Chapter 4: Cordu Village
7th November
Intis Republic, Riston Province, Dariège Region, Cordu Village
-Lumian Lee-
"You want to buy a house here in Cordu Village?" Béost, the village's provincial administrator, inquired of Angel, a faint trace of scepticism colouring his tone.
His brown hair was neatly combed, his light blue eyes traced with delicate black lines, his nose bridge straight, lips thin, and moustache impeccably groomed.
Lumian understood the man's doubt well enough. After all, he and Angel were unmistakably young—he scarcely into his mid-teens, she perhaps on the cusp of her twenties. There was no reason for people their age to be settling down in the countryside. Every other youth, by custom and expectation, was supposed to be heading for Trier in search of opportunity.
And that's exactly what had brought him here—opportunity. The opportunity to encounter Roche Louise Sanson, known also as Aurore Lee, a fellow Transmigrator. Unlike in canon, Lumian had not come to be adopted by her. Instead, he sought an in for an organisation for Transmigrator's through her—Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society.
He knew, of course, that it would likely be some time yet before such a group properly formed. But he needed a foothold, a means of entry, as he lacked the aura of the Sefirah Castle that clung to other Transmigrators. The Hunter speculated that it was through this very aura that Hela—the Evernight Goddess's friend from the modern era—had once located them, and with the Goddess's aid, gathered most of her fellow countrymen.
The other reason for wishing to meet Aurore was similar to the one he shared with Angel: to complete his ritual, and perhaps to raise a Demon of Knowledge—a Great Old One—for his own purposes.
The God of Steam and Machinery was too much of a fraud to rely upon.
"My brother and I desire a place away from the noise and clamour of the great cities," Angel replied, meeting the man's doubt with measured calm. "And besides," she added, almost as an afterthought, "I might find some inspiration there for my music."
That too. Lumian smiled inwardly, quietly amused at the irony of fate. It seemed Lumian Lee could not escape the destiny of being a younger brother.
"…Understandable," Béost nodded, steepling his fingers as his gaze lingered—none too discreetly—on Angel's figure, no longer concealed by a cloak. "Do you require assistance in choosing a house?"
"No need," the Warrior replied curtly, her usually calm voice turning cool as she caught the direction of his stare. "We'll take the two-storey house in the south of the village."
The middle-aged man coughed awkwardly. "I see. That house, is it?" He gathered the papers scattered across his desk, flipping through them until he settled on one. "If you mean to purchase that plot outright, it will be 900 Verl d'or."
For Lumian, who had accepted—cough—emotional damage reparations from the priest, the police officer, and the local Auch gang alike, the price was more than manageable. He was sitting comfortably on 17,500 Verl d'or. A considerable sum, especially compared to Angel, who had only 800—savings the original Angel's family had accumulated over a decade and entrusted to the girl as she set off for university in Trier. Or rather, he had been sitting on 17,500, until he gave Angel 5000.
"900 Verl d'or." The ash-silver-haired woman placed neat stacks of cash from her purse onto the table, and for a fleeting moment, Béost's eyes glittered with barely concealed greed.
To the man's credit, he masked it quickly, retrieving his quill and signing the sheet he had selected before sliding it across the desk toward Angel.
And true to his expectations of his 'big sister'—a Transmigrator from the modern era—she read the deed through in full before committing her signature to it.
….
"…Your 'Chariot' is rather convenient." Angel broke the silence that had settled over them as they enjoyed dinner on the rooftop of their new house beneath the night sky.
Hearing the dry tone of the Warrior, Lumian let out a chuckle. "Perhaps I should have made more effort to hide my 'Chariot' from the locals. But if I had, it would have taken us days, perhaps even weeks, to finish renovating the house. I wouldn't have minded, but would you have preferred staying in Béost's villa?" He asked, taking the last bite of his eggs benedict.
In response to his question, Angel's lips thinned, which was answer enough in itself. Instead, she changed the subject. "What now?" she asked, taking a sip of her fruit brandy as her gaze drifted toward the twinkling stars.
"I'll teach you about the Beyonder world, as I promised this morning," the Hunter said, meeting her golden eyes that snapped to him the instant he finished speaking.
She didn't say anything, merely waiting for him to continue.
Lumian hummed thoughtfully before speaking. "Let's start with the basics. I've already told you what a Beyonder is, and mentioned Sequences and Pathways. Yes, let's begin there. Sequences go from 9 to 0, with 9 and 8 being Low Sequences, 7 to 5 Mid-Sequences, and 4 to 1 High Sequences. High Sequence Beyonders are also called Demigods, divided into two main levels: Sequence 4 and 3 are known as Saints, and Sequence 2 and 1 are called Angels." He paused for a moment, then continued, "Sequence 0 is—"
"—God." Angel blurted, interrupting him, her eyes wide at the revelation. After a moment, she asked, "Sequence 0… it's not common knowledge among low- and mid-level Beyonders, is it?"
The Hunter raised an eyebrow at her perceptiveness. "What makes you say that?"
"If the fact that the Sequences lead to Godhood were widely known, questions like 'Does that not mean I could become a God too?' or 'If my God was once mortal, what's the point of worshipping?' would naturally arise among the Churches' Beyonder divisions. To prevent such blasphemous thoughts, the higher-ups—perhaps the Pope, or even the Gods Themselves—would ensure such information remained hidden." The Warrior answered diligently, taking a sip of her brandy as she finished.
Lumian blinked in surprise as he stared at the woman who had broken her usual brevity in speech. Still, he nodded at her conclusion. "You're right." Perhaps this was a sign that she was loosening up around him.
After a long silence, Angel asked, "The God of Combat is the God of my pathway?" It was a guess, but there was surety in her voice, proven by her following words. "He is called the God of Combat, and the link between 'Combat' and 'Warrior' is self-explanatory. You also called it the Twilight Giant pathway. When learning about the countries, I read that Feysacians are described as 'giants.' And lastly, the Church of the God of Combat is based in the Feysac Empire—the country of giants."
The Hunter paused, giving the woman a long, measured look, as if he were only now truly seeing her.
Perhaps unsettled by his gaze, Angel spoke up in defense of her sudden talkativeness. "I like mystery novels. Cross-referencing clues to find the truth is part of the fun. Music is no different." She swirled the brandy in her glass, her gaze drifting back to the stars.
Lumian followed her gaze as he replied, "You'd make a good Conspirer, the Sequence 6 of my pathway."
A calm quiet settled after his words, as they both stared at the distant cosmos.
Speaking of the cosmos… I'm likely corrupted by the knowledge of Outer Gods. The Essence of Beyonder protects my knowledge from being seen or sensed by others, but it doesn't protect me from the corruption that comes with it. So while the Outer Gods can corrupt me through 'knowing' them, they won't be able to narrow down exactly 'who' they've corrupted, Lumian mused, making a guess of his condition. And perhaps because of the corruption resistance granted by Essence of Beyonder and the indomitable will from Chariot, he felt no worse for wear.
The only thing he found strange was that he hadn't encountered any mystical disasters relating to the Outer Gods. But he supposed it was understandable, the related organisations would only now be beginning to form.
It's only a matter of time until the Gods and Adam discover me. I need to speed up my acting, the Hunter resolved.
"Do you want to become a God?" Angel suddenly asked.
"I don't want to," Lumian shook his head, correcting her. "I will become a God, and surpass it."
"To go back home?"
The Assassin almost scoffed at her question. Almost. Hearing the word home made him instinctively think of the slums of Venezuela, despite having lived in Florida for the last five years. Twenty years in the barrios was hard to forget, and even after he'd left for Florida when his mother passed away, his shitty apartment had never felt like home.
"Home…" The word felt foreign on his tongue, but he continued. "They say 'home is where the heart is.' But what if your heart isn't anywhere anymore?" Lumian asked rhetorically, before rising and gathering his and Angel's cutlery.
"It's been a long day. I'm going to head off to sleep now." He jumped off the roof, landing lightly on the ground with graceful ease, the plates and cutlery in his hands undisturbed, before disappearing into the house.
….
-Angel Leblanc-
"But what if your heart isn't anywhere anymore?"
The question echoed in Angel's mind as she now sat alone on the rooftop. She thought of her parents—back on Earth—in their modest house in Berlin, her father always complaining about the neighbour's dog while her mother hummed along to her piano playing as she cooked. She thought of her older brother, married with a child on the way, who still called her every Sunday without fail. Her sister, four years married, who sent letters filled with badly drawn doodles from her niece.
When her grandmother had passed, Angel had grieved—truly grieved—but she'd had her mother's arms around her at the funeral, her father's rough hand squeezing her shoulder, her siblings flanking her on either side. The loss had been a wound, yes, but one she hadn't had to bear alone.
Ich liebe dich. Three words she used to be able to hear whenever she wanted, just by picking up a phone, or walking through her parents' door.
But for Lumian…
Angel tried to imagine it—truly tried—a life where her heart had no address. Where there was no one to call, no one who would answer with Ich liebe dich. Where the concept of home had become a foreign word, its meaning eroded by time and loss until only the shell of it remained.
Just the thought sent a cold sensation creeping down her spine, for even in this life, in this body, she had a family.
"I will become a God, and surpass it."
Such a strange ambition for someone whose heart held nothing. Or perhaps—Angel considered—it was the only logical ambition for such a person. When you have nothing to lose, when there's no one waiting for you to return, when the very notion of "home" has become an hollow utterance… what remains but to reach for something so impossibly high that the reaching itself becomes the point?
Filling the void where loved ones should reside with the goal of godhood? Was that what Lumian was doing?
Angel took the last sip of her brandy, letting the warmth settle in her chest.
Should I take the 'sibling' thing seriously?
+++
A/N: Angel really slapped on the 'lonely cultivator' tag on Lumian.
"The journey to the martial peak is a lonely, solitary and long one. In the face of adversity, you must survive and remain unyielding." —Martial Peak