Amon stood once again in the open field. A faint sting of pity surfaced in his eyes, lingering only for a moment before slowly fading away. Within a few minutes, the feeling had dried completely, leaving his expression calm and unreadable.
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
At once, the sun descended from the sky like a falling star. Its radiant light withdrew from the world, dimming rapidly as darkness spread across the horizon. The golden glow faded until the night reclaimed the heavens in quiet majesty.
"It's been a long day," Amon said softly.
With another snap of his fingers, his clothing shifted. The garments he wore dissolved and reformed into a loose sleeping robe. He lowered himself onto the ground and rested his head against the cool, soft grass. The quiet of the field embraced him, and before long, he drifted into sleep.
| Morning |
Morning arrived gently, as though summoned by a silent wish. The sun rose above the horizon in its familiar brilliance, casting warm colours across the sky and spreading light across the field.
Amon was already awake.
His robe had changed once again. In its place were black, sleek trousers and a crisp white shirt. A black waistcoat lay neatly over the shirt, while a black tie rested against the collar. Over it all sat a tailored black blazer, perfectly fitted to his frame. Polished black shoes completed the attire. Draped across his shoulders was his cloak, a garment steeped in a darkness that seemed to devour the surrounding light, concealing him from the eyes of others and perhaps even from himself.
"I wonder what task I'll be getting today," Amon murmured.
A curious smile formed on his lips as his eyes narrowed slightly.
He began walking toward the enormous white portal doorframe standing in the distance. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and passed through it. The portal absorbed him completely, releasing thin trails of white smoke as it swallowed his figure.
A moment later, Amon found himself standing on a sidewalk.
The atmosphere around him was lively, filled with the steady rhythm of daily life. People walked along the streets, speaking to one another as they hurried toward their destinations. Some chased their own purposes, while others worked to help someone else fulfil theirs. Carriages rolled along the solid road, their wooden wheels rumbling softly while the horses pulling them clopped steadily against the ground.
Then, a carriage halted beside the sidewalk.
Amon glanced toward it.
Isn't that the same carriage that took us to the haunted house, and back to the temple?
Realisation crossed his mind. Without hesitation, he stepped inside and settled onto the brown seat.
The carriage resumed its journey, heading toward the temple.
Seated opposite him was a young man who appeared to be around the same age as Amon. His legs were crossed, and his head was lowered slightly as he read a book held calmly in his hands.
The young man had messy blond hair and striking golden eyes. His skin was pale, his lips faintly pink. He wore a white turtleneck long-sleeve shirt paired with pale white trousers secured by a brown belt. Brown shoes rested neatly on the carriage floor. Around his neck hung a golden cross, glinting faintly in the light that filtered through the carriage window.
"My name is Amon. What's yours?" Amon asked, offering a polite smile.
The young man sitting opposite him closed the book in his hands and set it aside. A black void cube appeared silently in the air beside him and absorbed the book in an instant. The man rested his hands upon his folded legs and leaned back slightly in his seat. For a moment, he simply observed Amon before answering.
"Leonardo da Viscins," he said. "You can call me Leon for short."
Leon returned the greeting with a warm smile.
Amon narrowed his eyes slightly and responded with a courteous smile of his own, though the gesture lacked sincerity. His gaze lingered briefly as he noticed a faint blackish purple aura seeping from Leon's body.
He must be an awakener, Amon thought.
His attention shifted to the golden cross hanging from Leon's neck. It swayed gently with every bump the carriage encountered.
"Are you a Christian?" Amon asked calmly, his tone mild and accompanied by a small smile.
"Indeed," Leon replied with a faint smirk. "I believe in the Creator of the Cosmos and the beyond."
"It seems we are brothers in Christ," Amon said with cheerful enthusiasm.
"Indeed," Leon answered again, his voice steady.
"What church do you attend?" Leon asked with clear curiosity.
"Ah, the House of Prayers and Miracles. The Church of the Most High," Amon replied with a pleasant smile.
A prominent church, Leon thought.
"And you?" Amon asked in return.
"The Church of Worship and the Word of GOD," Leon replied. "The Church of the Eternal One, who died for our sins. Although our churches differ, we still worship the same GOD. Our Lord, Jesus Christ."
For a few quiet moments, both men smiled at one another. Their eyes narrowed slightly, and faint smiles rested upon their lips as each formed favourable thoughts about the other.
"By the way," Leon said after a short pause, curiosity creeping into his voice, "what do awakeners know you for? What is your title?"
"Dancer in an open field," Amon almost answered, but he stopped at the first word and reconsidered.
No, I am not saying that Amon thought with an inward laugh.
"The Gunman," he said instead, a faint smirk touching his lips. "What is yours?"
"Wooowww, that is quite a title," Leon said with an impressed smile. "Then you must be a gun user?"
"Yes, indeed," Amon replied calmly.
"As for me," Leon said, placing a hand lightly against his chest, "I am known as both the Strong Man and the Smart Man, though most simply call me Cassiel. I am a man of swords, a disciple of the Sword Emperor, and the King of Information."
There was unmistakable pride in his voice. A small smirk formed on his lips as he spoke, the kind worn by a man who had repeated his own legend often enough to believe it deserved reverence.
Hearing that, Amon began to suspect that the man before him was no ordinary awakener.
Let us keep him close, he thought quietly.
"And what Order do you belong to?" Leon asked.
"The Erith Order," Amon replied without hesitation. "And I can proudly say that I am a friend of Val Erith, the Head of Awakeners. I am also the Master of Seven Mirrors."
The confidence in his words was almost radiant. Although Amon did not fully understand the last title, nor the deeper meaning behind it, he understood enough. The look on Val's face when his awakening occurred already told him what kind of miracle it was. Awakening seven mirrors was no ordinary feat. It was the kind of thing that altered the atmosphere around a name.
Leon's eyes widened.
His jaw slackened slightly, and his hands slipped from his thighs as the composure he had worn so carefully began to fracture. Even the driver outside could not help but turn his head and stare back into the carriage in astonishment.
"The Erith Order..." Leon repeated under his breath, his voice almost trembling. "The Erith Order? The kings of prophecy. The guardians of the royal family. Allies of the highest Venerables. Worshippers of the House of Prayers and Miracles, the Church of the Most High. The rulers of the temples of the Southern World. The slayers of Hades, the God of Death, Riches, and Darkness. The Throne of Fire and Order. The Erith Order..."
He shivered slightly as he muttered the words, his disbelief plain to see.
In truth, he barely registered the statement about the seven mirrors.
Awakening a shard alone was enough to make one worthy of praise. Awakening a mirror was the mark of a genius. Leon himself had awakened a mirror and forged an entire path from it.
And yet even he found it difficult to accept that another genius could stand above him.
The thought unsettled him.
The idea that such a blessing, something he had long believed was granted by GOD only to the chosen, could be given to another so freely stirred an unease he could not hide.
How did he enter an Order that only the strongest families can join? Leon wondered.
Seeing their reaction, Amon leaned back slightly, crossed one leg over the other, and narrowed his eyes.
"You cannot behave like this, Leon, disciple of the Sword Emperor and King of Information," Amon said with dry sarcasm.
"Oh, please, do not say things like that," Leon replied at once, shifting back into his usual composed demeanour.
He adjusted his posture and uncrossed his legs, a small but deliberate sign of respect.
After that, neither of them spoke.
Only silence remained, broken now and then by the steady clop of hooves and the occasional jolt of the carriage as it rolled over uneven stone.
After some time, they arrived at the temple gates, and the carriage came to a halt beside the pavement.
The two of them stepped down and began walking toward the entrance.
Soon, they stood before the temple gate.
"Pity," Amon muttered, his gaze moving over the guards stationed there.
Vell was not among them.
There was no sign of him standing there with that quiet firmness Amon had half expected, half hoped to see. In his place stood another man, younger, but similar enough in build and features to suggest some familial resemblance.
"State your names and your purpose," one of the guards commanded, striking the butt of his spear against the ground.
"Amon," he replied, "the Gunman of the Erith Order."
"Leon, called Cassiel, disciple of the Sword Emperor, and King of Information," Leon said.
The guard on the left immediately opened the gates for them, his movements tinged with visible fear. The younger one, the one who resembled Vell, remained standing as still as stone, though inwardly his thoughts were far less composed. A bright, restrained smile formed on his face.
He wanted to become like them.
Amon and Leon passed through the gates and made their way toward the doors of the White Spire.
"Hearing what you said earlier," Amon began as they walked, "you do not belong to an Order?"
"Yes," Leon said, looking ahead with a faint smile. "I do not belong to any Order. I am quite satisfied being the one and only disciple of the Sword Emperor, and the King of Information."
He is lying, Amon realised at once.
Through the power of the Discerner, falsehood never passed unnoticed. He could always tell when a man spoke truth and when he wrapped himself in deception.
He is not telling me everything.
They reached the doors of the Temple and pushed them open.
Beyond them stood a white portal, silent and luminous.
Without hesitation, the two stepped through it and vanished.
They reappeared in the white space.
Though neither spoke, both harboured similar thoughts.
This man is no joke. He truly is a friend of the Head of the Awakeners, Leon thought, a faint chill passing through him.
This man must be a powerful awakener indeed, Amon thought in turn.
Val stood before them, one hand resting behind his back, the other lightly upon his cane. He wore the same suit as before, immaculate, uncreased, untouched by time or effort.
"That saves me the trouble of introductions," he said, a small smirk forming on his face.
"We will have to wait for the others. More people will be joining us today."
As he spoke, he brought forward the hand that had been resting behind his back.
A moment later, four figures entered in swift succession, each carrying themselves with visible confidence, their heads raised, faint smirks resting on their faces.
They came to stand beside Amon and Leon.
All four were tall men in their own right, though none matched Amon's imposing height. He stood at six foot nine, Leon at six foot three, while the others ranged from five foot ten to a little over six foot.
"I trust you have all been well," Val said. "If my memory serves me correctly, your names are Arroz, Seraph, Fe Yuan, and Shingen."
There was not the slightest warmth in his tone. No softness. No courtesy beyond precision.
"Yes, we have been well," Arroz replied, bowing his head. He wore a white cloak that gave him the air of a man who preferred to hide his intent behind dignity.
The next, dressed in a black suit and holding a short staff, inclined his head slightly. "So you do remember me, sir," Seraph said in a gentle voice.
Fe Yuan bowed as well. He wore a red cloak embroidered with embedded sigils that caught the light in faint, restless glimmers.
Shingen, the largest of the four, stood with a heavy stillness about him. He wore a long golden trench coat marked with a clan symbol of three triangles and two wings, along with black trousers and a white waistcoat beneath.
"To summarise the matter," Val said at last, his gaze moving over the gathered group, "we have found a new lead."