of his pained face in the curtain of petals occured to her memory. You''re here. She felt her heart skip a beat.


    Lucas caught her eye and waved at her with his injured hand. A black beret concealed most of his hair, although a few golden locks poked out over his eyes. So that''s why I couldn''t find you so easily.


    Apple left her company without a word and crossed the plot of magnolias to come to him, while Quain shouted after her, "Watch the flowers!"


    She carefully stepped on the edges and finally came face to face with him. He smelled of nothing ¡ª like the time she first met him, free of the demonic stench that came off of him inside the Henge Field. "You ran away. I couldn''t even thank you."


    "There was no need to, we''re friends."


    "Still, I''m really thankful."


    He gave her a warm smile in response.


    "So, is your hand well now?" It had been bandaged heavily that only the tip of his fingers peeked out. His good hand held a tall glass of juice which was nearly empty. "Did you get treatment?"


    "It''s alright. It''s going to heal soon." He raised it and moved it around as if to prove his point.


    "Why are you standing here all by yourself? Join us."


    "Can I?"


    She took his arm, surprised at how tender and cold his skin was. "They''ll be glad to meet you. Just watch the magnolias." She tugged him along.


    "The friend you were obsessing about," Yuri remarked, when they joined them. "Hi, I''m Yuri."


    "I wasn''t," Apple denied, her cheeks suddenly hot.


    "Good day, my lords, my lady, I''m Lucas of Vermil. It''s a pleasure to meet all of you." He pushed his beret lower, concealing his eyes and hair.


    "I''m no lady," Hannah corrected him in her soft and countryside lilt. "I''m Hannah of Copperhill."


    "Quain Foilsebay," the sophomore introduced, tapping Lucas lightly on the shoulder. "How did you get so injured pal?"


    "It was during the Test with the cursed tumbleweed, my lord."


    "That one? Nobody said someone was hurt so badly though."


    "I''m alright, my lord. It wasn''t too bad of an injury."


    A palm that got pierced by a large vine and he passed it off as trifling as a bruise. Apple wondered what kind of wound Lucas considered serious.


    "But why is there no number on your pin, Lucas? I know you''re in an Ordination Class," Yuri asked.


    Apple glanced at the pin on his chest. It displayed nothing.


    "Professor Hilbury said I cannot enter the rankings yet since I don''t have holy power. I believe I should be at the bottom last, but he did not feel the need to show it."


    Quain said, "That makes no sense, why would he put you in Divine Ordination if you don''t have holy power? How did you even get in?"


    "Upon Professor Hilbury''s recommendation, they''ve put me in Zayin class, my lord. He said my case is only probational."


    "I remember now, you''re the only student there. How peculiar," Quain looked at Lucas with interest.


    Can I even tell them that it was Lucas who defeated the tumbleweed? I don''t know how he did it, but he certainly is hiding some cards up his sleeve.


    "But you''ll still be attending classes with us though?" Apple noticed that she was still holding his arm. She flinched way from him, embarrassed.


    "He said I can sit with any class I want, but most of the time, I''ll be helping him with his research."


    "Great, you can always sit in with us in Aleph. Right?" She turned to her group for approval, but their faces did not look so inviting.


    "I''ll be right where you are," Lucas said.


    As the western sky became dappled in orange and the sun disappeared behind the Bibliotheca, Apple and Lucas began to make their way to the dormitories. The room handed to her had decent furnishing: A bed, a desk, a closet, a breakfast table, a lamp, and a vanity mirror. As a commoner, she did not know what more to ask for. It did not feel so cramped, especially that she was alone.


    "So how is it living on your own? I had to leave my father behind, but I''ll still visit him outside Demach when I have leisure."


    She found it Lucas''s habit to stare up at the sky. The clouds that took on a gold and red hue stretched far into the horizon. He stared heavenward as though he was entranced by them. His eyes never left them as he replied, "I am used to living alone."


    "Really? How about your parents? You still have family, don''t you?"


    He set his gaze down. "They thought it best I live apart."


    Did they send him to labor? What did he mean?


    "May I ask why?"


    "It was... an arrangement that suited everyone. I''m a troublemaker, you see." His voice softened, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.


    She laughed at his humor. "Liar. You don''t seem like it. Maybe you just stink."


    "Do I?" He sniffed his underarm.


    "No, you don''t. You don''t smell like anything at all," she said.


    The next morning on her way to her first class, Apple found Lucas right outside the auditorium doors. His beret sat low, shadowing his eyes. His uniform seemed tousled, the collar askew.


    "Were you waiting for me?" Through the open door, she glimpsed the sharp glares of a few students.


    He answered with a wry smile, "I don''t think they want me inside there. I should go. Perhaps, I''ll just meet you at lunch?"


    "No. Stay, you said you can sit with whichever."


    Yuri stepped out the door, scratching his head, "Diana kicked him out. She wanted to murder him."

 Chapter 18: Apple V

    Apple''s morning started with the difficult decision over which pair of shoes to wear. She would try one pair and admire it in front of the mirror. Then she''d try one with the velvet vamp. Then the other one with a pink buckle. Then the other one. She took half an hour just to see which of them best completed the regal blue coat of Demach.


    She did not have such a dilemma when she only had one dirty old pair of brown leather shoes Father crafted for her. She still kept it in a box inside her luggage. It smelled but it did not bother her.


    Left with barely any time for breakfast, she picked a banana from the cafeteria and made herself a cup of tea to wash it with. She shuffled out of the dormitory in quick little steps, her peach leather backpack hung over her shoulder. There was an excitement in the air she could not quite explain. Perhaps because it was the first time she would be attending a school. Or perhaps it was because she would be doing it with a new group of friends.


    The air in Demach smelled of traces of dew and petrichor despite being surrounded by the filthy cobblestone streets of Gallenport. She greeted everyone she met as she skipped along the brick-covered trail in her gleaming white boots. The day could never be more perfect.


    That was what she thought before she found Lucas in rumpled clothing. Yuri''s words only fueled her fury. She felt anger rise within her. Suddenly all she could whiff was the rust of the door hinges, the dust on the corners, the staleness of unwashed fabric, the malodor of sewage from beyond the walls of the Academy.


    Breathe out the bad smells. Sniff the good ones, focus on them. Remembering Father''s words, Apple exhaled with force. Then she tried to breathe in any hints of fragrance lingering in the air. She found Yuri''s subtle perfume, and the banana in her breath. She let herself take in the smell of divine power flooding the room.


    "You should stay, you cannot let them push you around," she encouraged him.


    "I''m truly sorry, Apple, but I cannot cause trouble here. My brother would be disappointed of me," he said with worry. Still, he seemed calmer than she was.


    "I''ll catch you on lunch then."


    He walked away as he fixed his coat.


    Apple walked up to Diana who pretended to ignore her by exchanging giggles with her friend.


    "Do you look down on us?" Apple asked her.


    Tossing her red hair, Diana stood up from her seat so that she looked down on her. "I do not."


    Apple took two steps up the auditorium, leaving Diana below her. "You think you have the right to hurt other people because you were born lucky? Because the heaven favored you with wealth and power?"


    Diana''s pug-nosed friend snapped at her, "Know your place. You dare talk to her like that."


    Apple''s nostrils flared. "Shut your mouth. I''m not talking to you."


    His face flushed ruddy with humiliation. "I''m the son of a ¡ª"


    "Of a bitch. I know."


    She heard Yuri laughing, and some others. Diana''s glare would bore a hole through her head if it could. Hannah glided to her side, whispering, "Apple, you''re stepping over the line. Be careful."


    Apple glanced over to her friend, saying, "Thanks Hannah, but they crossed the line first." She turned back to the ginger head. "Will you let this frog talk for you? Ribbit, ribbit," she teased. Yuri was doubled over on his stomach, holding his laughter.


    Diana sighed, "I don''t have time for this. I don''t know why you''re even friends with that... menace."


    "Your words are worthless to me."


    Diana rolled her eyes in distaste. "Your concern is misplaced."


    Apple spotted Diana''s badge number. 278. Her power is much greater than mine. And her Die of Fate posed an unknown variable. But her pug-nosed friend was 287. He probably only outdid me in the written test.


    She picked up a crumpled piece of paper and threw it squarely on his forehead. "I request a duel with you."


    He flinched, mouth agape at both the insult and the challenge. "You''re a worthless peasant, why would I waste my precious talent on you?"


    It was Yuri who said, "A request to duel cannot be declined if the challenger is of lower rank."


    The frog''s eyes rounded even more. "There''s no such rule."


    "There is," Apple said flatly. She did not care even if there wasn''t. She would keep humiliating him until he had no choice but to fight her in order to regain whatever spit of honor he held.


    Their homeroom instructor found them all marching to the training grounds. "Goo ¡ª what is going on?" She threw her hands in the air.


    "It''s a duel," a student answered, enthused.


    "You cannot interrupt lessons¡ª"


    Her discouragement fell on deaf ears. They were well out of the building.


    Apple led them with brisk steps to a nearby training circle where the marble henges were few in number. Diana''s frog followed behind fuming, knuckles fisted. The rest of Aleph trudged along, muttering and murmuring speculations on who would triumph. Most of them had seen neither of the two of them in action before.


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    "This is a good enough place to beat your ass," Apple swirled to him on her pristine boots.


    "You''re going to regret this," he muttered through his teeth while Diana shook her head in weariness. "I''m a Lest-"


    "I don''t care who you are! Let''s start."


    "How do we know when the fight ends?" He said, delaying time.


    "When you can''t stand anymore!" Apple chanted, "SONG OF CREATION!"


    "SHIT!" He hissed, releasing his own holy energy.


    She called forth a familiar flower from a small village in the marshes of Torinto where she spent close to a year. Rose mallows. Flimsy and soft. Some blush-pink. Some magenta. Carrying a mild fragrance that does not seek to overwhelm. Flaring like pink suns in the dark green marshes. Mallows bloomed around Apple''s feet in one beautiful spiral. She grinned, proud of her work. With the gesture of her hand, they rose and circled around her, dispersing their petals until she was covered in a pink storm to the waist.


    Then like a charmed snake, the petal storm grew a filament that followed the dance of her hand.


    "Go get him!" Her friends cheered as others beheld the beauty of her talent with amazement, whether they had seen it before or not.


    "You''re just showy!" The frog croaked. "VIRTUE OF FORTITUDE !" He condensed his holy power into a halo of light over him, its light surrounding him in fractals like a diamond. THUD! When Apple''s petal snake made contact with it, it scattered into its pink fragments.


    One more. Thud. One more. Thud. Each attack seemed useless against his barrier.


    "Huh, is that all you''ve got?" He taunted her.


    Apple squinted her eyes in realization. "Heh, you can''t cast a counterattack. So, I see now."


    He scowled at her. She was right.


    "Well, I can just wait until you run dry." She called her petals back to her, intending to make a bed to lie on.


    "Get a taste of this then. VIRTUE OF COURAGE!" The halo over him took on a more menacing look. Turning crimson, sharp thorns shot out off of its side. Then it began to spin with a whirr. "Eat this!" He shot the toothed halo with a flick of her hand.


    "Watch out!" Yuri yelled from the crowd.


    "We should stop this."


    They underestimate my flowers. The spinning ring of death traced a serpentine arc as it came for her. Unlike the last time, she did not plan on skimping on volume and strength. SONG OF CREATION. More rose mallows bloomed instantly on her feet, feeding the growing mass of petals around her.


    FLICK. FLICK. She intercepted the whirring halo with a barrage of small petal discs, slowing its momentum so that as it sliced into her rose mallow shield, it could not pierce through. CHUCK! The ring buried there, motionless.


    Now I''ll cripple him.


    With the halo immobile, the frog had lost any ability to counterattack or defend. He''s too weak. Apple had seen an exorcist use five haloes of virtue at once.


    "Don''t move or this is going to hurt more," she sneered at him.


    The petals shot out tentacles akin to the cursed tumbleweed, but this time it was coming only for the boy.


    "VIRTUE OF FORTITUDE!" With his measly holy power, his attempt to materialize another halo failed.


    Whack! A whip sent him to his knees. Apple slowly stepped toward him, sending the petal tentacles after his back, his arms and his shins, leaving him screaming in terror.


    "Yes, smack him!" She heard Yuri roaring. He punched the air with every hit she landed.


    No one but Yuri cheered at the brutality anymore.


    "I surrender!" The frog croaked.


    Whack! She sent another whip to his face, sending him rolling. "Sorry, I didn''t hear," she said, smirking to herself.


    "I surrender!" He shrieked, laboring to breathe.


    "Oh, I understand." She let the petals drop in a slow entrancing cascade.


    Ding. Their badges sounded. The frog fell by one rank while Apple ascended to his former rank: 278.


    SONG OF CREATION. She materialized stalks of white lilies in her hand.


    "Please, stop!" The boy flinched while Diana yelled, running to intervene, "The match is done!"


    "I know." She laid the white buds on his chest as one would on a dead person.


    Yuri and Hannah began applauding her. Others joined. It was their first time to witness a Demach duel. Whether it was done right or clumsily, it had been a spectacle.


    Apple noticed that older students had flocked to the commotion. She spotted at least one professor.


    "I''ll challenge you next," she told Diana, amusing the crowd once more. Not until I''m sure I can win, though. I have to see first what other weapons she can use. "Just you wait."


    Diana twirled a stalk of white lily in her fingers. "I don''t know how he charmed you, but you''re mistaken about him. I understand. He acts like a damsel pining for your sympathy. It''s unfair to you." She scanned the crowd before stepping closer to Apple, making her back a step. Diana spoke more softly, "Meet me at the Guardian''s bum, after dinner. Don''t tell anyone."


    "Why would I trust you?" She could be luring her into a trap to hurt her.


    Diana wrung her head in frustration, "I''m trying to help you, you bitch." She turned and helped her friend prop himself up.


    * * * * *


    Aleph filed back into the building with newfound vigor. After witnessing a duel, each student felt they could engage on one themselves. It was the quickest way to climb up.


    Apple walked behind the blue swarm, thinking about her first win. She did it for revenge, but the taste of victory elated her to a different degree. She felt like she could dance.


    "You overtook me before the day even ended," Yuri muttered beside her, flashing a sheepish grin. "You were pretty strong back there. How can I even catch up to you now?" His rank fell to 290, where she previously was.


    "Your talent was so pretty. I knew you could beat him," Hannah said, praising her in her sweet lilt, "It wasn''t even your best."


    "That should keep them at bay. What is going on?" Their classmates were gathered at the door. There was a glowing barrier of light at the threshold, preventing entry.


    "Why wouldn''t she let us in?" One student said.


    "Well, we literally left her alone."


    "But there was a duel."


    "On the first day, on the first period. On her very first class. I think I understand where she''s coming from."


    "But who''s she teaching then? Let me look."


    Apple felt only a little guilty that she had ruined their first day of instruction in Demach. She felt she would do it again if she could.


    "Apple, it''s your friend," Yuri nudged her.


    Apple stood on her toes to look past over the students'' heads, glimpsing the beret-topped pallid lad sat inside the auditorium all by himself while the professor pointed something on the board. Why is he inside?


    They waited on the two of them for about an hour. Some watched while others sat on their haunches. They couldn''t even hear what they were discussing there. When it looked like the professor was finished, she disabled the barrier with a clap. They all rushed inside.


    "Is that the first lesson?" They gaped at the board.


    "Doesn''t look like Defensive Charms to me."


    The professor did not wait for them to settle down. She announced, "I''m going to deduct 10 points from each of you."


    They froze. "That''s outrageous," one of them blurted.


    "Well, you''re all outrageous. See you tomorrow. You can riot here for all I care." She gathered her materials and stomped out of the room.


    Apple ran to Lucas who was hastily scooping up his things, wary of the unwelcome gazes about to come his way. "Lucas, so, you came back!"


    "Hi Apple. Well... she dragged me in here after seeing me loitering at the cafeteria."


    "But what did she teach you?" Apple gazed at the board.


    "She just asked me what I wanted to learn."


    There were lines all over the board with names on them. It was a map of the Kingdom of Araya and half a peninsula of Handilen next to it. It was basic Geography.


    She faced him with a smile on her face, "I can teach you too. I''ve been to some of those places."

 Chapter 19: Marco XIII

    A letter from the Vermilon Palace had arrived. His mother''s tone was seething and untethered even in writing. She expressed deep concern about the incident in the Ashwood Forest, mentioning the grief that the families of the departed were going through. At some point, she scorned his decision to have continued on the Pilgrim Road given the gravity of the situation. At the latter half, she reminded him again of their agreements even though ''You won''t take these words to heart,'' she wrote. Do not fall into in the assumption that that thing cares for you like you care for it. Never trust it.


    He could almost feel the weight of her hand as she pressed the quill on paper angrily. Write back, as soon as you receive this, she ended. He sighed, stashing the letter into a drawer.


    The chamber provided to him was more spacious and better furnished than most. A balcony overlooked the sprawling Academy grounds. Marco would sit there sometimes if he fancied the sight of trees as students jogged beneath. Only heirs to the crown or earldoms were given such privilege.


    As he stared in the mirror, he pinned the badge that flickered with the number 3 on the chest of his blue vest. He cocked his head, studying the long scar on his cheek. It had been once a deep gash, but not as deep as the wound of a knight named Ser Harol who passed crossing the Ashwood Forest.


    His classmates used to ask him about the scar. "An accident," he would lie. "I was a pretty reckless kid."


    Perhaps it was true of him now. He still did not know whether he was making the right decisions or the stupid ones. Marco kept every strange detail about his little brother in a small booklet titled ''Herbs''. Sketches of shrubs and leafed plants populated the first few pages but along the center pages he had scribbled:


    Father Pietro''s death.


    Lying about a companion when he visited Father Pietro.


    Lying about the companion in his room. This one bogged Marco the most. Yet he had not seen it again.


    Lumen Veritatis could not judge the truthfulness of Lucas''s words when asked if he killed Father Pietro or not.


    Someone intended to delay us in the Ashwood Forest.


    He was the sole survivor in the incident in Ashwood Forest.


    Something else killed his escorts before the cursed wolves came. Alice''s body is missing. If she''s alive, she would know something.


    Ser Harol said, "He''s... demon... kill."


    They all have deep gashes like the scratches in Lucas''s house.


    Lucas touched the dead wolves at Cobalt Passing. Then they returned as cursed beasts.


    Lucas cannot remember the ambush in the Forest at all.


    The Star of Michael did not light upon contact with Lucas. Instead, it shattered.


    Does not want to be healed with holy power.


    He had drawn lines over them to show their relations, encircling some to denote them as raw facts instead of assumptions.


    Today, Marco laid the booklet open and wrote a new line. Can defeat a cursed tumbleweed that absorbed a demon''s blood. He encircled it.


    "Is some entity following you?" Marco said with furrowed brows. "But why are you not asking me for help to eliminate it? Perhaps... are you not aware..."


    Marco found Catherine Ashwood in the cafeteria. She sipped on a cup of coffee as she pored over a newspaper, legs crossed.


    "Apparently, the Holy Army had reclaimed a watershed territory in East Bismuth," she shared to him without looking up. "How are you, my sweet lord?"


    He set his own tray of cheese, bread and bacon next to hers. "Well, every Crusade starts with small victories because the demon was caught off guard. But then when the opponent strikes back, the army falters and it goes downhill from there."


    "Is it true, though, that there are more than ten demons in Atamar now? What do you think? An intellectual should assume so."


    "No living soul has been to Atamar since the day it had fallen. It''s better to expect the worst, yes. But to publish an unverified theory on paper, that''s just fear-mongering."


    She put the paper down and stabbed at her bread with the fork. "This whole Crusade feels so Sisyphean. We push the hive back then it sweeps us back, farther than before. If only some angels would help. But I understand, if they fight, they must fight for victory or else it will take more than a century for them to recover their full strength."


    Two known angels had fallen so far. Michael and Uriel. Michael disappeared during the First Crusade. Uriel, on the other hand, had gone into hiding after losing most of his power during the third attempt where no one came back alive. With his downfall, the Order of Uriel also lost influence. Most of their members had shifted to the other Orders. The only reason the Michaelic Order still had the largest hold on Araya was solely because of the Royal Family.


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    "Why did you only come today?" Marco asked. "I didn''t see you in the welcome feast."


    "It has come to the attention of my house that some lord was near gutted by cursed wolves in the Ashwood Forest. So, I couldn''t leave the mansion until it was certain that no cursed beasts were prowling in our territory anymore."


    "It was an ambush," he said.


    "And a knight lost his life along with a few escorts. Can cursed wolves accomplish that?"


    "Perhaps. But did they find anything in the Forest? I suggested to scour the whole of Ashwood Forest for any lingering curses or cursed beings."


    "Curses? " Her brows furrowed. She looked straight into his eyes, the giant blue tint of her iris reflecting him. "The Earl''s messenger reported cursed beasts. Is there anything else we should know about?"


    That the demon could either be in Gallagher or here with us. Marco kept those suspicions to himself.


    "Unrelated to that, did you know Lucas got in? In Ordination class, imagine that."


    "Really? Good for him. But how did he make it to Divine Ordination without holy power?"


    "I want to tell you, but we''ll be late for Artifact Studies."


    The whole of their morning was spent on Immediate Artifact Studies wherein one student after another were supposed to present about renowned artifacts of their interest. More merit points were given if the materials discussed were well researched, twice if they were new and verified information. For their first day, Professor Allyra let a senior take the dais to demonstrate.


    "What I wanted to humor your curiosity with is the Trinity of Justice," the senior named Lance began, writing the name of the artifact on top. "Consisting of the Cage of the Tribunal, the Scales of Retribution and the Shield of Virtue. They were bestowed to the Royal Family as heirlooms by the angel Michael to ensure Araya was governed with fairness and accountability. You might think they operate as a set, but they do not. Although it is believed they could have some effect when used together, we might never know because the Shield of Virtue was stolen more than a decade ago. Regardless..."


    Marco listened intently. What interested him the most was that the Trinity of Justice came directly from Michael himself, which meant these artifacts had the most remnant of the angel''s holy power. If used properly, one could use them to trace the location of the angel.


    These artifacts were not powerful on their own, after all they were not weapons of war but tools of rule.


    The three differed in appearance. The Cage of the Tribunal was a triangle necklace that could summon a prison wherein no one but an angel could interfere until the user had exacted their justice.


    The Scales of Retribution was a staff topped with a miniature gold figure of a woman holding two scales, all enveloped by a halo. It had the power to mete out punishment as pain equal to the gravity of crime committed. In severe cases, it was said to have taken lives.


    On the other hand, the Shield of Virtue was rumored to grant defense against demonic possession as long as the user remained true to a particular virtue of their choice ¡ª which if broken would render the shield ineffective.


    "The staff is currently used by the King, while the necklace is something that could be borrowed with a price," the senior concluded. "The shield was said to be in a form of a branding iron that could be used to mark anyone who wanted the protection of the Shield."


    "The entire Royal Family must have been branded with the shield then?" Catherine said, raising her hand with the veneer of timidity.


    "Indeed, the records state as such. Every royal born before the Shield''s theft were marked as soon as they were able to discern what is right and wrong." Lance said.


    She followed with another question? "Are their marks still present?"


    Lance stiffened. "Unfortunately, to ask or answer that question is tantamount to insulting the Royal Family."


    "I apologize, I am shamelessly inquisitive," she said, bashful.


    "The curiosity is much appreciated and encouraged, but I am in no position to indulge it. My apologies," Lance replied. "Are there any other questions? I will answer to the best I can."


    "How does one borrow the Cage of Tribunal?" It was Marco who spoke.


    During lunchtime, the sight of his brother on a table with three other students softened Marco''s sullen countenance. Despite all the dread pooling in his heart, for a moment he felt at peace with his decisions. He wanted to drop by and meet them, but he feared intruding on Lucas''s company.


    "He''s doing well, I see," Cat commented behind him. "Now, move. You''re in the way."


    Two more of his classmates joined his company.


    A boy named Oliver spoke as he ate, spilling some beans, "How was your break? Did you attend the feast? I''ve met some good looking freshies."


    "You should work on your hairstyle first," Cat said, pulling away her tray, wary of his droppings touching her meal.


    "What''s wrong with my hairstyle?"


    Marco''s fork stopped halfway to his lips. He looked at the poor state of his friend and said, "It''s a crow''s nest, Oliver."


    "But it''s natural to me. And I look good with it. My mother told me so," he said, adamant in his outlook.


    "The angels bless you then," Cat rolled her eyes, sipping mushroom soup.


    Seeing his friend''s confidence crumbling, the other boy named Kelvin rerouted the conversation, uttering, "Hey, did you hear about the Zayin class?"


    Marco''s head perked up.


    Kelvin went on, having their curiosities piqued, "Apparently he doesn''t have holy power, but he got in in Ordination. That''s a bit suspicious, isn''t it?"


    Marco went on eating, hiding his undue interest. He said, "What''s so suspicious?"


    "I mean, a professor can obviously recommend someone," Kelvin shrugged, "But bringing in a student without talent, Demach does not deserve that. I heard the director is looking into it."


    Marco''s fork dropped. "On what grounds? Why would the director get involved?"


    "Well, some freshmen do not like it. They''ve filed a complaint, I think. If I were in their shoes, it would feel obviously unfair to me too. They had to risk their lives fighting in the Henge Field, as you know."


    When the bell rang for the afternoon period, Marco''s mind was in the swells again.


    "...Mr. Vermilon. Mr. Vermilon!"


    Marco was shaken back to reality by the disgruntled voice of Professor Turington ¡ª a barrel of a man whose humble origins made him haughty and intolerant of any hint of impertinence.


    "I am sorry, Professor, I did not catch the question," he apologized.


    "I hate repeating myself." Turington clasped his hands behind him and met his gaze coldly.


    "The soul," Oliver murmured beside him, covering his mouth.


    "I heard that." Turington''s head pivoted to Oliver''s direction, startling the boy into silence.


    "I wasn''t paying attention, Professor, I recognize my mistake and would like to ask for your forgiveness," Marco admitted, bowing just slightly.


    "Do you know what this class is about?" He stood taller after puffing his chest.


    "Power Strengthening, Professor," Marco answered curtly.


    "Now, I''ll demonstrate the difference between those who had strengthened their holy power and those who need to. But I will need a volunteer. Can I ask for your participation, Mr. Marco Vermilon?" Turington eyed the number on Marco''s badge.


    He wants to humiliate me.


    "It will be my pleasure," he replied.

 Chapter 20: The Rat

    Anton twirled the little crystal in his little fingers. Pretty, he thought. Light reflected inside and outside of it, making it glimmer with tints of red and blue, yellow and green. And if he looked close enough, and held it up against the sun, he could glimpse a dark inky worm in its core, wriggling inside as though it was alive.


    If I sold it, would we get enough food for a few days?


    "What is it?" He heard Father''s voice. He was peeking out of the entrance of their makeshift tent.


    "A rock I found," Anton answered, clasping it in his palm hurriedly.


    "Careful not to swallow it." He crawled out of the tent and stood up, stretching his back and legs.


    Sliding the crystal into a small pouch, Anton tucked and tied it securely onto the waist of his trousers.


    The tent they lived in was Mother''s favorite blanket held up by sticks and decorated by a three-pronged star carved out of wood and it was supposed to only fit two people. But they squeezed the five of them inside, together with some of their belongings which only consisted of pots and tattered clothes and a cage of ducks they kept close in fear of losing them to thieves.


    They had been outside the city for two days, out of East Bismuth for twelve. Anton had spent the better half of the trip from their humble village on top of a cart that their donkey pulled. The Jewel Road had taken the donkey and more.


    He is in a better place now. It was their misfortune that a storm poured as they trudged down the Jewel Road from the heart of East Bismuth down to the West. His little brother of barely a year old caught a cold and fever the next morning. His health worsened quickly. They rested for a while in a nearby gorge, but the mosquitoes threatened to suck their blood dry. Despite the sweltering heat and the baby''s sickness, they resumed their journey. It was the next day that they buried him.


    Then one night when they had passed the fork and joined the Pilgrim Road, he found this stone glinting under a rat''s corpse. The Road had not been so kind to them. He should at least take this precious stone for compensation.


    "Help me with the clothes," Father ordered. He had to take out the china and clay pots from the only basket they carried in order to make room for their unwashed clothes. If they were to stay outside the city for a few more days, they could not afford to keep reusing unwashed clothing. "The river should be close by. Lind, will you be okay by yourself?"


    Anton could barely recall how many times he heard Mother spoke since the tragedy. It was not so many, he believed.


    The death of her youngest took words from her, along with her vitality. He wondered if the pretty stone he had could make her smile. She needed nutrition first of all, but they were on their last couple of birds. Father traded one for potatoes to some other family who needed meat.


    He spotted his elder brother returning from his excursion. "Francis is back, Father."


    "Where have you been? Where did you sleep?"


    "In the grass. There is no fucking space in here," he spat.


    Father scanned his groggy figure head to toe. An open shirt, disheveled hair, a red mark on his neck. "You''ve laid with some girl? How could you think about screwing a girl in this state?" Father pointed to the tent and the other tents next to them, none of which looked better than theirs.


    "I''d rather die happy. I told you we shouldn''t have left," he said with slumped shoulders.


    "Enough. Stay with your mother and little sister. Help them prepare some meal to break fast. You can do that at least. Come, Anton."


    Anton regarded his brother with sympathy. Francis had a lover back home. Her family remained while the rest of the village evacuated. He held on to the hope they would follow sooner but he had not found them yet.


    Anton strode after Father on his short legs, carrying the pieces of clothes that the small basket had no room for.


    A pair of soldiers spotted them. They held spears tipped with sharp black iron. "Where you off to, rats? Come to piss in the river, dirty it with your sick?" The soldier with a pockmarked face stopped them.


    "We simply wanted to wash our clothes, Ser, if we may. We had not had the opportunity on the Jeweled Road. We have run out of clean clothing."


    The other soldier cocked his head and mouthed, his uneven teeth showing, "That explains all the stink. Not possible. We can''t afford you killing all the fish with your dirt."


    "Ser¡ª"


    His words were cut off by a spear they pointed at his chest. "Off you go. Your reek makes me want to throw up the bacon I just had."


    Father turned without a word.


    They snapped at Anton. "What are you staring for kid? Want some?"


    He ingrained them in his memory. A pustulent face. Crooked teeth.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    They had to trace back where they came and circle around to avoid the soldiers. The Gallen River rushed to the sea with fervor. Anton knew it started from the copper mountains that lined the boundary of West Bismuth and Gallagher. They said you could find gold and copper and other metals in the silt. Close to Gallenport, the river forked into braided streams that spilled into the delta and finally into the salt sea. The city sat opposite the delta and the mangrove forests, overlooking it.


    "Let''s wash quickly. Just stay near the bank. Don''t go too far from the shallows."


    Anton waded into the water and separated out the clothes that had stuck to each other due to the grime and sweat. He asked, "When are we getting a home, Father?" He suddenly missed the small cottage back in East Bismuth where they had a small piece of land and roof over their heads. It was not much but it was enough. Back then, his little brother was still alive.


    "The King has promised us sanctuary. He''s talking with some of the lords now," he said, beating a shirt with a wooden paddle against a stone.


    Anton brought the clothes and put it on top of the pile. "But he''s the King. His words are law. He only needs to say it."


    "It doesn''t work like that."


    "How does it work then?"


    He sighed tiredly, "I wish I knew how the highborn mind works."


    Drenched but also freshly bathed, Anton and his father walked back to their tent, avoiding the soldiers. They took longer than they planned.


    His little sister Nela, barely three came running off to meet them, crying. Father dropped the basket and paddle to scoop her into his arms. "Shhh, shhh, why are you crying?"


    "Bad guys."


    Father rushed to the tent, leaving Anton to pick up the basket heavy with soaked fabrics. He lifted them up with his small arms and staggered to catch up. He found Francis''s face swollen and purple, broken pots and china all over the ground. Francis looked at him, his shoulders even more sagged, defeated.


    The cage of ducks lay empty and broken. The sack of potatoes was nowhere to be found. Their neighbors looked on. They must have witnessed everything, yet Anton expected no help from them. They all looked worn and sunken, resigned to the hope that if they waited, the King would come and save them from misery. They had lost the spirit to fight back. Only left with enough to survive and steal.


    "I''ll take them back," Father declared angrily, his hands fisted. His usually calm expression darkened. Yet, he still bore the face of a farmer who tilled the land and provided for his family in peace, not a fighter.


    "Take them back with what? A paddle?" Francis sniffed and massaged the bruise on his jaw. "They''ll just hurt you. They''re a bunch of motherfuckers but they''re strong and many."


    Mother sat in a corner, dazed. The incident must have left her in utter shock. She used to be quiet but as Father stormed away with the paddle, she mouthed, "My husband, no..."


    "Fuck it!" Francis bolted to his feet and chased after their father.


    Anton was curious. When we encountered the soldiers, you folded and walked away in submission. Why are you going after the thieves now? To him, the situations were not different. They could get hurt in both.


    "I''ll follow after them, Mother. Stay here," he kissed his mother on the forehead. His sister caught his hand but he shook her off, "Keep Mother company, Nela. We''ll be back."


    Anton could not catch up to them on his little feet, even when he sprinted. But it was easy to find them. He heard noise, shouting, and bodies being thrown around.


    It was his first time seeing Father settle things with his fist and paddle. Of Francis''s violence, he had known of it for years. They were getting battered, sure, but they were also giving them back a beating. Pow. Pow. Father thrashed at them with the wooden paddle while Francis brawled with two men.


    "NO!" Anton yelled as a foot kicked Francis in the abdomen, sending him to the ground. Father took one quick glance at his son who groaned in pain and that was his mistake. The bulkiest among them grabbed the paddle from Father''s grip and began to beat him with it.


    No! No! Anton looked around for help. The other refugees watched. No one braved stepping in. He spotted the two soldiers from earlier. He ran to them.


    "Help! Ser, please help us. They''re going to kill my family!"


    They stared down at him with disinterest. "Heh, less people to pillage our lands."


    Anton thought of the pretty crystal in his pouch. "I can pay! Please! Here." He showed it to them, its glint reflecting off their eyes.


    "Where did you get that?" The Crooked Teeth dove for it but Anton moved it away.


    "I''ll give you the crystal if you help me. Please. They''re going to die."


    "Well, we''re soldiers after all. We have to keep peace here," mumbled the Pustulent Face.


    He led them to the commotion where he was surprised to see Francis back to his feet. He managed to find a shard of broken chinaware somehow, leaving their adversaries with wounds. But there were simply too many of them. They circled around him and the broken figure of their father lying on the ground, threatening to overwhelm the two of them with sheer numbers.


    "You vermins!" The soldier yelled, charging.


    The end of their spear proved to be sharp as they stabbed mercilessly at the brawlers. They managed to skewer two by the chest and one by the neck before the others dispersed with their tails between their legs.


    But Anton realized too late that the soldiers did not come to ask questions. They came for blood.


    Francis dropped the shard but the spear still came for his chest. "He''s my brother!" Anton shouted after them. He could not understand what was happening. As if for good measure, they stabbed him some more.


    "They''re my family," Anton cried, sobs heaving.


    Then they stood over Father''s body who was still breathing but barely. Chuk! Anton watched as the blood pooled beneath five bodies, two of which were his family. He could not understand why the soldiers refused to listen to him.


    He sank to his knees and tried to wake his brother up who still had his eyes open, even though he knew it was futile. He could taste the salt of his own tears in his lips, could smell the metallic tang of fresh blood. Why? Why would they kill them? I told them...


    "Where is the payment, rat?" The voice of the pockmarked soldier said behind him.


    Anton gripped the sharp crystal with his little hand and turned. Stab. Stab. He lunged for his waist where he could reach, but the crystal only met the clang of mail.


    They started to laugh. "Give it to me while I''m being kind. You want to follow them to the afterlife?"


    Anton crouched and attacked the skin of his exposed ankle instead. There he drew blood.


    "Aww, you son of a bitch!" The soldier easily held up Anton by the neck.


    Anton kept jabbing, even as he choked. Crack. As the crystal met hardened plate, it shattered. Some shards buried into his palm but he was in too much grief to care. Yet when something squirmed in his hand and buried itself into his skin, he screamed. The soldier dropped him, kicking him in the shin.


    Anton saw the tail of some black worm burrowing into the wound a crystal shard left on his skin. Holy angel of God, he prayed


    He craned his neck as a throe of pain traveled from the palm to his head. He glimpsed the sun, glaring ever so brightly over him. The next second, it began to dim. His vision became splashed with red ¡ª as dark as the blood of his brother and father next to him.

 Chapter 21: Marco XIV

    Professor Turington chose the coliseum in the training grounds. It had seats so that spectators would not have to stand. Twenty-nine sophomore Alephs filled the front row silently, unsure if to cheer for Marco.


    "Give us a show Marco," Catherine yelled, waving her hand.


    "This training is not about bragging how powerful one is," Turington turned to them, "I want you to appreciate the effects of Power Strengthening. Sometimes, even a tiny needle can break a longsword if the needle is strong enough."


    A lie, at least his intentions were.


    Unfortunately for Turington, Marco hated losing. I don''t plan to stand around like a sitting duck.


    "Let''s begin," the professor declared. He mustered holy energy in one palm. It was the size of a watermelon. He yelled so the others could hear, "This is compression!" With his fingers straining as if clasping the ball of holy power floating above his hand, he began to shrink it until it was as small as a pea, its yellow warmth bleached into pure white. The dot hovered above his finger.


    With one look at it, Marco knew that he would get done in in one attack if he didn''t raise his guards up right away. "INVIOLABLE EDICT!" Pushing tendrils of holy energy out of his body, he took command of the air and the floor below him.


    "I won''t hurt you too much," Turington said. Then he shot it towards him.


    Crack. Crack. Marco pulled out two tiles off the floor to block it, putting an air column in between to know if the pea-sized projectile had pierced through. It did. Chuu! It whistled past through the first tile and the second one. It caught the end of his vest ¡ª the skin of his waist had he not dodged in time ¡ª burning a hole through it before striking an enchanted marble stone with a tsik!


    The audience gasped.


    "Are you trying to kill him?" One of them dared ask.


    Turington shook his head, "I wasn''t targeting his vital points. Fear not, Demach has one of the best healers in Araya."


    "If the teaching session is not yet over, then," Marco chanted, releasing more holy power, "INVIOLABLE EDICT!"


    The floor beneath seemed to groan before it began to tremble. Stone and sand pillars the breadth of a person sprouted from the ground, covering the whole arena like a forest.


    "That''s it!" The professor mouthed ecstatically, "With your pride, I never expected you to stand still and simply defend. But this is futile."


    Turington leapt on top of a pillar and produced five large glowing orbs of pure holy energy. He compressed each one again to the same size as before. The air seemed to pulse around them. "You should all be able to create at least three of this at the same time before the month ends. I guarantee you," he told his students.


    Before he could even launch them, the pillars grew taller, blocking his view. Despite how powerful they are, they would be useless if they couldn''t hit.


    The air above Turington started to swirl. His condensed orbs were helpless against the vast attack that was about to drop. The tornado materialized in seconds, its winds sharply humming in rage. His robe flapped around him as he stared the storm in the eye. DIVINE PROVIDENCE! He created facets of holy energy between him and the raging windstorm. SLAM! It fell onto the barrier but could not break through. After all, tornadoes swept things up and away. It did not have the capacity to drill into the shield on its own. But it slid off the barrier and began to home on him.


    Turington retreated into the mob of pillars where the whirlwind could be dissipated. Yet as he did so, BOOM BOOM BOOM. Pockets of air imploded around him, tearing his clothes into tatters and leaving him with bruises.


    "FUCK!" He cursed, his five glowing orbs still floating above his fingers, unused.


    The storm above had died down.


    "Where is the needle, Professor?" Marco taunted him, hidden from among the pillars. WIIIING! A sharp pulsing sound rang in the arena. "I''ve learned something here, Professor. I''m not sure if I did it right. Please judge for yourself."


    From the sand pillar a foot away from him, Turington saw a bead of pure white holy energy pierce through. Tsik! There was no time to counterattack. IMPENETRABLE FAITH! Turington yelled. The bead hit him right on the shoulder.


    Five orbs also came for Marco. Having revealed his position, Marco chose to endure the barrage of condensed holy energy. DIVINE PROVIDENCE! He withdrew his command over the pillars and air in order to thicken the barrier. BAM. BAM. BAM. None of the five holy peas made it past.


    "What is happening? We can''t see anything."


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Because of the storm kicking up clouds of dust, and with them fighting inside the shadow of the forest of sand and stone pillars, the spectators were left clueless as to what had transpired in the arena below.


    "This is not proving to be an effective way to show them what I intended," Professor Turington''s voice said inside the cloud of dust. When the dust cover had cleared, Marco saw Turington''s metallic skin melting back into its tanned hue. He had activated an innate talent in order to avoid getting perforated.


    So that amount of holy power could not pierce through the defense of a metal man, Marco learned.


    "Impressive," Turington praised, "You''ve managed to condense one bullet of holy energy. Holy energy when compressed becomes able to inflict unimaginable physical damage. Why don''t you show your classmates then?"


    "Did he learn it that fast? And in the middle of a fight?" Marco heard mutterings from the crowd.


    The professor taunted him, "Or did you just get lucky? Our session ends here then. You''ve made a mess of the arena, but all''s well. I''ll explain everything to the director."


    Marco looked Turington in the eye. "The fight has not ended yet. I am yet to see the needle that can break a sword.


    Turington pulled on his tattered robe. A hole was left by Marco''s attack where it hit his shoulder. He looked more mangled than his student. "Then show us, Mr. Vermilon. I''ll defend to the best of my ability."


    "I am grateful for the chance, Professor. Then, defend well."


    Tendrils of Marco''s holy power shot out of his body and gathered into a ball above him. More and more, he fed it with his power until it grew into a humungous ball akin to the size of a hot-air balloon. It splashed the awed faces of the spectators with golden light, blinding like the sun. Then breathing in deeply, he condensed it to the size of his fist. It shed its gold for a sharp brilliant white hue.


    RIIIINGGGGG!


    It filled the arena with an eerie sound as it hovered over them, vibrating.


    DIVINE PROVIDENCE! Turington readied his barrier, infusing it with as much holy power as he could muster. The awe and terror in his face began to show as his facade of strength crumbled before pure unbound talent.


    Marco called the condensed bullet into his hand. With a push, he launched it toward his professor. I hope it holds well, Ser.


    It traced a streak of light that stirred up dust in its wake. BADUM! It struck the barrier with a deafening bang that caused the protective runes on the marble walls to activate. It was loud enough to be heard from beyond Demach''s walls.


    Then, CRACK! Dust and stone and gasps erupted as the barrier yielded.


    As the dust settled, they laid eyes upon Professor Turington still on his feet, unscathed. Marco had directed the searing ball of energy to the ground at the last second and withdrew it in time, leaving only a small crater beneath Turington who was panting to catch his breath as sweat beaded his temples. He regarded Marco with a new look ¡ª one of utter surrender and terror, color drained from his hard-beaten face.


    Marco''s classmates jumped in their seat, applauding his victory.


    "Never doubted you for a second, the Genius of Demach!" Oliver belted.


    Catherine hollered, "That was so hot!"


    Marco felt his mind clearing. In the moment he had focused his attention to gathering and controlling the condensed bullet of holy energy, he had abandoned all thoughts and shackles. Everything seemed so simple. Not for the first time, he thought, I do love fighting. And winning. Did I overdo it?


    His friends did not seem to think so. "It was incredible!"


    They flocked to his side, patting his shoulder. "You should teach Power Strengthening, Marco," one of them whispered. The professor still probably did hear, even though he showed no reaction except his paling complexion.


    "Do you still have some more to teach us, Professor," Catherine walked to the stupefied figure of their instructor.


    Marco excused himself from his class and stood before him. His knees are trembling. He said, "Thank you for teaching me something new today."


    Professor Turington stared up at him, eyes rounded, lips bleached white. "Class is dismissed for now."


    They filed out of the Coliseum, leaving him there, wordlessly frozen.


    "Your badge is glowing, Marco," Oliver noticed. It flickered blue.


    Catherine said, "A summon." She looked to the direction of the marble edifice that housed the director''s office.


    "Is it because of the explosion from earlier?" said Kelvin.


    "I don''t know. I''ll see you guys in a bit." Marco left them, anxious that he might have earned the director''s ire


    Director Garren noticed the burned edge of Marco''s vest, and the dust on his locks and shoulder as Marco stood in front of his desk. He asked, "I believe it was you who rattled the whole of Demach earlier?"


    Marco nodded, rueful, "I am truly sorry, Director. It was for a training session on Power Strengthening."


    The director sagged into his seat. "I did not summon you here for that, do not fret." He smirked at him, in the charming way that he put everyone at ease.


    Knocks on the door announced the arrival of nine more students. Marco knew them well. Most of them were fourth years, the others just a year below. They lined up according to their badge numbers as if adhering to some unspoken arrangement ¡ª 1 to 10 from right to left, they stood before the director, flanking Marco on both sides. The top two were wary of Marco. The ones below his rank also did not look at him with high regard for he had defeated them at least once. Marco gained an inkling as to why they were called here.


    The director''s office felt warm and cozy, the aroma of coffee and incense blending in the air. Yet with the top ten most powerful aces of Araya gathered together, the tension in the room unsettled all of them. Director Garren greeted each one, and broke the news, "A cursed being had gone berserk outside the gate. At least thirty-four refugees and two soldiers were slain. When the Holy Force arrived, it fled to the delta. They have sent a search and extermination party, but they won''t be enough. However, sending more would deplete the city''s power and put its citizens at risk. As you know, most of Gallenport''s soldiers had set off for the Fifth Crusade. Yet, we cannot abandon the Arayans residing in the delta. And thus, the crown requires our help."


    One of the students asked languidly, "Are we being obliged, Director?"


    Director Garren replied, grinning without scorn but with encouragement, "No, but the scholar who eliminates or subdues the monster first will receive incredibly high merits." He meant that the points received could upset the rankings.


    "I''m out then. I don''t deal with dangerous. My apologies, Professor."


    Marco raised a hand. "Can we team up with each other?"


    "Hm, I am not against it, but I don''t think that will be efficient, given the competition among you. I would suggest forming your own team. They will receive merits depending on your assessment. You have until tomorrow night to submit names. We must hurry. May the angels favor you all."

 Chapter 22: Apple VI

    Moonlight cast the white blossoms in the Morning Garden with a misty glow. Apple carefully wound her way past the heady scent of columns and hedges in bloom, accidentally catching her arm on a thorn, wincing.


    She spotted a few other students prowling in the darkness of the Garden. She ran into a couple who were so engrossed by each other''s lips that they did not notice her passing by. If she sniffed the corners of the hedges like a dog, she believed she would find more of them. She scoffed at her silliness and crossed the citrusy rings of magnolias, star jasmines and more flowers foreign to her, towards the gargantuan stone Guardian of Demach where her purpose awaited.


    In the shadow beneath the Guardian''s bottom, Diana''s hair looked just as dark as hers. She turned her head when she heard her approaching. "I was just about to leave, I never thought you''d really come."


    "I don''t like you," Apple said to the highborn lady, "but I was made with two ears for a reason."


    Diana''s nose flared at her rudeness. "I never sought your affection."


    Apple sniffed the tinge of rose off the lady''s skin from the bath she just had, the honeyed rosemary wash off her hair, and the pleasant earthly fragrance of her vast ¡ª albeit volatile¡ª holy power. "Don''t waste my time. What do you have to tell me?"


    She sneered, "You act as if a commoner like you have anywhere more important to be in."


    Apple would be curled up in bed, probably teaching herself to read better. She thought of tutoring Lucas some geography, but the segregated dormitories did not allow for any boys or girls to step into each other''s sleeping quarters. I had nothing planned for tonight, she admitted to herself. But there was no way she would tell her that. She replied, "Unlike nobles such as you, I don''t have servants who would make my bed and wash my bum."


    Even in the pale lighting, Diana''s face visibly contorted in annoyance. "I am not the villain here, Apple," she said, calling her by name for the first time.


    "Well, most villains seem to think so."


    "You antagonize me and yet you glorify a murderer," Diana snapped at her, with an accusative finger.


    "What?" Apple exclaimed.


    "After your duel with Carlos, the others seem to think I am the bad guy, when I''m only trying to put that murderer in his rightful shameful place."


    "Why do you keep calling him a murderer?" Apple stepped closer, ready to throw hands. For the friend who saved her once, she was ready to fight Diana there even though she would probably lose.


    "Because he is. Ask him. Tell him the name of David Rupert. Ask him how brutally he mutilated him like a game animal." Diana''s voice never faltered until now. The loathing that burned in her eyes told Apple that it wasn''t some cruel farce.


    Yet, something felt off. "That''s one tall accusation. If what you say is true, or even if you simply suspect him of murder, how can a commoner escape a noble''s persecution after all this time?"


    Diana laughed, "He was not a commoner before. But he is now. And do not worry, I would bring justice to him soon."


    Apple strode back to her room, her thoughts muddled. She refused to take the ginger head noble for her words, but the seed of doubt had been planted. Maybe that is what she wants. To sow discord between our friendship. The highborn are good at their manipulation tactics.


    As she closed the door behind her and threw herself on the lavendered sheets, she pondered about Lucas''s identity. He might act like a lowborn but he had the features of a lord born in nobility. The brilliant blue eyes and the striking gold hair. He even wore a beret to conceal it. But why is he hiding it?


    A lord''s bastard? Apple surmised. Or did his family lose their land? If he were from East Bismuth, it would make sense. But all the nobles had sought refuge in neighboring Houses where their sons and daughters had married into. Why did he lie?


    Lucas never lied. He was not a commoner anymore. Diana said so. She called him a murderer. How could a timid boy even commit such a heinous crime?


    Apple recalled that afternoon in the Hedge Field, where Lucas put himself between her and the cursed grass. The memory of the gut-wrenching fetidness that emanated from him then was still vivid to her senses, even though it was long gone. It was certainly a demonic stench ¡ª equal to that of the tumbleweed that he destroyed.


    She remembered the white dove''s letter, its mention of the demon as putting on the mask of a young noble. Am I making a fatal mistake? Perhaps, I should have told Father then.


    Questions birthed more questions. She wrestled with her doubts way past the middle of the night. The rays of dawn found her fast asleep. It was not until she heard knocking that she awoke and dragged her feet drowsily to the door.


    "Dear," the old maid stared at Apple''s uncombed hair and bed robe. "You won''t make it to class."


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    That was when Apple looked at the window and blurted, "Oh no!" She scurried to fix her hair, grabbed the white boots and donned the blue uniform. She lost sleep over a boy. It was a first.


    This is Diana''s fault! Ignoring her hunger, she darted to the auditoriums, past pines and birches that had begun to put on their autumn garb, around the Morning Garden where the unmoving Guardian towered over the hedges, and up the stairs and through the wide arching doors.


    The instructor was already there and based on the writings on the board, she had been for long. Apple met Diana''s cold gaze. The lady looked better than she did. She probably did not rack her head thinking about last night''s encounter as Apple had.


    She greeted the professor with a small curtsy, "Good morning, professor." She started for her seat.


    "Uh-oh, not so fast, girl," the professor said, her eyes peering at her. "What is your name?"


    "I am Apple of Heinstead."


    "Ah, excellent. I had been made aware of your talent and... grit. I am Amber Cosser. I teach Enchantment Fundamentals. Your blessing is one appropriate for the rest of our lesson today. Come up," Professor Cosser beckoned her to the dais.


    Meekly, she ascended to the place next to her. Just yesterday, the same instructor stormed out when they returned from the henge circle. She seemed to be in a better mood now.


    Apple''s eyes leapt around the auditorium, smiling at Yuri and Hannah who wordlessly cheered her on. When she spotted the familiar beret resting on top of a young lad''s bright countenance, the arc of her lips subsided. He waved to her. In reply, she greeted with a small nod. How do I even begin to ask him if he''s guilty of murder? David Rupert, she recalled the name.


    "Since you have revealed your talent to everyone on your own, I think you won''t mind demonstrating again for us," Professor Cosser said, giving her the floor.


    "Of course, not." She answered then chanted, "SONG OF CREATION!"


    This time, Apple called on the subtle fragrance of bougainvillea flowers she stumbled upon in a tropical island when she was little. Tiny white buds surrounded by triangular bract petals of pink. A rich and deep hue. Delicate and demanding of attention. They served to be a burst of vibrancy in an otherwise green rainforest. With a chorus of wonder from her classmates, an encirclement of bougainvillea bloomed at her feet.


    "Spectacular! I can almost forgive you for what you did yesterday," the professor clapped. "So, Apple here uses a SONG which is an enchantment originating from either the Archangel Grabriel or the cherubim. But a SONG OF CREATION is not specific to flowers, for example, another student here uses the SONG OF CREATION to produce..."


    "Jewels, professor, emeralds specifically" said the scholar in question, his tone haughty. He was among the top ten in their class.


    "Indeed. Now, Apple, do you think you can create emeralds by chanting the SONG OF CREATION?"


    "I can''t," she shook her head.


    "Why is that?"


    Such a simple question, yet Apple had no answer to it. "I''m not sure."


    "Well, can you tell me what your idea is as to why, dear?" Professor Cosser pressed her without intimidation. She seemed to have forgiven her indeed.


    Lest she offend her again if she didn''t try, after a moment of reflection Apple began to explain, "Uhm, I know flowers. Not stones. I know what they look like, what they smell like, what time of the seasons they bloom and where. I have really been fond of them since I could remember. I believe if I try to create jewels using the SONG, it will fail."


    "Impressive," the professor clapped again soundlessly, "I think you understand the essence of it. The SONG, especially one from Gabriel, can only conjure the person''s desire ¡ª what they want to create the most. If the whole world is to be filled by some material creation and you have to live and sleep and die in it, what would you want it to be? Flowers, emeralds, snakes, fish, anything is possible. But there is always a price, even the blessings bestowed upon us by angels. For SONGS OF CREATION from Gabriel, do you know what the price is?"


    Apple muttered, "A growing obsession."


    Professor Cosser nodded, saying in a solemn tone, "Yes, yes. Every time you chant the song, your obsession for your creation keeps on growing, and growing, and growing, until you hit the breaking point. From then on, it becomes a sickness."


    "Why is there even a price, Professor?" Their top student asked. "If the angels are benevolent toward us, why would they bless us with something that harms us in the end?"


    "Good question!" The professor bellowed, startling them. It was as though she was waiting for it. "Anything sweet still requires moderation, my dear blessed children. The angels have given us blessings, talents, songs and virtues to chant, but they also caution us not to abuse it."


    * * * * *


    "What happened to you? You look tired," Yuri asked, as they walked to the cafeteria after second period.


    "I couldn''t sleep."


    "Happens to me too," said Hannah, smoothing the fringes of Apple''s hair who could not manage to even comb properly. "A glass of water before bed will help. Or a cozy pillow."


    "Thanks Hannah. I just had so much on my mind last night." She glanced behind her where Lucas strolled calmly without a sound, or smell.


    Yuri must have noticed her looking, for he leaned in close and whispered, "You caught the love bug!" He pulled away chuckling before she could even jab at his arm.


    It made Apple ruminate for a second. Am I fond of him? As a friend, of course, because he literally saved my life and got himself hurt. Is it simply guilt then? All her life, she had been moving about, journeying off to places the white doves told them. She had left every friend she had ever had. But she always intended to cherish her moments with them. Lucas was the first friend she made in Gallenport. And she loved her friends fiercely, perhaps that''s why.


    "Freshmen! How nice to see you," the familiar voice of Quain called over to them. "What opportune timing."


    "My lord," Lucas curtsied to their sophomore acquaintance. He did it to every noble who ever accosted them. He used to bow to Yuri as well, until he told him to stop. ''Be a bit more like Apple,'' Yuri had told him. ''Scorn the nobility even just a little, my friend.''


    Quain paid him no attention and said to the other three, "We''re forming a team. Marco Vermilon in particular. You see, the Crown requires Demach to save its bum, not for the first time."


    "What happened?" Hannah asked, already cowering.


    "It''s just that one cursed being is loose in the Delta. The Holy Guards have not eliminated it yet, and we don''t have enough guards to go around. I''m going with Marco. We lack one member, though. Is there anyone in your class with good reconnaissance skills? There will be merits."


    "Why not ask the third years or the fourth years?" Yuri pried.


    Quain grimaced, "They don''t like him very much. This a competition among the top ten, you see. It would be like betraying their top students if they teamed up with him."


    A cursed being near Gallenport? Is this what the white dove''s letter pertained to?


    Apple said, "I can go. I''m good at finding things."

 Chapter 23: Marco XV

    "You want me to stalk your brother?" Catherine cried out, confused.


    Marco held her by the shoulders, looking around to see if anybody heard her squeal, "Can you lower your voice at least?"


    She huffed in a whisper, "And here I thought you went to find me to ask me to join your party."


    "Will you even participate?"


    "No," she turned away, "I don''t like fighting. But out of consideration of our friendship, you could have asked. It did not even cross your mind to recruit me. Ugh, that''s painful."


    "I did think of asking you, but I know you would decline," he reasoned. Catherine would sooner engage the opponent in debates about history and philosophy than draw a weapon against them. It was still one way to subdue an opponent, he supposed ¡ª to bore them to sleep. But it would not work against a cursed being whose only instinct was to slaughter.


    "So, you thought of asking me to stalk your brother instead?"


    "It''s not stalking. I''m asking you to watch over him¡ª"


    "And how am I supposed to do that, my genius lord? I can''t come up to him and say, hey, don''t leave my sight. I''ll strike you with lightning if you do."


    "Stalking it is, then." He yielded.


    "I''m always right, aren''t I?"


    Marco felt exhausted just arguing with her. "It''s just for a day or two, while I''m gone."


    She demanded payment in exchange for the favour he asked of her. They spent a long while bargaining before settling on nothing at all but the promise that he would give her something in the future. He could bring her the head of the cursed being, but then she probably would never want to see him again.


    It was in the smallest henge circle that he met the team he and Quain had assembled. Aside from the two of them who excelled in combat and immobilization, they thought of recruiting at least one healer, another fighter, and a navigator. Marco also had enough holy power to reconnoitre the entire Delta, but he could not divulge it to anyone yet.


    Only the navigator did not come from the Sophomore Class. As he came closer, he realized that she was a familiar face. Lucas''s friend. He had seen their group eating and walking together sometimes.


    Quain remarked upon spotting him, "Ah, our leader is here."


    He greeted them, "A great afternoon, my lords and ladies. I hope you had wonderful classes today. I''m Marco Vermilon."


    Their healer, Ferdinand, giggled, "Everybody knows who you are, Marco."


    "The lady might not." He turned to her, "Might I have the honour of knowing your name, my lady?"


    "Apple of Heinstead," she smiled, bowing and holding her blue skirt out as if in curtsy. "I shall find the cursed being for you." He noticed that she spoke without honorifics. He could tell it was deliberate.


    "I presume you have talent to survey and navigate the Delta? Can you show us how?"


    The freshman refused, "I''m sorry I cannot."


    Frustrated, Marco swivelled his head to Quain who looked astonished of his recruit''s defiance. Quain tried to convince her, "We''ll also display our talents, Apple. As a team, we need to be able to trust each other. Just to express my sincerity, I shall start. Apple, I can summon mythical beasts."


    She bowed in apology, "Forgive me, I cannot tell you how." She looked Marco straight in the eye, "But I can lead you to it. I ascertain that. On my father''s honour."


    Truth. Lumen Veritatis showed him. It meant that at least, she was confident in her ability.


    "I''ll take your word for it," Marco said, "Just to remind all of you, merits will be determined by your contribution. But gaining merits is not the purpose of this excursion. We have been called as Demach scholars of the Ordination Class to do our duty to the Kingdom of Araya and protect its subjects from the creatures of the demonic legion. I cannot guarantee your safety. You must have been aware of the perils of this mission before you presented yourselves here. If you feel that you are not fit for it, there is no shame in withdrawing now."


    He swept his eyes at the four them, none of whom budged from their position. He went on, "Then, as a team, we shall protect each other, watch each other''s back and perform our utmost to achieve our goal. Just as Quain had initiated, to build trust among us I shall reveal my blessing. This is the Inviolable Edict."


    Marco shot out thin threads of holy energy. The grass beneath them began to sway in unison. "I can control inanimate objects around me."


    Ferdinand followed suit, turning to Apple who was the sole stranger in the group, "Ferdinand Decastil." He shook her hand in greeting. "I have decent healing abilities but the enchantment I use for fighting cursed beasts is Hymn of Plague. I cannot demonstrate here, it''s too ugly."


    "Not a problem, Ferd," Marco tapped him on the shoulder. "We''ll be at your mercy. Prioritize the most injured first if multiple members of our team require your healing, whoever it is."


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    "I''m Ingryd van Yutenstar," their third fighter suddenly spoke, thrusting a straight veiny fist to Apple''s chest who looked surprised at the gesture, "From the long line of Yuten nomads of the cold permafrost."


    Marco advised Apple, "The Yutens bump fists when greeting each other. It''s too cold in the Pilthern tundras; hence they wear gloves all the time and cannot shake hands."


    Apple understood, bumping fists with Ingryd of the permafrost.


    Ingryd posed a challenge, in her slightly hoarse voice, "Can you guess what my blessing is?"


    Apple pondered for a second before answering, "If you''re from the cold tundras, then you must have some blessing to conjure ice?"


    "Heh," Ingrid snorted, mirthful. "Thought you''d say that. I can conjure fire." She chanted, "SONG OF CREATION!" A small ball of flame manifested in her hand.


    Marco had been a victim of the trick as well. Ingrid loved compelling strangers to guess her blessing only to hear them fail. It amused her.


    "Is that so?" Apple said, "Then would you like to guess my talent as well? I cannot show you my reconnaissance skill but I can demonstrate my combat talent at least."


    Ingrid looked at her incredulously before saying, "It''s certainly not apples."


    They laughed. Apple wrung her head, chuckling, "Certainly not."


    "A Virtue?" She guessed. A safe shot.


    Apple belted out with unneeded tune and loudness, "SONG OF CREATION!" Pink blossoms came to life around her feet, their buds flaring open with entrancing synchronicity. Marco could not name what flowers they were for it was his first time to see them. "I create these pretty flowers," she said proudly, giddy.


    They gaped in awe at the beauty of her creation. Her flowers were as vibrant as she appeared to be. And she seemed to know it.


    "I believe we are all done with our introductions. Director Garren requires that we present ourselves to him now before we set off. We leave at sunrise tomorrow. Do not worry about provisions or your mounts. Everything is prepared. You only need to be here before the crack of dawn."


    Director Garren only reminded them of the perils when they came to meet him. "It is okay to retreat, if you feel your lives are in danger," he said, "Youth is such an empowering age; you feel as if you could conquer the world, trust me I know, but I implore you to recognize your limits. It is okay to take a step back and try again the next day."


    Marco wondered if he had said the same to the other teams. They were the last group to submit their names. He had trouble finding members. The sophomores bore the sentiment that they were not ready for such challenges yet, arguing that Marco was merely atypical, a genius. On the other hand, the higher years did not favour Marco at all. He blamed it on their pride as his seniors, yet he could not help wondering if there was something unlikeable about him. Am I too arrogant for my age?


    His training session with Professor Turington came back to him, where he stunned the whole coliseum with a ball of raw holy energy the size of a hot-air balloon. Marco had called forth more holy power than necessary, just because he could. I am indeed arrogant, he realized.


    Ser Gerald, the captain of his guards, requested an audience. He had Felix and Dunce with him. They could not reside inside the walls of Demach, so they remained in Felix and Dunce''s lodging. It was there that Marco met them.


    "My lord," they greeted.


    "I hope you are all faring well in the city. Any reports?" He stood in the middle of the room even though Dunce had gestured for him to sit.


    "The horses are ready as are the food and other provisions," the old knight relayed, "But I am concerned of my lord''s safety. Is it not possible for us to accompany you. We will not act unless the situation requires."


    "I appreciate the worry, Ser, but the Academy advocates for fair competition. I will return without a scratch. After all, it is but one cursed being. Just tell me, Ser Gerald, have you caught wind of anything regarding this incident yesterday?"


    "All those at the scene were killed and devoured, including two Gallenport soldiers," the knight answered, "All the eyewitnesses we found were claiming it scurried off to the Delta. They said it was humongous, and it had many eyes and feet."


    It might take more than two days. Marco sighed.


    Before heading back to his own suite, Marco made one last stop. "Lucas," he knocked silently at the door.


    The wooden door creaked ajar. "Marco!" Lucas said, brightening.


    "Can I come inside?"


    "Of course."


    Unlike Marco''s suite, Lucas''s room was much smaller but still leagues better than the storeroom he used to reside in. Here he had a bigger bed, a couch, a carpet and a huge lamp although he still had the small gas lamp lit as always next to the stack of books on his desk. Marco seemed to have disturbed his reading.


    "How is Demach so far?" He asked him, glimpsing the book he was studying. It was algebra.


    "It''s incredible!" He replied. "I should let you meet my friends one day."


    Marco could not find himself to be optimistic about such a proposition.


    "Oh, I''m sorry," Lucas saddened, scratching at the bandage of his injured hand. "I can introduce you as my lord. Is that still not possible?"


    Their similarities were conspicuous. If seen together, anyone would suspect them to be brothers. "It will be difficult for you if they find out."


    "I can handle it. I''ll be fine."


    Marco even had to sneak in to talk to him. He shook his head, adamantly. "No, Lucas. We came here so you can start anew. If you get tied to me, to Vermilon, to Gallagher... you do have an idea what will happen, don''t you?"


    You will be called the Ghost of Vermil again. And all the skeletons in your closet will be dragged back to the light.


    His brother nodded. "I do."


    Marco said, "I came here to tell you I will be gone for a day or two or longer."


    "Why?"


    "Duty to the Kingdom. We''re subduing a cursed being outside Gallenport but it should not take too long. Please don''t get into trouble while I''m gone." He ruffled his hair, surprised at how soft it was.


    "I won''t," he said, smirking.


    "Promise you''ll stay in Demach. Just right inside the academy."


    "I will," he answered.


    A lie. The Light of Truth revealed to Marco. Is he planning to go to the city? He doesn''t have many classes. He must be so bored.


    Marco said, "If you don''t have class, where do you go?"


    "I help Professor Hilbury."


    "Does he treat you well?"


    "He does. Earlier, he assigned me to copy old texts so I can also practice my handwriting."


    "You don''t need to go out of Demach then?"


    "No, I don''t think so."


    He just lied with a perfectly calm face. Why do you lie to me Lucas? I''m the only one on your side. He was glad he asked Cat to watch over him, although her job had just become more difficult.


    "So will you be in your room then when the day is over?"


    Lucas said meekly, "I will, don''t worry. I''ll behave myself." Another lie.


    "Are you sure? You''re not interested in strolling around the city? You must be," he pressed. He did not realize that his tone had shifted.


    All colour faded from Lucas''s face. "Are you angry? Did I do something wrong? I''m sorry..."


    Marco cupped his head in one hand, sighing, "Lucas, I only want to protect you. I want you to enjoy your time here but there are... people who might want to hurt you. But inside Demach, they cannot do much. While I''m gone, I need you to be here. Do you understand?"


    He nodded solemnly.

 Chapter 24: Marco XVI

    Marco''s eyes glinted back at him from the smooth edge of his sword. He called it the Demonkiller in hopes that one day he would slay a demon with it. With a ssshing, he slid it back into its scabbard and tied it to his belt.


    He whispered a small prayer to the angels before he swung the door open and made his way down where he bumped into Quain dressed warmly in a dark green overcoat adorned with the Foilsebay sigil ¡ª a galleon with three massive sails.


    Foilsebay wasn''t a small House. They held an armada of a hundred galleys or perhaps twice more. A House in the southern reaches of West Bismuth, the Foilsebays overlooked the Mer Gulf and the nearby scattering of islands on the Sailors Snare. Ships passed along the Gulf ¡ªcogs and fishing vessels alike. Meanwhile, on the Sailors Snare where imprudent shipmen ran their ships aground frequently, the Foilsebays constantly needed to fend off pirates lurking in the isles. And now, there were speculations a demon had hidden in one of the islands there.


    Quain greeted, "How was your night, Marco?"


    "Not too bad." He walked alongside him. "Yours?"


    "My brother actually came to meet me last night, urging me to withdraw." His older brother who was a fourth-year scholar was among the top ten in the whole of Demach, two ranks below Marco. As most of them, he did not show any fondness toward him.


    "Since you''re here, I assume you did not listen to him."


    Quain chuckled, "I''ve got to make a name for myself too. And I need to catch up to you."


    Under the dim-lit sky, they followed a trail of lamps to the Garden where their companions awaited, waving at them from inside their furs. The morning was especially chilly before sunrise. But it would improve come the midday.


    Another team had gathered there as well. They were about to depart for the city walls.


    He bumped fists with Ingryd, keeping both their arms in the air as he implored her, "Keep us warm when the winds blow cold in the Gallen Delta."


    "My pleasure," she answered, breath coming out in a puff of cloud. Among them, she was the one with the thinnest layer of coat. On her back was a quiver of arrows, in her hand she held a hunting bow.


    To Ferdinand, he said, "Reserve your holy power for healing, Ferd. Do not fight unless it is the direst of situations."


    Fedinand Decastil nodded. "I will."


    Apple was shivering even inside a thick carnation fur coat. For a villager of Heinstead, she seemed unused to the cold.


    "Guide us to our goal, Apple," he said to her.


    She smiled, "Absolutely."


    And finally to Quain, he said, "Show us the power of Foilsebay, Quain."


    "You''ll be impressed," his classmate grinned.


    He addressed all of them, "We fight as a team. We protect each other. No one will be left behind. May the angels favour us all."


    "May the angels favour us all," they replied in chorus.


    They marched out in Demach and retrieved their mounts at Ser Gerald''s abode. Even as a commoner, Apple did not have difficulty mounting a horse, he noticed.


    By the time their horses trotted on the cobblestone streets, the sun had already risen, splashing the sky above the tiled roofs with warm ochre. Marco spotted blue uniforms in horses near the portcullis. Another team followed in their wake.


    Past the gate, the teams did not take the same route. Marco''s band went down the road that led towards the sandbars and around the small fishing town of Ausferth. They went past several stone bridges, crossed a number of distributaries of the Gallen River, and finally made it to the first houses in Ausferth. It took them almost two hours for they had to water the horses at a small stream.


    One Holy Guard with the mark of the three-pronged Star of Michael on his chest rode up to meet them. "Great morning, my lords, my ladies. I''m the guard assigned to Ausferth."


    Marco reigned his horse toward him. "Wonderful morning, Ser. We appreciate your service to the subjects of the King. I am Marco Vermilon, a scholar of Demach. We were sent to find the cursed being."


    "At last," he said, his expression relieved, "I cannot leave Ausferth, so I have just been patrolling inside the town. Nothing suspicious have come up, my lord. But I cannot say the same for the woods for I have not ventured past the clearing."


    "That is why we are here, Ser. We leave the townspeople in your care then."


    Quain uttered, "Will our horses be alright?"


    Marco replied, "In the first stretch of the forest, they can manage. But after that, the soil will be much softer and the undergrowth will be filled with silt. Then we would have to leave our mounts behind."


    "Much better to go on foot from the start, then," Ingryd suggested.


    They left their mounts at an inn and trudged to the forest of elms and alders. An autumn breeze blew past them, signifying the first storm brewing east of West Bismuth. Although today the sky was clear, in the coming days they should expect more rains. Then the better part of the Gallen Delta would flood, the swamp would grow, and they might lose the chance to exterminate the cursed being.


    "Hm, does he mean to charm her?" Ingryd whispered beside him.


    Marco glanced to Apple''s direction. Quain seemed to have taken undue interest of her, regaling her with tales from his castle. Rich black tresses and a fair complexion, Apple indeed looked appealing to any man''s eyes. Paired with her headstrong disposition, she might have posed an irresistible target to a lord''s son like Quail who was accustomed to easy conquests his whole life. Marco wondered if Lucas felt anything towards her. He was close to her, after all.


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    "Apple," he called, interrupting their lively conversation. "I think we can start locating it."


    She perked her head up at him and answered, "It''s nowhere near us. We should go deeper to find out if it''s in this forest at all."


    All four of them looked at her in renewed awe. She did not chant any skill but the Light of Truth told Marco she told it true. She probably had an innate sense like Lumen Veritatis. It consumed holy power but it activated without chanting, without a trace.


    "How did you know?" Quain asked.


    "I just know," she smiled, proud of herself.


    According to Director Garren''s instruction, each team was to start near a settlement around the Delta. They were supposed to ensure that the cursed being was not in any of the villages before scouring the flatlands and the forests, towards the swampy centre where they should rendezvous. In such a way, the cursed being would have no escape from them. A flare of holy energy must be shot to the sky who found the target first.


    Marco''s team wound their way through the woods, each time he would give Apple a glance, only to receive a reply of "Nothing here." Ferdinand and Quain struggled over salient roots and vines, swatting mosquitoes and bugs that seemed to have taken a liking to them. Ingryd, meanwhile, seemed to be on alert, studying the marks on tree barks and prints on the wet soil, her steps nearly soundless. As nomads of Pilthern, Yutens would normally venture into unknown territories. Among them, she was the most used to this.


    Whenever the path became blocked with ferns and shrubberies, Marco would move them aside with his blessing. They parted as though submitting to their master. They soon entered a less humid area of the forest, where the canopy was thicker and the undergrowth sparse. Ash and willows surrounded them. If they looked deep into the distance, they could see only shadows.


    "We should take respite here," Marco announced.


    Quain slumped on the trunk of a white willow, panting, "Ooh, finally. Ferd, I think I need some healing." He took out a loaf of bread and a skin of water from his bag.


    Apple crouched down next to a lonesome lily she found. She started caressing it and sniffing it.


    All of a sudden, her head perked up. Marco noticed it too. A presence. He stood up and looked around.


    From the shadows in the direction where they came, a lumbering man emerged. He was clad in the long robe of an exorcist, his face veiled under a black curtain hanging on the brim of his tall hat, as if in mourning. On his back, he carried an enormous sack.


    Despite his cumbersome frame, the fall of his footsteps did not make a sound. The holy power he held tingled Marco''s nerves in the wrong way.


    "An exorcist of the Gabrielic Order," Quain whispered, mouth agape, bread half-eaten.


    "He gives me the creeps," Ferd murmured.


    "He came for the cursed being too, didn''t he?" Ingryd said, gripping her bow, one hand ready to pull an arrow from her quiver.


    "I suppose. Do not engage, Ingryd," Marco cautioned her.


    The giant who towered over them by at least three feet stopped before Apple, petting her head. A hoarse voice sounded from beneath his veil, "So, you are here too. Give my regards to your father."


    Brushing past them, he tromped deeper into the woods without another word.


    "Do you happen to know him, Apple?" Marco asked her.


    With her eyes never leaving the exorcist''s retreating figure, she answered, "My father and I bumped into him in the Jewelled Road. He accompanied us for a short while."


    A lie. The first lie that Apple told in his presence.


    "You said your name is Apple of Heinstead," he tried to pry, "Is Heinstead a place where you used to live?"


    "Indeed. When the Fifth Crusade began, my father thought it best to pack up, in the fear that when the Crusade fails, the hive would encroach on our land."


    More lies.


    "I see." She hailed from somewhere else. She must be associated with the Gabrielic exorcists. Why is she in Demach?


    When they regained the energy to trod on, they resumed their trek under the cover of white willows and ash trees. The sun was directly over their heads when they decided to rest again.


    "Damn these insects!" Quain thrashed at the flies and mosquitoes hounding him. "Why do they seem to only come after me?" He took off his coat and swatted them with it.


    They were equally obsessed with Ferdinand and Marco, although the two weren''t as bothered by them. Marco was constantly surrounding himself with a thin layer of air to keep them at bay.


    Ingryd cackled at the three of them. "It''s the perfume you wear, you idiots! You smell like fruit and honey."


    Dusk soon shrouded the forest, and they were still yet to see even just a trace of the cursed being. Their jovial banters quieted down, Quain stopped complaining about the bugs, and a silence fell over the group as they grew weary with every step. Marco conjured a small orb of light. But that was a mistake for the bugs came swarming after them. He had to extinguish it.


    Ingryd said, "Better to light a fire." She produced a fire with the SONG OF CREATION and took the lead. The heat of it at least drove insects away and kept their party warm.


    Under their boots, the soil turned wetter. They were approaching a distributary again. As the fire crackled in Ingryd''s fingertip and twigs crunched under their feet, Apple made a sound.


    "It''s close."


    Marco turned to her, whispering, "Which way?"


    Apple pointed to the shadows, far to her right. "It''s moving away from us."


    "Quain!" Marco called his classmate to action.


    "On it." Quain had summoned holy energy before Marco even spoke. The weary expression on his face instantly washed off as he focused and chanted, "TRUMPET CALL!" His holy energy flowed out of him to materialize a green arching door beside him, the olive glow of its fringes illuminating the trees.


    "I summon LEO!" Quain yelled. BRAAM... With the sound of trumpets ululating amid the silence of the forest, the door blasted open, and a roaring lion jumped out. Different from normal wild cats, Leo was thrice as big ¡ª rivalling almost an elephant ¡ª its mane giving off a green and gold glow, its eyes a deep emerald. "Lead it to the edge of the river!" He commanded it. ROAR! The lion bounced off into the shadows, lighting up the woods as it went. For its huge frame, it was too quick and light.


    "Let''s go. We should intercept it," Marco ordered.


    They dashed to the river, leaping over roots and ducking under tree branches, all the while glancing at the trail of viridescent light that Leo gave off.


    "Aww!" Apple caught on a root and stumbled. Ferdinand immediately helped her up, chanting to heal her, "MIRACULOUS FAITH!"


    Marco yelled at them, "Meet you at the bank!"


    Seeing the glinting surface of the river, Marco called forth his holy power. INVIOLABLE EDICT! From the tendrils of holy energy that surrounded him, he poured a surging stream of it into the water, climbing upstream, making the bank glow golden. "Arise!" With his order, the water closer to the shore that his golden stream touched suddenly rose up, forming a wall of glinting water that stretched far up the riverbank.


    Roaring and growling, Leo bolted out from the cover of trees, chasing after a shadow that was far smaller compared to it.


    Ser Gerald said it was humongous. With many eyes and feet. The lion thwarted the darting shadow from going upstream. To block its retreat back into the trees, Ingryd lined the edge of the forest with flames, chanting the SONG OF CREATION. It was left with no choice but to run toward them.


    STAR OF PURGING. Marco created the star and dissolved it into the engravings of his sword, the Demonkiller.


    "SONG OF CREATION!" Ingryd trapped the small creature in a small ring of fire, halting its movements even just for a second. When it leapt, Marco thrusted his searing sword. CHIK!


    The creature gave off a squeal before its limbs utterly stopped thrashing.


    "It''s a rat," Quain commented beside them, as he rubbed Leo under the chin where the lion liked it.


    "I swear, they said it was bigger than this," Ferd said as he caught up to them, Apple just a step behind him. "A big rat but not as big as the witnesses said."


    The black rat turned to ash in Marco''s blade.


    Apple sniffed at the air. "There''s more of them."


    The sound of skittering feet soon reached their ears. "We should send the signal," Marco said with urgency.


    Light suddenly flashed across the sky. RUMBLE! The thunder sounded far off into the distance.


    "Lightning. That''s the direction of Gallenport!" Ingryd blurted. The sky was clear. The clouds that floated overhead could not have produced it.


    Catherine. Marco thought.

 Chapter 25: Diana I

    Diana held the three-pronged Star of Michael to her chest and prayed to it. "Tonight, grant me the power to win my justice over him."


    She breathed deeply, trying to stabilize the holy energy that threatened to surge out of her body. Every day, every second, without rest, she strained to contain it.


    The whole day had passed in a blur. Her thoughts were tunnelled to this very moment where she could finally exact retribution for her twin brother. She had barely any memories of David Rupert. All she had to reminisce him by was the small window of her childhood when they were still together ¡ª days of running around the garden, chasing after each other''s shadows.


    They first broke her heart when they took him from her, in a small horse-drawn carriage down to the wheatfields of Vermilon. It was as though half of her soul was ripped away. As a child who could barely remember that fateful time, all that was left in her recollection was the pain. She could cope with it, she believed, for she still had chances to see him in the Vermilon Palace where he was being fostered.


    Then, they crushed her heart again with the news of his passing. In the beginning, they said it was a bear that mauled him. Then they found out it was the Ghost of Vermil ¡ª a demon in a child''s skin that even his own family abhorred him.


    She waited years. The Viscount had seemed reluctant of the idea of hurting a small child, even if he were the suspected murderer of his own blood and kin, even if he was already disowned. The Viscount said the commonfolk would still talk; the other nobles would still paint them in a bad light for harming a child without concrete proof of his crime. The chance had passed, they missed it. All of Gallagher nearly forgot the incident now. But not the Ruperts, not Diana. If at all, the pain it caused her was all she could remember. David''s voice and face seemed all foreign now, but not the hurt that his death had left. Now the chance had presented itself again.


    Fate favours me. She thought.


    The Ghost of Vermil relied on his brother for protection, having no blessing of his own. The angels saw through him even as a babe. They bestowed him not even a spangle of holy power. Unfortunately for him, Marco Vermilon had departed for the Delta. Today, the Ghost was lamb in the wolf''s maw.


    As the sunset painted the sky in crimson, Diana followed with her eyes as the Ghost, covered in a black cloak that shadowed his face, exited the gate of Demach. She intended to lure him out to the city streets with a false instruction from the professor. But it seemed there was no need to.


    She pulled her own cloak over her ginger locks and pursued after him. Ser Kallan, a promising knight of the House Rupert, joined her outside the academy walls, together with two other soldiers, all three of them donned in mail, their swords at their waist. "My lady."


    She knew the Vermilons had a small house just close to the Royal Keep. She had to execute her plan before he reached there.


    To her confusion, the Ghost of Vermil did not turn to the direction of the Keep. He kept to the alleyways, hurriedly skipping over potholes, rushing down cobblestone steps, his cloak fluttering after him. "He''s headed for the Southern Gate," she told her small retinue.


    "To her brother?"


    Right now, the heir of Vermilon should be deep inside the forest. There was no way for him to reach his brother so quickly.


    The Ghost strode to the Gate with utmost haste without looking back. Above them, the heavens grew darker with each street they passed. He soon took out a small lamp that he gripped close to his body.


    Does he know we''re tailing him? Why is he so fast? Diana clutched the die in her hand, ready to engage him.


    He had to stop at the portcullis and plead the guards to grant him passage. Diana''s group slowed to a stop, concealing themselves behind a stall of hens that smelled just like the rest of the sick-laden streets they had just gone through.


    Suddenly a begging mother with a babe at her breast accosted them, hands open for alms, "My lords, just something for a meal. I have run dry of milk to feed my son."


    "Don''t touch her," a soldier shoved her away.


    Diana ordered, "Give her a silver for supper, and another for shoving her."


    The same soldier looked at her with shame, and bowed, "As you say, my lady."


    The portcullis rose. They watched as the Ghost stepped outside the walls of Gallenport.


    "Come. We cannot lose him." Entreating with the guards was no hustle. As soon as they saw her badge that flaunted the famed symbol of a kneeling stone guardian at the centre of a three-pronged star, they merrily kept the gate raised for her.


    She asked them, "There was another student before me. Where did he say he''s going?"


    "Ah," one guard replied, pointing, "To the delta. Are you also headed there, my lady?"


    She nodded to him. "Did he say why?"


    "To exterminate the cursed being, he said," the guard answered.


    Stolen story; please report.


    And how will he be able to accomplish that without a shred of holy power? He''s lying. He''s detected our presence. He''s going to his brother.


    He cannot run to the old knight of Vermilon for safety, Diana thought. If he did, she could simply invoke her claim for justice. The knight had no duty to protect him for he was no longer a Vermilon by name.


    In the open field dotted with a smattering of houses and freshly harvested cornfields, the Ghost of Vermil seemed to have quickened his pace. He was nearly out of their sight when they passed under the portcullis, only recognizable by the speck of his lamp that darted over the vegetation.


    "He''s running away!" Ser Kallan said. "I''ll stop him." He thrust his open palm forward as he gathered holy energy there, mouthing, "BREATH OF THE SACRED!" Haaaa...The world seemed to sigh as a gust of wind brushed past their small group of retributionists, whirling past the stubbles of corn, carrying leaves and stones as it went. In a matter of seconds, it caught the Ghost''s figure and sent him tumbling in the grass.


    "Now is the chance," her soldier told her.


    Diana stepped towards her quarry. "No, I want to look him in the face when I take his life from him. He claims to have no memory of it. I should make him remember. Keep him kissing the ground, Ser Kallan."


    With another BREATH OF THE SACRED, the knight thrust one hand, summoning a cyclone of wind that knocked the Ghost down once more as he attempted to rise. He clutched the lamp close to his body, shielding it from impact as he tumbled in the dirt. Whenever he tried to get to his feet, the gust of Ser Kallan''s wind toppled him. At some point, it looked as though he was merely toying with him.


    A group of farmers witnessed the scene. "We are pursuing a murderer. Worry not, we shall bring him justice," she declared.


    Despite the bruises on his arms and the blood dripping down his nose, the Ghost of Vermil still had the strength to prop himself on one hand as he gazed up at her. "My lady, what did I do wrong? Whatever it is, please forgive me," he begged, clutching the lamp with his bandaged hand, his beret sitting askew.


    A wolf in sheep''s clothing. A devil with the facade of an angel. His face appeared strikingly innocent, ocean-blue eyes that seemed to have a glow of their own, hair impeccably golden save for one strand of black hair that hung over his eye. If Diana had no knowledge of his atrocity, she would have mistaken him for a virtuous lamb.


    Twirling the die in her fingers, she stooped and spat at his face. "Do you remember now?"


    He turned his face away, sniffling. "I''m sorry. What should I remember, my lady?"


    "David Rupert. You remember him. Stop pretending!" She stepped on his knuckle with the heel of her shoe.


    He winced. "I don''t know him, my lady. Please forgive me."


    Diana''s vision darkened with fury. She wanted him to own up to his crime, to recognize that she was punishing him for it. But if it could not be helped, she still planned on making him pay for the life he took, anyway. She began to emit her holy energy. Just a little should be enough to rid of him.


    "He keeps hugging this lamp," the soldier said. He tried to tear it away from him, but the Ghost held on to it as though his life depended on it.


    "My lord, please... It''s dark," he pleaded, gripping it close to his body, not yielding even as the soldier kicked him at his rib.


    Diana chanted, "DIE OF FATE!" The Die of Fate was not so simple an artifact. It could turn into a random object that might or might not be useful. The more holy energy infused, the better the weapon or item that it could become; yet in the end, there was still no absolute certainty. But Diana''s blessing from the angels was PEERLESS LUCK ¡ª a guarantee that fate would always favour her.


    The die siphoned the thin light of holy energy from her. It shimmered gold, then right in her palm, it morphed into a blood-red knife with a sharp toothed edge. A tool of torment. One that she desired. Fate did favour her.


    "Sit up," she commanded the limp figure of the Ghost of Vermil. "Sit up! You''re not the victim here. My brother was. You slaughtered him. And now you have to pay and suffer the pain that he suffered. Sit up."


    He lay immobile as a possum playing dead, compelling the soldiers to cursingly pull him up by the hair. He was battered but he seemed like he could take more. The bleeding from his nose had ceased. Only a caked trail of blood was left there.


    "David Rupert, remember the name. Don''t die quickly on me." She knelt before him in one knee and purposefully shoved the knife just right below his chest.


    "Plea¡ª" His cry for mercy was interrupted by the first tooth of the dagger that buried in his chest.


    With all the weight of her arm behind it, Diana began to drive it deeper when ¡ª CRAKK! A blinding flash of light erupted next to her, along with it the deafening sound of thunder.


    The burst of light flung them apart.


    Diana''s hearing became muffled after the explosion, but she could make out a panting voice that spoke over them, "How can you disappear out of my sight so quickly?" A woman. She sounded out of breath. "I didn''t know you can walk so fast."


    With the back of her head hurting from the intense light, Diana had to squint to open her eyes. She recognized her. "Lady Ashwood? Are you declaring war against my house?"


    Catherine Ashwood smirked at Diana as though she looked down upon her, "I could have struck you, but I didn''t. You see, I have a promise to keep, a boy to watch over. I''ve been reduced to a babysitter, a genius like me." She lifted the body that lay unmoving on the ground. "Hey, Marco''s brother, are you still alive? Can you stand? You should not have run so far so hastily; I am not blessed with long legs."


    Although, she appeared to make light of the confrontation, Ashwood did not take her eyes off from Diana, constantly on guard. She kept a sparkling ball of holy power in one hand as she helped the Ghost back to his feet, blood drenching his cloak.


    "Step aside, Lady Ashwood and I will overlook this affront. You know he''s a murderer. I have the right to retribution," she yelled at her, desperate. The guards should have noticed the spike of lightning. They would rush to the field. Diana was not sure if it would be to her advantage or not.


    "With what evidence?" She retorted.


    Ten witnesses ¡ª all of them recounting the same horrid story. How little Rupert had screamed. How he had still been alive when they found him. How the blood of poor David had soaked the hands of the Ghost of Vermil. They had painted an image in young Diana''s mind that she could never forget. So, how could he?


    Diana breathed and let her holy power gush out. Her soldiers, drawing their swords, began to encircle Catherine.


    Diana scorned her, "You claim to be wise. Yet, here you are, blind to the truth."


    She humphed, "I''m not the one about to be blinded."


    Diana covered her eyes, activating a barrier. BANG! Another flash of light enveloped them. Thunder boomed so close it threatened to burst their eardrums. When Diana''s sight had adjusted, Ashwood had disappeared, along with the Ghost of Vermil.


    "There!" Ser Kallan shouted, pointing at the edge of the forest. Earlier, the Ghost had only been feigning weakness, it seemed. Now, with a knife lodged close to his chest, he staggered after Catherine Ashwood as they disappeared beneath the shadows of the trees.

 Chapter 26: Marco XVII

    "TRUMPET CALL!" Quain cried, "I summon the CRAB!"


    A massive door formed into existence right at the water''s edge, its bluish green glimmer reflecting on the river as it slammed open with the sonorous blare of trumpets. As it did, a green crab with cerulean stains crawled out, legs first, splashing in the water.


    "Defend us," Quain commanded it.


    Squeaks and the scuttling of a hundred tiny feet approached from the far end of the forest, upriver.


    Marco called to his members, "Stand close." The Crab stood over them, casting them in its shadow. It enveloped them with its pincers, bracing for the black crawling mass of a horde that emerged from beneath the trees, a hundred eyes glinting with a sinister red, their tiny feet dredging up the silt.


    "Holy Angel! That''s one inspiration for a nightmare tonight," Ferd quipped fearfully, casting another defensive enchantment for good measure.


    "Only if we make it," Ingryd chuckled.


    "Of course, we''ll make it," Marco uttered. The horde of rats was the least of his worries now. Catherine had engaged in combat. The first bolt of lightning served a signal for help, the second to mean she cannot resolve it with words. The third is her swan song. She could only generate three at most, before it would discombobulate her and render her stupid. She already used two. I need to hurry.


    Marco gathered a ball of holy energy and shot it towards the sky, revealing their position to the rest of the searchers. Yet it would take time before they arrived.


    Ingryd shot out a breath of fire, producing a tall wall of flame that deterred the cursed beings only until they braved to cross the wall, some of them burning in squeals of pain before the rest trampled over their corpses.


    The green Crab groaned as a swarm of rats slammed and climbed over it, squeaking in chaos, their feet pitter-pattering on its domed shell. The vermin bit and clawed but all their frenzied attacks were in vain. The Crab''s exoskeleton could withstand a knight''s blow.


    A moment passed with them huddled close together as they listened to endless screeching that drowned the sounds of their laboured panting. The rats seemed relentless. Should I use the Star of Providence to drive them away? But then they will scatter.


    Apple suddenly doubled over and retched dryly. Swallowing, she spoke, "I sense a stronger one. It''s masked by the horde but I can tell. A cursed being much more powerful than these rats is making for an escape in the direction of the city."


    The rats are not the real enemy!


    Golden light washed the dark from underneath the Crab as Marco released a profuse layer of holy energy. All of it swirled into an orb that shone a bright yellow. STAR OF PROVIDENCE! The star that guided the lost and shunned the darkness. Every cursed creature touched by the light scurried away, back into the shadow of the forest where they crawled from.


    "Lead the way, Apple!" Marco said, raising the STAR way above them, casting the river and sand and the edge of the willows and ash trees in its sacred glow.


    "This way!" She shouted, sprinting off without hesitation, black hair all tousled, cloak billowing in the wind.


    Ingryd chanted, "SONG OF CREATION!" She left a trail of fire as she breathed flames to fry any rats that dared jump at them.


    From within the woods, shrieks permeated the night as rats died in numbers. A brilliant centaur with a virescent mane and hair bolted out from the trees. On its back rode a Demach scholar who strikingly resembled Quain.


    "Brother!" Quain yelled. "You take care of the rats here!"


    They darted past him. The older Foilsebay gazed down at Marco curiously. "Where are you running away to?"


    Darkness reconquered the space that the STAR had abandoned, with it the horde of rats that doggedly pursued them.


    Payne Foilsebay on his centaur boomed, "ARCHER! Let loose." The centaur pulled three arrows from the air, nocked them on its bow, drew the bowstring in one graceful arc of motion, and with an elastic ringing, fired them at the approaching swarm. Three arrows burned three clean lines that stretched to the tail of the rat horde. Yet it was not enough to put an end to them. The rats advanced as the STAR''s light receded.


    "TRUMPET CALL! I summon the WATER BEARER!" He chanted with resolve.


    His own party will join him soon, Marco thought.


    He turned his attention back to the passage that Apple paved. They stopped following the river and entered the mob of willows and ash trees. Sodden, the ground yielded with each footfall while roots protruded to trip the unwary. As a result, their strides became heavier and slower. They could not make chase as fast as they should.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    "It''s getting away!" Apple cried.


    "If only the Archer would listen to me," Quain said regretfully, "I could have caught up to it."


    "Then we should have asked your brother for a ride!" Ingryd shouted.


    "It''s a prideful summon, mind you."


    Marco consoled Apple who seemed dejected that she was beginning to lose their mark. "It''s alright. We know where it''s heading. We just have to make for Gallenport." That''s also the direction where Catherine used her lightning bolt.


    As the night deepened, they wound their way through the undergrowth under the light of the STAR OF PROVIDENCE.


    Fred fell to his knees. Catching his breath, he said, "I''m sorry Marco, I tried. But my legs are numb." He leaned on an elm''s trunk for support.


    Quain also slowed. "I''m also nearly dry. I''ve made two summons in a row. I won''t be much help anymore."


    The rest of the party halted.


    "I can''t believe you don''t look exhausted at all," Quain regarded Apple with wonder. "What do they feed you in the East? I want some too."


    Marco said to them, "I understand. Recover your strength and energy here. But Ingryd, can you stay?"


    The nomad nodded, wiping her brows. "I''ll protect the girls."


    "Apple and I will tail the cursed being. It might wreak havoc in the camp of refugees."


    Fred sighed, "I would love to tell you not to engage it in a fight, but knowing you, it''s a waste of my breath."


    "We couldn''t have made it this far if it weren''t the five of us. Thank you, my lords and ladies." He bowed to them. He squinted at the STAR above them, shielding his eyes with an arm. "Keep it. It shall see you safe out of the Delta."


    Producing a simple orb to light the tree-ridden path, Marco continued on his way with Apple just always one step behind him, brushing past elms and poplars and white willows that thrived farther from the river. The ground turned more compact, allowing him to improve his pace. "Apple, can you keep up?"


    "Don''t worry. You won''t lose me," she replied confidently. It was impressive how she did not seem to tire, while Ferd and Quain had reached their limit. Like Ingryd who was born with the endurance of a Pilthern nomad, Apple seemed out of the ordinary too. There is more to her than she let on. Her innate blessing to sense demonic signatures better than I. That Gabrielic exorcist. I cannot let my guard down around her.


    "Beware of the roots and low-hanging branches," he warned her before bursting with speed.


    Gallenport was almost within their reach. The iridescent spires of the Araian castle could be glimpsed from within the canopy.


    A third burst of lightning illuminated the sky, now just a few yards from them. RUMBLE! The thunderclap stirred the leaves. Catherine''s swan song.


    He halted in his tracks. "Apple, where is the cursed being now?"


    Stopping next to him, she sniffed the air and nearly threw up. Grabbing her stomach, she thrust her arm in the direction far off from Catherine''s position.


    "That was my friend''s lightning, Apple. Something must have happened to her. Would you think badly of me if I run to her to help?"


    She wrung her head wordlessly.


    He said, "I can''t let you pursue it alone. Come with me."


    Arriving at the scene, they lightened his steps and approached carefully. Marco extinguished his guiding orb.


    They heard familiar voices from within the trees.


    "Where is he? Where did you hide him?"


    "Who''s he? You see, I happen to know a number of men," Catherine! He recognized her voice. Yet, she sounded lulled. The toll from her blasts of lightning had caught up to her. Her destructive talent drained her energy generously.


    "Do not play stupid with me, Lady Ashwood. We''ll scour the forest if we have to."


    "Who... are you calling stooopeeed?" She drolled. "You''re stoopeed. Following me like this, ha ha ha. I stashed him somewhere you won''t even imagine looking."


    "Where is the Ghost of Vermil?"


    When Marco drew closer, he recognized the stern face of Diana Rupert. Her guards had surrounded Catherine, swords unsheathed.


    Diana asked again, furiously, "Tell me where he is!"


    "Tell me where he is!" Catherine mocked her, cackling. "He''s in my pocket, that''s where he is."


    "She''s a drooling mess. Just bind her." She seemed reluctant to hurt her, wary of inciting war. And it appeared that Catherin had not hurt them seriously as well.


    Marco was not like Catherine.


    As the Rupert soldiers closed in on his addled friend, Marco touched a nearby white willow, whispering, "INVIOLABLE EDICT!"


    The willow lurched as it accepted his authority. Cracking and rustling, its gorgeous drooping branches rose and whipped violently with a clap, catching the soldiers off guard, sending them rolling in the dirt. Its swooping branches strangled them by the neck and chest, constricting around them like a python wrestling with its prey. Meanwhile, Diana stood untouched. He spared her lest he unnecessarily give the Ruperts a cause for war.


    "It''s Lord Vermilon!" Ser Kallan yelled, freeing himself. He hurriedly hacked at the willow''s branches that had ensnared his accomplices.


    "You dare hurt my friend!" Marco reproved them, tone filled with rage. They were after all subjects of the Earl of Gallagher ¡ª a title he would soon inherit.


    The lone knight chanted a defensive spell. The willow branch that struck him shattered into pieces.


    Marco conjured more glowing tendrils of holy power. INVIOLABLE EDICT! Everything it touched submitted to his will. Black poplars, elms, shrubs and blades of grass jolted alive. They uprooted themselves from the soil and encircled the Ruperts.


    Catherine shrilled, "Love of my life!" She ran and threw herself into his arms. "You''re so late, you son of a bitch." She beat him groggily on his chest.


    Pushing her by the forehead, he pried her away from him and kept her at arm''s length. "What happened? Where''s Lucas? Where did you leave him?"


    She began to snore while still on her feet, "Ahhh... Was it by some strange looking tree? Was it an oak? I put him inside a bush... I forgot. I''ll remember if I get some sleep, aaah."


    "But why did you even have to hide him? Is he hurt?"


    She suddenly jerked upright. "Ooh, yes terribly." Her shoulders sagged again. "My eyes are heavy, Marco. Bring me home."


    "Yes, yes, I will. Close your eyes now." He let her fall back into his arms.


    "What happened to her?" Apple asked, confused at the whole situation.


    "Her brain stops working every time she overdid it."


    Leaves and branches scattered. The top of tree trunks dropped to the ground as Diana brandished a sword shrouded in holy power. She screamed, stepping out from the encirclement, "I am simply exacting justice from the Ghost of Vermil, Lord Vermilon. You have no right to deny it from me." She sounded as though she was about to break into tears.


    "And I am simply protecting my brother," he said, emitting more holy energy. He would overwhelm her with his blessing so that she would not think of going after Lucas again.


    Apple made an audible gasp. "Lucas of Vermil is your brother?"

 Chapter 27: Apple VII

    The less damp stretch of the woods close to Gallenport was a tangle of scents. The earthly smell of towering trees about to shed their leaves mixed in with the rich fertile scent of the soil and silt carried by the distributaries of the Gallen River. Wildflowers and ferns opening up and dispersing their seeds, nocturnal creatures up in the foliage and on the soggy undergrowth ¡ª their essence wafted to Apple''s nose, demanding her attention. The appalling odour of the fleeing cursed being contrasted with the heavenly fragrance of divinity that emanated from the blessed children making their names inside the dark forest or exacting revenge or getting in the way of it. She felt overwhelmed just breathing them in. However, the most prominent scent of all was of this dark golden-haired noble whose holy power smelled like a vast endless sea.


    She had encountered sacred power like this only once before. It was when she was birthed into the world, her vision covered in dazzling light as though the sun had wandered close. She remembered his most dreamy redolence, the very first scent that tickled her nose even before she knew how to smell. She remembered the blindingly white feathers of the wings that adorned his back, spanning the edges of her infantile vision when they unfolded. He was the first face she had ever laid eyes on, before she even noticed her Father who held her weeping in joy. Despite the years that passed since then, she still remembered him vividly. His shape. His face. His scent. Archangel Gabriel.


    Marco Vermilon''s blessing was a strange one. His holy power transferred from his body to the trees, and along with it, his scent. The willow he touched became drained of its earthly odour, in its place wafted Marco''s fragrance. It was as though the tree became a part of him.


    The hunt for the cursed being had taken an unexpected turn. Marco chose to run to his friend, taking Apple with him. Even if she were against it, she knew there was no way for her to coerce him to continue on their pursuit. He''s way more powerful than I am. Besides, he is the leader.


    Apple''s quarry was the cursed being in the woods. But she never thought she would encounter Diana here. She was hell-bent on taking the justice she believed was due.


    But a more pressing concern emerged right before her.


    "Lucas of Vermil is your brother?" She couldn''t help asking. Apple pieced the puzzles together. By the way they talked about him, it was as good as certain. Yet, she had to ask him anyway, to confirm it beyond question.


    Marco turned to her, eyes glinting with the threads of holy power enveloping him. "I prefer to keep it a secret. I hope you understand."


    She could not understand. She honestly was at a loss as to why he would keep it a secret. Is prying more going to make him upset? I could not care less about his feelings, though. She opened her mouth again, "By blood?"


    He nodded. "Now I need to find him. Help me lift her onto my back."


    He bent down to his knees while Apple strained to drag the sophomore''s body onto his back.


    "Thank you," he said, securing his friend''s body by looping his arm around her leg. He turned to Diana who glared at him in defiance. "Are you going to fight me? We set aside the Houses we belong to and face each other fairly. I will not hold it against your House, nor should you against mine. Nothing at stake but my brother''s absolution."


    She raised her chin and proclaimed, "I will get my justice soon. And you won''t be able to stop me." Her eyes jumped to Apple and said, "I see, you''ve chosen to become his puppet now."


    Apple wanted to retort but Marco spoke first, "Lady Rupert, what has happened in Vermil should be left in Vermil. Lucas travelled all the way to the Capital to change his life. I implore you to give him the chance. Now at last, there is a future for him."


    She chuckled, "Change? Future? With all due respect, my lord, there is no future without a reckoning of the past."


    "He has been disowned. He has no name, no House, no gold. What more can you take from him?"


    "His life," Diana answered as she swivelled on her feet, decloaking the shroud of holy energy. "Just as life was taken, life is to be paid."


    Marco turned his back to them, walking in the opposite direction. Apple followed behind him, her mind flooded with questions, sensitive ones that might rouse the aurochs from within him. But the direst question of all was: Is he really a murderer?


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    She could not make out his expression in the dark, but his utter silence was enough to know that some change had taken hold of him. He was lost deep in thought as his friend snored and slobbered on his back.


    He abruptly froze, saying, "Apple. Close your eyes. Don''t speak of this to anyone."


    If it was not about the pursuit of the cursed being which they probably already lost, Apple had no reason to take orders from him. But then he added, "Please."


    She shut her eyelids and perceived the earth with her nose instead.


    A sudden burst of holy energy ¡ª one uncontained yet with purpose ¡ª nearly blasted her senses out of her soul. It was a deluge that threatened to drown her senses, an aroma so potent it hurt her nose. Then it receded and became diluted. Creepingly, it washed away the world around her, the smell of turf, blossoms, stones, grass and trees. It filled the forest with its own heavenly fragrance until it was the only scent that was left. Then, it vanished. The world as it once smelled to her returned.


    "You can open them now," she heard him say.


    Apple did, with an astonished look on her face. Whatever he did left no trace on the landscape. Elms stood still, leaves rustled in the wind. The ground was just as wet. But earlier, their scents had been erased, taken over completely by Marco''s will.


    "I found him but we need to make haste," he told her with urgency. He created another orb of light and set off.


    Even with a whole person on his back, his pace did not dwindle. Instead, he surged with more swiftness than before. Apple had trouble catching up.


    After a while, she caught another smell ¡ª the familiar one she had just lost moments ago. She figured then why Marco was in such a hurry. Bile rose from her stomach when she neared it. She covered her nose, bracing for the pain in her head that was about to hit. She almost stumbled but she picked herself up and followed after Marco who seemed so absorbed that Apple wondered if he was still aware she was right behind him.


    He had turned so quiet that she feared he''d finally snap at her if she ever uttered a single word.


    The stench of the cursed being who seemed to have stopped fleeing lingered in the air yet even then, the immeasurable vastness of Marco''s divine blessing overpowered it.


    "Lucas!" He cried out.


    A figure crouched under the weeping branches of a white willow tree. Under the light of the orb, his stark golden hair seemed to have a glow of its own.


    "Lucas," he kept calling as he stepped over to his brother''s hunched figure cautiously.


    Apple felt she was obliged to keep silent, to disappear or blend in with the vegetation. This was a family''s delicate moment and she was intruding on them simply by being there.


    Lucas of Vermil had his back turned to them, his dark cloak covered in soil, leaves and twigs as if he had just rolled around on the detritus. He cast a sidelong glance their way, face pale as bleached parchment, blue eyes glinting with the orb''s light. "We should bury him," he said in his eerily calm voice.


    Marco Vermilon edged closer and gasped, "Lucas, what is it?"


    In the orb''s luminosity, Apple could make out the lifeless arms and legs of a child on Lucas''s lap. When she moved over to behold it clearly, her jaw fell open.


    It was less a child and more of a monster now. A snout protruded from its face. Its head was topped with the hair of a human but its ears were that of a rat. It had the spindly claws of one too. When she thought this night could not be more bizarre, a more jolting scene unfolded right before her eyes. Its snout flattened back into a face belonging to a little boy, its ears shrinking to that of a human, claws growing shorter until all that remained was an ordinary child clothed in rags lying peacefully on Lucas''s lap. He couldn''t have been more than eight years of age.


    "We should bury him," Lucas muttered again.


    Something''s not right. The cursed being was dead but the reek was still there.


    It was then that Apple realized that what vileness she sniffed emanated from Lucas of Vermil himself.


    "Your chest is bleeding!" Marco blurted out, "We should go." A broken dagger lay just beside him, its toothed blade riddled with cracks, its tip smeared with blood.


    "I know, but we should bury him first," he insisted, pleading with both his brother and Apple as though she would have a say in the matter.


    Marco reasoned with him, "We cannot bury him. He''s a cursed being, Lucas. He might still come back as an undead. Remember the wolves in Ashwood? I''ll set his corpse on fire instead."


    He shook his head adamantly. "No, I''ll bury him."


    Marco looked to the lamp at his brother''s feet. "Let me borrow the fire from here."


    "No, Marco, please..." Lucas looked to him and then to Apple, entreating her with his innocent eyes that bore the shade of the ocean.


    Despite his supplication, Marco chanted his spell INVIOLABLE EDICT. A tendril of holy energy reached into the flame which slightly grew in size and began to crawl its way to the dead boy.


    Lucas was left with no option but to leave him on the ground upon Marco''s stern order.


    Apple watched as fire consumed the corpse of the cursed being, the smell of burnt flesh and hair wafting to her nose. She did not like it. She never did.


    In the quiet of the forest as puzzles after puzzles racked Apple''s mind, she picked up another scent she had sensed before. It was faint compared to the smell of Marco''s divine power and the malodour of the cursed being. Perhaps that was why she could not notice it before. It belonged to one with a gigantic lumbering frame, a tall hat with a veil that concealed his face, and a stain splotched sack on his back. She whirled around, searching for his figure from within the shadows.


    Marco seemed to have noticed him too for he turned to her, saying, "He''s here. He''s been here before us."


    But Uncle Patrick''s bulky figure never appeared. He did not step out. Yet she could tell he was there looking on. As the child''s remains smouldered into ashes, the smell of the Gabrielic exorcist faded and disappeared. All that was left was the scent of charred flesh, the fragrance of Marco''s immense blessing and Lucas''s demonic stench.

 Chapter 28: Apple VIII

    Her academy life took on a new kind of normalcy after the hunt. When merits were awarded, her rank elevated to 281, just one step shy to enter the top ten of freshmen Aleph. It could have been much higher if Marco Vermilon claimed the victory over the cursed being. But his righteousness got the better of him.


    "As much as I''d like to have been the one who exterminated it, when we caught up to the cursed being, it was already dead," he had reported to the director.


    "Do you know who did?"


    "I''m not certain, Director," he had answered, "But there was one exorcist around the forest."


    "He was a Gabrielic exorcist," Quain backed his story. "He was a giant, Director. The largest man I''ve ever seen."


    Ingryd remarked, "I know a warrior from my village who''s bigger than he is."


    Marco made no mention of Lucas to the director. Neither did Apple.


    Yuri stared at her badge endearingly as they munched on steak and potatoes, "It''s only been barely a week Apple, how can you climb up so fast?"


    "Our classmates higher in rank are afraid you''ll ask them to a duel," Hannah informed her. "Will you?"


    "They think I''m some battle maniac now? I did not even fight in the Delta," she confided, "I just guided them, got dragged along. I even tripped on a root." She lost the chance to put on a grand display and properly impress the Genius of Demach. Perhaps if she fought and defeated him, they''d name her the new Genius. But that seemed like a tall dream. She remembered the vast power he held. He did not even need a team. He was simply being humble. All that time, we were being a nuisance to him.


    "Still, it was really courageous of you," Yuri patted her back. "To face off against a rat horde like that. Gives me chills just thinking about it."


    She languidly sliced at the steak. She was not used to eating expensive food every day. On her birthdays, Father would roast her a chicken and smother it with spices from their travels. She thought that was luxurious. Now, she ate better meals outside of special occasions. After some more slices, the steak did not taste as well as the first bite.


    Yuri noticed her lack of appetite. "Where is your friend, Apple? Lucas, I mean."


    "I haven''t really seen him."


    He had suffered terrible injuries from Diana. I wonder how he''s doing now. Even so, she shunned the idea of being anywhere near him yet, not when the demon''s miasma still lingered in his body. How does he even catch their rankness when he smells like nothing most of the time?


    For the next two days, Lucas was nowhere to be seen. Apple did not want to sniff the repulsive stench that came off of him again. But somehow her eyes kept looking for his beret, for the pale golden locks that was hidden beneath.


    Apple often crossed paths with Diana, being in the same class, but she began to totally ignore her. The ginger head noble used to scoff and deride her but now she pretended that Apple did not exist. Not that it bothered Apple; although it was a loss that Diana would not be sharing her plans anymore like she did in the Morning Garden. Apple did not really expect her to enact her own crusade for justice so swiftly. And judging by her proclamation in the forest, it was not over yet.


    At least Marco and the rest of their party greeted her when she bumped into them. In the last day before the first week of school ended, she spotted him together with that slobbery friend in the forest. It was easy to find him. Apple, who prided herself for her gregariousness, jauntily walked over to them.


    "Marco," she called, bouncing on her pretty boots. She wore the pink ones today. Her favoured white boots were sodden with mud from the floodplains.


    The lass was startled that a girl had approached them. She purred, elbowing Marco''s ribs, "Oooh, an admirer! Oliver''s been peacocking to hook in some freshies, but they literally swim right up to your cold trap."


    Marco hammered her gently on the head. "She''s with my party in the Delta. And she was the one who helped me lift your heavy sleepy arse onto my back."


    Her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. "Holy Angel, I hope your first impression of me would improve. I''m actually very smart. Shall we start again? I''m Catherine Ashwood."


    "Apple of Heinstead, a pleasure," she introduced, shaking her hand. Marco''s friend looked lovelier when her hair wasn''t tousled, her chin not dripping with drool.


    "How is your morning, Apple?" Marco said. He probably already knew what she came to him for.


    "I''m just worried. Is he doing better?"


    Marco smiled, "He''s resting. I''ve made up an excuse to Mr. Hilbury so don''t tell anyone. Do you want to see him?"


    "He did not seem like he wanted to see me," she said. Beneath the white willow where they found him and even on the arduous march back, Lucas did not utter a single word to her. She wondered if he was upset with her for letting the little boy burn. Apple, herself, had not really opened her lips then. She was afraid that if she did, the abominable stench that was coming off of him would clog her throat. All that time, she fought the urge to vomit, keeping her nose covered. The white dove''s letter kept nagging at the back of her mind.


    "He probably was numb from the pain," Marco said, "But he is all better now. He actually wanted to come back but I told him to recuperate first. I reckon he shall be here on the first day of the next week."


    "Can I meet him tomorrow then?" I need to ask him now, before this mistake ¡ª if it ever is one ¡ª digs a hole I can''t climb out of.


    "I will send an escort."


    On the days of worship of the Seraphim and Cherubim when Demach held no classes, the Academy emptied. There were some who stayed in the grounds for training or studying, but most of them had left to explore the City. Even Yuri had left the night before. Hannah invited her for a stroll. She felt bad that she had to refuse.


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    Apple watched as more scholars walked by her in the Academy''s entrance. She kicked on the dirt with her ruby red sandals, killing time as she waited, revelling in the fragrances of holy power that passed by.


    "Lady Apple?" Someone called.


    She lifted her gaze to a man in a dark brown vest with the sigil of an ox on his chest.


    "I''m Felix, a knight of House Vermilon," the stranger bowed to her. "I have come to accompany you, my lady." He motioned to a horse-drawn carriage, just big enough for four people.


    She lowered her body in a curtsy. "I am Apple, Ser Felix."


    Felix had a thin build for a knight but the divine power within him smelled abundant, and unique ¡ª laden with traces of pollen and bees. Judging by the dark brown hair framing a gentle face with bright coal-black eyes, he seemed young for a knight. Most knights she met were more than twice her age. Felix seemed to be older by only less than ten.


    "I''m a friend of Lucas," she told him, as they settled inside the carriage.


    "Is that so? I''m glad he had made a friend."


    "So, he used to have no friends before?" She tried to pry. Lucas seemed aloof, despite his calm demeanour.


    Felix cocked his head and weighed his words. "He has always been... solitary."


    I am used to living alone. She suddenly remembered Lucas''s own words. They thought it best I live apart.


    She asked him, "How about you, Ser Felix, weren''t you friends with him?"


    He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I am a soldier of Vermilon, my lady. My loyalty is to the House. Being a friend to anyone is only second to it."


    He speaks in riddles. What does being a friend to Lucas have anything to do with his loyalty to the House? The nobles always confounded her.


    Then she recalled something Marco said in the forest. He has been disowned... no name, no House, no gold.


    Perhaps, the Vermilons did not regard Lucas kindly. Not when he had been accused of murder. Now that accusation grew more and more plausible in Apple''s mind. If he was disowned because of the death of Diana''s blood relative, then it could have been more than just a mere suspicion.


    It occurred to Apple''s memory again ¡ª the incident at the Henge Field Test and the encounter at the woods, where Lucas suddenly possessed the stench of the cursed beings he touched. His weakness and lack of talent might only be a guise. Is the white dove''s letter really pertaining to him?


    Apple did not know what to believe anymore.


    The one-storey building where they housed Lucas was close to the Royal Keep, next to a line of inns and drinking places that soldiers frequented. Today the pubs would be teeming. In the sun they would sing praises and glory to the Seraphim inside the church halls. In the night, they would sing them in taverns, along with grievances to their wives and the king.


    Felix held the door open for her. The planks of the walls smelled strongly of tobacco and the musk of men. The living room was well furnished with a fireplace and tapestries overlooking a long table flanked by six chairs.


    Marco sat there at the end, reading a letter and munching on cashews. "A good morning to you Apple. Have you eaten?" He asked. "Ser Gerald is a great cook. He makes a most delectable curry."


    She declined the offer, saying, "I won''t be long."


    An older soldier approached her. "My lady. Forgive us for the humble welcome. I am Gerald, a knight serving Lord Vermilon."


    "No trouble at all, Ser."


    The legs of the chair groaned against the wooden floor as Marco rose from the table. "I''ve told him you''re coming." He led her past a small corridor. He knocked on the door gently before pushing it open.


    The sheets on the bed were crumpled, the pillows sitting aslant. But it was empty. She glimpsed the top of his golden hair from the other side of the bed frame. His room was filled with the smell of lavender and incense. To her relief, no foul stench lingered inside.


    "Lucas," she called, stepping in and walking over to him. He was slumped leaning on the bed, basking in the heat of the morning sun, shirtless yet clothed instead in white bandages that wrapped most of his chest and stomach. His hand remained covered from a separate wound¡ª one wherein she was partly to blame for.


    He had a knack for getting hurt, she figured.


    He held a history book in the injured hand. "Apple, you came!" He tapped the space on the floor next to him. "You can sit beside me."


    She gingerly sat on the bed instead. "How can you think about studying at your state? You should be resting. How are you feeling now?"


    "I''ve recovered enough. It wasn''t so deep a wound."


    Apple remembered the toothed dagger, its tip smeared in blood. "You idiot. You almost died."


    He smirked, almost giggling.


    "What?"


    He flipped the book close and leaned his arms back onto the sheets so that his calm blue eyes met hers. "I''m just glad you''re concerned about me. Only my brother really ever did."


    "I still can''t believe you''re the brother of the Genius of Demach. You were so dense during the written test."


    "You were too, you said you did not answer a thing," he hurled back.


    She laughed, instinctively jabbing his bandaged arm. He winced and curled up. "Aw, that hurt!"


    "Sorry... It was by impulse."


    The room filled with their laughter and banters. But Apple did not come there solely for pleasantries. She was on a quest of uncovering secrets.


    "Lucas, forgive me for asking, but I''m gravely curious as to why Diana literally wanted your head," she said.


    The mirth in his face faded. He seemed to blink back to reality as the arch of his lips flattened, the brightness in his eyes dimming. He turned his gaze away from her, picked up the book he had been reading, and stared down at it as though it could protect him from her infringement.


    "Do you know the name David Rupert?"


    He spoke softly, bearing the same repose as before, "He''s her brother, isn''t he? I really wish I can remember, Apple, so that I understand why she wants to hurt me that badly."


    Perhaps it was because she considered him too dear a friend that she drew a low deep breath before she uttered her next words. "Lucas, can you tell me then how you subdued the cursed being in the delta?"


    His grip on the book tightened just a little but Apple caught the change in his composure. Will his calmness finally fracture?


    "I''m sorry, Apple, but I want to rest now," he said, eyes downcast. "I''m really happy you came to see me."


    "Lucas," she tried persuading him, "As your friend, I just want to know¡ª"


    "I''m tired..."


    He''s blatantly dismissing the question now.


    She lowered and knelt next to him, "Lucas, do you even trust me?"


    He glanced at her then, eyes blue as a cloudless sky, complexion so pale he could pass for a ghost. His gaze was serene, yet cold. And Apple knew what he meant by it, even without enunciating it.


    It was another village girl''s naivety to befriend a stranger and expect blind faith from him, she learned.


    In those deep ocean eyes of his, she glimpsed a profound kind of understanding. It was as though he saw through her. Through her intentions. Through her pretty clothes. Through her words. Through her skin. Through her very soul.


    And perhaps he found more, for he whispered, "Maybe when you cut your strings, Apple. Then come and cut mine too."


    She drew in a breath suddenly as she lurched back, away from him. She did not know why. But she did.


    What do you mean? She wanted to ask him but his words had muddled her. They had done something to her. She wasn''t sure what it was.


    Collecting herself, she finally spoke, forcing a smile, "I''ll see you at the Academy." She could not even dare to meet his eyes again, lest she become undone. His room suddenly felt cramped, it smelled stale and mildewed. She shuffled out of there and tried her hardest to act unfrazzled.


    "You should eat lunch with us. It will be ready in the next hour," Marco invited.


    "Thank you for the consideration, but I have promised to have a meal with my father," she declined with a polite grin.


    "At least take the carriage."


    "I appreciate the offer, Marco, but I don''t plan to impose on your kindness any more than I already have."


    Her legs led her out of the small abode and back into the streets of Gallenport bustling with scents. She sniffed them all in, the bad and the good.

 Chapter 29: Marco XVIII

    As Lucas''s friend hurriedly left, Marco figured something upsetting must have happened. His brother was sitting on the floor, staring peacefully at the leather of a closed book.


    "Did the two of you fight?" It was Lucas''s first quarrel with a friend.


    His brother wrung his head slightly, saying, "She did not like what I told her."


    "Uh-huh, well, what did you tell her?" Marco pulled a chair from under the desk and straddled on it, resting his arms and chin on the backrest.


    "Just something she needed to hear."


    "You did not comment on her weight, did you?" Catherine turned apoplectic whenever he teased her about it. Girls detested the very mention of it.


    Lucas regarded him, puzzled, "Why would I do that?"


    Marco laughed, "You should be careful of the things you say to ladies, Lucas. They do not always fancy the truth. Anyway, how are you doing now?"


    "I can manage," he replied, standing up and performing a few stretches. His body was lanky for a lad of his age. He needs more nutrition and muscle training.


    "I''m really amazed how these injuries don''t seem to bother you, brother. A normal person would have been trembling with pain without a healing spell or a phial of opium. They might have even bled to death." Yet Lucas refused even the simplest healing spell.


    Lucas''s face always became an open book whenever he wanted to dodge a subject. His expression would turn vacant then he''d turn away. Marco made no effort to press him about it.


    He said, "Ser Gerald has prepared a pot of pork curry. It''s the one meal he serves to his soldiers who are weary from battle. And we''ve just returned from one. Come, we deserve it."


    Lucas sat on his bed. "I''ll eat in my room."


    Marco sighed. "You always eat in this room. I''m here, so you don''t need to feel so lonely. I''ll drag you to the table if I have to."


    The clinks of fork and knife compensated for the quiet that hovered over the dining table. The soldiers of Vermilon lost the gaiety they usually had when Marco dined together with them. Suddenly, they were not so eager to impress him with their tales of training and patrolling in Gallagher. Ser Gerald, in particular, had been a veteran of two major battles and was even drafted to join the Fifth Crusade, if not for Earl Wolfram''s intervention to send five more holy soldiers in the old knight''s stead.


    As Lucas looked like he was trying his best not to make the tiniest sound on one side of the table, the three soldiers opposite him still seemed very much aware of his presence, and they appeared put off by it. They rushed to finish their plates, without asking for seconds. Well, there''s a first for everything.


    Even the servants who poured Lucas water kept a careful distance from him, as though they would catch his infection if they even brushed him.


    "So, I have been ruminating," Marco announced from his seat at the end of the long table, putting down his cutlery. Everyone turned their heads toward him, except Lucas beside him who pretended he was invisible. "In light of the incident with the Ruperts, I believe it''s better if Lucas is able to protect himself."


    Lucas swirled to him, wide-eyed and pallid. "Marco, I did not ask for this."


    Marco paid his reaction no mind.


    Ser Gerald, a man of a large build, seemed to shrink in his seat. Dunce stole a glance at Lucas from the corner of his eyes. Felix played with his food, bracing for Marco''s next words.


    "Ser Felix," Marco addressed the man, "I am aware that you are only freshly knighted. Please take this opportunity to teach my brother, and in doing so, your own skills should improve."


    The young knight was frozen for a moment before he answered blankly, "It is my pleasure, my lord." The Light of Truth told Marco it wasn''t.


    "You''ll start as soon as Lucas has fully recovered."


    In their reverence towards the angels who descended on earth by god''s command, the kings of the past had deemed it fitting to rename their days after the angel hierarchies, signifying each day as a time of worship for them. On the day of the Cherubim before classes resumed again in the morning, Marco, together with Ser Gerald and Lucas who needed coercion, paid a visit to the Altare Angelorum ¡ª a massive cathedral of three spires lined with gold plates, on its facade a gold-tinted glass window in the shape of the Star of Michael.


    On the sprawling church grounds, worshippers flocked to the statue of the Cherubim to offer their prayers. Marco and his company joined the crowd there, clasping a simple bouquet of white roses. The image of the Cherubim was said to be a four-faced angel: a human, a lion, an ox and an eagle. The white marble statue''s two sets of wings spread wide behind it, casting a shadow on the mob of believers. The Cherubim were second in celestial hierarchy, just below the Seraphim. They were said to have guarded god''s throne and the Lignum Vitae with their flaming swords. When they appeared on earth, they granted the holy blessings of Laws. Lumen Veritatis was speculated to have come from them too.


    Marco had never laid eyes upon the actual Cherubim before, nor any angel for that matter, but their statues on the Altare seemed bizarre beyond imagination.


    Among the worshippers, he recognized some lords and their knights as well as a number of Demach attendees. They all carried white roses in their hands although some brought perfumed candles instead.


    Laying the flowers on the foot of the angel next to a bunch of the same, he caught Lucas intently looking up at the Cherubim with an expression that was not of reverence. While Marco bowed and clasped his hands to pay respect, Lucas did nothing of the sort. What is on his mind? Marco wondered again.


    There was a sudden stirring in the crowd. The mob obstructed Marco''s vision but he heard the clank of a carriage''s wheels. Then the flapping banner of the three-pronged Star of Michael loomed from over their heads.


    With Ser Gerald paving a path for Marco and his brother by shouting "Make way for Lord Vermilon", Marco jostled his way out of the crowd to lay eyes upon the royal carriage ¡ª a coach adorned with intricate holy symbols of protection, pulled by two white-maned horses and flanked by a retinue of guards that raised the Araian banner.


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    "You are in the presence of the King Azrael II Araia," a knight bayed, silencing the church grounds, "The Ruler and Protector of the Kingdom of Araya, and the Master of the Scales."


    The carriage''s door was opened by another soldier, and King Azrael stepped out. Atop his bright golden hair sat the royal crown with three spires. He gripped the Scales of Retribution on his right. The scales held up by the statuette of a lady clinked as he moved, its golden halo glinting in the afternoon sun.


    It was not imperative for the King to visit the Altare Angelorum to show devotion to a different order of angels each day. At times, he would send a prince or the princess or some lord. Once in a while, he would do it himself.


    On this day of the Cherubim, he was accompanied by his daughter, the Princess Sarfiel who was named after another angel ¡ª a privilege granted only to children of royal blood. She carried an elegant bouquet studded with white roses and other cream blossoms of elderflowers, jasmines and snowdrops.


    "Your highness, Princess, the Cherubim''''s favour be upon you" Marco bowed when they approached, dabbing a kiss on the Princess''s hand. Lucas and the other subjects around him bowed in respect as well.


    "Ah, Lord Vermilon, we meet again," the King said, lips arching to a warm smile. King Azrael had only come to power thirty years ago, but he was the only King that Marco had ever known. Up close, his gallant face suffered wrinkles and blotches of dryness, although they did nothing to dim the brilliance of his visage. His eyes radiated untold wisdom gained from revelations and three decades of rule. Even though weaker in raw holy power than Marco, there was an air of unyielding dominance about him that seemed to demand veneration. To Marco, King Azrael''s blessing seemed peaceful and vast, yet there was a hint of fatigue in his energy.


    The Araians were said to be closest to angels. But whenever Marco met them in person, he learned that they were as human as he was.


    "It is my utmost pleasure, my King," he replied.


    "Your achievements in the Delta deserve praise."


    "I am deeply honored, my King. It is only my duty to defend Araya against threats that seek to dismantle it."


    King Azrael smiled wistfully, "I hope there will be more blessed children like you, stupendously talented and filled with a great sense of duty and honour."


    As he uttered that, the halo of the Scales of Retribution suddenly gave off an intense light. The crowd gasped. Everyone braced. The Scales were known to mete out chastisement in the form of pain. Yet as they glanced around at each other to find out who the target was, the grounds in front of Altare Angelorum remained still and quiet.


    Princess Sarfiel broke the silence, "The Scales reacts to a similar angelic power. It shines when a penalty is thrown but it also gives off light in the presence of its two other counterparts ¡ª the Cage of the Tribunal and the Shield of Virtue. But the Cage is at the castle, we saw."


    Her words simply added more layers to the mystery of this unbidden behaviour of the Scales. The Cage of the Tribunal should be sitting somewhere safe in the Royal Keep. The Shield of Virtue was long lost, stolen.


    The King ordered to a knight, "See to it that the Cage is safe." To his subjects, he smiled to pacify them, "It is no worry. Holy powers are a mysterious thing, the Angels even more. One could be standing among us right now, observing our ways, living the same mundane life."


    * * * * *


    To prepare for his presentation on Intermediate Artifact Studies, Marco entered the Bibliotheca after the first class to comb through books and moth-bitten parchments for interesting artifacts, preferably one any student had never chosen before. Oliver walked alongside him, palpably less interested in the books and more on the bespectacled ladies spending their leisure there.


    "I should be visiting the Bibliotheca more often. My, look at these tomes," he remarked, eyes on a table of juniors.


    Marco slowly paced the isle, scanning the titles. Each literature was placed on a podium so that the cover and title could be seen. "Stop ogling," he told his friend, "And help me find a good book on artifacts."


    He read the titles.


    Spells of Providence. A book on enchantments that derived directly from god.


    Curses of Katay. A delve into the illnesses and plagues that one demon, already exterminated, had inflicted on the corner of one kingdom in the Handilen continent.


    Hymns and Songs. This book should contain the SONG OF CREATION that Apple and Ingryd used.


    "Nothing on artifacts here," Oliver said.


    "Let''s climb up."


    The Bibliotheca had several floors connected by a spiralling staircase that wound around a massive unmoving golden pendulum. It glinted with the light filtering in through the huge arching windows of the spire. Each floor boasted close to two hundred books collected from inside and outside of Araya, its walls lined with scrolls of languages present and lost. Scholars and lords would visit Demach just to read titles that could only be found in the Great Library.


    He perused through the books on the podium on display, dejected that they too were unrelated to his needs.


    "Found one!" Oliver blurted out, waving a massive volume of a book. He laid it on a table as Marco walked over, dust spewing from within its pages.


    "Artifacts of Wisdom and Knowledge," Marco read.


    "Maybe I can select one from here too." Oliver watched as Marco flipped the first pages open. As they studied each artifact listed, Oliver started commenting while pulling on his already dishevelled hair, "Eh, they sound unbelievably unreliable and worthless. Why would I drink from a chalice that will give me nightmares about my trauma? And this one, gives you an answer that might be true half of the time. How can you even trust it?"


    "Maybe, you ask it twice, or thrice?" Marco answered, wondering if it was possible.


    "Aye, that can work."


    "But you can only ask again after a year," Marco added after reading the proceeding passage, "The Mirror of Truth enters hibernation for sixty and three hundred days, at which time it is but a plain mirror."


    "Well, how useful is that," Oliver sighed in frustration. On the next page he exclaimed, "A dagger that grants audience with an angel if stabbed through one''s heart!"


    "Shush, Oli, we''re in the Bibliotheca," Marco said to him, with rounded eyes. All his friends were raucous, he wondered why they even became close in the first place.


    "But it''s crazy... that''s almost like a punishment for your desperation," his friend said in disbelief.


    "It''s a test of faith," Marco read, "By stabbing oneself with the Dagger of Faith, unimaginable pain will follow. One''s faith shall not wither until the last waning seconds to death. An angel will appear before you. That means the test is passed, the angel has come to speak to you, and you shall live on. But if one''s faith even dwindles at the slightest, only certain death awaited."


    "Ahh," Oliver''s mouth was agape, "That''s cruel."


    "Only one successful attempt ¡ª in the person of Father Darmien ¡ª has been recorded. In the light of the failures that followed, the clergy has prohibited its use."


    "The clergy? They own it?"


    Marco nodded. "It''s probably a priest of the Michael''s order who used it successfully first; and it''s probably also their priests who died to it."


    The artifacts of wisdom and knowledge seemed absurd with limited use and very particular and targeted purposes. Marco believed it to be by intention since knowledge granted a powerful advantage, easily abused. Even Lumen Veritatis required a hefty price. The holy power alone required to activate it was burdensome. And it could only succeed after three specific conditions that prevented it from being used as a tool of harm.


    He flipped the tome to the next one.


    Oliver read, hunching close, "Quill of Melancholy and Longing. A quill that never runs empty, but can only write the names of people familiar to oneself. When they are distant and one feels the need to know of their well-being, one can use the Quill of Melancholy and Longing to write their name on parchment while recalling the face of one''s distant company. The glow of the ink runs the gamut of golden to pitch black to mean wellness or death. Hm, that doesn''t sound so terrible. At least it does not siphon the blood from your hands for the ink. I expected it to be as demanding as that dagger."


    Marco realized, "And it''s useful, very much so."


    "How?"


    "It would tell you how they are doing, if they are alive, sick or dead. I''ll use this for my material," he decided.


    "But that seems so..." Oliver shrugged and frowned, "...middling, especially for a high ranker of your calibre."


    "It makes no matter, Oli, it''s a mere presentation. I might be able to bring it to class instead of a mere sketch or illustration." And make use of it too. He had already something in mind.


    Oliver furrowed his brows, "How so?"


    Marco pointed to a line on the paper. "Currently in the possession of House Corlissen. The second rank, just above me, is a Corlissen."

 Chapter 30: James I

    "What do you think makes demonic monsters harder to subjugate than cursed beings but easier than demons?"


    James Hilbury posed the question to third year Aleph, scanning the room for anybody slacking. Some of them were trying to fight their drowsiness, but James spared them so long as they did not give in to it. He understood that lunch made one sleepy.


    A few raised their hands at once but he had already chosen the student beforehand.


    "Mr. Libbery, care to share your thoughts?"


    Wilcan Libbery jolted awake. The bastard thought that sitting at the far end made him less conspicuous. Wilcan hurriedly looked around, completely clueless. He looked at the board and gave up, "Yes, Professor?"


    "Miss Riverstine," James called Wilcan''s neighbouring student, "Can you please repeat the question for our precious Lord Libbery?"


    The trusty Riverstine mouthed exasperatedly, "What makes demonic monsters harder to subjugate than cursed beings but easier than demons?"


    Wilcan piped up, "Oh, it''s their amount of demonic power, Professor. More than cursed beings, for sure, but less than demons, considerably."


    "Lucky guess," James Hilbury huffed, to which the easy-going Wilcan smirked from ear to ear.


    Wilcan was not the top of the Aleph juniors. He slacked during classes and even slept through the ones that bored him but whenever he underwent an expulsion test, he always passed by a stroke of miracle. He carried himself with a patrician''s nonchalance, though James had never known him to be condescending. James knew he was talented but in the face of a looming threat, his indolence could cost him his life and even those who chose to entrust theirs in his dallying hands. He hoped Wilcan would straighten out someday.


    James went on, scribling the words demonic power on the board. "Indeed, their raw reserve of demonic power enables them to vent out deadly continuous attacks. The second you assume you can outlast them, you''ve already lost. But there is one other thing that makes them more dangerous. Any thoughts?"


    This time he called on the top of the third years. "Miss Theresa?"


    A commoner from Torinto, Theresa of Cotton Lake was a simple-looking lass of brown hair and fair complexion. Her freckled face was not too striking but she was not without beauty either. And after claiming the sixth spot in the Academy rankings at the end of last term, she carried herself with more grace and poise. Theresa answered, "Their intelligence. Both cursed beings and demonic monsters listen to demons and are easily commanded by them, but when cursed beings act on their own, they do so mindlessly, powered only by the curse that drives them. They tend to attack the person of the highest holy power first since that is what attracts or drives them away. On the other hand, if a demonic monster fights alone, they employ tactics. And they pick out the weakest in the group."


    James smiled proudly, "Absolutely correct. Did you hear that Wilcan?"


    The young lord perked up, startled. "Yes, Professor. They''re intelligent," he muttered curtly.


    James looked him in the eye, "So if you laze around while encountering a demonic monster, assuming you think better than it does, it will be your downfall. Do you understand?"


    The student nodded vigorously.


    James then announced, "An entity has attacked a soldier encampment in East Bismuth. According to the letter we received, it had the resemblance to a lizard missing its hindlegs. It had dark purple scales on its back that glowed every time it emitted a breath of miasma. It had incredible speed and physical strength. A bite can tear a soldier and armour into half. An exorcist and four soldiers died, so did the demonic monster. So, as a groupwork in Battle Tactics, you need to submit a plan how to subdue it. If you''ve read the letter and know exactly how they defeated it, it would be a shame, but that''s not within my control. Instead, come up with a better strategy where no one dies. Submission is in two days."


    Instructors also had badges as a tracking artifact but it flashed no number in it. He noticed it was glowing blue ¡ª a summon to the director''s chamber.


    The last time he got summoned alone was because of the incident at the Henge Field Test. That left him teetering in a precarious spot with Director Garren threatening to revoke his permanent instructorship at the Academy. It would have ruined James Hilbury''s life.


    Hilbury was a small but proud house that sat at the foot of the Darkseed Mountains at the northern reaches of the Arayan continent. They were besieged by a sporadic number of cursed beings and demonic monsters that made the long journey from Atamar and crossed the Mountains. There was a lesser line of defence around the valleys of Hilbury than in the plains separating East and West Bismuth. Nobody knew when an unstoppable wave of enemies would pour down the tall hills. James was supposed to garrison their small palace, and serve as its captain, having been born with the greater talent among six siblings.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Somehow, after fighting in the frontlines of his home earldom of Elkengarde along with promising apprentices, James had found it more gratifying to teach rather than tire his bones out in the dark hills that had no love for him. He applied for a position in Demach, to the dismay of House Hilbury. His father went so far as to convince Director Garren to turn him down.


    I cannot return a failure. He despaired, fearing that his contract would be terminated. He owed the boy Lucas of Vermil his career. If not for him, on top of having killed a Demach aspirant backed by the King, James would have lost everything ¡ª his profession, his pride, his favour with the Arayan kingdom.


    He found Director Garren sipping tea, the chamomile scent making him crave one himself. But Director Garren made no offers. He simply sat at his table, beckoning him to a seat.


    "You have called for me, Director?" James spoke.


    The Director was quite charming even when upset, James had learned before. His short stature and gentle features made people mistake him for a diplomat. He was, most of the time. Nevertheless, it was not diplomacy that earned him the directorship of Demach.


    Director Garren uttered sternly, "I''ll cut to the chase, Professor Hilbury, knowing you have classes to attend to. It has come to my awareness that the student you recommended to the Ordination Class is without holy power."


    This was a surprise. "But Director, you agreed to put him in Zayin Class¡ª"


    "You said he had special talent, James. Have you deceived me?"


    That accusation sent James to his feet. "I would not even think of doing such a thing."


    "Some of the freshmen have raised a clamour because of this. I will not be the director to let folly run under my nose," Director Garren declared, sipping from his tea.


    "I told you, Director, he was the one who subdued the cursed tumbleweed."


    He peered at James above his spectacles. "If an artifact was used, if an angel intervened, have you looked into such possibilities?"


    James shook his head, "No, professor. But I witnessed it with my own eyes. I think anyone who would jump in front of a cursed being to protect another deserved a chance in the Academy."


    "Indeed, but not in Ordination Class if he possessed no holy power. Strictly only students who were blessed by the power of angels can be admitted in the Divine Ordination Class, James. You are well aware."


    "Can you spare him a chance, at least? Just until the end of month? He is yet to show his talent, I believe."


    The director took a long quiet draft from his cup. Breathing, he set it down on top of his desk. "I''ll see him for myself, then."


    "He should be in my office. I''ll bring him, at once." He felt relieved, for now.


    "No," Director Garren pushed himself up from his chair. "I''ll accompany you. I do not mean to be stuck in this room all day."


    On his feet, Director Garren reached only up to James Hilbury''s shoulders. He walked with a slow, relaxed gait so James slowed down to match his pace. The way to his chamber was a short stroll. He knocked twice before he swung it open to find Lucas absorbed in some reading, scrolls and tomes lying around him on the floor.


    It was the same book that James left him with two hours ago. The boy was a sluggish reader. He had not done any copying at all, which James had tasked him despite his poor penmanship. But it made no matter, since he recommended him to the Academy for something else entirely.


    "Professor, your class is over?" He said, looking up. He hurriedly put on his beret to cover the brilliant gold of his hair.


    The director spoke, "I have come to meet you, Mr.¡ª"


    "I''m Lucas of Vermil, Professor," he stood up and bowed.


    James corrected him, "He is Director Garren, Lucas."


    "Oh, forgive me, Director," he bowed again, putting one hand over his chest. His right hand was still heavily bandaged.


    Director Garren eyed him with interest. He shifted his spectacles and asked, "Why are you pretending your hand is injured, Lucas of Vermil?"


    The boy swung his hands behind his back, staring at the two of them blankly with his calm blue eyes as though his silence could protect him.


    "Has it completely healed, Lucas?" James asked.


    He bobbed his head meekly.


    "Can you show us?" He remembered how large the hole the tumbleweed''s vine had pierced through. Both flesh and bone should have been broken.


    He gingerly unwrapped his bandage to reveal a hand so pristine that not a scar was left. As if a terrible wound had never been there in the first place. James walked over and turned his palm upside down, to be certain.


    "Is it a powerful healing spell?"


    He nodded again wordlessly.


    "But why would you hide it? I''ve been worried you had been suffering all this time."


    He turned his eyes away. "I am sorry, Professor, I wish I can tell you."


    "Well, why are you here perusing books when you are supposed to have classes?" The director said.


    It was James who replied, "He cannot take some of their courses because of his lack of holy power. I task him to do some copying work or basic exercises on Mathematics and History. He is... in need of them."


    Director Garren scrunched his eyes. "That defeats the purpose of his admission to Zayin. Was it not your intention for him to awaken his talent? Reading and writing will not pull it out of him, James. He needs exposure, more than anyone."


    James was afraid of Lucas getting hurt again. "I understand, Director."


    "If you understand, please bring him back to class this moment, James."


    At least his student avoided expulsion from the Ordination Class.


    "I will." James looked at his student with a smile. Lucas stood frozen, perplexed.


    The Director spoke to the boy directly, in an unusually sharp tone, "I do not tolerate mediocrity. In the Divine Ordination Class, I make no room for weakness. On the battlefield, the weak die first or the strong die for them. It''s wasted life. You only have until the end of the month to prove you belong here, Lucas of Vermil."


    "Thank you, Director," the boy bowed, his calmness unfazed by the director''s bluntness.


    "Are you really a commoner?" The director asked out of the blue.


    "I am," he answered after a moment of hesitation. His bold and stately features betrayed him. Even the impressive healing spell was beyond the means of a mere commoner.


    Director Garren pried, "But you resemble a noble I know."


    James was afraid he had already figured. He whispered to his superior, "I believe it''s not so simple a situation."


    "Is it? Your roots matter not, anyway. Here in the Ordination Class, only strength counts." His expression turned mellow again. "Your classes await you. You''ve missed a week," He said and, turning away, added, "Do you really need the bandage around your chest too, son?"


    James''s eyes widened in shock. When did he get hurt again? "Are you injured on the chest as well?"


    He nodded in his timid way and picked up the books around him.


    "Care to tell me how?"


    "It''s only a little skirmish, Professor," he answered.

 Chapter 31: Diana II

    Diana believed herself to be the luckiest. Afterall, she possessed the Peerless Luck. But lately, she had not been feeling so fortuitous.


    Catherine Ashwood! She loathed her. If not for that woman, she could have successfully reaped her revenge. She used the lightning bolts as a signal for Marco Vermilon to find us. She wasted so much holy energy just for that. But what is the Ghost even to her? I know she is well aware of the rumours about him.


    Diana was supposed to read on some Basic Enchantments but her mind kept wandering elsewhere.


    The failure of her recent endeavour had left a dent on her disposition. Irritation overwhelmed her at the slightest inconvenience. Even the sound of Carlos''s munching as he feasted on peanuts annoyed her.


    "Can you eat quietly?" She grimaced at him.


    "I''m sorry." He tried to chew slowly but it was still audible. It made harder for Diana to focus and read.


    "Forget it, just finish it," she said, looking around at the Concord which teemed with other scholars from freshmen Aleph, Daleth and Heth along with higher year students, all nose-deep in a piece of parchment or a book. The Concord connected the Boys and Girls wings, and served as the only space in the dormitories where they could share a space.


    Diana''s eyes found Apple who met her gaze for a second before she resumed her conversation with her friends. The Ghost of Vermil was nowhere to be seen.


    Eleanor, a daughter to a House that branched out from the Ruperts, looked up from the book she was reading and spoke, "Did you notice something about the Ghost earlier?"


    "What do you mean?" Diana was not in the best of moods to talk about him, but she tolerated it.


    "He did not approach Apple at all. Are they having some kind of quarrel?"


    "Indeed, I saw it too," Carlos affirmed.


    In the morning class which the Ghost shared with them, Diana had noticed that the two were purposefully avoiding each other. Apple used to come up to him to greet him but today, she seemed cold to him. She probably asked him what I told her. But he wouldn''t simply admit to his crime.


    After the encounter in the forest, Diana expected Apple to confront her but the black-haired righteous commoner never said a word. Diana had been ignoring her out of spite, but a part of her was curious if Apple of Heinstead had learned anything. She would have approached her already to ask were it not for her pride as a Rupert.


    As though her luck could not get any worse, in the middle of Energy Perception class before the day had ended, Professor Hilbury had brought the Ghost to the room, declaring, "From today henceforth, Zayin would be permanently attending all classes with Aleph."


    It annoyed Diana that he was so close, yet she could not touch him. Demach prohibited unofficial fights driven by grievances in the Academy grounds. Expulsion was the only penalty. She kept her composure, not wanting to bring shame to House Rupert.


    Professor Mallory had said, "We are doing a Test in two days'' time, to gauge their energy perception. I cannot¡ª"


    "All the better," the other professor had said. He approached the Perception instructor and whispered something in her ear that made her frown.


    Then with a smile she had told the Ghost of Vermil, "We''ll just have to make do, then. You need to join a group first. They are only supposed to have three in each but let''s see. We determine the teams randomly, so how about picking a lucky number from one to ten, Lucas."


    The pale-face lad had looked perplexed but had answered anyway, "Eight?"


    Professor Mallory had turned to Diana enthusiastically, pointing with her hand, "Rejoice, Miss Rupert, you have earned yourself a fourth member."


    Diana glowered at him then, seething with anger, but her adversary, on the other hand, had appeared unperturbed by the sudden arrangement. If he was afraid of her at all, he had not shown it.


    The next morning, the Ghost of Vermil sat at the centre of her thoughts. Like an itch that needed scratching. She had been pondering ways to make his life miserable. Being in the same room often gave her more opportunities. Her eyes kept flicking to the corner of the auditorium that he occupied alone. Would I look like the villain if I kick him around? Because of Apple, her classmates had labelled her a ruffian for hurting someone weaker than her.


    Diana scoffed at the injustice of it all. He''s pretending to be timid and weak. He could surely stand a few beatings a day.


    Enchantments drifted by. Then the next class. And the next. At lunch, her eyes sought him again, as if to ensure that he was still physically there. This is obsession, she thought. The only cure is to get rid of him.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    She spotted him eating all by himself at a table made for eight. "Come," she beckoned Carlos and Eleanor.


    "Diana, you can''t make a scene here," Eleanor whispered, carefully clutching her meal plate.


    "Am I making a scene?" She asked with ire. She had been so on edge. It was unfair to her friends, she realized. "I''m sorry. But we''re just going to eat, and look, there''s vacancy."


    The three of them slumped on the seats facing the Ghost whose lips drew up in a mirthless arc. Hm, he knows he''s in a safe place.


    "Where are your friends?" Diana asked him as she started picking at small cheese-glazed potatoes.


    His eyes darted to Apple who was looking on anxiously. Diana peered at her. Are you going to protect your lover?


    "You''re so shameless, aren''t you? Intruding in our class?" Diana continued, "I won''t let you drag my group down, do you understand me?"


    "There''s some room here," she heard a familiar voice say. She looked up at the grim face of Marco Vermilon who pulled the seat next to his brother and slumped on it. "It''s great to meet new faces, come, you three. There''s seats for us."


    "Oh, freshies," said a sophomore with a crow''s nest for a hair. "How are you all doing?" Winking at her, he took the seat at the end of the table on Eleanor''s side.


    Diana glared at Catherine Ashwood who smirked at her. She flanked David''s murderer on the other side. Another lad settled on the other end of the table.


    "Diana, we should go," Carlos muttered, sliding his plate close, ready to leave.


    In their presence, especially the Heir of Vermilon, Diana and her friends shrunk small. But she was not intimidated so easily. Before she could stop Carlos, the one before her spoke.


    "No, stay," said the Genius of Demach, smiling. To his friends he shared, "These are talents from Gallagher, my earldom."


    "Oh, your subjects. Introduce us." The lecher craned closer to Eleanor.


    "Stop making them uncomfortable, Oli," said the sophomore opposite him, to which he obliged by scooting away. "I''m Kelvin, by the way. I apologize in advance that our friend can be a little dense."


    "Ah, they should introduce themselves," Marco said, already chewing on a drumstick.


    The two sophomores who hailed not from Gallagher waited expectantly. Catherine Ashwood uttered, sipping from her glass, "Perhaps, lady ginger head can begin."


    "I am Diana Rupert," she replied, staring directly at the Ghost of Vermil who could not even meet her eyes, "The second daughter to Viscount Rupert. I had a twin brother actually. David. He could have attended Demach along with me but unfortunately, he was murdered. His killer is still at large."


    The eyesore of a man coughed, "Wow, what interesting detail to share..."


    Catherine Ashwood''s scornful smirk faltered and faded from her facade, replaced by a brooding stillness that suited her better. Meanwhile, Marco swallowed a lump in his throat and downed a glass of water.


    "How about you?" Kelvin asked Diana''s male companion, oblivious.


    "I''m Carlos of House Sparsby. I don''t have a twin brother," Carlos answered.


    "Shame," Kelvin said. "And you, my lady?"


    "Eleanor of House Bolstring."


    "And you?" Kelvin turned to the Ghost of Vermil who mumbled, "Lucas. Just Lucas."


    "Wonderful," he said, nodding at the four of them as he repeated their names, "Carlos. Eleanor. Diana. Lucas. How is the Ordination Class so far? We heard you''re about to do the first test on Energy Perception. Want some tips..."


    Diana suffered from indigestion after that. She could not even finish her already scanty meal.


    On the same afternoon on Energy Perception class, Professor Mallory allowed them one last strategy meeting on how to go about the Test. She explained, "I''ll repeat for the sake of those who are not aware," she glanced at the Ghost''s direction in particular, "The Test on Energy Perception will gauge how much you perceive holy and demonic energies. Born with an innate talent to sense or not, your holy power alone can react to holy energy and demonic energy, so we are going to measure that. But the Test is not so simple.


    "You are to take a simple series of rooms with five doors. One door is imbued with an artifact of holy power, one door with a demonic artifact and three without. The amount of energy perceptible will drop at its stage, thus increasing the difficulty.


    "The three plain doors give no merits. The first holy door will give you 10 merit points, the next 20 and so forth. They lead to a reward room. Don''t expect gold or riches, they''re just food. The first demonic door will earn you 30 merits, the second 60, and so on. Thrice the merits that you can earn from the holy door. But the catch is, it leads you to a penalty room. Your whole team must endure the penalty or else you lose all your merits earned in the Test. Then your chance ends. Just to be clear, you need to shout ''I surrender'' in the case you feel you can''t endure anymore. You see now, how you will need to strategize to balance risks and merits."


    She looked around, her eyes resting on the Ghost again for a second more. "Any questions? Then, know about your members'' strengths and weaknesses. Plan which stages you''re braving the penalties. For the sake of inspiration, allow me to share with you that last year''s top team on the Energy Perception Test scored 450 merits."


    The auditorium gasped in awe. Professor Mallory bobbed her head proudly, "The highest possible score."


    The professor had ascertained that each of the ten teams would have a top ten in it. The rest of the members were decided by random assignment. Diana''s two members walked over to her. They all watched as the infamous Zayin student stepped down and approached them in his timid gait. They started their discussion before he even reached them.


    "Last time Professor Mallory had us guess the artifacts, I scored eight out of ten. I think that''s pretty good," said Rickland. Among the three of them, he had the most sensitive perception.


    Diana countered, "Apple got all ten right." Diana would have loved her to be on her team, even if they would not get along.


    "But they might not choose to suffer the penalty," Jennifer said.


    "I think they will, as shall we," Diana declared with finality.


    "But don''t you reckon it''s a risk if he''s with us?" Jennifer regarded the tall pale figure of their fourth member who harboured no holy power within him.


    He stood over them like a whitewashed statue. "My lord, my ladies," he greeted, "I promise not to be a burden."


    They all ignored him for the rest of their conversation. Still, he remained in his spot, unmoving and mum.


    Jennifer asked, "What do you presume the penalties could be? Will they be dangerous?"


    Rickland spoke, "I asked around and they said it would be our greatest fears. It will be easy to deal with mine."


    "I heard it was a random sort of punishment. There was a swarm of mosquitoes in one last year," Jennifer shared.


    Diana said, "We''ll fight it head on, no matter what it is."

 Chapter 32: Diana III

    The following morning, Diana found a small linen wrap placed on her seat. Gingerly, she unfolded it. My Die of Fate!


    Except it was not shaped like a die. It was still in the form of the sharp toothed dagger that she buried below the Ghost''s chest before Catherine Ashwood took him. And now its once ruby red blade had faded into gray, shattered in two, edges lined with fissures. Chipped, useless. All the holy power stored within it had been drained.


    Do they mock me? Returning my artifact like this? She wondered if it was Marco or the brother.


    After she had lost it a week ago, she had already written to House Rupert to search for a replacement. She had been looking around in Gallenport too but could not find one suitable to her Peerless Luck.


    The Test on Energy Perception took place in the largest Henge Circle. In the middle of it was the largest artifact that Diana had ever seen.


    "This is the House of Rules." Professor Mallory opened its wide-arching front door that seemed to have been hewn from oak. The artifact was in the shape of a huge white mansion studded with a hundred windows. Two storeys tall, it towered over the marble stones. When Diana peered through the glass, utter darkness stared back at her.


    "The House and everything inside it obey the rules made by none other than me," the professor explained, "Today, the rules were set to facilitate the Test, so worry not."


    The top ten''s teams went in one after another in turns, starting from the Tenth. Three students passed through the front door. One window lit up in the first storey.


    "Does that mean they are in that room right now?" An Aleph asked to which the professor nodded.


    "The rooms are random, don''t think too much into it," she advised.


    The House of Rules was silent as stone. They had no idea whatever transpired inside its walls.


    Then another window lit up. The Tenth Team had moved to another room. If the first was a penalty room, they had advanced. It gave Diana a sense of assurance that as the Eighth in Freshmen Aleph, she was capable of it too. Better even.


    The Tenth Team finished at 140 merit points, as displayed on the sign at the front door. Professor Mallory went over the result, "They opened the demonic rooms for the first two choices, but missed them for the third and fourth due to the low perceptibility of the artifacts there. I think it was by a stroke of luck they found the reward room in the fifth one."


    The scholars who stepped out of the House of Rules carried a cheap box of peaches and weary faces. It made Diana all the more curious what penalty they went through, and whether her team would be facing the same. Professor Mallory told them not to divulge the types of rooms they encountered.


    "Who decided on the rewards?" Yuri asked, derisively, grabbing a peach his team had earned.


    "I did," the professor snapped, "do you have a problem?"


    Yuri wrung his head, biting into the fruit. "No. These are wonderful, Professor."


    The Ninth Team entered and thirty minutes later exited with 180 merits. They went for the penalty rooms in the first three but missed them in the next two, ending up with plain doors. It seemed that the challenge was not enduring the penalties but pinpointing the door that led to it in the first place.


    Then it was Diana''s Team''s turn. Their plan was simple: reap 450 merits.


    Four of them went through the wooden front door, finding themselves in a small study room complete with desks and chairs and a wall lined with shelves of title-less books. At the far end awaited five doors seemingly cut from the same timber, covered in the same tint of varnish.


    Diana called to Rickland, "I''m counting on you, Rick."


    They followed him to the door in the middle. Diana breathed a deep sigh, readying herself.


    "It''s cold," Jennifer commented as they stepped in.


    The door they entered vanished, leaving but a wall where it had been. The penalty room they entered was covered in icicles. Pieces of frozen heads of pigs and cattle were stacked in one corner, their eyes wide open, while a suspicious-looking figure lay in one corner.


    "Holy Angel, is that a person?" Rickland flinched, his breath coming in puffs of cloud.


    Although covered in ice, its limbs and fingers were clearly discernible, its mouth agape suggesting it died first before it froze.


    Is that what''s going to happen to us?


    The Ghost of Vermil stepped over to it silently, his shoes creaking on the ice. He knelt on one knee and touched the frozen corpse with his unbandaged hand, muttering, "It''s an illusion."


    Diana scoffed, "Of course, we know it''s an illusion. You don''t need holy power to figure it out. Why would Professor Mallory place an actual corpse here? Think." Yet this illusion threatened to freeze them to death. The cold they felt was real.


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    He stood up calmly, seemingly unaffected by her mockery. Meanwhile, Jennifer and Rickland were shivering under the thin coat of Demach''s uniform. Diana also felt the chill penetrating her clothes. I would have dressed more warmly if I knew we''d encounter a room like this.


    She chanted, "STAR OF HOPE!" The Star that fended off the cold in the most hopeless winters. She gathered a small amount of holy energy from her overflowing reserve and formed an orb that radiated with heat. "Jen, please create a barrier to keep the warmth inside," she ordered her team member.


    Jennifer did as she was told, chanting the DIVINE PROVIDENCE. When the Ghost motioned to come inside, Diana shot her a glare. Without the need for words, he understood that he was not welcome in there. He sat in a corner, shivering.


    They had no way of knowing how many minutes passed. Diana had to create another Star because the first one died out.


    Then with a dreadful beat of drums, a set of five identical doors carved themselves out of the ice-covered wall.


    "Rickland," she spoke.


    He carefully checked each door, standing before them before making a decision. He took longer than the first one. The energy embedded in the doors had dropped.


    "It''s faint but I''m sure it''s the fourth one," he proclaimed. Flinching at the cold touch of the handle, he swung his chosen door open.


    The second penalty room was a spacious bathroom with a toilet and a large tub.


    "Oh, I feel a piss calling," remarked Rickland.


    "Hey, have some decency," Jennifer poked his ribs.


    "I kid," he laughed, then frowned, "but seriously¡ª"


    PSST! Murky water suddenly spewed out from the pipes and the drainage and the toilet, splashing the floor and splattering on their clothes.


    "Professor Mallory is so cruel," Jennifer wept as the water of untold filth pooled around them. She grimaced as brown sludge and solids swam right up to them, carrying the unbearable stench of human excrement.


    "It''s an illusion," the Ghost of Vermil spoke.


    "We know," Diana shut him up. She knew but it disgusted her all the same. "Jennifer, a barrier. I''ll assist."


    They constructed a barrier of holy energy to keep the sickening sludge at bay. Diana regarded the deplorable figure of the Ghost, not intending to invite him in even as the gunk clung to him and painted his coat in shades of brown. He should manage on his own if he thinks this is just an illusion.


    The murky brown water soon reached their waist, then the top of their heads. Their fourth member was swimming in the pool of human wastes and grime. But the level still kept rising. Jennifer strained to keep her part of the barrier up against the water pressing from all sides.


    "Can you hold, Jen?"


    She nodded, turning her head away whenever a brown matter drifted near.


    More minutes passed, before suddenly, Jennifer wailed, "I''m sorry Diana!"


    Diana only heard the sound of the barrier cracking before a gush of water and filth poured over their heads. All three of them screamed. She feared she might have swallowed some solid matter. She dismantled her barrier and took in a lungful of rancid air. As the force of water thrashed her body around, she tried her hardest to swim up.


    Damn you Jennifer, damn you to hell. If she knew the gal could not hold a barrier for that long, she would have done it all herself.


    Catching her breath, she broke the surface and kicked to stay afloat amidst the sludge and wastes around her. She met Lucas''s gaze as they tread the water, his golden hair laden with dirt. There was no emotion there. Not of anger or loneliness or vindication.


    Rickland emerged from the murkiness followed by Jennifer, shouting, "I hate this!" Faecal matter went to her mouth as she did so. She nearly drowned choking on it.


    When they thought the water would drown them, it began to subside to their utmost relief. Gently, their feet touched the floor again. The water disappeared but not the filth and stench it had left on them.


    "Oh Lord, it was only worth 60 merits," Rickland stared at the five doors that materialized with the sound of drumbeats. He was panting, shoulders slouched, his knees shaking from all the swimming. The sudden onrush of water from earlier when their barrier broke had blasted him away. An impact with the floor had inflicted a bleeding wound on his temple.


    "Rick, we aim for 450 merits. Remember? This is nothing. We are still alive and breathing, that''s all that matters."


    He shook his head, "Whatever." He proceeded to play his role again even though she could tell her words did not work. Even Jennifer was palpably left horrified from that revolting ordeal. Only the Ghost of Vermil appeared composed. Her team was falling apart.


    "The demonic door, Rick," she reminded him.


    "This right here," he pointed to the first door.


    "It''s dark," the Ghost muttered as soon as the door shut close and vanished.


    The third penalty room was pitch black. No, it was more than that. Diana tried to look for her hands but could not find them. Her sense of touch had betrayed her, even the perception of where her limbs were had abandoned her.


    "Fuck, I don''t like it," Rickland cried. She could hear him but she could not tell where he was.


    "Endure!" She yelled. "This is an illusion." And a powerful one.


    "I like this better than the toilet," Jennifer''s voice sounded.


    "As do I," Diana said, laughing.


    Eeerh... She heard a groan, as though someone was suffocating to death.


    "Can you create an orb of light... please, my lady?" The pained voice of the Ghost of Vermil echoed. He was moaning, breaths heaving. Gone was the collected image of him. Not the cold nor filthiness could unhinge him. But in the dark, he sounded like a dying swine.


    "Endure it! Why would I make an orb of light for you?" She yelled at the dark.


    "Please... please... I can''t see anything... some light... please..., " he sobbed whilst gasping for breath.


    "What is his problem?" Jen asked.


    "Is this his fear?" Rickland said from nowhere.


    His gasps became more laboured and rapid, chasing for air that would not come. "Please!" He blurted between breaths.


    "Diana, we should help him, or else we''ll all go down with him if he surrenders," Rickland urged.


    Damn it! She gathered holy energy into another ball, making it glow with light that revealed her body to her, and her body alone. Nothing else.


    "Did it fail?" Jen''s voice asked with worry.


    "No," Diana blurted out.


    "We can''t see anything, Diana," Rickland uttered with urgency from within the dark.


    The darkness in the third penalty room was impenetrable, too thick for the orb of light to pierce through.


    Meanwhile, the Ghost of Vermil kept on panting, about to run out of breath. "I can''t... I''m sorry..." She heard the thud of him falling to the floor, but she still could not tell where he was.


    Diana rushed to produce another larger ball of light, shouting, "Endure it or I''m going to kill you right here!" The triumph she imagined was quickly slipping out of her hands. The ball of light above her gave off an intense glow, yet it illuminated nothing. This darkness was not meant to be banished, she realized. It swallowed every light that dared touch it.


    From within that unyielding darkness, she listened to his gasps of suffering, and then his voice that cried, "Forgive... me... my lady... I surrender..."

 Chapter 33: Apple IX

    The House of Rules rung with the toll of death bells ¡ª the very first sound it made.


    The spectating Alephs stirred with commotion. "Professor, did someone die?"


    "Worse," Professor Mallory pursed her lips, "They failed."


    Apple watched as the front door slammed open and three students walked out grumbling. The sign on the door displayed their results. NIL. They eyed the open door with fury. Diana Rupert pounded her fist onto a column in uncontained frustration. "Damn you!" She cursed back at the room behind her. Their fourth member had not stepped out yet.


    Did something happen to him?


    Noticing it, Professor Mallory ran into the House of Rules. Apple was frozen despite her curiosity. She had been avoiding him. For every time she neared him, she felt an indescribable type of dread well within her. It unsettled her and she could not bear it.


    "He needs a friend there, Apple," Yuri encouraged her, patting her shoulder. Seeing Apple hesitate, he said, "I want to see for myself too."


    When Yuri took the first step, a few other Alephs followed. Apple chased after him, suddenly finding the strength in her legs.


    Through the wide arching doors, they glimpsed a mundane setting ¡ª a brown carpet matching elaborate wooden furnishings, shelves of books on one face of the wall and some unremarkable tapestry on the other. But sprawled before them was Lucas of Vermil, his ocean-blue eyes unblinking and vacant. As he heaved his breaths, Apple felt as though he was looking right at her.


    Professor Mallory''s efforts to shake him back to reality were all in vain as he lay there limp as a ragdoll, arms splayed over the carpet.


    "Is he injured somewhere?" One student asked.


    "I don''t think so," the professor said, scanning his unresponsive figure from head to toe.


    "Perhaps the penalties are too harsh for someone with literally no holy power such as him," said Calla, Apple''s team leader.


    "He looks so pale."


    "He''s always been pale."


    Professor Mallory turned to her students. "He needs to be brought to the infirmary to be properly examined."


    "I''ll carry him," Yuri volunteered. "My test is done anyway." He glanced at Apple to give her a nod of assurance.


    Two other boys helped drag Lucas''s body onto Yuri''s back. As he took him away lumbering, their Perception instructor clasped her palms as if in prayer and whispered, "BEACONING SPIRIT." The threads of holy light that poured out of her hands started to entangle and form a recognizable shape. Glowing in threads of holy energy, the hummingbird she created hovered above her, frantically beating the air with its tiny wings.


    Not a real creation like Apple''s flowers, the avian spirit flitted around the professor in a trail of golden light.


    "It''s an enchantment that originated in Handilen," Calla whispered to Apple. "Pretty, isn''t it? I want to learn it too."


    "Find him and lead him to his brother," the professor ordered it. Chirping, the bird zipped into the air, nimbly darting past marble henges towards the auditoriums. She faced her students crowded on the front steps, eyeing the retreating figures of the Eighth Team with concern. "Well, I must say it''s not the first time a team failed, albeit it''s rare. As you have seen for yourself, no one''s going six feet under yet. Although he lost consciousness, that usually never happens in the House of Rules."


    "He has no blessing, that is probably why," one Aleph yelled.


    "Probably," she said, then grinning evilly, she added. "Or he''s just so shaken by the penalty room that he passed out..."


    Diana''s failure served as a rude awakening for the first-year scholars who thought the Test would be a breeze. All the teams that followed seemed hesitant of taking the third and fourth stage penalties, earning themselves lower but secured scores. Professor Mallory had stopped explaining how the other teams performed. But she kept a menacing expression, just for the sake of unnerving them.


    The Fourth Team emerged with a score of 300, taking the lead among the seven teams that had entered the House of Rules so far.


    "We aim for 450," Calla cheered with determination. "We''re counting on you, Apple!"


    The arching door creaked as they entered. The brown and beige study room welcomed them with silence and the scent of dust untouched for centuries. A set of five doors awaited them on the wall.


    In one sniff, Apple could tell which door was imbued with the demonic artifact. The putrid smell of it scratched at the inside of her nose. She pointed, "We go through here."


    Calla took the vanguard. "After me," she told them.


    The odour of silk wafted to Apple''s nose as soon she stepped foot in the penalty room, along with it the rot of death.


    "AHHH!" A shriek came from their third member, a small lass named Elizabeth. One spider the size of her own hand was crawling on her sleeve.


    Calla chanted immediately, "HAND OF THE FAITHFUL!" She pushed with an open palm. Tendrils of holy energy gushed and shaped themselves into a palm that shot towards Elizabeth and crushed the critter before it could bite her. "Activate your shields, we''re in a pit of spiders."


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    Although not more than the size of their fists, the spiders were uncountably numerous. They covered the walls and ceiling. Alerted by the scream, they dropped and crawled to the floor, turning it into a seething carpet of hairy legs and eyes in a matter of seconds.


    Elizabeth was trembling in fear.


    Calla tried to harden her member''s resolve, "Demons are much worse, Elizabeth."


    "Elizabeth," Apple consoled her, "Everything''s going to be well. Stay by my side." Then she sang the SONG OF CREATION! This time she pulled from memory the scent and image of chrysanthemums. Bright pink and red needles for petals blooming and bursting together like a grand firework show. Their fragrance as conspicuous as their shade, spicy and sweet, imposing yet calming. Pom pom pom. They bloomed into life around her feet. At the gesture of her hand, each needle broke off from the disc florets and encircled Apple and her two companions.


    "MIRACULOUS SONG," Apple used another enchantment, "Flower into Steel!" Each petal hardened like metal, although they retained their vibrant pink and red hue.


    Flicking her finger, Apple sent a barrage of needles around her, uncaring whether she was hitting spiders or not. When her attack ended, the floor was covered with the twitching remains of arachnids. Her eyes rounded in shock when a new wave of spiders crawled out from the shadows, scaling the walls, dropping from the ceiling and covering the floor, their numbers unmarred by her efforts. "They''re literally endless," she sighed in frustration.


    "Did you think I will let you take all the credit," Calla grinned. She bellowed against the oncoming horde, "HANDS OF THE FAITHFUL! LEGS OF THE FAITHFUL!"


    Calla of Sister Isles did not have that much a reserve of holy power but her learned talent made efficient use of every drop. She surged with holy energy, forming it into gigantic golden arms and legs that swept and stepped on the spider around them, squishing them into a soup of empty black casks and green blood that soaked their dead kins below, spraying the air with their tangy smell. Every time some escaped, Apple rained steel-hard needles on them before they could scamper back to the dark.


    The sound of drumbeats declared the end of the penalty, calling forth a new set of five doors that grew themselves out of the spider-infested walls. Apple immediately knew which one. Amid the mound of dead critters in the room, the aroma of holy power and the stench of demonic energy were still easily discernible, although she noticed their potency had dropped by at least half.


    The next penalty room was a soundless prison cell under some dungeon, dingy and smelling of stagnant water and piss and wastes. Apple touched and shook the cold metal bars but they would not budge.


    Elizabeth spoke, weeping, "I was useless, please forg..."


    The rest of what she uttered never reached Apple''s ears. Elizabeth''s lips went on moving but her voice came out muffled and unintelligible. The lass soon stopped speaking, having noticed the anomaly herself.


    Apple opened her mouth to speak, "I can''t..." Soon her own words turned into a hollow mumble, all meaning lost in the air.


    Calla released threads of holy energy and formed them into words above them. ROOM MUFFLES WORDS. Apple was impressed by her intricate control of holy energy.


    Apple mouthed voicelessly SONG OF CREATION! At least the enchantments worked. She recalled the flowers of the crape myrtle, reminiscing its dark pink petals ¡ª almost red ¡ª and its subtle scent. They bloomed on the ground before her, spelling the words: WHAT TO DO?


    DOORS COME IF WE WAIT.


    Without warning, a shrill deafening pitch pealed the air, so loud and sharp that if they did not cover their ears, it would have burst their eardrums.


    "What was that?" Elizabeth''s voice was suddenly audible.


    "How would I know, you useless cunt," Calla''s voice snapped.


    Both Apple and Elizabeth glanced at Calla, surprised rather than horrified. Is Calla usually this rude?


    "What are you staring at, you nincompoops?"


    Apple noticed that something else was wrong entirely although she could not point out what it was.


    Elizabeth hissed back, "You''re just an ugly commoner. You dare talk down to me!"


    Calla gasped, confused and offended.


    Apple opened her mouth to speak and uttered, "It''s the penalty." The two other girls should have heard different for they glared at her for no reason.


    "You are a cowardly bitch, Apple," sounded Calla''s voice.


    The movement of their lips did not match their words, she figured. Apple conjured myrtle flowers again, forming the words, YOU HEAR DIFFERENT FROM WHAT I SAY. IT''S THE PENALTY. She pinched her mouth and shook her head, signalling them to refrain from speaking lest they say words they did not mean.


    If they were a fragile group, they would have failed.


    Then another ringing disturbed the room, making them cover their ears.


    While the sound lingered inside her ear faintly, something whispered beside her. ''Apple, you are a fool.'' She turned but saw no one there.


    Calla touched her arm and flashed the words, WHAT IS IT?


    She shook her head, dismissing it as an invention of her own mind. Yet it whispered again, now more articulate, ''You deceive yourself.''


    On the floor, Apple formed the words with pink blossoms, I HEAR WHISPERS.


    WHAT SORT?


    THE STUPID SORT. Apple wrote out of spite. Stupid whispers they were.


    Once more she heard it mumble in her head, ''Cut the strings, Apple.'' Her skin crawled, skin bristling.


    She began to hate the room then. Yet she saw through the taunt, that was why she collected herself and took in a deep breath and yelled at the wall. "SHUT UP, YOU MORON!" She did not care how the two girls heard it.


    Her heart skipped when the drums pounded at last. THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD! Five identical doors protruded from the walls at each beat. Without a word, she strode to a door and slammed it open, loathe to staying in that prison any longer. Her friends dashed after her, calling her name.


    "Careful!" Elizabeth hissed, yanking Apple back by the end of her coat before she went one step closer to the edge of a bottomless hole. A narrow ledge ¡ª barely half a foot wide ¡ª ran along the four walls and overlooked a pit of unfathomable depth. Apple and Elizabeth had to sidle on gingerly across the wall so that Calla could enter, the flat of their feet shuffling on the sliver of ground they had left to step on. There was nothing to grab onto but a smooth stone wall. When the door disappeared, they were left clinging to it, backs pressed flat, heels balanced precariously on the ledge. It would take only one misstep for them to plummet to their untimely demise.


    Apple smelled it before they even heard it. A rotting breath heaved up from the gaping hole. After it came the wriggly groan of a starved creature. Whatever it was, it had noticed their presence. Rock eroded as it began to scale the walls of the chasm with the sound of struggle.


    "It''s coming!"


    Apple chanted her SONG OF CREATION, imagining the sight of cherry blossoms in early spring, their petals raining down as the wind stirred them aloft, the breath-taking scenery awash with their soft and creamy scent.


    "It''s so pretty. I wish I could do that too," Calla remarked in awe as the walls and the ceiling bloomed with cherry blossoms right before her eyes. As if nudged by some breeze, the petals cascaded onto the dark opening on the floor.


    "MIRACULOUS SONG: Flower into Light!" Apple sang. Each pink bud turned luminescent, dabbing the entire chamber in their whitish pink glow. She sent the radiant mass of blossoms deep into the pit, dispelling the dark and revealing a pair of monstrous milk-white eyes looking up at the pink shimmer of petals, its drivelling tongue lashing up hungrily at them. It squirmed its cumbersome tentacles as it closed in on them.

 Chapter 34: Apple X

    "The Gugly-eater!" Elizabeth blurted out.


    The Kingdom of Araya was a land of myths and heroes. It had no lack for monsters that starred in household caution tales. One such bedtime story warned of the Gugly-eater that resided in the deep crevices of the Jewelled Canyons.


    Those who sought riches had often ventured into the Canyons in search of precious stones. But straying from the Jewelled Road did not bode well for them at all for the Gugly-eater awaited for prey in the darkness, in the deepest of chasms that the sun could not reach. The stories said that travellers would sometimes chance upon diamonds and gemstones when wandering off into the labyrinth of tunnels and passages that cut the Jewelled Canyons. Like fish to a lure, they filled their pouches greedily. And at the end of the dark trail, the Gugly-eater would fill itself.


    Countless miners and simple travellers alike were lost in the Canyons, never to be seen again. They said it was a demon, some said it was bandits, others said it was the cruel Canyons itself that trapped the unknowing souls in its warren of tunnels, their cries drowned in the wind, their skeletons to be buried together with the stones they stole from it.


    The villain of the folk tale stared at them with its sightless eyes, pushing its pale grey body up with its blubbery tentacles. For its lumbering size, it was a miracle that it had not slid off the steep wall of rock yet. Apple soon found the reason why.


    Two arrays of thorns lined each of its limbs, lustrous as crystals. They bit into the rock as it climbed, ensuring its purchase and its slow but steady ascent. It groaned, mouth gaping to expose its rows upon rows of teeth. It stretched out its tongue and struck the flowers that illuminated it, scattering them.


    Apple craned to behold it better but the sudden vertigo sent her back flat on the wall.


    "It''s truly ugly like its name," grimaced Calla who then yelled, "ARM OF THE FAITHFUL!" Her released energy compacted into an enormous arm with a clutched fist that pointed directly down at the gaping mouth of the monster. Brandishing her hand down, the arm hurtled itself onto the rotund snout of their adversary. KABAAM!


    GUAANNNG! It moaned in pain as the floor shook and the edge of the strip of floor they stood on eroded by a little. The shot landed perfectly but the monster clung to the rocks like a barnacle.


    "Careful! We might fall instead," Apple warned. She sent a swarm of petals into the creature''s mouth to choke it. Instead, it thrashed its free limbs, threatening to bring down the ledge with it.


    "Let me," Elizabeth spoke, expression twisted in trepidation. "But I''ll borrow your flowers, Apple." She roared, with a tremor in her voice, with all her soul behind it, "HEAVEN''S RAGE!"


    The tendrils of power that came out of Elizabeth reached for Apple''s blossoms. In a spell, they went up in a blue blaze. The flames crept down to the mouth of the Gugly-eater where Apple had lodged a huge mass of flowers in. Whatever the blue flame touched was consumed. When it reached the moist blubber, the creature shrieked in pain, flames crawling all over it. Thrashing, it soon lost its grip, or it probably gave up on its prey altogether.


    GRANGG! It moaned as it fell back into the blackness of the hole it crawled from. They watched as the blue blaze grew tinier until the dark had swallowed it whole.


    "Nice work, Elizabeth," Calla complemented her.


    At the beat of drums, five doors materialized at the opposite end of the pit. They carefully followed the ledge to reach them. At each stage, the amount of energy dropped by nearly a half. Now that these were the fourth set of doors, it was much fainter by a long shot. Luckily for Apple''s team, she had the most sensitive nose for sniffing holy and demonic energy.


    Nodding at Calla and Elizabeth, she swung open the second door.


    The room they entered was uncannily familiar to her. She smelt the sharpness of varnish, the sweetness of paint and the earthy scent of yarn and pinewood. She blinked, thinking her eyes were mistaken.


    Rows of life-sized puppets hung from the ceiling, their heads tilted askew, limbs hanging lifelessly at their sides. Their eyes gazed at no particular direction; their feet dangled motionlessly above the dusty ground. It was her father''s storeroom.


    The House of Rules created rooms out of the scholars'' memories, she realized. Be it fantastical or real. It did not necessarily need to be a fear.


    The clank of heavy wooden shoes sounded from a corner. Not yet, she wanted to tell it. It''s not yet time. But what stepped out from the dark stupefied her.


    "A Gabrielic exorcist?" Calla said behind her.


    He was dressed in the dark flowing garb of a Gabrielic exorcist, face veiled by an equally dark curtain that draped from the brim of his tall hat. On his back he carried an enormous white sack soiled by histories of his job. He stood no more than an inch taller than her.


    Why are you here?


    When he raised his hands and clapped, Apple suddenly lost strength in her legs. Darkness took over her vision completely.


    When she came to, she found Calla on her knees, bruised and battered but still full of vigour. Above her was a red titan of a spectre that clutched the lifeless figure of the dark-clad exorcist. Its head broke past the ceiling, revealing the sky. The Guardian. She was forced to use it. With the energy required to materialize it, it only meant she had practically depleted her power reserve.


    Around Apple was a puppet carnage. A puppet''s head she recognized burned in blue flames next to her. Pinewood limbs and bodies lay burning on the cratered floor. Elizabeth slumped on a corner, panting, face drenched in sweat.


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    I slept through it. How could I?


    "Calla," she uttered, full of regret, "Forgive me I could not be of help."


    Their trusty leader stepped over to her and patted her shoulder gently, "It''s done, Apple. No need to fret. But I''m troubled by the fifth penalty, whether we''ll make it. I''m dry. And so is Elizabeth."


    As if on cue, the last set of five doors grew into existence on the featureless walls of the storeroom. It was only the fourth stage but they nearly failed if not for Calla and Elizabeth''s talents. She had no way of knowing what waited for them in the fifth penalty room.


    "We take the holy route this time, what do you say?" Calla asked her party.


    "I''m spent, I can barely move," breathed Elizabeth.


    Apple nodded. "Well then, please follow me."


    She opened the door bearing the faintest fragrance of a holy artifact. The room was simple, bright and aromatic, cozy and lulling. It made her tempted to stay there. In the middle of it was a dining table with no chairs, just a crate on top containing oranges. At the far end waited a single door that led to the brown study room from before.


    Carrying the crate of oranges, they stepped out the House of Rules to the sound of applause from the Aleph class. The sign on the board read 350 ¡ª the leading score, only to be beaten if the fifth penalty room would be conquered by the two succeeding groups, if they would be able to pinpoint the door to it at all.


    Professor Mallory clapped for them, "That was a good call, seeing how exhausted you three are. You can go and rest or wait here."


    "I''ll be off, thank you for trusting me. I''ll see you two tomorrow, " Apple bid farewell to her party.


    "No, Apple it was thanks to you that we could navigate the House the way we wanted." Calla embraced her, beckoning the weary Elizabeth to join.


    Untangling from them, she searched for her friend from Copperhill who had finished the test before her. "Hannah," she called softly.


    Hannah said, understanding without the need for words, "I''ll accompany you." She took her hand as they left the Henge Circle.


    "Apple, I just wanted to know," Hannah said as they crossed the brick-laden path that connected the buildings in Demach, "What is he to you? Do you like him?"


    She wanted to know too. "He''s a friend," she answered plainly. One who put himself between her and a deadly weed, resulting to an injury that even now had not yet healed. "And I''m his only friend."


    Hannah bobbed her head as if her curt replies satisfied her question enough. "Did something happen between you two that made you avoid him since the Ophanim''s day?"


    Maybe when you cut your strings, Apple. Then come and cut mine too. Even now, the meaning of his words eluded her. It only filled her with an unbearable unease. She struggled to enunciate to Hannah, "We had a little misunderstanding."


    "Well, lovers normally fight...," her friend commented playfully.


    Her cheeks felt hot. "Quit it." She hit her gently on the arm.


    The way to the infirmary was dotted with maple trees, their foliage slowly transitioning into their fiery autumn hue. Their sweet scent that reminded her of vanilla calmed Apple''s trepidations, even just by a little.


    They found Yuri waiting outside the door to the ward.


    He beamed, "I knew you''d come."


    "Why are you outside here?" Hannah asked.


    Sniffing the air flooded with a familiar fragrance, Apple gained a clue as to why.


    "Well, someone came in. I felt I should leave them be," he said more softly.


    "Who is it?"


    He whispered, "Marco Vermilon."


    "Really? Why?"


    "It''s beyond me."


    "But is he well?" Apple asked, a hint of hope in her voice.


    Yuri nodded, "You can see yourself." He swung the door ajar.


    Apple glimpsed Marco Vermilon sitting next to Lucas''s bed, a book in his hand. The vast sea of his holy reserve overwhelmed Apple''s senses. On the other hand, his brother seemed peacefully asleep, scentless as a young fawn.


    "Go ahead, Apple," Yuri shoved her tenderly, "See you at supper." He shut the door behind her.


    Marco looked up from his reading. "How was your Test, Apple?"


    She walked over to them silently, scared she''d wake Lucas. "Not bad, we got 350."


    "Oh, impressive," he praised. "I knew you''d have no trouble sensing which doors were which."


    "But you got the perfect score last year, that''s much more impressive," she said.


    "How did you know?"


    "I believe only you would be capable of it when Professor Mallory told us a team from last year managed to reap 450."


    He laughed, "Well, it was a team effort."


    The Genius of Demach always humbled himself. She knew he could breeze through the Test all by himself.


    "How is he doing now? Earlier, it looked as though he was in an escapable trance." Apple had seen those same looks before in Father''s missions. Waking them was complicated. More often than not, they succumbed to it, their minds trapped forever.


    His eyes fell on the sleeping figure of Lucas. "He woke up earlier, but he only said he''s tired and wanted to sleep."


    He said the same thing to me too when I questioned him. She wondered if it was no different for Marco Vermilon, if Lucas even trusted him.


    Perhaps... She mused over it for a moment before she asked, "Diana told me why she loathed him. Do you know the name of David Rupert?"


    Marco Vermilon stayed quiet for a second, his hand touching the scar on the left side of his cheek. It was a long gash that had imprinted a shadow of a line over an otherwise impeccable face. Apple was curious about it too but she thought it was a mystery for another time.


    He sighed, "The skeleton in his closet catches up to him eventually, huh?"


    "Is it true?" She could not help herself asking. If it were, she believed there must have been an excuse for it, a reason for a gentle lad like him to commit such atrocity.


    "Ten witnesses claimed so," Marco replied, not denying the accusation, "But I myself was not there. I cannot tell you if it''s true or no."


    Diana''s rage was justified. Apple understood then why she wanted him dead.


    "To answer your first question, David was a foster child of my family. But House Vermilon failed to protect him. He died an untimely death, in the most gruesome way."


    "Is that why he was disowned?"


    He nodded slightly, "A punishment for a little boy who was barely five." He turned to her, "You know why I''m telling you?"


    She shook her head at him.


    He went on, "Because David Rupert was his close friend. As his friend now, you ought to be aware. Whether you''ll stick by him or cut ties with him is up to you. I had hoped he could start a new life here, meet new people. But I see now, that''s impossible. Lucas has to face the consequences of his past, no matter how difficult it is. He needs to reconcile with it."


    To Apple, his words were enough confirmation. The white dove''s letter alluding him seemed more likely now.


    Apple recalled the day when she went to see her father in his atelier, the afternoon after she visited the injured Lucas in the streets of Gallenport. She had found Uncle Patrick there in his dark garb, his face veiled, the enormous white sack on his back.


    "Patrick has found a suspected demon," Father had told her. "He said you are acquainted with him, my child."


    She had no choice but to admit it then, "I''m still observing him, Father. We need absolute confirmation. What if he isn''t?"


    "You knew for a time, and you kept it from me?"


    "Forgive me, Father, I was unsure."


    "It''s alright, my sweet daughter. But have you ascertained now?"


    "I cannot say. It is hard to tell. He is scentless." If she divulged that he smelled like a demon on particular instances, the exorcists would rid of him without forethought. She owed him that much for saving her life. She wondered if she was making a mistake.


    Uncle Patrick had uttered, voice deep and grating, "I have sent word to the Order. More exorcists should be on their way by now."

 Chapter 35: Marco XIX

    Marco was in Power Strengthening when a tiny little bird made of holy energy fluttered through the door and floated over to him. It circled above his head and pecked at his ear as though it could siphon nectar from him.


    Professor Mallory, he thought.


    "May I excuse myself, Professor?"


    Turington cast him a dismissive look. He knew from whom the Beaconing Spirit came from; after all, the spirit''s form was unique to an individual. "You may."


    I hope this isn''t one of her japes. Marco followed the golden spirit out of the auditoriums. But it did not lead him to the professor''s chamber. When he realized where he was headed, he felt an ominous feeling pit in his stomach. Not again.


    It seemed like one of his worst fears had come true the second he saw him lying in the infirmary. His ocean-blue eyes stared heavenward. Unseeing. Unfeeling. His breaths came in gasps as if anytime they would utterly leave him to die.


    A noble lad he remembered to be Apple''s friend was by his side, answering Sister Lily''s questions. Seeing him up close, he recognized him from somewhere else. He met him before but not inside Demach.


    "Lord Vermilon," the Sister acknowledged him, eyeing the hummingbird that hovered above the stock-still figure of Lucas, "How may I be of help?"


    "I''ve come for him. May I ask what happened?"


    The noble regarded him curiously. He said, "He was undergoing the Energy Perception Test in the House of Rules. His team failed. We found him unresponsive just as he is now."


    Did Diana make a move again? Inside Demach? He would not dismiss the possibility of it yet.


    Marco bowed to him in gratitude, "I believe it was you who brought him. Thank you for taking care of him thus far. I shall take it from here. If it is not too much to ask, can you leave us for a moment?"


    As the door closed behind them, Marco simply stared down at his brother, at a loss of what he was supposed to do. Whenever Lucas entered a daze, he usually snapped back by himself. The last time it happened, they were in the Ashwood Forest. Lucas''s carriage was ambushed. Fear or panic must have been the trigger. He could be extremely calm most of the time but when his wall of placidity broke, he would gaze lifelessly in the air. Marco wondered if it was his way of dealing with his dilemmas. A way of escape.


    He remembered Lucas responded to his touch then. So, in that quiet infirmary hall, he tapped him awake, mouthing, "Lucas..."


    His brother blinked with a sudden gasp. Then he clutched his chest as he sat up, retching dryly.


    "Lucas, it''s me."


    His brother turned to him, tears lining his eyes. When they were children, Lucas used to weep every day, never getting his way in anything. But when the incident opened a rift between them, Marco had not seen him cry often. In fact, he had not seen him often at all. Even now, he seldom cried, putting on a stoic front. So, Marco found it strange to see him in tears. What could have happened to him? Where did his soul wander off to?


    "You were in a trance," Marco uttered softly.


    He kept sobbing, breathing between hiccups as he wiped his tears with the back of his unbandaged hand.


    "What happened in the Test? You lost consciousness."


    His brother simply wagged his head, unable to form words amidst the spell of hiccups that wracked him. Marco poured water into a glass from a pitcher the Sister had left, but his brother refused it.


    He pulled a chair close and sat there quietly instead, until Lucas''s fit had subsided. He looked so fragile, he thought. With his back bent over as he was consumed by his emotions ¡ª fear, sorrow, whatever they were ¡ª Marco could not help wondering how his brother could be so capable of hurting others. The Ghost of Vermil, they called him. If he were a ghost, he would not have been a fearsome one. Not when he was unable to stop himself from bawling like a child.


    It took a while before Lucas''s tearful spasm quieted down. He inhaled deeply, burying his face into the linen sheet.


    Is he embarrassed? Marco brought up his question once more, "Lucas, please tell me what happened in the Test? Did someone try to hurt you again?"


    He rocked his head. Marco could not tell if it meant no, or he simply refused to speak.


    "I want to help you. This is not the first time you entered a daze, Lucas. What kind of room was it?"


    He sniffled. "I want to rest."


    Marco clenched his fist on his lap. He doesn''t trust me. I cannot blame him, yet still... "Lucas, I want to help you? One day you might enter a trance and not wake from it. Please, let me know how I can help."


    Lucas shifted, pulling the blanket over him and lying on his side to face away from him.


    In less than a moon''s turn, Lucas had fallen into a handful of grave predicaments, all of them out of Marco''s influence. I can''t always be by your side. What happens if you are harmed beyond cure? What if you hurt them in unforgivable ways?


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    There were still many unresolved mysteries hounding Lucas. And now Marco thought that so long as they remained in the dark, there was no reprieve from dread, for him or his brother. Tomorrow and the days after, Marco''s fears would linger, and Lucas''s innocence or guilt would continue to hang on his reputation and the strangers'' perception of him. Tomorrow, the Ruperts might act and Marco, no matter how powerful he was, might be powerless to stop them. Sometimes, he grew weary of his apprehensions. Yet he steeled himself for it was ultimately his own decision to drag Lucas out into the world.


    Exhaustion pulled Marco''s shoulder into a droop. He was tired of Lucas''s unrelentless evasion of the truth. So many things about him warranted scrutiny.


    The shadow in his room.


    His unknown companion.


    And his blatant distrust toward him.


    "Why do you hide things from me, brother? I brought you here. You know that I only want to help you. So, talk to me. Please!"


    Lucas pulled the blanket tighter and muttered, "I''m tired. I want to sleep."


    Something snapped inside Marco. He took a deep breath and let his words flow out, "No. This time, I want you to tell me what exactly happened to you. Do you have any inkling how shocking it is to find you lying unconscious in here? A few days ago, you were in the Delta when I clearly asked you to stay in Demach. And I did not dig further into it because it''s not my desire to aggravate your pain. The Ruperts wanted retribution for a crime they accused you of doing. They almost succeeded, if not for Catherine. Now, you fainted while undergoing a Test. But you do not want to tell me what in god''s name happened in there. Am I supposed to rest at ease knowing you could''ve died? Every time... every time I ask you, you turn away. You say you''re tired. You want to rest. I can''t accept it anymore. Even a simple word, one simple honest truth would satisfy me, Lucas. Tell me about the burdens you carry, so that you can share some of its weight with me. I know I was too distant for the better part of your childhood, that is why I direly aim to make up for it. I know you don''t trust me for you know I have been distrustful of you too. I brought you before three inspectors from the Force. I know you''ve hurt me. In my imprudence, I''ve hurt you too..." His voice cracked.


    "All these years, Gallagher has regarded you in a bad light. They don''t spit it in your face, but they call you an abomination, Lucas. Mother does. The Earl does. The whole of Gallagher knows you as the Ghost of Vermil. They don''t even know your name. They regard you a menace, and even worse, a demon. And I do not believe them, I don''t. But lately, your silence and dishonesty has sown doubts in my head, brother. Doubts that I brush off every time, because it is only I who have known you the longest. I have known you the deepest. I know how anger twists your face, I know how kindness softens it. Yet, you cannot trust me, even for just a bit. I sent my friend to watch over you and in doing so, she nearly got hurt. In the Ashwood Forest, soldiers of House Vermilon had died for you, Lucas. Conveniently, you can''t remember. I do. Do their absurd claims about you have any grain of truth to them at all? Is Mother right about you? Face me even just for a second, Lucas. Just out of your love for me, face me and dispel my doubts."


    Marco caught his own breath, panting. He realized he was trembling. To his frustration, Lucas kept his silence, stirring under the sheets in discomfort but continued to face the wall. Like a child.


    "You have not grown," Marco told him in outright candidness, "In your reclusion, inside that miserable granary room you made a home of, you have stayed a child. I am perfectly aware it''s not solely your fault. Perhaps it''s too late but I apologize in Grandfather''s stead. Forgive him, Lucas. Forgive our House. He had good reason, but it was unfair to a little boy like you. What you needed was care and discipline but you were afforded banishment and more rejection. And I, I drifted away." And so easily, he thought. I''ve abandoned you so easily.


    "You disappeared, Lucas. After you''ve left your mark, after you''ve let out your rage on me, you vanished. I could not even tell what place you escaped to." I did not look for you then. At that time, I was inclined to believing Mother''s words.


    "Were you scared of being severely punished for it? But you ought to know, that although you''ve left a wound on me, I never meant you harm. You were my little brother, and now even as you turn your back on me, you still are. I have to be honest, I detested you for a while. The wound hurt, Lucas. And even more hurtful than that was the fact you brandished a blade at me. I was in shock. Nevertheless, all that is in the past now. All that are left are scars and a family that seeks justice for their own little boy. I want to shield you from them. All I want to know is if their accusation has truth to it. As the future Earl of Gallagher, their liege, I ought to pay their grievances some respect. But before that, I am your brother, and your sole ally. It falls upon me to look after you. And I, I swear it upon my life, I would not let them take you. But Lucas..., I cannot deny them reconciliation altogether, and I''m not always there to protect you. I need you to make peace with them Lucas..."


    His brother made no effort to show that he was listening. All of Marco''s outpouring entreaty might have instead lulled him to sleep rather than spurring him to make up for his past.


    "I will not give up on you so easily, brother. You may hate me for it, but I''ll keep on pestering you until you grow tired of me and spill out all that troubles you. Rest for now, then."


    Marco slumped on his chair, heart heavy with resolve. Yet, he felt lighter somehow. He opened a book that he tried to read but his gaze drifted back to Lucas''s figure.


    * * * * *


    Apple had visited, but she left while Lucas was still sleeping.


    If Apple already knew, then it''s only a matter of time before the whole Academy learns of his reputation.


    Marco harboured little confidence in Apple but the last thing he wanted was worse images forming in her head. He wanted to ask what else Lady Rupert had told her but he did not want to unnecessarily stir up her curiosity on more of Lucas''s infamous atrocities in Gallagher. If she got wind of their accusation of Lucas as Father Pietro''s murderer, she would instantly regard him a demon or a heretic worshipping one.


    He told her about Lucas''s relationship with Rupert, though, for as his first friend in the Capital, she deserved to be cautioned. If she walked away, then it would all be for the better, for her and Lucas both. If she stayed, then she ought to face the ugly side of him as well.


    Sister Lily came in, carrying dinner for Lucas. "Shall I leave this here?"


    "Thank you, Sister Lily. May I entrust him in your care for a moment, I would have my dinner at the Concord."


    "Well, it is my pleasure. But may I ask, my lord, what your relationship is to him?"


    He regarded Lucas''s pale complexion that nearly mirrored his own face, and the stark golden hair that outbrightened his. "I am his only family."


    The Concord filled with the mouth-watering smell of meat pies and the raucous chattering of Ordination scholars. Despite feeling hungry, he steered away from the direction of the banquet where they gathered and scanned the room, searching for a fourth-year student who bore the number 2 on the badge on his chest.


    It was easy to spot him for his boisterous laughter rang in one corner. Eritch Corlissen ¡ª the fifth heir to the viscounty of Ochre Pass that bordered Torinto along the Darkseed Mountains. Marco had only one particular need from him.


    It belonged to the Corlissens ¡ª the artifact called Quill of Melancholy and Longing. I need to know if that person is alive or dead.

 Chapter 36: Marco XX

    Eritch Corlissen was a bull of a lad flaunting a barrel chest flanked by a pair of strong arms which he probably trained without missing a day. The Corlissens were known for their height and bulk and their pride as the wardens of the Ochre Pass ¡ª a passage between the earldoms of Torinto and Elkengarde, cutting through the Darkseed Mountains.


    He also guffawed in a hollow gritty staccato of laughs, which Marco interrupted.


    "Lord Corlissen, a great eve to you and your friends."


    Eritch regarded him cautiously. "Heir of Gallagher, my evening could not have been more delightful. I assume you seek me for a duel?" His voice sounded even rougher, as if to intimidate him.


    But Marco was not one so easily folded. "Not quite. I would like to ask for a favour, Eritch."


    "A favour? What sort?"


    "I found in a book inside the Bibliotheca that a special artifact named Quill of Melancholy and Longing is in your House''s possession. I would like to make it the subject of my presentation on Artifact Studies."


    "And?" He crossed his arms over his large chest.


    "I would like to borrow it and bring it to class, through a fair amount of silver, of course."


    He cocked his head and furrowed his brows in scrutiny. Eritch was not a fool. He was the second in rank in all of Demach and he couldn''t have gotten there merely by brawn. "I do not see the need to lend it to you. My sweet mother keeps it with her to watch over my brothers and sisters who embark on expeditions in the depths of the Darkseed Mountains."


    "Then can I at least take a look at it? The details in the book were scant. I would like to take a closer look and perhaps, see for myself how it is used. I am willing to pay a visit to the Ochre Pass."


    The last time Marco went there was to attend the baptism of the son to the heir of the Earl of Elkengarde. Lined with yellow stones that ran the gamut from faded ochre to deep orange, the Pass was a haven both for travellers crossing to and from the northern territories and outlaws alike. Every ten miles or so were guard posts manned by subjects of the House Corlissen, but the outlaws blended in with the caravans and the trees. Sightings of cursed beings and demonic monsters were rare but not unheard of.


    He grinned. "My gut tells me you don''t need it for Artifact Studies. Why suffer more than a week of trave to Elkengarde, all for the sake of seeing an artifact for yourself." His friends nodded their heads in agreement.


    "I am a devout scholar."


    "Are you now?"


    I have no choice. "Then, I ask you formally to a duel. If I win, I can take a look at the artifact. I''ll pay the silver in order to bring it to Gallenport. If I lose... I''ll give you my sword."


    Eritch''s eyes turned grim. He stood up, reaching half a foot taller than Marco. He glared down at him. "You insult me. You come asking for a favour then you insult me. I have no need of your sword, Genius."


    "Is that a yes or a no?" Declining a duel from a sophomore would taint Eritch''s honour as the second strongest and as a Corlissen.


    "The day after tomorrow. Enjoy your pretty face for I am about to add another indelible scar on the other cheek."


    * * * * *


    "Your upcoming duel with Eritch is all the talk this morning," Quain said, as they suited up for Fighting Techniques. "The Corlissens are adept at hunting and weaponry. I saw him duel with his classmate once. It was brutal! In the next half of it, he was merely toying with him. Are you that eager to take his spot? Next year, you''ll be at the top of Demach anyway since the two would be conscripted."


    Marco slung his sword Demonkiller on the slot at his waist, not ready to part with it yet. He named it so, hoping to kill a demon with it someday. Until such a time came, he would not lose it to anyone. And not to Eritch tomorrow, for sure. "I wanted to borrow an artifact from his House. He had been reluctant so I''m helping him decide."


    Fighting Techniques taught them melee battles, swordsmanship, and martial arts. Professor Hanson wanted to test their use of HEAVENLY GUARD ¡ª a basic protective charm for soldiers in the form of a white shroud that covered the entire body. The spell required a continuous resupply of holy energy. Albeit the amount was but trickling, the constant attention to maintain it chipped away at one''s focus. Either the shield would weaken as a result or the user would falter in the fight. And one second of hesitation could alter the outcome of a battle significantly.


    "You ready? Face your sparring partner," Professor Hanson''s voice carried over the Training Grounds.


    Each sophomore Aleph turned to their partners, taking their stance.


    Quain pointed his sword at Marco. "Go easy on me."


    "Cut the act, you''re the better swordsman between the two of us." They were closely matched when it came to swordplay but Quain had spent longer honing it, and in an unorthodox way. And as the lords commanding a third of Araya''s armada, they were trained in sea warfare. If they were on the deck of a rocking galleon, Quain would have no trouble brandishing his weapon at him while Marco would have tripped on his own foot already.


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    "Consider it a training for your duel tomorrow."


    "Corlissen isn''t good with swords."


    "Raise your Guards!" The professor instructed.


    HEAVENLY GUARD! The training grounds filled with rays of light that began to flow around the scholars'' bodies and completely covered them.


    The shroud interfered with breathing, thus they had to leave their faces unveiled. Compared to metal armour, the shroud did not drag at their movements for it bore no weight.


    Marco raised his sword, ready to defend. At the professor''s signal, Quain charged, swinging his blade aiming for Marco''s leg. He parried his strikes with difficulty but whenever he thought Foilsebay would tire, he would suddenly find an opening.


    "You''re too focused on doing me in in one single blow, I can tell," said Quain, panting. CLANG! His blade contacted Marco''s Heavenly Guard that shielded his waist. Marco stepped aside at the impact while Quain reeled back. He felt the blow but it did not hurt.


    Marco brandished Demonkiller for Quain''s neck as the latter was preparing to swing at him again. His opponent shifted his weight on his other leg and ducked, supporting himself by his sword. Marco grazed his dark hair. Planting his other foot back on the ground, Quain rose up and elbowed Marco''s chest, pulling his own blade up.


    Marco endured the blow with the help of the Guard. He swung his sword back, meeting the flat of Quain''s blade with its tip. CLING! He thought he successfully deterred his opponent''s attack but the blade continued its descent in an arc instead, slashing at Marco''s shin. If he lost focus for a second and the Guard was dispelled, he would have lost a leg.


    Marco shifted his hold and thrust down on Quain''s foot. CLUNG, it met Foilsebay''s HEAVENLY GUARD. Quain chuckled. Marco found himself relishing in the spar too.


    The Training Grounds filled with the clinks of blades and scholar''s grunting. Swords met swords and heavenly guards. With the help of their weightless shield, there was less hesitation in their swings, striking with all their might even as blades threatened to skewer them. But after a while, students stumbled and their shields began to flicker, unstable.


    Even Quain''s. Marco was about to drive Demonkiller into Quain''s shoulder when he stopped, noticing the Guard shiver. Sweat beading and breaths laboured, his opponent showed signs of fatigue and loss of focus. It was the deciding moment of the spar. Instead of charging with his sword, he flicked Quain''s blade to the side and violently tackled him, pinning him down on the grass.


    "My victory," Marco declared, pointing Demonkiller at his neck. "If you did not drag the fight on, I would have been the one beneath your blade." Fortunately, Marco could hold the Heavenly Guard for an hour more. But in an actual battle where Marco was wont to use INVIOLABLE EDICT, it was detrimental to casting the spell since it would block his tendrils of holy energy from making contact with his environment. Thus, if he were to use his talent, he would need to dispel the Guard for a moment.


    "Ah, I need to build up my endurance," Quain sighed, catching his breath. When the body grew tired, the mind faltered. The protection of the Heavenly Guard was only as effective as their mental and physical endurance.


    Marco helped him to his feet. "It was a learning experience for me, Lord Foilsebay. I owe you."


    Quain wobbled his head, "Humble as always, Lord Vermilon."


    Lucas had come back from the infirmary but Marco had dissuaded him from attending classes yet. He was afraid that his brother would get into trouble in some other way again. He thought it was not too much to ask for a day of respite from such agony. He planned to visit him again. Perhaps, he''s ready to talk.


    Before that, he made his way back to his own suite to change clothes. His shirt was drenched in sweat from Fighting Techniques and Power Strengthening. Professor Turington had began to delve into the relation of one''s physique and the degree of how far one''s holy power could be strengthened. It meant running around in the campus until they fainted.


    A letter on the floor caught his eye when he swung the door open. It had no name nor address, nor a wax sigil. He opened it and read,


    "I have word about one of the loose ends. Preacher''s Tavern, after sunset."


    It was curt and cryptic. Marco had a feeling he already knew who was waiting there.


    The Preacher''s Tavern was one of the places Professor Mallory frequented. Marco hoped she was not there at this time. Putting on a black cloak over a simple tunic, he trod past the walls of the Academy and deep into the darkening streets of Gallenport. He might have to miss dinner tonight.


    Many shops closed before dusk, but in their place, pubs remained open. The cobblestone pathways were alive with the steps of labourers on their way back home, of mothers bringing back supper for their children, of fathers on their way out to guzzle on bitter ale and cheap wine.


    A begging mother with a babe on her breast approached him, hands outstretched, "My lord, just something for supper tonight."


    "I am no lord," Marco said, softly. But he dropped a silver on her palm without slowing. He made his way past the row of residences where one woman threw out refuse onto the street at his feet, nearly splattering him had he not stopped. He went on without looking back.


    He reached the Preacher''s Tavern which was aglow with the light from candles and iron cressets. The place was packed. A serving girl blocked him at the entrance, "Come back later, seats are full. Or you can stand."


    "There is vacancy here," the familiar voice of Philip the exorcist yelled over the cacophony in the tavern. The table he was on was flanked by a group of burly men who already had a few pints by the blush on their cheeks. Did he bring company? Coming alone was not clever, he realized.


    "Thank you," Marco said, as he took the seat Philip had offered. "I''ll call when I have decided," he told the serving girl.


    Philip seemed not to have changed over the month that had passed. His face was as lean as he remembered it, his expression cold and calculating. He had put on a plain vest over a cream tunic. No one would suspect he was an exorcist.


    The two men beside them chortled about a whore one of them met yesterday. They kept banging on the wooden table.


    "Pay them no mind, young lord," Philip said, pretending to drink from a tankard. "They are mundane patrons here, nothing else."


    Truth. Lumen Veritatis showed him.


    Even so, Marco raised his guard. He let out a single tendril of holy power and claimed control of the tabletop, murmuring softly the INVIOLABLE EDICT. If they made a single suspicious move on him, he was prepared to defend and counterattack.


    "I know you want to ask for something in return for the information you hold, name it," Marco ordered, whispering.


    "Ha, you know me very well. Knowledge should pay for knowledge, my lord." He leaned closer, the sound of his words nearly drowned by the noise of the tavern and the loud braying of the men around them. "A simple question: Why does Lady Anastasia detest your brother?"

 Chapter 37: Marco XXI

    Marco''s stiffened expression betrayed his indignation. "Say it again." It was one thing to ask about Lucas, and another thing entirely to involve his mother. At the very least, he never wanted to entangle her in any of this. She was miles away, thriving peacefully now. He knew how much she had suffered and if the exorcist would start digging on her past, all her horrors would come to light once more.


    Philip the exorcist peered at him with that calculating gaze of his, as if gauging how far he could push Marco before he snapped. "You are the only one capable of giving me an answer, my young lord. Unfortunately, your mother is a little touchy about the subject, as far as I have witnessed. But you, you know about her sentiments firsthand."


    "How do I assure that the information you have is of any significance in the first place?"


    "It''s about the death of Father Pietro."


    "I thought I told you that Lucas is cleared of his involvement in the priest''s passing." Nevertheless, Marco knew that that chapter had not been settled yet, not after Lumen Veritatis failed when he asked Lucas forthright about it.


    "Is he? The fruits of my investigation say otherwise. I have invited a talent from Handilen; the Order of Raphael that rules there had employed a most special blessed child who can see beyond time. I brought her to the church in Vermil where the accident happened. And we found something interesting..."


    The Light of Truth gave Marco a verdict. Truth.


    It was an accident. If whatever they found overruled it, would it even answer Marco''s own queries? Should he entrust Philip a knowledge so important in exchange? Why does he even want to know about Mother''s loathing for Lucas?


    A bard had begun playing on a lute, rendering the tavern quiet as they listened to his song.


    "She does not treat him as a son," Marco answered softly amid the tavern''s music.


    "And the reason being?"


    "She claims that I don''t have a brother, not anymore. She said Lucas is not hers. She doesn''t even see him as a person. For her, he''s nothing but an object masquerading as a boy." To Marco, she sounded sick in the head. But she was still his mother, and he knew all too well how she loved him.


    "Strange... She says you don''t have a brother anymore, care to expound on that?"


    "Apparently, the second baby she had was long dead," Marco chuckled at the absurdity of it.


    The exorcist, on the other hand, found nothing laughable about it. "The priest was dead before he fell down the stairs," he disclosed in a grave tone, "Rather, he died that''s why he fell."


    Marco craned closer, "So you''re saying it was murder?"


    Philip shook his head. "We visited his corpse and, under the Michaelic Order''s permission, performed a dissection of his brain. It was burned. The talent from Handilen recognized it as a recoil from the failure of an extremely powerful spell, not a trauma from falling down a staircase. The injury was self-inflicted."


    Although he ought to be sad for the priest, Marco felt relieved. "Then, all the more evidence of my brother''s innocence."


    "He was with the priest an hour before it happened. There must have been a reason why Father Pietro attempted a powerful spell he could not handle. Unfortunately, we did not know where the enchantment was undertaken or my colleague would have beheld the very scene with her gifted eyes. Impressively, the priest was able to walk back to the church with a roasted brain. But he must have been suffering unimaginable pain. It escapes me why he did not seek help immediately."


    Perhaps... perhaps because he did not want to incriminate Lucas. They were close, after all. Marco remembered the books in Lucas''s room signed in Father Pietro''s name. He dragged himself to the stairs and faked his accident there. Yet despite his sacrifice, Lucas was still inevitably involved. Truth seeps through, no matter the veil.


    "Now, it''s only your brother who has any information what the spell was for and what type of spell it was. It''s your turn, my lord, to part the reeds, see what lies beneath. The sooner we know of the place where they used to meet, the better. My colleague''s imageries become more fogged the farther she perused into the past. I have ways of making people talk myself, but I think you would not like it for your brother at all." His tone edged on a threat rather than a plea for cooperation.


    Marco leaned back. "Now that you have discovered that the cause of death was not murder, are you still going to follow the case?"


    "As I''ve previously told you, his manner of death matters to me not. As far as I''m concerned, the case had totally changed. It''s about uncovering your brother''s secrets now. I have taken quite a keen interest in the Ghost of Vermil, you see. Do you want me to stop?" He tilted his head, as if in challenge.


    I might have a future need of you, Marco thought. "How do I reach you, just in case?"


    Philip smirked, a hint of amusement on his otherwise shrewd and cold facade. "I keep a close relationship with the Altare Angelorum. Just tell them my name whenever you want to speak with me."


    * * * * *


    Marco was about to knock on Lucas''s room when he heard a voice inside. Is he talking with someone? Girls weren''t allowed to step into the boys'' wing of the dormitories. Then perhaps it was a male friend that Marco had not noticed. Is it Professor Hilbury?


    "Lucas?" he called as he rapped at the door.


    The voices stilled. Footsteps shuffled towards the door. "Marco, what brings you here?" Lucas held the door ajar, clasping his gas lamp to his chest. He must really treasure it.


    Marco looked past Lucas and glimpsed the meagre space Lucas afforded him to see. "Can I come inside?"


    "Of course."


    He scanned the room but found no body. The curtain flapped from the breeze that entered through the open window.


    "I heard you talking with somebody," he said.


    Lucas headed over to his desk and pulled a text close. "I was reading."


    A lie. An absolute lie. Marco swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat. He sat on Lucas''s bed. "That lamp, it seems to me you''re very fond of it. You carry it everywhere. In Ashwood, in the Delta. Can you tell your big brother where you obtained it? I''m just curious." At least half a dozen candles lit up Lucas''s room but he still kept the lamp lit at night, beside him, always. It must have some other use.


    Lucas glanced at the lamp and held it up. "This? The priest gave it to me."


    "Is that so? Was it the day he passed?"


    "Long before that," he answered wistful.


    "Is it an artifact?"


    He pursed his lips. "I don''t think so." Indeed, Marco did not feel any holy power from it.


    Marco heaved a breath, hoping his brother wouldn''t evade the question this time. "Brother, remember you said you met with the priest on the day he died, where exactly did you meet him?"


    He seemed to ponder it for a second, staring at the flame of his lamp. "It''s my secret place."


    "Can you let your brother know?"


    "There''s this abandoned cottage along the Gallagh River," he shared, appearing cheerful. "I can bring you there someday, if you want."


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    "Then I look forward to it," Marco said. "Come watch my match tomorrow, it''s after classes so you don''t have an excuse to miss it. And by the way, you ought to know, Apple came to visit you yesterday but you were fast asleep."


    It did not take long for the Coliseum to fill with spectators on the day of worship of the Sarim ¡ª the seventh on the order of angels.


    "It seems the professors, even the director, are here too."


    "It''s a huge event since the second in rank might change."


    "I put my silver on Corlissen. That man''s a beast, I tell you."


    Marco listened to their voices from the arena. He spotted Catherine and the boys at the front row. He scanned the tiers for his brother. Because perhaps he wore a beret, he was lost in the sea of faces that stared down at Marco.


    He had donned a leather doublet in place of the Demach vest. On his chest glared the head of an ox with a pair of crescent horns ¡ª the humble yet fierce symbol of his House. On the other side gleamed his number 3 badge.


    On the opposite side staggered in Eritch Corlissen in an ochre hunter''s garb. He wore a yellow vest flaunting the mythical basilisk that was said to have cut the Pass through the Darkseed Mountains, its venom tainting the once dark rocks a ripe yellow. His gloved hands cupped his hunting scythe twice longer than he was tall, its chains dragging on the sand. The Corlissen suit made it easier to blend in with the rocks that populated the Pass they ruled. But against the grey sand of the Coliseum floor, he was anything but inconspicuous.


    Professor Turington decided to preside over the duel this time. He told Marco that owing to his extravagance from their last spar, the stone floor of the Coliseum was replaced with sand.


    Better this way, thought Marco. It absorbs blood better and Eritch would not be so hurt.


    "Match is ended if either surrenders or is rendered incapable of continuing the fight," the professor explained. "Now, boys, impress us."


    Eritch clasped the short snath of his scythe in one hand and the chains of it on the other. "Care to make the first move? You''re lower in rank after all."


    "Your style favours distance, perhaps it''s right for you to attack first," replied Marco, unsheathing the Demonkiller.


    Professor Turington scoffed at their taunts, scowling. "Well then, begin!"


    "If you say so. INESCAPABLE FATE!" Eritch emitted a faint glow of holy energy which then collapsed into a single thin thread of light that whipped towards Marco.


    Imbuing power into his sword, Marco planned to cut it. But the thread of INESCAPABLE FATE was flimsy. And no matter how precisely he tried, it only bent in the wind of his slash. It lassoed itself around Demonkiller, to the gasp of disappointment from the audience.


    "Heh, I didn''t think it would be so over quickly," Eritch mocked from the far end, planting one foot forward as he swirled his hand back, readying for the throw. FWOOSH! The scythe made a curve in the air, stirring up dust as it went.


    INESCAPABLE FATE. Marco knew perfectly well what it was for. As hunters, the Corlissen were bestowed with such blessing for marking their targets. Once the thread had connected, their attacks could not miss. Well, he had no plans of dodging in the first place.


    He threw Eritch a smirk before gathering the energy in his sword into a single point at its tip. Then he shot. PLING. The compressed ball of energy knocked the scythe out of its trajectory.


    He glimpsed Professor Turington nodding proudly.


    Eritch dashed as he pulled back the scythe by the chain, catching it and flinging again almost instantly. Marco was prepared. Another ball of energy was compressed. SWISH. He pointed and let loose.


    Just then, the thread of light that still connected him to Eritch lurched aside. The scythe tilted only a little but it was enough to evade his bullet. One of the marble stones glowed as a barrier manifested to absorb the stray ball of energy, protecting the audience.


    The scythe might have skewed but it still followed the thread that prevented it from missing. It whirred as it spun in the air, homing for Marco who had no choice but to block with his sword. CLANG. The crescent blade struck with a deafening ring. Then it disappeared right before his eyes, yanked back by Eritch who was poised for another throw.


    HEAVENLY GUARD! Marco chose to defend this time. DIVINE PROVIDENCE! A shroud around his body and a barrier in front to break the attack''s momentum.


    Although stocky, Eritch was far from slow. He had a hunter''s agility and swiftness, having trained in the perilous forests of the Darkseed Mountains.


    CRACK! Corlissen''s weapon shattered the barrier effortlessly. The Guard absorbed most of the impact but the blow threw him a few yards back. He rolled in the sand, sword clutched tightly, the thread of light trailing after him, uncut. From the cloud of dust, another whirring pierced through.


    SWOOSH! The scythe that never missed was also relentless. Eritch did not even give him time to breathe. Indeed, he was truly brutal.


    Marco propped himself on one knee and parried with Demonkiller. The opponent''s weapon slid off the flat of the blade and grazed him by the shoulder. Thankfully, the Guard held up, albeit he was thrown off his feet again.


    CLING! With the grating sound of chains, the scythe was pulled back into the cloud. Not a second later, it was pirouetting towards Marco again. CLANG! CLANG! The scythe flew back and forth. Marco strained to defend while Eritch pressed him back to the edge. His weapon was not so simple. It was devised with a mechanism that made it spin in the air even with a chain attached to it. And it was probably imbued with a charm too that instantly overpowered barriers weaker than the holy energy contained in it. If Marco stinted on the divine power he fed to his HEAVENLY GUARD, then it would have been similarly broken as well.


    "Stop playing with him!" Catherine''s voice boomed over the silence.


    With the dust clearing, Eritch stepped forward with his scythe in hand. "Alright, I''ll end this now."


    "I wasn''t talking to you," she bayed.


    Marco steadied his feet and exhaled. "Apologies, I was just testing how well the Heavenly Guard can defend against a Corlissen''s weapon. But I have seen the results now." He dispelled the shroud that had protected him thus far.


    Oliver hooted in amusement from the distance. Eritch''s husky face contorted in anger. "You insult me again. I was being merciful to you. I''ll etch a scar so deep you''d regret ever stepping into this arena."


    "Well, this arena you step on is about to be mine." INVIOLABLE EDICT! Marco burst forth with holy energy, its tendrils burying into the sand. He touched the thread of light that connected him to Eritch and snapped it in two with just a flick of his finger, much to the cheers of the sophomores. Everything Marco touched and everything that touched him submitted to his will.


    A mound started to rise up from the ground. Its arm first formed, then its head. Soon, the sand golem towered over the two of them as it stood on two legs made of the floor it was born from.


    Eritch leapt back as launched his weapon again. THUD. It contacted but the shifting sand that was the body of the monster absorbed the impact. It buried there before Eritch yanked it towards him by the chain.


    Still scowling, he screamed and threw towards Marco instead even as the thread of INESCAPABLE FATE had been cut. As a hunter, he had a great aim on his own. His weapon drew a crescent in the air that traced around the sand golem. Marco simply stood there, not intending to evade. CHUCK. The golem caught the weapon, but it spun out of its grasp as its sand fingers were sliced off.


    The scythe hit the ground beside Marco with a thud. He saw his chance then. He covered it in a mound of sand to prevent Eritch from pulling it back. INVIOLABLE EDICT. A thick tendril of holy energy flowed from Marco into the Corlissen artifact. In a span of a breath, the artifact had become his. Eritch watched in horror as the chains started to tug on him instead. "Fuck!" He let go, with a grudge, lest he be dragged along.


    "Surrender, then I''ll give it back," yelled Marco from behind his sand golem who picked up the scythe.


    His foe chuckled, "Do you think I only fight with that? You underestimate me. VIRTUE OF PERSEVERANCE!"


    A basic attack spell. But its strength grows with the chanter''s reserve of energy. And Eritch had not used any holy power at all except for the measly thread of INESCAPABLE FATE.


    A huge halo taller than he was by a threefold materialized behind him. Then it glowed a deep ochre. As long as one persevered, he would be rewarded with an endless arsenal of weapons. From inside the yellow halo, tens and tens of spears materialized.


    "Pulverize!" He hollered, though there was no need to.


    The spears rained down. Marco blocked with his golem whose body became perforated as one spear after another lodged into its sand flesh. Then more spears pushed the ones that were already there. They dropped before Marco''s feet with a clang.


    He erected walls of sand around him as he fell back. The barrage of weapons had flattened the golem back to the ground.


    VIRTUE OF PERSEVERANCE! Two more halos formed above them. One halo produced cannon balls that demolished his shields while the other outpoured with more spears that followed Marco''s retreat. Soon he would reach the edge of the arena, and he would be trapped between the wall and Eritch''s rampage.


    Time to counterattack.


    The onslaught had caused the whole of the floor to be covered in clouds of dust. Marco had to use the sand below him as his eyes. He could sense Eritch''s position. IMPRISON! He ordered the sand which had submitted to his will.


    He sensed Eritch leaping to avoid the pillars of dust that sought to restrain him. But what Eritch would not expect was the cloud of dust around him to suddenly swirl. Like a predator lunging for its prey, the clouds of dust spiralled towards him, wrapping the entirety of his body in a grey cold cocoon.


    When he activated his HEAVENLY GUARD against the sand that embraced him from head to toe, the three halos vanished, as did the deluge of weapons that had threatened to entrap Marco.


    At last, Marco could breathe. He halted his retreat, commanding the sand below, "IMPRISON!" The sand cocoon that was soon to be Eritch''s coffin continued to grow in size. Despite his heavenly guard, he would soon suffocate.


    Marco turned to Professor Turington who stared aghast at the grey boulder that had become of Eritch prison. "Declare it, declare it before he runs out of air," Marco urged him.


    The professor held on for a couple of seconds more, waiting for the sand to budge but it stayed still as a rock. "It''s Vermilon''s victory."


    Marco''s badge gave off a ding, flashing the number 2, earning applause and undignified hollers in the Coliseum. As he withdrew his control over the sand, the boulder collapsed to dust almost instantly. Thud. Eritch''s figure hit the ground, his HEAVENLY GUARD still shrouding his body. He dispelled it and propped his bulky frame on one knee. "You''re a monster. Fuck, it''s my loss."


    Marco walked over to him and helped him to his feet, saying, "Now, you regret not granting my request."

 Chapter 38: Apple XI

    She caught the smell of wood ¡ª one hewn from a special tree that the angel had deemed prettier than most, more redolent than others. There shall be no lovelier creation, none more perfect than her.


    She caught the smells of wood, hundred similar yet discernible scents, tainted with varnish and paint, with dye and ink. She smelled the desire in each of them, the longing and the helplessness. But one pungent scent screamed for her. It was hanging there in the middle of the dust-laden room, feet dangling, donned in a pair of pristine white boots, a name scribbled on its sole.


    Apple groggily blinked awake. She remembered having a strange dream though only bits remained. And the harder she tried to recall it, the faster it disappeared from her memory.


    She winced as a cold wind blew in when she opened the window to her chamber. Hurriedly, she shut it close back. A knock on the door announced the arrival of the maid assigned to her floor, carrying a steaming kettle.


    "My lady, for your hot bath."


    It was one of the best things about Demach. Somebody else prepared the tub for her. The tub itself was impressive on its own. She could understand why the nobles loved maintaining the status quo. But remembering that she held disdain for them, she took the kettle from her.


    "I''ll prepare it myself."


    "Oh, it''s hot," the maid warned her.


    Drowsy, Apple realized too late. It singed her hand which instinctively let go, splashing the water on her feet and onto the carpet.


    The maid paled in horror. Apple wondered whether it was out of sympathy or the fear of punishment. "Forgive me, my lady. Are you hurt?"


    It had burned her fingers. The water had scalded her feet, searing her skin to a blush where it touched her. "I am well. Just bring me another one."


    With the second kettle and the buckets of water, she made her own bath, stirring in rosemary oils and buds of jasmine. Shedding her night robe, she dipped into the lukewarm tub, regretting that she had not made it warmer. She should have skimped on the cold water.


    She sighed. I must make the most of the Academy. Afterall, the mission might come to a quick end.


    Sadly, she could not relish in the warm bath for longer, in fear of being late to Professor Cosser''s Enchantment Fundamentals. She had received many warnings from her, threatening to bomb her with demerits for all the instances she was tardy. She donned her blue Demach coat. As a fitting ornament, she pinned the badge on her chest that glimmered with the number 274, sixth among the freshmen.


    After just a few weeks, the Academy rankings had seen significant shifts, the winners ascending, the losers shoved down. There were a number of duels happening. The most anticipated of all was Marco Vermilon''s. And he did not disappoint.


    For some reason, she did not feel like wearing the white boots today. Instead, she put on the pink velvet shoes, posing in front of her vanity mirror before she went out the door heading towards the cafeteria.


    She spotted Hannah''s back on the brick-covered path on her way to the auditoriums. She ran up to her. "Hannah!"


    "Oh, Apple. Great morning to you."


    Indeed it was. The smell of maple and oak saturated the chilly morning air, rich and bursting with flavours. She breathed it all in. She sniffed Hannah''s scent, etching it to memory.


    Hannah was simple and spoke little. Her choice of a subtle perfume complemented her disposition perfectly. She smelled faintly of fruit. But beneath it was the sun-kissed signature of a life in the Copperhills where she hailed from.


    "My morning has become brighter by tenfold after seeing you," beamed Apple, entwining their arms as they trod on.


    "You jest." Hannah tapped her forehead.


    "I wonder what Gallenport would look like with snow?"


    "Hm, it''s also my first time in the city. Maybe we should ask Yuri. But Apple, you would be able to see it with your own eyes. Snow always fall in the Month of Barachiel."


    If I''m still here. She thought. With the devil exterminated, another white dove would come, a roll of paper tied to its leg, beckoning them to another strange place.


    In the Auditoriums, Apple witnessed a rather not too unfamiliar sight. Lucas stood outside with hunched shoulders, pleading with Professor Cosser. It had been happening lately as of this week. After his accident in the House of Rules, the professors had been reluctant to accept him.


    Yuri jumped in front of them, "Morning, beautiful ladies."


    Apple smiled at him, her noble friend. Unlike Hannah, Yuri wore a heady perfume that he claimed attracted girls. To Apple, it was manly, nearly overwhelming but it was a welcome scent.


    "Can you enlighten us?" Apple asked of him, pointing at Lucas.


    "Well, we are about to do some practicals on basic defensive spells. Since Lucas does not have holy power to boot, Professor Cosser had suggested for him to study arithmetic and history in the Bibliotheca instead," whispered Yuri as they stood at the corridor.


    That''s one way to reject a student, she thought.


    Lucas soon lowered his head in understanding.


    Professor Cosser whirled back to the room, robes flapping at her heels, leaving the sole Zayin student alone.


    He turned to leave but stopped when he spotted them. He lowered his head even more, beret falling aslant as he did so. He pulled his lips into a thin awkward smile, greeting them, "My lord, my ladies." He shuffled past them without another word.


    Her gaze followed him as he passed. She wanted to warn him, to say sorry, to ask him who was the true Lucas of Vermil ¡ª the hero who saved her or the demon with the vilest stench. But as he disappeared through the wide arching doors of the Auditoriums, every word remained trapped in her throat.


    The practicals went by smoothly. Apple''s DIVINE PROVIDENCE could create a barrier half an inch thick, able to defend against basic attacks. Professor Cosser would ask them to increase the output each time, testing its durability with a barrage of controlled attacks from an artifact that shot out flaming pellets. At its maximum power, the artifact left dents and cracks on the barrier that had consumed half of her total reserve. It was safe to say the professor was impressed. Most of her classmates could not even endure the artifact''s bombardment at the lower stages.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    In the professor''s defence, it was not a test Lucas could take. He already had one hole in his palm, he did not need more.


    No one but Apple seemed to mind that the Aleph class seemed incomplete without the Zayin student. But in all fairness, no one but her seemed to care when he was here, perhaps bar Diana who detested him. They were put off by his presence and apparent incompetence, but they paid him no mind in the class. He would sit at his usual place, silent as a ghost.


    He was back two hours later. Apple wondered if he even went to the Bibliotheca. He took his usual seat in the topmost tier of the auditorium, in the far corner, away from everyone''s notice but Apple''s.


    Professor Devonchy ¡ª a ball of a man with a curvy moustache ¡ª staggered in unceremoniously in his unproportionally stunted legs. He took one look at Lucas and swayed his head from side to side. "Bring your things, Lucas of Vermil."


    Lucas''s usually tranquil facade showed cracks of unease. He would be spending another two hours out of the class. Calmly, he stepped down but instead of making for the door, he approached Professor Devonchy.


    "My lord, Professor Hilbury said I can attend all classes with Aleph," he pleaded so softly Apple had trouble listening in on them.


    "Of which I am not ignorant. But I cannot have you in Power Control when you don''t even manifest a blessing, son. I cannot afford casualties here. When these children''s powers go out of control, what if you''re caught in it? Better go somewhere you can read some books in peace."


    "But the director said ¡ª"


    "I know what the director said," the professor cut in, "But I am asking you to leave anyway. His conditions only apply to you, it has no consequence to us. And Lucas of Vermil, do you honestly want to be in Ordination? I think James is pushing his luck. You''ll only face hardships here you have no capacity for. I hope you take to heart what I say. I''m only worried that you''ll hurt yourself here, unnecessarily."


    Lucas stooped. "Thank you for your concern, Professor."


    Once he was out of earshot, Calla raised a question. "May I ask Professor what the director''s conditions are? I heard you mention it."


    Their Power Control instructor slumped on his chair, making a creaking sound. "As every one of you are aware, the Zayin student lacks holy power. The director was not so happy that Professor James Hilbury recommended him, while completely aware of that. Thus, he has given Lucas of Vermil only until the end of this month to prove that he belongs in the Divine Ordination course."


    "He already fainted last week, he should have been dismissed from the course immediately," remarked Rickland, Lucas''s teammate from before. Rick, along with Diana and Jennifer, plummeted down the rankings, with Rickland suffering the worst. He was nearly at the bottom now. Diana fell to fifteenth place in their class.


    Even in classes that required no holy power, Lucas fell behind. He was often without. For the first month, he skipped days to recuperate from injury or trance, rendering him unable to catch up on the lessons. In Mathematics, the professor grew tired of him who had barely mastered arithmetic and so he brought a guide suitable to eight-year olds. "Answer all these practices on basic arithmetic then come back to me." He sent him out.


    Apple felt relieved it was not her in Lucas''s position. She was doing better with numbers now, with Yuri''s help. He tutored her in the Concord, not only on Mathematics but in Literature too. She was not the best learner, but learn she did, albeit slow. Lucas, on the other hand, was alone with no friends to take him under their wings and help him. She once promised to teach him geography but she never found the chance to. Now it had become impossible for the exorcists would soon come for him. And in the aftermath, all of Apple''s relationships here would be cut short. Together with her father, she would take to the roads again to another village or city or kingdom.


    In Literature and Poetry at least, Lucas was not evicted. But when he was called, he struggled to read the passage assigned to him. Diana''s group muttered something Apple could not make out but it made the students nearby giggle. That was when the Professor told him to sit down and she never bothered to ask for him during the rest of the period nor the rest of the week.


    Professor Mallory was not too ecstatic about Lucas''s presence either. She experienced firsthand how he failed a test ¡ª miserably. Diana started talking about it one morning.


    "He was gasping like a dying animal, you should''ve heard it."


    Apple''s ears always perked up when Diana opened her mouth. And this time, her voice was loud and clear, as though she intended for Apple to hear.


    "Was he too scared of the dark?"


    "He must have pissed his trousers!" Jennifer said, to the amusement of his classmates.


    "He did not possess a spit of power so he kept begging me, my lady, my lady, light, please. I was too kind. So, I made one orb of light, but it did not help anyway. That darkness was thick and impenetrable. But the bastard surrendered before we could think of a way."


    To Apple, it didn''t seem like they were lying.


    After Professor Mallory''s test, they began sharing details of the penalty rooms they encountered. There were rooms of bugs, worms, and spiders similar to theirs. But there were also unique rooms like the puppet storeroom that Apple''s team nearly failed at and the toilet that Diana''s team almost drowned in. Even Apple was disgusted to hear that, albeit delighted in the image of Rupert squirming in filth.


    Although some of them supposed that the House of Rules haunted them with their own fears, Apple thought differently. The rooms were fragments from memory of those who entered there, she believed. It was the only explanation for the puppets'' appearance; for puppets never frightened her at all.


    That made her wonder what experience Lucas had gone through for him to be so helpless against the dark.


    On their third meeting with Professor Mallory that same week, she announced another Test, this time to be done in pairs. Instead of sensing the energy contained in artifacts, the test measured how effectively they can recognize the holy power of their partner. Each individual had a unique holy power, in quantity, level and other qualities. If they spent a long enough time with each other familiarizing their holy power, they must be able to perceive then without mistake the energy of their ally.


    Since it was a Test that required sensing each other''s holy energies, Lucas was excluded, naturally. Perhaps, the professor did not even expect to see him in the coming days.


    If their Power Control instructor was to be believed, Lucas had only until the end of this week as a Demach scholar. He had made next to no progress, especially that he was being thrown out of every class he tried to attend. With the professors giving up on him, she knew they would be more than happy to rid of him.


    During lunchtimes, Apple saw Lucas eating alone. He would get a tiny portion of food and then stride straight for the farthest seat. Before the majority of the Academy students arrived, he had long finished his meal, vanishing to some place Apple did not know of.


    It was the day of worship of the Hashmalim that Diana accosted her. The day was still far from over. They had one subject left for the afternoon¡ª another class that rejected Lucas. He had stayed for Literature in the morning; however, right after it, he scampered out of his seat before Professor Devonchy arrived. She had not seen him since.


    Diana faced her, ginger head neatly combed as though some maid fixed her hair every minute. On her chest gleamed the number 285, seven places below her previous standing.


    Apple puffed her chest, "What do you ¡ª"


    "I am not here to fight," she stifled her, "So please save the immature insults."


    "What could you possibly need of me?" She said instead.


    She grinned, "I noticed you''ve been avoiding him."


    "Was I?"


    "So," she craned closer, whispering, "You believe me now. Did you find something evil about him?"


    Apple wanted to deny her the satisfaction of being right but the poor noble''s daughter only pined for justice for a brother who was taken so young. Lucas was young then too, Apple understood that. For all they knew, it could have been an unfortunate accident all along. But with Lucas''s outright claim of having forgotten about it, Apple was torn over whose side she should be on. On one hand, she had wanted to understand Lucas more deeply and hear his own side of the incident. On the other hand, understanding ought to come after admission, not before.


    "He says he don''t remember," she said.


    "Bullshit!" she cursed, "He''s a murderer and a craven. So different from his brother by a long shot. But Marco Vermilon is being fooled, or he''s just stupid. But you, I know you''ve seen something. Otherwise, you would be sticking so closely by his side."


    Justice will be served soon, Apple wanted to tell her. You only need wait.


    "Marco Vermiilon actually told¡ª"


    KABOOM! A thunderous explosion shook Demach.


    They rushed to the windows, where a plume of smoke could be glimpsed billowing from a building close to the direction of the Henge circles.


    "It''s on fire!"


    A thick stench reached Apple''s senses. It was not just of one but of many.

 Chapter 39: James II

    James was awake before the sunrise ¡ª a habit that was a relic of his time in the Darkseed Mountains. Most cursed beings and demonic creatures prowled the woods in the dark, and it was before the break of dawn that they receded to their lairs. James and his party would stalk them, then as the creatures let their guard down to rest, they would finish them in one blow.


    It was also not too uncommon to lose sleep during their missions. They could never tell when their adversary would pounce on them, so they seldom succumbed to the comfort of sleep. Sometimes, days would go by without a vile creature in sight, but they would be exhausted all the same. The Darkseed forests were unforgiving. Their supplies would not last as long as they had planned, always. Not many fruit trees and berries thrived in the cold north, so they took to hunting hares and elks and any moving beast that they could feast on. They fought monsters and hunger both; more often than not, the latter caused their retreats.


    As he seeped his coffee looking down at the autumn trees in his bed robe, he realized how he preferred these dull mundane mornings. Although he missed those times, he had no desire to come back to such a life.


    But it was not to say that being a professor in Demach was free of difficulties.


    "When did I say you were supposed to submit it?" said James as Wilcan slid a parchment on his desk, at the end of the Battle Tactics class. It was a self-assessment on whether, given their talents, they could face a horde of cursed beings in an open field. They were tasked to explain which of their classmates in Aleph would be their best partner, and what strategy they would employ. It was a simple question of whether they would live or die in such a trial, and who could most likely help them survive it.


    Wilcan scratched his head, "Last week? But I was so excited about Vermilon''s fight that it slipped my mind altogether."


    "Everything slips your mind, Mr. Libbery."


    "You were once a battle-maniac, Professor, I thought you would understand."


    James huffed, arresting the profanity in his tongue before it escaped him and stained his reputation as a well-respected instructor. "I was not a battle-maniac. How could you even arrive at such a conclusion?"


    "But you said you were a ranger. I want to be one too. I believe rangers are amazing."


    "Enough with the flattery. As a penalty for late submission, see me later at my office. I have some tasks for you."


    "Ah, but I''ll be training," Wilcan whined, infuriating James even further.


    "I''ll help," volunteered Theresa of Cotton Lake. "I don''t have much to do after class, Professor."


    James beamed internally, thinking of the loads of correcting papers that had just been taken off his back. "I appreciate it, Miss Theresa. I''ll see the two of you later then."


    His afternoon schedule was packed. After the Henge Field Test incident where one freshman almost died, Director Garren had dropped more classes on his lap. Even the Survival Strategies Class taught to non-Ordination students was thrown at him. But James could not complain. The worst days of Demach was still better than the best days in the damned forests.


    It was James''s responsibility as well to look after Demach''s Atelier ¡ª a huge building where artisans crafted artifacts and where scholars studied them. It also housed a great number of demonic artifacts and cursed beings. That was why its walls were made of white marble, etched with runes. Despite the ominous energy contained within, not an ounce of it could be felt.


    The fourth years were about to undergo an important exercise that marked a milestone in their career. It would play a huge part on whether or not they would be judged ready to join Araya''s Holy Army. They had to hunt a wild cursed being, alone.


    And thus, it fell unto James''s dutiful hands to prepare the cursed beasts for their Test. Amelia, one of the Atelier servant guards, greeted him, tipping her hat and bowing. "Professor, how fares the day?"


    "Gruelling, as usual. You''re lucky you don''t need to put up with snivelling little lords and ladies. I have come to take a look at all the cursed beings to be used for the seniors'' upcoming tests. Will you accompany me?"


    "It is my pleasure."


    A group of senior scholars stepped out from a wooden door all dressed in leather aprons. They were holding anvils and chisels, screws and saws, their faces smudged with soot and chalk. They were the scholars who specialized in creating artifacts. It was not easy to be chosen as one. Out of the eighty-seven surviving fourth year students, only eleven of them had talent and precise control enough for artifact crafting.


    "Professor," they called when they spotted him. "We should share a drink one of these days. The Month of Michael is almost upon us."


    And quickly so. The judgment would soon fall upon Lucas, whether he would be allowed to stay or be thrown out. James rejected their invitations, saying, "You could not keep up with me the last time. Build your stomachs first."


    Down a dark flight of steps and a dimly lit corridor, the two of them visited a large door, one with a heavy chain on its handle held securely by an enormous padlock. On its door and walls, a dense carpet of runes were carved, much more than what was normally drawn on the halls of the Atelier. James noticed some of the digits had gone faint. He ran his fingers over them, feeling the roughness of the crests and troughs.


    "The cunt has been restless, huh?" He said.


    Amelia nodded. "Indeed, since Demach opened, the cursed being inside kept getting more and more uneasy. I''m afraid that if left alone for a time, the confinement charm would be broken."


    What a disaster it would turn out to be, James thought, picturing in his mind the cursed being imprisoned beyond the heavy marble door.


    Castel''s Inkarmoran ¡ª named by the late Director Castel who thought of keeping it in Demach as a specimen. It was a behemoth of a monster, ensnared from the cornfields close to Atamar. Seven two-star knighted officers collaborated to capture it, albeit only two would have been enough to exterminate it. In their line of work, it was harder to capture monsters alive than to kill them.


    The rune marks kept flickering, which meant that demonic energy was constantly being emitted, threatening to break out. If not taken care of now, it would keep on eroding the holy power in the stones.


    James murmured a prayer, "Oh, Lord of kindness and light, borrow this child the power of the angels to supress the sinners and those who consecrate thy holy name." As though the wish was granted, drops of holy light popped out of his body in a swarm that floated around them like fireflies.


    Pressing his palms onto the cold stone, he directed the sacred drops onto the walls and door. They seeped into the surface and into the rune digits, making them glimmer anew, deeper and more lucid.


    But the behemoth inside this room was not their most prized demonic possession. There was another one, more powerful, more dangerous. James was not too enthusiastic to keep it within Demach but the Director insisted. James cast a long glance deep into the dark corridor. Save for the torches, nothing else gave off light there. It''s asleep. He thought, silently praying that it remained so for a long time.


    Proceeding with his task, James inspected the cursed beings which were encased in cages infused with holy energy. Due to the effect of the artifact, many of them lay dormant but those that were sentient did not really look so threatening when tens of spikes poked through their bodies, the holy energy within them so low that it was not enough to kill but only to restrict.


    Majority of them were caught in East Bismuth during the fourth crusade. They consisted of cursed vermin and animals ranging from rabbits to foxes to horses. They occupied a domed room of five floors. For this test, James picked specimens suited for the challenge ¡ª strong enough to bring out their improvements, but not so lethal as to overwhelm.


    He marked each cage with a green or red ribbon depending on how strong the cursed being was ¡ªgreen for safe without intervention, red for those that might require it. "We''ll move them on the day before the Test." He was relieved that there was enough for the eighty-seven of them young lords and ladies.


    He walked back to find Lucas waiting by the hall to his office.


    "Professor, a great day to you."


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    James tilted his head, guessing, "I presume the day isn''t so great for you."


    "I got kicked out again, Professor," he answered, morose.


    "But Professor Devonchy''s class should be in the morning."


    "It''s Mathematics," his voice trailed off.


    Lucas fell behind the class by miles. Being born to an earl''s family, one would have not believed that a lad of his age would struggle with basic arithmetic. James could only wonder at the circumstances surrounding him that a mere commoner outdid him in both letters and numbers.


    "So you simply wandered around the Academy all day?"


    "The guard at the Bibliotheca dragged me outside..."


    "Care to explain why?"


    "...He caught me sleeping..."


    James sighed in disbelief. He used to have immense faith in Lucas. Every day, it dwindled. And at this moment, the last crumbs of it got blown by the wind.


    I was wrong. He relinquished. He thought Lucas held something special. But the boy could not even persevere.


    Perseverance was a weighty virtue for James. As a ranger who served as the first line of defence between the valley of House Hilbury and the encroaching cursed creatures, he had known starvation and freezing cold spells and hopeless fights they had no other choice but to retreat from. He had lost count of his friends and blood relatives who had died in those dark cruel woods. Yet each time he could only persevere. Even as he cursed at his burdens, he carried them with pride and resolve. When the mind wavers, the body follows. He knew adversities that these little lords would not imagine facing, yet he steeled his mind for he had a duty to his family, to himself.


    Compared to what rangers and soldiers had to face on the battlefield every day, Lucas''s problems seemed so trivial. But he had the audacity to sleep when he knew he was sent out of the room for his shortcomings that he ought to make up for.


    James spoke sternly, "You know that you have much catching up to do, more than anyone. Do you really want to stay in Demach? Or am I simply pushing you?"


    "I do, Professor. Please forgive me."


    "I recommended you, Lucas. I put my name on the line because I thought you had a talent to show us." And I felt indebted too, I suppose.


    Stepping into the comfort of his room, James had resigned himself to Lucas''s inevitable eviction from the Academy.


    Standing by the threshold, Lucas asked, "Can I come in? I can help with copying."


    James sighed, "Just go sit, I don''t mind. Do whatever you want."


    "Thank you."


    Lucas made himself comfortable on the couch while James went over the stack of papers on his desk, Libbery''s name on top. James went over his submitted work. The young lord admitted his power was too low and that he would run out of power in the span of an hour, at most killing twenty beings of grade C. James admired him for his recognition of his own limits. To soldiers, that was a crucial element of survival. He kept reading through. ''The best partner for this battle would be Theresa for she has ample reserve of holy energy. She can take care of the horde with her power while I defend her. Instead of wasting my energy on attacks that would not do much damage to a horde, I''d rather focus it on defence.''


    James''s brow crinkled. He expected many of them to choose Theresa as a partner, given how powerful she was. It seemed Wilcan''s indolence had gotten the better part of him again.


    This assessment sought to improve their decisiveness. Who to take as your partner. Of course, trust was an irremovable cog in a team. Thus, James would not be so surprised if they chose their closest acquaintances.


    Yet his eyes rounded as he read Theresa''s paper. ''I''d bring Wilcan Libbery with me. In an open field where I might lose sight of my surroundings, I believe he could serve as the voice of caution to keep me alert. Based on his previous matches, though he did not excel in flamboyant attacks, he had incredible battle sense. Among Aleph, he is most capable of coming up with strategies at the spur of the moment.''


    And that strategy is to use you, James thought. He had a hunch that something must be going on between them. Or with Theresa, at least.


    The commoner from Cotton Lake arrived first, looking disappointed as she scanned James''s little chamber, finding only a golden-haired stranger there who looked at her and greeted, "My lady."


    "A wonderful afternoon, Theresa. How was the rest of your day?" James said, bringing a kettle to the fireplace to brew some tea.


    "Nothing out of the ordinary, Professor. Is Wilcan Libbery coming?" She asked, eyeing the freshman she had never met before


    "Well, that rogue might not come after all."


    She saddened even more.


    "This is Lucas," he introduced. "First year Zayin."


    "A pleasure to meet you, my lady."


    "I''m Theresa of Cotton Lake, I''m no lady." She offered him a hand which he shook, standing up.


    "So, can you help me with some papers?" James would not let her out without doing something at least.


    Although disappointed, Theresa nodded. "Of course, Professor. Which papers should I correct?"


    "These are tests on Dangerous Beasts Behaviours from the Sciences course." He handed her the papers. When the kettle steamed, he prepared chamomile tea for all the three of them.


    She took her seat opposite Lucas and began to pore over the papers. Occasionally, she would seek his advice but mostly, she corrected them on her own. James marked tests after tests meanwhile the Zayin student stared at the page of a book. From the corner of his eye, James noticed him stealing glances at him.


    "What is it? Do you need assistance?" He said, looking up.


    "It-It''s just a word I don''t know how to read," the freshman stuttered.


    Theresa stood up and asked him, "Which is it?"


    He gingerly pointed at it.


    "That''s ''fjord''. Fee-yord. The Anders Fjord where the Champion of Love met her end. Why are you reading it?"


    "Thank you," uttered Lucas, mouthing the word, "Fjord. I have difficulty in reading but the heroes'' stories keep me engaged."


    "Reading? I thought nobles are taught early."


    "I''m not a noble."


    Theresa went back to her seat, regarding Lucas incredulously. It appeared strange, even to James. Though he did not mean to stick his nose into the student''s life, it left him curious as well.


    BAM! The door suddenly swung open. A silver-haired lad barged in. "A nice afternoon, Professor."


    "Slamming the door now, eh? Have you any shred of etiquette as a Libbery?" Veins popped on James''s temple.


    "Wican, you''ve come!" Theresa piped up, smiling.


    With one look at the thick pile of papers before Theresa, Wilcan frowned, "Oh, you are not done yet."


    "You can help me," she said, scooting to make space for him.


    "Hand it all to him, Theresa," ordered James.


    "Professor¡ª"


    "Do you want demerits again?"


    "No, no. My lord father is about to chew me alive." Wilcan took his seat and picked one leaf off the stack. "Oh, wyverns, I remember these. But I have never personally seen one. Have you, Theresa?"


    "Once," she answered proudly.


    "You lie."


    "I swear. I live near the Cotton Lake in the earldom of Torinto and one wyvern appeared there. It nearly wiped out an entire village."


    "Is that so?"


    She nodded enthusiastically.


    He read the paper and asked, "So do you know if they become aggressive when nesting?"


    "Well, it''s not based on my own experience but I do recall¡ª"


    "Oh, who are you?" Wilcan had just noticed the freshman who was quietly reading opposite them.


    "My lord," he stood up, "I''m Lucas of Vermil, a freshman. A pleasure to meet you."


    "Ah, from Gallagher. You do look a bit like Marco Vermilon. I''m Wilcan of House Libbery. We govern over the Walrus Bay. Have you been there before?"


    Lucas stilled, pulling the beret lower over his hair. "I haven''t."


    "Tis but a few days ride from Vermil. You should visit one day. We have the best coves and rock formations. If you stood up at the top of the cape, you can glimpse the Scarlet Isles. I''ll ask Father if I can bring some friends over after the term. You should come with us, Theresa."


    She could not hide her glee when he offered it. "I''d love to." On the other hand, Lucas was mum about the sudden invitation.


    "Have a bite of walrus meat too. It''s tough but worry not, I''ll treat you to the most delectable kickshaws that you would never want to leave," he said, blowing a chef''s kiss.


    All the while, he was still on the first paper, the ink in his quail about to dry. "Fifty points off of you Libbery for not doing your task right away," James reprimanded him.


    Wilcan''s mouth fell open. "Take it back, Professor, please take it back."


    James ears rang with bliss as Wilcan''s badge gave off a ding, falling by one rank to 121. "I''ll give you 50 merits if you finish before dusk."


    "Alright, I have two witnesses. Keep your word." Wilcan sat back down to his task with vigour. "Do they also turn aggressive when they see a blade?"


    Theresa shook her head. "I don''t think so. But I believe they are smart enough to recognize aggression. If you point a mere stick at it, it would turn violent too."


    "So, this one''s wrong."


    "I would give them half a point if I were you, for they are not entirely mistaken."


    "Oh, you''re so kind. I never thought you would be so considerate. And looking at it, you''re pretty too," he said.


    The girl flushed, turning away.


    "She''s been your classmate for two years, four terms, and it''s the first time you''re saying that?" James huffed. "Maybe stop dozing off and pay attention for once."


    "It''s no trouble," Theresa mumbled, cheeks still beet red.


    "But Professor, why is Lucas not correcting papers? Isn''t he here because you''re also punishing him?"


    James turned to Lucas who spoke, "I''ve been kicked out of the room."


    "Oooh, a troublemaker! Did you also call Professor Devonchy a ball of ham? That man has a sharp hearing, I tell you. Don''t even whisper it¡ª"


    "He''s Zayin," cut in Theresa, as though it explained everything.


    "Is that so? Well, it won''t stop you from giving us a hand, will it? I''d appreciate the help. Fifty points is on the line, as you''ve heard."


    "Well..."


    "You can just ask Theresa if you''re unsure. She''s the best in our class."


    Theresa''s face just kept on reddening. James rather enjoyed the scene. Ah, young love.


    "Here," Wilcan pushed some papers to Lucas''s side. "It''s all about wyverns and cursed monitor lizards. Sometimes, it''s hard to tell the difference."


    Although Lucas was slow in reading, he made do by asking. When dusk neared, Theresa helped in too. James did not mind. He was simply grateful that the task was about to be finished.


    Wilcan rambled on, talking about any topic under the sun. It appeared that the young Libbery was a chatterbox outside of the auditoriums. When Theresa talked, he also listened. James could not help but eavesdrop on their conversation.


    "It''s called Cotton Lake because of the cottonmouth snakes that live there, not because of cotton. We don''t have cotton, if that''s what you''re asking."


    "We learn something every day, don''t we? But aren''t they venomous. Aren''t you afraid to live near a pit of vipers?"


    "Well, you learn to coexist with them after centuries, I suppose. If you don''t threaten them, they simply slither by."


    "I''m not very fond of snakes. I''ll run away if I see one."


    "You should see them in the hatching season then. They are all over the swamps."


    Wilcan turned to Lucas. "How about you, Lucas? How is the City of Vermil like?"


    "Uhm, it-it''s not so big a city like Gallenport. But it''s a great place."


    "Oh that reminds me," Wilcan peered at him, craning closer, "Do you know about the Curse of Gallagher?"


    James''s ears perked up. His quail hovered over the parchment, unmoving.


    "It''s just a rumour going around you see. Just heard it in a banquet one day. Don''t tell your lord, they might come for my tongue."


    "What is it?" Lucas asked, face darkening.


    "It''s about the House Vermilon."

 Chapter 40: James III

    A curse about House Vermilon? Is this one of the bastard''s funny stories again. James thought. Instead of entertaining false gossip, he should be paying more attention in class.


    Wilcan deepened his voice as if to add some eeriness to it, "They say, the House Vermilon is cursed. Only one sibling always survives on the main bloodline. The other boys and girls either die at childbirth or by some horrific tragedy. That is why there is only always one heir on the line of succession. Some sick rumour, isn''t it?"


    "That sounds so far-fetched but the Vermilons had only had one living child since around the time of the Third Crusade," Theresa affirmed. "But is it because of some form of sickness though? I heard nobles develop the strangest diseases."


    "Indeed, indeed," nodded Wilcan, "My uncle died and until now we have no idea what caused it."


    Lucas was left staring at him, frozen.


    "Hey," Wilcan snapped him back, "Don''t rat me out to your lord. We''re comrades, alright?"


    He bumped fists with Lucas who replied blankly, "Alright."


    You idiot. That''s a Vermilon right in front of you. James snapped at him, "It''s a marvel you have space in your brain for gossip but none for our lessons, Lord Libbery."


    "It''s just something I remembered, Professor, please don''t give me demerits," he begged.


    "Are you done?"


    "Nearly. Will you be here tomorrow as well, Lucas?"


    The Zayin student nodded. Of course, he''ll most likely be here. He was banned from the Bibliotheca and no professor would accept him. James''s heart felt heavy. It was not just Lucas''s fault. It was his own failure too. Initially, he thought that given some exposure, Lucas would manifest. One month is just simply too short.


    "Can we come again, tomorrow, Professor?" asked Wilcan.


    James could not believe his ears. The slothful had volunteered to come back. Perhaps, there was hope for the young Libbery. He could not say the same for Lucas.


    "I''ll come too," Theresa said.


    James gave Wilcan back his fifty merits after the task was over. "There will be no mercy next time."


    "Aye. Professor. I''ll bear that in mind," he said, clearly without intention to keep his word.


    "Shall we walk together, Wilcan? Lucas, do you want to go back with us?"


    The freshman shook his head. "I need to stay for a second, my lady. Thank you for teaching me so much today."


    "It''s no trouble. See you tomorrow then," she waved farewell as they left.


    When only Lucas and James were left, he asked him, "Do you need anything else?"


    "I think I know how I can stay in the Academy, Professor," declared Lucas. "I need to enter the rankings." Presently, his badge had no number in it.


    "Or you can simply manifest even just a minuscule drop of holy energy. How are you even planning to enter the rankings?" There was no way for him to earn merits when he''s always outside of class. James deemed it a child''s foley.


    "I''ll ask someone to a duel."


    James craned his head in surprise. He could not tell where he had mustered such confidence. "Without holy power? Are you begging to be walloped?" Will he simply throw hands?


    "Well, I believe it''s still better than doing nothing, Professor. Does it sound so absurd?"


    "It does. It does. But who am I to stop you. Perhaps by some stroke of miracle you win. Or manifest a power at least. Then Director Garren might reconsider."


    For the following day and the next, two third year Alephs would disturb James''s peace in his little office chamber as they corrected papers and copied old texts. Lucas was trying his hardest to keep up with them. To his luck, both juniors were patient with him.


    The three of them seemed to get along well, regaling each other with tales from their hometowns. But once in a while Wilcan would suddenly interrogate Lucas.


    "Are you sure you''re not a noble, Lucas? I''m pretty sure only the crown''s blood are born with such beautiful gold hair."


    "I''m just a noble, my lord," the other insisted.


    "If you say so. Do you know who your mother is, then?"


    The commoner from Vermil bobbed his head.


    "Your father?"


    Reluctantly, he replied, "I believe he died when I was younger."


    "You don''t know him then? I think we have a mystery upon us. Don''t you agree, Tess?"


    Theresa swayed her head from side to side. "You cannot make assumptions like that, Will. That''s rude."


    Despite Wilcan''s prying, Lucas himself welcomed the company.


    While reading one paper on Dangerous Beasts Behaviours, Lucas raised a question, "Why are all animals that come back from the dead presumed as cursed?"


    Theresa looked at him as though the question was absurd.


    Wilcan shrugged, "Because they shouldn''t come back from the dead, Lucas."


    "Why not?"


    "Well for one, it''s considered taboo to raise any creature from death. It''s seen as a demonic practice," Theresa explained.


    "Even if it wasn''t done by a demon?"


    The two Alephs looked at each other, confounded by a Zayin''s curiosity.


    "I don''t know how to explain it much more plainly. It''s taboo, Lucas. Only god has the authority to weave the threads of life or cut it. Only god has the right to resurrect his creation."


    "Did god himself say that?"


    His words bordered on heretic.


    James broke in, "It''s a religious decree, Lucas. It''s in the Holy Scriptures."


    "Which were written by people."


    "Aye, but under the guidance of the angels who descended on earth."


    "So, it was the angels then," he said softly before falling silent again, his stoic mask back on.


    Wilcan and Theresa glanced at James, puzzled. It was the last time Lucas brought up such a query.


    On the day before the senior''s Hunting Test, James asked the three of them for assistance. "I need a hand in bringing out the cursed beings for tomorrow''s Test."


    "From the Atelier? I have not been there yet. Count me in, Professor," blurted out Wilcan excitedly.


    "That''s where they keep the Castel''s Inkarmoran. Can we see it?" Theresa was equally interested.


    "Absolutely not." James himself had not laid eyes on it since he put that massive cursed beast in chains. "Lucas, you come with us too."


    "Alright, Professor."


    The sky was overcast when they stepped out the Professors'' Building. The air smelled thickly of the salt sea. A breeze stirred the line of maple trees that gleamed in fiery yellow and scarlet.


    "There''s a storm coming," commented Wilcan, looking up at the dark sky. "The first one."


    The Test might need to be postponed.


    "Do you know about Demach''s Atelier Lucas?" Wilcan engaged the boy in another talk.


    "I''ve never heard of it before."


    "It''s that giant marble building over there. They make artifacts in there. Amazing right? But what it''s best known for are the cursed beings that are imprisoned inside. One of my aunts told me they''re keeping something big there. Doesn''t that frighten you?"


    "The Inkarmoran?" Theresa said, walking closely by Wilcan''s side.


    "No, no, not Castel''s Inkarmoran. Something else," he said, his voice hissing.


    James butted in, "Now you''re scaring them. Do not fret. The entirety of the Atelier is covered in runes. All the cursed beings are dormant, unless you break the artifacts they are caged in. So, don''t touch anything recklessly."


    They arrived at the front steps of the Atelier where Amelia greeted them. "My lords, my lady, a great afternoon to the four of you."


    "Can you ask the other guards to bring the wagon, Amelia? We need to transfer the cursed beasts to the Test Site."


    "I will, Professor." She disappeared through a door.


    Wilcan and Theresa scanned the marble walls with awe. "I''ve never seen these many runes before," remarked young Libbery.


    Theresa ran her hand over the smooth marble wall etched with digits from an old language hailing from a time long before the Descent. "Who even maintains them, Professor?"


    "Me of course," James uttered with pride, "And well, five guards, each of them a one-star soldier."


    He spotted Lucas looking intently at the deepness of the corridor, past the artisans'' wing and into the containment cells. Unlike the third years, he seemed unimpressed by the runes around them.


    James announced, "Come, we have a laborious task to complete."


    In the artisans'' wing, they could hear the sounds of scraping, chipping and hammering. Wilcan opened the door ajar and said, flabbergasted, "The Ember of Dynameis, you have one here!"


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    James peered through the slit on the doorway. A blue flame flickered alive in the middle of the room where a few artisans were bent on their tasks in leather aprons. It was the Ember of Dynameis, the flame that never dies.


    "They say the Ember would burn the devil but not the good. It should keep on burning until all the evil in the world is gone," Theresa remarked, as though reading from a book.


    It shall burn for a long time then, James thought. Demach made good use of it in crafting; the Embers were far too few to waste on demonic creatures and cursed beasts. To obtain one itself was a milestone for any institution.


    Lucas stared at it vacantly, the fierce blue of the flame glinting in the calm blue of his eyes. He had not spoken since they entered the Atelier.


    At the end of the long corridor, two doors awaited them, both chained with a lock. Amelia was waiting for them there. She opened the one leading to the dome that housed the various cursed beasts.


    "Where does the other door lead to, Professor?" Wilcan asked.


    "To the characters of your horror stories," he replied.


    The dome was thick with vile energy. James''s perception was sensitive, so it felt like an assault to his senses being surrounded by hundreds of cursed beings.


    Amelia opened another door that led directly outside through a shorter corridor where a row of wagons awaited. Three other guards entered from there.


    The larger cages that contained sleeping bison, horses and other large ruminates were stored at the first level, so that they were easier to transfer. They slightly reeked of decay but they could very much well rampage if released. "They have wheels, just roll them. Only pick those with green and red ribbons," James instructed.


    Wilcan and Theresa looked at the array of cursed beasts lining the walls of the Atelier''s dome. They covered their noses. Lucas, strangely, was not the least bit put off by it. Yet the boy kept staring out the door from where they entered. Is he scared? Perhaps, I shouldn''t have brought him.


    "Eh, are you sure they''re still alive, Professor?" Wilcan grimaced.


    At a glance, the beasts seemed lifeless but when studied closer, their muscles twitched slightly. It was the cursed energy trying to rouse them but the holy energy of the artifacts kept the suppressed.


    "Well, alive is not the word I''d use." Some of them were undead. They were not supposed to live this long without nutrition, anyway. It was the curse keeping them from rotting and dying completely.


    They began to wheel the large cages out first. They would push the cages up an incline into the wagon. Then the horses would carry them away.


    Theresa asked, "Can I use my power here, Professor?"


    "That is why I brought you here."


    "Then, WATER SPIRIT!" Theresa released holy energy, creating two humanoid entities without a face, their flesh and bones made of water. Her WATER SPIRIT could haul two cages at once, making the work quicker.


    Wilcan used a barrier to push while Lucas simply helped in carrying the smaller cages from the higher floors.


    A guard came running up to Amelia and whispered something. Then she walked over to James and mumbled in a low voice, "Professor, it has awakened."


    "Castel''s¡ª"


    "No. It''s the Weeper."


    First Castel''s Inkarmoran, now the Weeper too. James turned to the other guard, "Stay here with the children." To the three of them he instructed, "Don''t touch anything recklessly. Keep the pace, don''t rush. Theresa, can you keep these two boys in line?"


    "I''ll try," she replied.


    "We''ll be at our best behaviour, Professor. Have some trust in me," Wilcan said.


    Lucas asked, "Is something wrong?"


    "A minor inconvenience, that is all." James tapped his shoulder. "Help with whatever you can."


    James left them and followed Amelia who unlocked the second door from before. They went down a series of steps lit by flaming cressets. The orange glow reflected off the smooth walls of the Atelier, casting the steps in a warm light. The runes to the Inkarmoran were glowing intensely, but he believed they should hold for now. Deep down the corridor, another door was giving off light. As they neared, James could make out the sound of weeping.


    It is awake, and very much so.


    Huuu...huuu...huuu... It sobbed in a woman''s voice yet it was no lady. The Weeper was a demonic monster whose lamenting cry could manipulate other cursed beasts and even befuddle holy soldiers.


    The runes had activated, keeping the Weeper locked in and subdued. However, given enough time, its cries would erode the digits. It would need constant watch now.


    James immediately uttered a prayer, "Lord of the kind and the good, I call upon thy sacred power to keep the dark at bay, to banish the evil and proclaim thy victory over them."


    Holy energy lit up around them like fireflies. He directed them to the marble door and reinforced the runes, making them glint brighter.


    HUUU! HUUU! HUUU! A sudden bout of crying emanated from the other side.


    "It is resisting," Amelia said with worry.


    "Do not fear, these runes are specialized to contain much more powerful beings." Although they were weak against attacks from the outside.


    Another sound reached their ears. NO!


    "Professor!"


    James dashed for the steps, "It''s from above! Guard the steps, Amelia, do not let a cursed being in."


    The loud weeping must have awakened the cursed beasts. The runes on the dome would prevent them from breaking out of the atelier but he needed to ascertain the children''s safety.


    There was pandemonium above. James watched as a horse raced by, followed by two guards. He ducked as an eagle swept by. CHAINS OF DOMINION! James chanted. He emitted a generous volume of holy energy, surrounding him in a blinding shroud. Then, they turned into silver glimmering chains that chased the eagle and every cursed creature within sight, instantly putting the chaos under control ¡ª almost.


    Lucas was on his knees on the floor, a bruise on his cheek, lips bleeding, clutching his stomach.


    Wilcan braced as a cursed bull charged towards his barrier, its brown mane flowing in the wind, resisting the pull of the CHAINS OF DOMINION. Thud. The barrier held. "Now, Tess!"


    "WATER SPIRIT!" She called her soldiers into action. Spears formed out of their hands. Leaping into the air, tens of water spirits besieged the beast, impaling it from all sides.


    But then a shadow emerged from behind Wilcan. It had two horns that pointed sharply heavenward, its eyes glinting an ominous red. An oryx. A cursed one that had broken out from its cage.


    "Wilcan, behind you!" James yelled at the top of his lungs, launching a chain in its direction.


    Wilcan turned. He had no time to activate another barrier.


    Chick. The sharp horns pierced flesh but it was not Wilcan''s.


    Why? James thought. Why would you do that again?


    Lucas coughed up blood violently as the horns sank deeper into his lungs.


    "No! Lucas!" Theresa''s scream tore through the chaos, spurring her soldiers.


    Water spirits lunged at the oryx. Studded with holes, the beast dropped to the ground, bringing Lucas with it. With the horns still buried on his chest, he kept mumbling something. Only when James arrived at his side could he understand him.


    "Sorry... sorry," the lad''s voice trembled as blood bubbled out of his lips.


    To James''s horror, he felt the runes collapsing around them, as if being drained away by some unknown force. No. No. No. This can''t be happening!


    James felt a sudden surge of demonic energy. Then ¡ª KABOOM! The deafening blast blew off the entire floor, collapsing a face of the dome''s wall and cages of demonic creatures along with it.


    He had activated a barrier in time as debris rained down on them. A devilish energy swept by, making his barrier pulse in response. Cages broke, cursed beasts leapt down. This nightmare in James''s career had not yet ended, he feared.


    "Protect the children," he told the guards. "The director and other professors should be here soon. I''ll keep the Inkarmoran occupied." James chanted, STAR OF PROVIDENCE! The star that guided the lost and shunned the darkness. Although the horned beasts seemed unbothered, the smaller cursed creatures shrank in fear as the light from the burning orb touched them. It shall provide us some respite.


    A huge hand emerged from the dust, its nails caked with dirt and mud. Thud. Thud. Thud. The cursed beast climbed from its confinement and stood over them, a pair of sharp yellow eyes looked down on as its shadow loomed over. Then it groaned with a hollow guttural voice that grated their ears. When the dust cleared, he saw Amelia''s limp body clasped in its huge fingers.


    "It''s a gorilla! An enormous one," Wilcan exclaimed.


    Amelia twitched. She was still alive.


    James chanted a basic spell. VIRTUE OF COURAGE! A halo of light formed from the stream of holy energy. Then it began to redden, rows of enormous thorns coming off its side. James threw it with a flick of his arm. It whirred in the air, catching the lumbering Inkarmoran by the arm and leaving a deep gash.


    It groaned in pain, loosening its grip on Amelia who began to fall. James sprinted to catch her in his arms. "Are you alright?"


    She shook her head vigorously. "My spine..." she winced.


    He brought her over to Wilcan''s group who was desperately trying to maintain the barrier against the onslaught of a hundred cursed beings as Theresa commanded her water soldiers to fight against them. They fell in droves. The scene appeared like the assessment they had on paper, James thought. And they indeed were great partners. I have to give Wilcan more merits on his paper.


    Wilcan muttered something, "Professor, it was Lucas." James did not know what he meant.


    Lucas was lying on the floor bleeding. The guards had pulled him out of the horns that had impaled him. He needed immediate healing but unfortunately only Amelia would be talented enough to do it. And right now, she was also badly hurt.


    How can things take such a dark turn so drastically? One second, everything was so peaceful, then the Dome was collapsed the next.


    James watched helplessly as the cursed beings that had broken free poured out of the domed hall, out into the corridor and into Demach''s open grounds. His chains chased after them but he could not catch all of them.


    The whirring halo trailed a curve in the air, hurtling for the beast again. Swinging its arm, the Inkarmoran blocked, causing the halo to ricochet and bury into the wall. James dispelled it and chanted again. CHAINS OF DOMINION.


    A number of chains roped around the Inkarmoran but it snapped them with a sharp cry. Its strength had not depleted even though it had been immobile for years. He also needed to lengthen the time to create the chains to make them stronger, but time was not on his side.


    The giant beast hollered its dominating cry ¡ª the Inkarmoran''s dangerous card. Its call carried with it a wave of dark energy. James was too occupied in keeping the chains around the cursed beasts and making more. He tried to activate a barrier but it was not thick enough. Crack. The surge hit them.


    Wilcan and Theresa dropped to the ground on all fours. Even James felt his own heart racing, as though defeat was inevitable.


    "Prioritize a barrier!" He ordered the guards who managed to endure. Seeing the children safe, he dashed closer to the Inkarmoran, tying its legs with silver chains. It grabbed at him. When it found it couldn''t reach, it instead pulled on the chains on its legs.


    "FIRST LIGHT!" He heard a familiar voice chant. The sky brightened as a shard of light descended, cutting straight through the Inkarmoran, from the top of its head down to its bottom. The Inkarmoran was split cleanly in two.


    "Director!" James called, finally relieved. Or so he thought.


    Huuu. Huuu. Huuu. A sobbing rose up from the ground.


    It''s out! James shot out chains instantly. But the Weeper was quick. Most demonic monsters were. This is dangerous. Aside from its ability to command cursed beasts, the Weeper was dangerous enough on its own.


    It was a creature straight out of a nightmare. Crouched on all fours, its slender fore limbs bent back so that it stood on its elbows, hindlegs stocky and strong enabling it to spring into leaps without delay, avoiding his attacks. Huu... Huu.. It wept with a snout akin to a canine, a slavering tongue draping off two rows of crooked teeth. Its thin lids wiped away false tears off its red slit-like eyes.


    Huu... Huu.. It leaned its head on one side, studying the chaos around it, sobbing in permanent agony.


    "FIRST LIGHT!" A shard of light shot down soundlessly. It struck the marble floor without stirring up dust. Unfortunately, the Weeper had dodged it.


    James spun, searching for it.


    Huu... Huuu... Huuuu...


    Its energy was unmistakeable amidst the swarm of demons besetting the guards and his three students. It had jumped behind them, shattering a facet of their barrier with a lash of its spindly fingers. Demonic monsters were intelligent. Their attacks always had a purpose, to maim, to kill, to reduce the enemy''s numbers, coming for the defenceless first. And now it had set its claws on Theresa who was too occupied in controlling her water soldiers.


    Wilcan noticed, eyes rounding in dread. In that split second, the lad made a decision. He swirled and gathered holy energy in his fist. Then he struck without hesitation, putting himself between the Weeper and his comrade. BAAM!


    James knew it would not be sufficient. But it was enough to shift the Weeper''s attention.


    HUUUU! The monster cried. It swept down its sharp claws in anger, KUCHIK, severing Wilcan''s arm.


    James watched in terror as the young lord''s arm dropped to the ground in a spray of blood.


    "NOW PROFESSOR!" With the one arm and resolve Wilcan had left, he clutched the Weeper by its hind leg, thwarting its retreat for a fraction of a moment. It was all James needed.


    CHAINS OF DOMINION! Chains shot out, ensnaring it. It began to snap free of them almost instantly. James poured every energy he could muster.


    FIRST LIGHT! Director Garren''s shard of light streaked down onto the demonic monster. It cried in pain but remained standing. Its raw defence was leagues sturdier than the Inkarmoran. They needed more firepower.


    Theresa wailed, "WATER SPIRITS!" Her holy energy turned into soldiers that pinned it down with spears made of crystal-clear water.


    One shard of light after another rained down, cutting desecrated flesh off, leaving holes in its body.


    The Weeper thrashed, bursting with demonic energy that doused the STAR OF PROVIDENCE that had kept the smaller cursed beasts at bay. HUUU! HUUU! It bayed again ¡ª now sounding like its death throe ¡ª to call on the hundreds of cursed beings to stampede into the barrier and onto itself, ripping the water soldiers and chains in its struggle to break free.


    Losing hope, it brandished its claws instead. Its long fingers descended on Wilcan who gripped at its feet. The poor lad could not even afford to look up at the claw of death about to puncture his heart.


    However, its claws stopped midway. Lucas had blocked the pointed end of it with nothing but his bare hands. Trembling, he was back on his feet as though he had not been impaled just a moment beforehand. He mumbled a phrase that nobody could have heard in the chaos.


    James witnessed it then. The darkness that shrouded the weeping monster slowly drained, creeping into the wound where its claw had pierced Lucas.


    The downpour of light blasted the greying monster into dust ¡ª its head, its shoulders, its limbs. huuu. huuu. It wept as it disintegrated where the light touched it until nothing but dust was left and its haunting sob that lingered in James''s ears.

 Chapter 41: Diana IV

    It was in the Coliseum that the Academy Director gathered all scholars under Divine Ordination for an urgent announcement.


    "Must be about the incident from yesterday," said Eleanor, taking the seat beside Diana.


    Cursed beasts were released right inside the Academy grounds, the Atelier''s dome missing its half after the Castel''s Inkarmoran burst out of its confinement. Luckily, the Director and one professor had contained the threat before it could cause any further casualties. Meanwhile, scholars and professors who rushed to the scene made swift work of the smaller creatures that spilled out of the marble building.


    "I killed a small rabbit; how many did you take down?" asked Carlos as though the breakout yesterday was some game.


    "Somebody almost died, Carlos," Diana snapped at him. "Two. I killed a boar and a falcon." She could have felled more if the fourth years had not swarmed the battlefield.


    Although the accident had been shocking, they were all blessed children and it naturally fell upon their able hands to subdue the cursed beasts. Yet in the aftermath, they took to boasting, tallying kills and comparing sizes. The bison especially proved hardest to subdue for their bulk. But those that could fly were of the utmost concern, for they could easily cross Demach''s walls and wreak havoc in the streets of Gallenport.


    Standing at the pulvinar ¡ª a platform that overlooked the seats and the arena ¡ª the director was flanked by a taller professor who must be James Hilbury, the same instructor who had overseen the Henge Field Test. Dark circles under his eyes made it apparent that he had not slept throughout the night. Diana doubted she would either, had such an incident happened under her watch.


    "My dear students," Director Garren''s voice carried over the entire Coliseum, rendering it silent. "I hope you had an enlightening month so far, bar yesterday''s misfortune. To shed light on it, I would like for Professor Hilbury to speak first."


    "Thank you, Director. I am James Hilbury for those unfamiliar," the professor started in a solemn tone. "Yesterday afternoon just before the end of classes, I was transferring the cages of cursed beasts in readiness for the senior''s assessment that was supposed to be done today. However, on that same time, a powerful cursed beast called Castel''s Inkarmoran had been showing signs of agitation, as well as another specimen named the Weeper, a demonic monster."


    Gasps and mutterings rippled through the stands. "We were keeping a demonic monster in the Academy?" Carlos said in surprise, "To what end?"


    All the students knew that Demach stored cursed creatures. But the Weeper was news to every one.


    Director Garren raised a fist to still them.


    The professor continued, "As we were reinforcing the runes on the Weeper''s chamber, it gave out a loud wail and awakened a few cursed beasts from their cages. It seemed that we underestimated the power of the Weeper''s cry. And as we were subduing the creatures that had broken free, the Inkarmoran was able to break out from its prison. We suspect that the runes on its chamber had failed. In its rampage, the Weeper was also released."


    He nodded over to the Director who stepped forward and spoke, "The lives of five guards and three students were put at risk but they fought bravely despite knowing they might lose their own lives. They showed a steely resolve like any soldier of the Holy Army, in the face of a swarm of a hundred cursed beasts, the Inkarmoran and the Weeper. Fortunately, all of them survived, although one remains critical. It is only just and imperative that we hold them in recognition, beginning with the brave Third-Year Aleph Wilcan Libbery."


    When the director clapped, the entire Coliseum followed suit. "Sadly, he has not woken up after suffering severe blood loss. If you could visit him in the infirmary, your words of support will surely make his recovery much quicker. And also deserving of praise, another courageous student from the same class, Theresa of Cotton Lake."


    A girl of rusty brown hair stepped out from the curtains and joined Director Garren, to the applause and hollers of her classmates.


    "Theresa was previously Sixth in the Academy rankings but after being awarded merits due for her talent and contribution, she has taken the fourth place now," the director announced. Another round of cheers erupted from the stands.


    "She''s the only commoner in the top ten. How strong is she?" commented Eleanor.


    "And last but not the least, the scholar who ultimately subdued the Weeper. If not for him, the demonic monster could have caused deaths. He put himself in the line of danger twice. And in the end defeated the Weeper. He''s a freshman, you might be surprised..."


    Diana looked to Carlos and Eleanor who were equally clueless. Whoever he was, he was not in Aleph class.


    The Director coughed and mouthed, "First Year Zayin, Lucas of Vermil!"


    Diana watched with wrinkled brows and an open jaw as a lad wearing a beret appeared from the shadow, his complexion so pale it almost looked like milk. The whole Coliseum remained quiet.


    "Because of the display of his ability to exterminate cursed beasts and demonic monsters, I believe Lucas had the right to earn the eleventh spot in the Academy. Please show him your appreciation." He started to clap but only a few followed.


    They were astounded, like Diana. Her ears rang with a whirring sound. Eleventh? He doesn''t deserve that spot. He ought to be out of Demach by now. I''ve always suspected him to be pretending to be weak but not to this extent where he is capable of battling a demonic creature. It made Diana feel smaller.


    "Is the director making a mistake? Eleventh? You heard it too, right?" Carlos remarked. The mutterings around them made it clear that others were as confused.


    Despite the poor reception, the director went on. "Dark times indeed breed heroes. Amid the accident, we witness the emergence of three young ones. But of course, we have to put measures in place so that such unnecessary incidents would not happen again..."


    His talk lasted an hour longer, but Diana had stopped listening. All she could think about was how defeated she felt.


    * * * * *


    In the day of worship of the Seraphim, Diana made the long stroll to the Altare Angelorum carrying a bouquet of white blossoms she had asked Ser Kallan to prepare.


    Rain had poured heavily last night and the night before, leaving the streets of Gallenport damp and riddled with pools. Stray dogs and cats and rats darted in corners. The children did the same. A group of them were running towards them, splashing the pools and splattering Diana and her company with grimy water.


    A gruesome memory from the House of Rules came back to her, making her flinch with disgust. That experience was not one so easily forgotten. "Hey!" She shouted after them but they scampered away quickly on their short legs.


    Eleanor shook her head in exasperation, wiping droplets off her face. "Peasants."


    "What''s going to happen now," Carlos asked, as they made their way down the busy streets. "The Ghost had been proclaimed a hero."


    "It makes no matter. Justice will come for him, regardless," Diana proclaimed. He remains a murderer and he shall pay for his sins.


    "But more eyes will be on him, and the public''s opinion of you would sour if you try to touch a hero."


    "Well, let him revel in that moment in the sun. People will soon know who he truly is. A hero, heh," she chuckled. She wanted to keep things obscure but the Ghost''s ascent to glory would not allow her. Thus, she ought to change the rules of the game.


    The only hindrance to her plans was Marco Vermilon. After seeing his capability firsthand in his fight with a Corlissen, Diana''s hope for vengeance was nearly smothered. Vermilon could have ended that duel instantly but he played along for a while. Was it sympathy for his opponent or vanity?


    She needed a way to keep Marco Vermilon away from his brother.


    Beside her, Carlos said, "There is a good pub right down this alley. My guards have been talking about it."


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "We''re on our way to the church and you talk about drinking," Diana reprimanded him.


    "We''ll toast to the highest order of angels. I''m quite sure they love to be praised."


    "And I''m quite sure you love the taste of cheap ale," said Eleanor in derision.


    "The seniors frequent there; I have you know. Who knows, we might bump into the top students of Demach and be acquainted with them."


    "Make haste." Diana looked back at the two of them bickering. "The Altare would be bustling."


    And she was not wrong. The three spires of the Michaelic church loomed into view. As they got closer, they found a mob of devotees. The steps of the Altare were filled with people awaiting their turns to leave their bouquet offerings. A soldier was busy directing the crowd, shoving them with his unsheathed sword.


    "Perhaps we should come back in a while," suggested Eleanor. "Let''s eat some cake. I know a place."


    "You stay here, then." Diana jostled her way into the crowd and came up to the guard. "I am Diana of House Rupert. I just need to lay these flowers at the foot of the Seraphim." She showed him the red salmon sigil of her House.


    The guard inhaled, tired. He did not seem to like his work. "This way, my lady."


    He parted the crowd for her. Up the steps into the plaza in front the Altare, she glimpsed the stone image of the Seraphim. The highest order of angels bore three pairs of wings ¡ª one pair that veiled their eyes, another that covered their legs and feet and a third that stretched ten times as they were tall. Behind the statue was a wheel of flaming candles that stirred with the breeze, wax dripping off them.


    Suddenly she felt a hand brush past her pocket. She would have ignored it had she not remembered that she had put her pouch there. She touched her side. It''s gone!


    She whirled, scanning the crowd, craning over the tops of their heads, finding nothing but devotees cradling white flowers, jostling each other for space.


    The pouch had her new Die of Fate, she recalled. She released a thin shroud of holy energy, surprising the people around her. She chanted, DIE OF FATE! All the energy from her drained as though being sucked by some ravenous beast.


    Found you!


    The thief wearing a pillbox hat flinched as a stream of holy power went into his coat. The DIE squirmed inside, transforming into a weapon whose form was decided by pure luck, of which Diana had abundant. She gave chase, dashing past her company who stood confused, a trail of white petals dropping in her wake.


    He burst into a run, toppling an old man and stepping over him. He dropped the pouch along with the glowing weapon which turned out to be a cleaver. He must have realized that he stole from the wrong person. Without looking back, he disappeared into an alley.


    "What had happened?" Eleanor caught up to her.


    "Scum thought he could rob me," Diana laughed. Luckily, she carried the Die of Fate.


    "We''d better go. I told you the pub was the right place to show our praise to the Seraphim. They sing songs there."


    She noticed a few of the stalks in her hand had snapped, some petals amiss. It would be disrespect to offer it to the angels now.


    "Diana..." Eleanor tapped her shoulder.


    A shadow slowly emerged from the alley where the scum had fled to. The same thief had gone back, but not out of his own volition. Behind him trudged a figure dressed in a dark billowing robe, face covered by a veil that hang around the brim of a tall hat, an enormous sack behind its back adorned with strings of shells and rocks and patches of dark stains.


    A Gabrielic Exorcist!


    It was only the second time that she laid eyes upon one. She remembered seeing one during her childhood, when she was ignorant of what they were and what they did. Until now, she had no inkling as to why they had appeared in Gallagher then.


    The exorcist held the thief by the neck, shoving him along towards Diana''s direction. Every step of the exorcist was accompanied with the sound of shells and stones clinking, an eerie rhythm amidst the hullabaloo of the church close by.


    "I believe this young man has committed the grave sin of coveting your possession." It was a woman''s voice that came from underneath the veil, a stern tune yet unthreatening.


    "Indeed," Diana answered, picking up the cleaver by its golden handle. "He tried."


    "Please forgive me, my lady. I have three children," the thief cried, face contorting in fear.


    "Perhaps you should have thought of them before you ran off with my pouch."


    "A punishment is due where sin is erred," the exorcist declared. "The hand that covets must be severed."


    "No, my lady, I beg of you!"


    "There is no need to," Diana said. "A fair whipping is enough. After all, he did not succeed. Swear on the Lord''s name that you shall commit no thievery again."


    "I swear, I do. I swear on the Lord''s name. I swear on my own life and the lives of my children."


    "Oh, daughter of luck," the other said beneath her veil, "The heavens send you a sign yet you ignore it. What is a cleaver for if not for the flesh? A Die of Fate must be brandished at least once before it can revert back to its dormant shape. It begs to be used, my lady."


    She was not wrong. Before the Die of Fate could turn back to its die form, Diana needed to use it. She called me the daughter of luck. Does she know about my latent blessing?


    Some people had started to look on. The situation had become precarious.


    The Gabrielic exorcist spoke, "Then with your permission, I shall carry out the punishment he deserves." She extended her palm towards her.


    Diana sighed, handing her the cleaver. "Suit yourself."


    Her movements where swift yet rough. She pulled back the hand that held the thief by the neck and grabbed hold of his arm instead, yanking it to the side, before he could even protest. SLINGGG. With one swing of the cleaver, she sliced through flesh and bone.


    The thief burst into a wail, clutching the stump that bled in rivulets. Some of it splattered onto Diana''s white bouquet, smearing it red. His hand met the ground with a soft thud.


    The exorcist turned to the crowd gathering at the steps to the Altare Angelorum. "You have flowers in your hand with no chance to lay it at the foot of the Seraphim. Would you like to offer it at our own altar instead? Not many frequent the Gabrielic church in Araya."


    Diana stood there without answering, wary.


    "You may go. Err not for you don''t have many limbs to give." The exorcist told the thief who stumbled away, sobbing. She wiped the blood off the cleaver with her bare palm before handing it back to Diana. "Perhaps, you might find something there, the thing that you prayed for every night. "


    Diana''s instincts told her not to trust the exorcist. "And what do you think do I pray for?"


    "Peace in your heart," she answered, turning on her feet, shells clinking in her every move. "It is fortuitous fate that we met. If you believe in your luck, then I must advise not to let your chances slip from your hands. The Gabrielic order is not too far from here."


    "Are we actually going to follow her?" Eleanor asked worriedly. She tugged at Diana''s sleeve.


    "Well, I have not been inside the Gabrielic Church. Perhaps, it''s time to visit one," Diana said, much to her friends'' dismay. "You don''t have to follow me."


    Clutching the blood-smeared flowers, she walked after her dark figure. Eleanor and Carlos soon followed, not happily. Past the damp streets of Gallenport, they arrived in a towering wall with a small arched gate that bore the intricate image of a pigeon in flight. Similar to the Gabrielic exorcists, their church looked menacing and mysterious.


    Looking over at Eleanor and Carlos who were equally skeptical, Diana began to think twice about continuing, but before she could put that trepidation into words, their guide whirled with the sound of clinking stones. "We are here. Do not let doubt and fear govern over you."


    Since when could exorcists read minds? Her words just made Diana all the more reluctant to step through that small gate. For David, she thought. For David, I must grasp whatever fate had thrown upon my feet.


    Breathing deeply, she walked past the high wall and into a yard of unexpected wonders. They must have been teleported out of the city for the scenery before her did not feel like Gallenport at all, nor a church for that matter. Small hedges of white roses grew from both sides of them. Further down, the sound of water rippling played like music together with the hoots from a hundred white pigeons that basked in sunlight and dipped and drank in a fountain carved in the likeness of an angel.


    "Gabriel..." she uttered.


    His face belonged to a realm beyond men. No one she had ever met could compare. She felt as though she desecrated him by not prostrating on the ground in veneration. But even if she did so, she feared it would not suffice as a display of faith. She ought to have brought apples, peaches and a fresh bouquet ¡ª not the ugly wilted blossoms in her hand.


    Archangel Gabriel was impeccable even in stone. There was power in those chiselled jaws, kindness in those grey eyes and sacredness in those wordless lips. His hair cascaded in grace around and behind his shoulders, flowing in curls like a sea in turmoil. His enormous wings opened wide and sharply, pigeons perched on its entire length, cooing and hooting at one another.


    With all the birds around, the fountain should have been covered in birdshit but it looked as pristine as the day it was made.


    "We are but a small group of believers," said the exorcist, pointing to a group dressed like her ¡ª a long dark robe, veils over their face and a sack behind them. "We come from every continent, from all walks of life, from every corner of the earth, united only in the sacred experience when the messenger Archangel Gabriel had revealed himself before us. He called onto us despite our imperfections, despite our worldly desires, despite our sins undeserving of forgiveness."


    She turned to Diana, "We carry our sins now as burdens behind our backs, forever repenting. You have your own burden, a ponderous one that would not leave your heart at peace, a burden which you so willingly accepted. There is a way, Diana of House Rupert, to free yourself. But you are afraid because you doubt. You doubt that by using it, your claim could either be affirmed true or exposed as a mere speculation altogether. Black and white. Truth and lie. So, you resigned yourself to the convenience of seeking closure without incontestable evidence, knowing the uncertainty shall forever hunt you. Unwise, if I might say so."


    "What are you talking about?" Diana clutched the Die of Fate. The exorcist''s voice bore the edge of aggression, of reproof. What doubt?


    "You believe your brother was killed, you say it but in your heart you still doubt. You cannot be blamed for you have not seen it yourself." The weight of her every word disturbed the pigeons around them that hooted and hopped, flapping in agitation, water splattering as they did.


    Diana''s ears burned. Her heart began to race. Whoever these Gabrielic exorcists were, they had been digging around for skeletons and ghosts. But they were wrong. She had no doubts in her heart.


    "I told you we should not have come," said Eleanor.


    "We leave now," suggested Carlos.


    Diana nodded. "It was a pleasure to be here." The white flowers meant to be offered to the Seraphim remained in her hand. It seemed the Gabrielic church did not have an open altar like the Angelorum, albeit they had a small worship building that loomed over the hedges.


    Ignoring her intention to leave, the female exorcist spoke again, "You must borrow it, Diana of House Rupert. It shall prove to you and everyone the truthfulness of the justice that you claim. The Cage of the Tribunal shall give you your heart''s desire. Peace, at last."

 Chapter 42: Marco XXII

    The clang of steel swords rang in the peaceful clearing.


    "Keep your grip steady," Felix advised after battering Lucas with a series of blows in a fury seemingly born out of some personal inspiration. "If you lose your blade, you lose your head."


    Lucas tightened his hands around the hilt of his blunt sword, trembling. Sweat beaded on his milk-white face, his cream shirt soaked. He charged with the thrusting stance that Felix had painstakingly taught him the past week. He had begun to pick up some skills and apply them, albeit awkwardly.


    The air was damp from last night''s rain but it did not stop Marco Vermilon from dragging his brother to training. He would have brought him to the courtyard of the Royal Keep if not for the watchful eyes there. Instead, they made do in a small meadow where their only spectators were farmers who occasionally passed by, glancing in curiosity but too occupied in their work to care.


    Lucas had suddenly grown famous, making a leap for the Eleventh Place on the Academy standing. Director Garren had announced that his young brother had defeated the Weeper, declaring him a hero. Lucas had subdued the tumbleweed once, but it still came as a shock to Marco. He was astonished and worried but most of all, he was proud of him.


    He had asked him about it after the incident.


    "I simply grabbed hold of the monster. It was the director who decimated it," Lucas had replied. "I am as surprised too that he put me in the eleventh spot. I don''t feel like I deserve it. I''m just happy I get to stay."


    What he had said was not a lie but it could not have been the whole truth either, for the Director would not have put him on a high pedestal if he had not seen what Lucas was capable of. Director Garren allowed no tolerance for weakness.


    "Were you hurt anywhere?"


    "I''m perfectly fine. But another student, a third-year called Wilcan, has lost an arm."


    They had paid a visit to him but the young lord had not awoken yet. The Sisters speculated that all his life-force was being channelled into healing and keeping him alive, leaving none for consciousness.


    As a growing young lad who still fumbled with a sword, occasionally stumbling on his own feet, no one could have suspected of Lucas to belong among the strongest scholars in Demach. If he protected his rank, he would belong to the top ten in the coming year. Then he should be conscripted as a candidate for platoon leaders in the Holy Army.


    Panting, Lucas dropped to the ground on all fours. We should invest some time on endurance training. Marco diligently took note of Lucas''s shortcomings.


    He brought him a skin of water. "Sophomores are seeking to challenge you," he warned him.


    Gulping down half the water, Lucas wiped his lips with the back of his hand. It was unsettling how pale he was, Marco thought. In spite of days under the sun, his skin remained dead pallid. His brother said, "I''ve already met some of them."


    "And what are you planning to do?"


    "Of course I declined. I''m only going to lose."


    "That''s wise of you. You just need to keep earning merits without having to fight. Now that you''re on the height of the rankings, the professors would not throw you out anymore."


    "I hope so," he mumbled, cheerless.


    "You cannot put yourself down after fate had lifted you up." Marco patted him on the shoulder. "Enjoy it at least. I''m glad you came to Demach, Lucas. In just a month, your life had changed."


    Mounting their horses, they trudged back to the walls of Gallenport. The soil was sodden beneath, the grass wet. Autumn leaves covered the ground in a red and yellow carpet, the wind knocking away more to add to them. The Delta would soon begin to flood as autumn storms ravaged West Bismuth.


    Before crossing the portcullis, a holy guard in dark blue garb embroidered with the three-pronged Star of Michael tested the presence of demonic power within each one of them. It always glowed before Marco even touched the gauging artifact. Lucas, exhausted and battered, did not earn any reaction from the three-bladed star, no matter how long the guard laid the tip of the star''s handle on his pale palm.


    "I don''t understand it," he said.


    Neither do I, Marco thought. "It should be no trouble though, isn''t it?"


    "No, I suppose." He let them through.


    Arriving at their house flanked by pubs and stores, one of the servants informed Marco of the presence of a guest.


    Broad shoulders and a bulky stature, Eritch''s silhouette dwarfed the chair he sat in. "Took you long enough. Lucky your servants are welcoming."


    "Apologies. We have ridden outside the gates."


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Eritch looked past Marco. "Who are you?"


    "I''m Lucas of Vermil, my lord," his brother replied, "A fledgling servant to House Vermilon."


    "Are you now?" He craned his head back, doubtful. "Ah, I remember you! The Weeper Slayer. Why would you be in Marco Vermilon''s ranks?"


    Marco cut in, "Because I am his liege."


    Eritch stared at him threateningly, but the lord from Ochre Pass did not press on it. He slid a package on the table, together with a letter marked with the basilisk sigil. "The collateral, as discussed. If you break it, you''ll have to pay with more than just gold; for you would have broken my sweet mother''s heart."


    Marco grabbed the package. Eritch did not let go immediately, saying, "I don''t know exactly what you''re using it for, but I know well that it is not for Artifact Studies."


    Pulling it away from Eritch''s grasp, Marco assured him, "I will take good care of it, my lord. You have my word; you''ll get it back in one piece."


    The stout young noble glared at him, untrusting. "I''ll come back for it on the next day of the Seraphim." Taking the roasted chicken the servant had served to him, Eritch shambled to the door without so much as a farewell.


    "What is it?" Lucas asked.


    "The artifact that shall be the subject of my presentation on Artifact Studies." After his victory over Eritch Corlissen, Marco immediately demanded the transport of the artifact. It took longer than a week, but the silver paid should be worth it.


    "Can I see it?"


    "Of course." Setting aside the letter, he undid the leather packaging to expose a small slender wooden box. Inside, a white quill of the prettiest feather Marco had ever seen lay on a bed of yellow sand as fine as snow.


    Ser Gerald spoke behind him, "Is it the feather of..."


    "An angel," Felix remarked with awe.


    "Can I touch it?" Lucas reached out a hand.


    Marco shut the lid, recalling the time a Star of Michael broke after contact with Lucas. "It could be fragile," he reasoned, "Perhaps, another time when I''ve seen how durable it is."


    His brother made no effort to insist.


    "You can wash up first, Lucas. Have the servants bring you some warm water. I''ll study the artifact in my room."


    Wrapping the box with the leather fabric it came with, Marco brought it to his own chamber and opened it there. Tentatively, he unfolded the letter. It read,


    Dear Lord Vermilon,


    Although it grieves me to part with my Quill, I shall honour my son''s words as a proud hunter of Corlissen. I trust that you shall treat it with the utmost delicateness as I do.


    As Eritch had written that it was for your studies, it is only just that I, the owner, share with you some knowledge about the Quill of Melancholy and Longing. I presume you already know of its purpose, otherwise you would not have taken undue interest in it.


    What the records might not say is its origin. It was said to have been plucked off an Ophanim''s wing and then imbued with an invocation through the angel''s lips himself, granting the Quill such simple yet far-reaching power. It is a prayer of health and life that is contained within it.


    However, it is a false claim that the ink inside it never runs out. The Quill siphons memories and turns them into ink that glimmers a certain colour depending on your distant company''s wellbeing. If used rashly, one might run out of memories of their families, friends and acquaintances. If you treasure these memories with them, better not reminisce the happiest moments for the Quill is greedy and it takes with abandon.


    It is my wish the Quill would calm your heart as it does mine whenever its ink is laid. May the Lord of Kindness light your path always,


    Drichella Corlissen


    Marco closed the letter and regarded the Quill with caution. Gingerly, he picked the Quill up, sand coming away off it.


    Taking a piece of paper, Marco thought of his mother and wrote her name. Anastasia. What he thought of was a random memory of them together on a dinner table. Her face appeared bare of cheer but at least she did not look blue either. That particular time, Marco had realized Anastasia was not so simple a woman or a mother.


    He dropped the pen, overwhelmed by a feeling of loss as though he was grasping at water to retain a precious memory, never succeeding. By the time the ink glowed gold, he had forgotten what memory the Quill had devoured. She''s doing great, I see. Gold was perfect health. Black signified death.


    Knowing how it worked, Marco wrote the name Alice the maid in one continuous stroke, conjuring a memory where the maid accidentally broke a vase and apologized profusely, fearing punishment. When Marco lifted the quill, the name flickered in gold. She''s still alive! Alive and kicking.


    He almost jumped in glee. He went through all the trouble of confronting Eritch in order to know whether Lucas''s company in the Ashwood Forest was alive or dead. The incident at the Forest remained an enigma. The long gashes on the dead escorts, the cursed wolves and Alice''s disappearance. She survived it somehow when the other servants and even the gallant Ser Harol didn''t. Surely, she must know something.


    Marco felt himself getting one step closer to solving the mysteries surrounding his younger brother.


    Although he had confirmed Alice''s survival, Marco went on to use the Quill out of mere intrigue, for the sole purpose of testing it.


    He tried David Rupert. He remembered the small ginger head boy running around the Vermilon Palace as Lucas chased after him, laughing. He regretted recalling that moment, for it was the rare times Lucas knew mirth. It was too late though, for the ink had started to pour and the memory had begun to fade. In the end of the boy''s name, Marco was left only with regret, not knowing what for. The ink glowed first before the light suddenly disappeared, leaving nothing but a scorched name ¡ª black as jet. So, this is the Quill''s colour of death.


    He wrote ¡ª or at least attempted to ¡ª my father. The Quill spilled no ink. He had no memories of his father, only of his mother''s grief born of his absence.


    Understanding how the Quill worked, Marco grew bolder. Lucas''s father, he etched slowly onto the paper. The only recollections of him that he had were few and faded. He could not even remember his face nor his name. But he knew his figure that loomed over him, the vague discomfort of his presence as a literal stranger to Marco''s eyes, and the familiarity of him in the end. The Quill took it all voraciously, spewing it as a light golden ink onto the paper.


    The words flickered before dimming, turning charcoal grey, nearly black but not yet. He is on the brink of death, Marco thought, spine suddenly shivering. But still, he lives...


    He knew not what to make of it. Lucas had the right to know. Yet, should Marco trouble him for a person who had abandoned him? A father who never wanted him? Their mother would throw a fit, most possibly. The trauma Lucas''s father had left her would break her again the way it did once before. Marco wished he had not thought of writing Lucas''s father. He was a person he barely remembered now. Lucas had no memory of him at all. Why should I let a nearly dead man throw our whole family into disarray?


    Drichella Corlissen had wished for the Quill to calm Marco''s heart, but it gave him more disquiet instead.