The massive doors of Westminster Abbey, firmly sealed shut, slowly began to open on their own.
The Dean's eyes trembled with fear.
The priests instinctively stepped back.
Long blond hair.
Grayish-green eyes.
Formal attire.
Beneath the morning light, he looked every bit the nobleman.
Yet the permanent smile on his face ruined that noble image.
Summoning every ounce of courage he had, the Dean shouted,
"Leave this place, heretic... outsider!!!"
The priests echoed his words.
"Didn't you hear what the highest authority of Westminster Abbey just said!? Leave!!"
The man merely glanced around.
Then he slowly met the Dean's eyes.
"There's no one here... attend to your own business."
The great doors of the Abbey slowly began closing by themselves.
The Dean frowned in anger, Then, without warning, he fell silent.
The priests clutched their heads.
The man calmly walked toward them.
He passed through the line of priests, and ascended the Abbey's platform.
The moment he walked past the Dean, every priest collapsed to the floor.
The Dean whispered,
"Why... did the doors open... for no reason..."
Then he too fell.
The man approached the great gate standing upon the Abbey's platform.
He placed both hands against it, and slowly pushed.
A freezing wind poured through the opening, striking his body.
His smile grew wider, Under his breath, he murmured,
"My plan... finally worked."
Then he stepped into the corridor beyond.
The corridor leading to the Celestial Conclave.
Several Years Earlier, March 5th, 1871
General Registry Office, Early Morning
One of the clerks burst into laughter.
"So your name is John Smith!? Wow... that's unbelievably ordinary!!"
John answered with a gentle smile.
"Yeah... I know it's pretty common."
The clerk covered his mouth as he laughed.
"So you lost your identity papers on your way to London, right?"
John lowered his head.
"Yes... I'd appreciate it if you could issue me another one."
The clerk studied him for a moment before sighing.
"I can't believe you managed to make a mistake like that. You should've been more careful."
He then instructed another employee to retrieve the census records from the villages surrounding Oxford recorded during the 1761 Population Census, intending to recreate John's identification papers.
Looking back at John, he asked,
"So... what brings you to London?"
John's smile never faded.
"You may not believe it, but I hold an M.A. from Oxford University... That's why I came here. I plan to teach at the University of London."
The clerk chuckled.
"Now that's funny... a university professor with a name that plain. Better watch out for your students."
John was about to answer.
Suddenly, the clerk searching through the census records shouted,
"There's no one named John Smith registered in any of the villages around Oxford!!"
The clerk speaking with John froze.
His eyes widened as he cautiously looked back at him.
John simply smiled.
"The census officer rushed through our village."
The clerk slowly stood from his chair.
"What was the name of your village again?"
John raised his head slightly.
"Ashcombe... northeast of Oxford... if I remember correctly."
The clerk smiled at first and began walking away.
Then he abruptly stopped, His face turned pale.
"There isn't any village around Oxford called..."
Before he could finish, John calmly spoke without even opening his eyes.
"There is."
Silence filled the room.
The clerk's eyes trembled, Then the trembling stopped, A smile slowly appeared on his face.
In an unnaturally strange voice, he said,
"You're right... yes... I think there was one..."
Several seconds of silence passed.
Then the clerk continued,
"No need to investigate further... come with me. I'll prepare your identification papers myself."
John merely smiled.
The clerk gestured for him to enter the employees' section.
Every other employee had witnessed the sudden change in his behavior.
None of them said a word.
As the document was being written, John stood directly beside the clerk, quietly speaking.
The clerk wrote, exactly what John told him to write.
Once the document was finished, John took it, and calmly left the General Registry Office.
Then he headed toward the university.
That same night, everything around that clerk drowned in blood.
A dark room.
The crimson moonlight painted everything red.
The curtains gently swayed.
One corpse lay sprawled atop another.
A pencil slowly moved across a bloodstained sheet of paper on its own.
«Rest peacefully, bodies. They are coming... to bury you. You shall return to Mother... within the Tree of Spirits. She watches over you.»
The pencil fell.
Yet the writing continued by itself, This time, the handwriting became crude.
And crimson.
«You made a mistake. Doubting him is a mistake. Whatever he says... simply believe it, corpse.»
Then, the writing stopped, The paper slowly curled, and drifted onto the wooden floor.
He was still standing there.
Watching the paper until the very end.
A familiar figure.
Long blond hair.
Grayish-green eyes.
That same everlasting smile.
He erased nothing.
Instead, he turned around and opened the door.
He picked up the key resting atop the drawer, and held it in his hand.
Only the sound of the wind remained.
He quietly listened to the silence, then whispered,
"Deception..."
The key vanished.
The sound of metal hitting the floor echoed through the room.
Yet, there was no key anymore, Nor, was there any sign of the man.
Three Days Later, March 8th, 1871
Metropolitan Police Office
Incident Report No. MP-1871-03-08-214
Recipient: National Protection Organization, Night Keepers
Date: March 8th, 1871
At approximately 1:00 PM, officers responding to concerns raised by nearby residents entered the residence of Mr. Edward Hawthorne and his wife, Mrs. Eleanor Siddal.
Mr. Hawthorne was employed by the General Registry Office.
Both individuals were found deceased inside their home.
The initial investigation revealed no signs of forced entry, struggle, theft, or any conventional criminal activity.
All valuables within the residence remained untouched.
No weapon or apparent cause of death could be identified at the scene.
The attending medical examiner was likewise unable to determine an immediate cause of death.
The circumstances appear inconsistent with homicide, suicide, or accidental causes.
As no conventional evidence has been obtained and the nature of the incident remains unexplained, this case is hereby transferred to the National Protection Organization, Night Keepers, under its special investigative jurisdiction.
Filed by:
Inspector ■■■■■■■■
Metropolitan Police Office, London
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At last, the man reached the transparent sphere within the Celestial Conclave.
The sphere still floated in midair.
But it had already cracked, He calmly reached his hand inside, and gently took hold of The Legend of Idris.
The moment he pulled it free, the sphere split apart completely, It shattered, scattering across the floor.
Yet the smile on his face never disappeared.
He had obtained exactly what he came for.
The fountain pen floated silently beside his hand.
Then, a voice came from behind him.
"Master John... didn't you miss me even a little?"
John let out a quiet sigh.
He slipped The Legend of Idris into the inner pocket of his coat before turning around.
"Not even a little... my traitorous student, Onlooker."
The Onlooker smiled, Then burst into laughter.
"A traitor!? Ah... Master... did you forget I could've exposed you seven years ago!? If I had, you'd never have even dreamed of breaking the seal on that Divine Gift!!!"
John took several slow steps forward.
"Do you really... think the Mystiquire members are the reason I managed to break that seal?"
The Onlooker raised his hand and stared at it.
"Of course not, Master. I just wanted to see you get angry."
John glanced back toward the gate of the Celestial Conclave.
Then looked at Onlooker once again.
"What made you betray them? Weren't they your friends?"
The Onlooker stepped backward, Then suddenly burst into manic laughter.
"Friends!? Friends!? You mean Harlequin and the members of Mystiquire!? Oh... Master... you've become quite the comedian!!"
John silently listened to the words buried beneath his laughter.
Eventually, the laughter subsided.
The Onlooker lifted his head and looked directly at him.
"Master... have you forgotten? You were the one who taught me never to become attached to anyone. Don't you remember?"
John's smile faded slightly.
"Yes... I just didn't expect you to learn that lesson quite so well."
The Onlooker slowly nodded.
"Fine, fine... don't act like you pity me... You're even worse than I am."
John exhaled deeply, His smile returned.
"What do you want?"
The Onlooker tilted his head.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten our agreement, Master, I arranged for the commanders to arrive at each explosion before you got here, making sure your path remained as smooth as possible... You haven't forgotten what I asked for in return... have you?"
John watched him quietly, Then let out a small laugh.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, Holding it toward him, he said,
"I expected nothing less... from my student."
The Onlooker accepted it, He unfolded the page, Carefully read its contents, Folded it once again, Then slipped it into his own coat, He turned to leave.
John called after him.
"What are you planning to do now?"
The Onlooker stopped, He slowly turned back.
"You already know, After today... seven members of Mystiquire will most likely die, And those who survive... will lose all trust in their leader, So this little organization will collapse... Exactly as He commanded."
John slowly closed his eyes.
"You mean... Your Master"
The Onlooker snapped his fingers.
"Exactly, My Master... You know, Master... you're worthy of becoming one yourself, But... Mr. P deserves it even more."
John slowly walked toward him.
"This Mr. P you keep talking about... Is he my equal?"
The Onlooker watched him approach.
"I think so, I'm not completely certain, But honestly... I doubt anyone could truly equal my Master."
John stopped only a few steps away.
"The path you're walking...is the wrong one."
The Onlooker paid him no mind, He turned away, and continued walking.
Without looking back, he raised a hand and waved.
"If my path is wrong... then yours is no different from sin, Master."
His hand slowly lowered.
"I seriously doubt Celestia, House of Angels will simply ignore you after stealing The Legend of Idris."
John slowly raised his head, His eyes drifted toward the ceiling of the corridor.
"They... won't interfere."
Then he paused, Quietly correcting himself.
"No... perhaps they already have."
Then, almost as a whisper,
"Deception..."
His body slowly faded from existence.