Another day, another morning.
Birds chirped outside—soft and melodious—as the sun began its slow ascent over the horizon. Its gentle rays cast a warm radiance upon the earth, calmly sweeping over rooftops and treetops alike. That light crept toward a modest home, slipping through an uncurtained window, and fell upon the figure of a man sleeping peacefully in his bed. His hair was black and tousled, his eyes—shut in rest—were framed by faintly furrowed brows. Draped in a simple black and grey nightwear beneath pristine white sheets, his lean frame rose and fell with steady breath. His features were sharp, but not overly so—composed in a calm, resting stillness.
The creeping sunlight spilled across his face, stirring the faintest twitch beneath his eyelids. The man—Klein—shifted slightly, his limbs beginning to stir as the grip of sleep loosened at the morning's call. He groaned softly and rolled over, brows lifting halfway as a hand rose to rub the sleep from his eyes. His body stirred again—this time more fully—as birdsong reached his ears, mingled with the gentle thrumming of wind against his windowpanes.
After taking one last indulgent breath of stillness, Klein sat up in bed. His left hand gathered the sheets and pulled them aside, while his right propped him up as he swung his legs over the side. With a soft grunt, he stretched his arms wide, several joints cracking in protest. Then, with slow steps, he made his way to the window, opening it to invite the morning breeze into the room. The air whispered across his face, brushing against his skin with a touch both brisk and familiar.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. His gaze fell on the small garden below—the soft greens, the open expanse beyond—and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to breathe in the quiet. But then, almost inevitably, the thought of today's tasks rose in his mind. He sighed faintly, shoulders dropping, before shaking his head with a rueful smirk. Better than just slugging around all day anyway.
With that musing lingering in his thoughts, Klein stood quietly for a moment longer, the morning silence occasionally broken by birds overhead and the low howl of the passing wind. Then, straightening his posture, he turned from the window. His hands ran through his hair, taming the disheveled strands, as he stepped toward the door. Time to begin the day.
Klein stepped through the door of his room and into the narrow hallway, where the wooden floor creaked faintly beneath his feet. The air was cool, tinged with that morning stillness only found in places yet undisturbed by the waking world. He walked quietly, passing a row of shut doors—one of which belonged to Amanises. Klein's eyes lingered on it for only a moment before he continued, descending the stairs with light, measured steps.
Once downstairs, he made his way to the kitchen and pulled a slim rectangular device out from the Historical Void. The cordless kettle was sleek, black, and battery powered. He filled it with water and set it to boil. As the device clicked softly and warmed up, Klein reached into a wooden drawer for his usual blend of dark-leaf tea.
Moments passed. Steam curled from the spout, and he poured the hot water into a porcelain cup, letting the tea steep. He brought it to his lips, breathed in the sharp, earthy aroma, then took a slow sip. The warmth soothed the last tug of sleep from his body.
Then, setting the cup aside, he began his first chore of the day.
He started from the top of the house, methodically sweeping and wiping each room. His movements were efficient and practiced as he wiped down shelves, dusting the corners, straightening out rugs and blankets. His mind drifted as he worked, his expression calm and empty. Once the top floor was done, he carried the bucket down, emptied and refilled it, and mopped the lower floor until the wood gleamed softly under the growing daylight.
Once inside was done, he stepped out the front door and into the open area just before the garden. Autumn had shed its colors generously—orange and amber leaves strewn across the stone path. Klein grabbed a rake from the side of the house and began gathering them into neat little piles. Occasionally, the wind scattered a few just as he finished a pile, and he sighed—not in frustration, but in quiet amusement.
The leaves dealt with, he went back inside and peeled off his shirt, heading straight to the bathroom and took a cold shower, the icy droplets chasing away the tiredness from labour. Klein felt extremely relaxed. Clean and refreshed, he dried himself, threw on a fresh shirt, and returned to the kitchen.
He stood still for a moment, tapping his chin with his slender fingers thinking about what to make for breakfast before eventually settling on making some Chinese noodles—one of Amanises liking. He fetched a cutting board, pulled out a few vegetables from the pantry—onions, scallions, carrots, a lone tomato—and began chopping. The knife thudded rhythmically against the board. He boiled water in a larger pot, added seasoning, and let the vegetables simmer gently. Then came the noodles, added with care, stirred precisely so they wouldn't stick. Once it reached the consistency he liked, he poured the steaming broth into two ceramic bowls, garnished them with greens and a drizzle of oil.
The aroma of noodles filled the house, warm and savory.
Klein exhaled softly, glancing toward the stairwell. One bowl for him, the other for the one behind the closed door upstairs.
He picked up a spoon and took a taste from his bowl, nodding in quiet approval.
Settling the two bowls down on the dining table, Klein untied his apron and laid it neatly aside. He took a step back, arms folding as he admired his completed work with a small, satisfied smile.
Well... not all the morning tasks...
He sighed softly, already turning toward the staircase, mentally preparing himself for the possibility of having to knock—or worse, drag—a certain someone out of bed. But fortune, it seemed, favored him today.
Soft thuds reached his ears, followed by the slow appearance of a figure descending the stairs.
Amanises.
The tall woman moved with all the grace of someone only half-aware of her own presence. Her long, silky black hair flowed down her back, catching faint streaks of morning light. Half-lidded eyes of deep pitch barely acknowledged the world around her, their calmness marred only by the evident haze of sleep still clinging to her expression. A plain, dark dress draped elegantly over her form, swaying subtly with each sluggish step. A loose nightcap covered part of her head, lazily perched to one side, and over one of her wolf ears—currently curved in a drooping angle that clearly broadcasted: not awake yet.
Her nose twitched.
Then twitched again.
In the next second, her whole body shifted course like a compass pulled by magnetism. The scent of freshly cooked noodles had locked in her attention. With a slow turn, she shuffled directly toward the dining table, plopping herself onto the nearest seat with the same deliberate grace of a sleepwalking noble. She picked up the closest fork clearly unconcerned with etiquette or tool choice and began to eat without sparing a single glance at Klein.
Klein blinked. Then chuckled under his breath.
"Good morning to you too," he said, shaking his head with a smile.
"Morning." Amanises passed over a single word before continuing to eat, eyelids still half-shut, her focus entirely devoted to the bowl before her. Are we sure she doesn't have narcolepsy again? How come the Sleepless angel be the sleepiest angel? Klein silently lampooned in his head, observing her before feeling satisfied enough. He took his seat across from her, picked up his own bowl, and began to eat as well, sharing breakfast in quiet harmony.
Finishing their breakfast in silence, the both of them leaned back on their respective seats, silently musing to themselves. Amanises sleep had drowned by now, the woman fully awake as she rested her gaze on Klein and yawned once more. His gaze also fell on her, his black eyes locking with her Dark Pool. And shared between them—they did—a silence that was neither too loud nor too quiet. It was peaceful, a type of peace only they could gain from each other's presence and their respective lack of words.
Then slowly, Klein breathed out and pushed himself back on his chair as he spoke with a sly smile. "There is a mass at the church today hours before Midnight." Amanises rested her head on her arms, her eyes tugging on Klein's figure as she mentally processed his words. "I am aware." She was, for a matter of fact, not aware of it or more so she had completely forgotten about it. My memory has worsened since I have awakened in this body… She lampooned while her ears perked up at her head.
Klein lightly chuckled, the act of deception unsuccessful against the senior Mentor of Deceit for he knew Amanises all too well. The smile kept tucked on his lips as he spoke out nonchalantly with a shake of head, "Hehe, I'll choose to believe you."
"As you should, Klein." Amanises lightly puffed her cheeks and massaged, eyes closed, and an expression held that made Klein's skin curl. Too cute… He couldn't help but admire her beauty and cuteness at times—be it in the dishevelled state from sleep or the well posed Lady she usually was. Taking some moments, he calmed his heart and spoke out once more with a smile.
"Hehe, It goes without saying but you must be present for the mass—be it in the shape of Morgane, the Knight of Misfortune or the Goddess, the Lady of Misfortune." Amanises seized her motions and presented a slightly bothered expression, "Being a god is tiresome." She expressed with a shake of head, though only meaning it half-jokingly. Klein chuckled at her antics—perhaps the goddess had learned a thing or two from her mischief magician.
"It may be, but anchors are much needed for stability. They are also what tethers us to our human part as their pleas can carve our divinity. At times they may be just another head of belief among countless others or someone we cherish close by." Klein habitually elaborated with reason and slicked back on his seat lazily, his head held upwards. Amanises bore her gaze into him, a question surfaced in her mind that she almost hesitated to ask.
"Actually, I wonder what are your anchors? You don't seem to have any believers..." But regardless she voiced her thought. It was a question she held from as long as her first travel with Klein, ever since getting to know her Human-deity friend and getting to know of a lack of faith in him. It was weird, Amanises admitted, if not outright suspicious. How was this being alive without any Anchors to steer his resolve.
And at some point, this question died. Perhaps it was out of the hopelessness of finding an answer or perhaps releasing that Klein was built different. After all, what candidate could be for The Divine Throne of Mysteries without secrets of his own.
Klein remained silent for long, his body unmoving. But then, he leaned forward and straightened his posture, locking his eyes with Amansies and whispered just loudly enough for the both of them to hear it clearly.
"You."
Wha–
"You are my anchor—my greatest anchor."
His lips curled up and his face flashed a beautiful smile that made Amanises heart flutter. They stayed locked and entwined in each other's gaze for long, before eventually Amanises broke into a chuckle, a slick chuckled accompanied by the crimson that flowed into her cheek.
"Flattering aren't you?" She said with a smile tugging at her lips. She lifted one of her arms and took off the sleeping cap, resting it on a nearby cushion while her other hand extended outwards, fingers grasping Klein's bowl much to the Man's confusion.
"Greatest Anchor? You are equally deserving of the title." Amanises stated, putting his bowl on top of hers.
"I laugh, I cry, I eat, I sleep."
"I walk, I talk, I see, I know."
"I… Love and Hate… and cherish and glee."
"There is only one man to blame."
And with that, she stood up from her chair, holding the two bowls and walked towards the kitchen passing a small wink to Klein. He had made breakfast for her. The least she could do was wash the dishes.
The man's gaze followed her through her motions before her figure disappeared behind the kitchen's door. He did not like it. Instantly he got up from his chair and rushed into the kitchen both out of the sheer unwillingness to have her anywhere near it, for if she burned the house down from her misfortune presence—
And because his eyes wanted to reflect her figure for a long.
One man to Love…
…
Marianne and Arianna moved in silence through the enormous palace hall of the town. Not a single word passed between them, their thoughts restless, caught in a haze of contemplation. Today was the day.
Well it was supposed to have happened earlier, but their respective masters—Klein and Amanises—had found themselves preoccupied in their own little indulgences and, as a result, couldn't attend to the matter until now.
Neither sister minded, of course. Today was the day they would become Beyonders.
Their steps echoed gently across the wide marble corridor, neither fast nor slow, yet marked with an unmistakable hesitation. Arianna clutched her robe tighter around her frame, while Marianne kept her gaze forward, her hand occasionally brushing the tips of her fingers together out of nervous habit. They did not look at each other because neither wanted to break the fragile silence.
Then came the split.
At the fork of the corridor, the two sisters stopped. They looked at each other and passed a simple nod before parting—Marianne to the left, Arianna to the right—each toward their designated room.
Arianne walked through her corridor with measured, poised steps. She stopped at a lone door, slightly ajar, and pushed it open. The room inside was curtained with pure darkness. Even the light descending from the corridor made no effort. She entered, and the door shut behind her with a gentle click . But she could move. Somehow, despite the pitch black, she could walk as though guided by the inky veil draped over her skin. Arianna stepped forward until her feet halted in the very center of the room.
Then a single candle sparked to life. A small, steady flame burned atop a table she hadn't even known was there.
Scrolls and parchments lay scattered on its surface, the light casting twisted shadows upon them. At the center stood a large iron cauldron, its surface blackened and scuffed. Beside it, inside a glass container, rested an eye gleaming with streaks of starlight etched into its iris. And next to it a small iron crate.
Across the table, seated with folded hands and a gaze unreadable, was Morgane. For a moment followed a pure silence devoured by the flickers of candle and the inky black darkness. "Have you made your choice?"
"Yes." Arianne nodded in affirmation, having thought this through countless times already. Her gaze poised at the iron crate up front as Morgane lifted her hands, her finger gently brushed the metal surface of the crate before lifting the top with a click. The light of candle seeped into the opening revealing vials of glass filled with unknown liquid and curled leaves towards the bottom.
Morgane extended her hand and retrieved a small vial, its surface fogged slightly from the chilled contents. With her other hand, she gave a soft snap igniting the base of the iron cauldron with a pale blue flame. Arianne watched in stillness, her eyes locked, curiosity stitched with unease.
Morgane uncorked the vial and, without hesitation, poured its contents into the cauldron. "Eighty milliliters of hard liquor," she announced softly, like a priestess invoking a rite rather than a recipe.
Another vial followed. This one she handled with extra care, tilting it with steady patience. One drop, two… ten, each one falling with a slight pause.
"Ten drops of Ancient Well Water."
From the iron crate, she then pulled a bundle of curled leaves. Their texture—dark purple with veins of silver running through them like ghost veins. Morgane inspected each carefully before setting exactly three into the bubbling mix.
"Three leaves of Midnight Beauty."
Then came the eye.
Nestled within its glass, the orb shimmered faintly, streaks of starlight swimming just beneath its surface like constellations under frost. Morgane turned it in her fingers once, before letting it drop with a soft plop into the cauldron.
"And lastly," she murmured, almost fondly, "the characteristic of a Sleepless."
The cauldron rumbled.
The mixture began to boil, reaching up with claw-like bubbles before it slowly settled—its surface now a thick, pitch-black liquid that reeked of foul. The odor hit Arianne like a slap. She recoiled instantly, pinching her nose as she took several cautious steps back.
Morgane, on the other hand, remained perfectly composed. Her smile was still as calm and knowing as it had been from the start, her eyes never leaving Arianne.
Then abruptly, with no context, she tilted her head and asked,
"Do you prefer tea or coffee?"
Arianne blinked. "…Huh?"
But her mouth answered before her brain could process. "I drink both." Her mysticism teacher, Kotar had introduced her to them. Kotar had learned from Merlin. The lineage of caffeine addicts ran deep.
Morgane smiled again. A little wider this time.
"Let me rephrase it," she said, voice dipped in amusement. "Which one do you like more?"
Arianne opened her mouth, then hesitated. Her brow furrowed in deep internal crisis. After a moment of squinting at her own soul, she exhaled and offered a nervous shrug. "…Tea?"
Morgane nodded slowly. Then, without a single word of protest, turned to a high shelf and took down a sealed jar. She opened it, reached in, and pulled out a handful of green tea leaves.
Arianne tilted her head. With a firm crunch, Morgane crushed the tea leaves in her palm like and scattered the grains into the cauldron. "Why is this so…" Arianne muttered under her breath. "For flavour." Morgane answered nonchalantly. They stood in silence as the mixture darkened further, almost velvety in how it clung to the edges. Then, with another snap, the flame beneath the cauldron vanished.
Morgane opened the spout at the base and poured the concoction into a small, translucent glass. She stirred a few times with a thin silver spoon before turning to Arianne and offering it in both hands.
"And this," she said with a gentle, final lilt, "is the Potion of Sleepless."
Arianne stared at it. A single gulp rippled the back of her throat as her eyes met the thick, black liquid now only inches from her face.
I'm supposed to drink that? She didn't say it out loud, but her face didn't need to. A quick glance at Morgane's expectant gaze was all it took to make her gulp. Her eyes returned to the potion, its black, thick, and still steaming like something torn out of a nightmare. The smell curled in her nose like rot left to boil.
It can't be that bad… right?
Arianne steeled herself, fingers brushing the cool surface of the glass. She pinched her nose with the other hand and stared deep into the obsidian swirl. She'd already made the decision. Backing out now wasn't an option.
She took several deep breaths and then closed her eyes, lifted the glass to her lips, and drank in a single motion.
A cold sensation curled through her body as the black liquid entered her mouth, splashing against her gums and tongue before pouring down her throat, entering her being. Arianne could almost feel it slither within her, could feel it settling in her stomach and assimilating into her body at an inconceivable pace. The glass fell from her hands, smashing against the floor with a loud bang.
Arianne, on the other hand, felt several shivers curl up her spine. Her head dropped forward, arms clutched tight against her chest as her body convulsed from the potion's effects. She shook uncontrollably, a strange blend of exhaustion and unnatural energy battling within her. Her hair began to grow out in wild lengths, swaying like tendrils in the petals of darkness that slowly began pooling around her as Arianne felt herself melting into the dark.
And perhaps she was. Several black patches bloomed on her skin—like ink bleeding through parchment, like shadows clawing to the surface. Her head felt like a split organ, torn in two—one side flooded with maddened murmurs and unknown voices, and the other barely clinging to rationality, to sanity, to self.
She dropped down on one knee, clutching her head in both arms, nails nearly digging into her skin. She could feel herself slipping—could feel the rational side peeling away, dissolving into the chorus of whispers clawing at her mind. But before they could claim her, a voice cut through the storm. A whisper, a hum. Serene, quiet and dreamy. Beautiful. Melodious.
And in a single instant, Arianne felt better, more in control. Her breath came easier. Her grip on herself steadier.
She wasted no time. Drawing in a deep breath, she grounded herself, forcing focus into every corner of her being. The hum—gentle and distant—lingered, anchoring her, and she used it, steadying her thoughts with its rhythm as she began to reclaim control.
"Imagine something that is found everywhere."
Wood. Arianne immediately conjured the image in her mind.
"Now something that does not exist."
A shape bent in a curve, yet remaining perfectly straight. No angles. No corners.
"Put all of your focus on it. Keep repeating until you feel better."
Arianne took the advice to heart. She focused on wood, on that impossible shape, on anything to anchor her mind. She conjured images, scenes, some that had once been real, others that never were. One after another, again and again.
Time blurred without acknowledgement.
Eventually her breathing steadied. The darkness slowly peeled away from her skin. Her hair receded back to its normal length. The tension in her body remained, but the wild convulsions subsided, replaced by a stiffened calm, her limbs heavy, held steady as if the very darkness around her were lending her strength.
She rose slowly to her feet. Arms loose at her side. Breath low and controlled. Her gaze met Morgane's, who held that same gentle smile.
"Congratulations," she said softly. "You've succeeded. You are now a Sequence 9: Sleepless."
Arianne took some measured breath, continuing to cogitate in her mind but also letting the sigh escape her lips and an ease drown her face. It was not an ideal experience to say the least, the murmurs in her mind had been put to sleep by the hum and Arianne absolutely did not wish for them to ever wake up again.
"Focus on stabilising yourself. What you faced was the physical manifestation of the potion's power seeping in," Morgane spoke softly, her voice laced with a calm that further settled Arianne's nerves. She paused briefly, then continued
"The key to absorbing a potion's power lies in digestion. Drinking is only the beginning. All you've done is assimilated the potion and introduced the power into your body. But until you digest it, the power can't be called truly 'Yours'"
Arianne listened closely, her mind beginning to make notes of every word.
"The more you digest," Morgane went on, "the stronger your grasp over the potion's power… and its influence. That's crucial for maintaining stability and for when you'll advance to the next Sequence."
Arianne nodded slightly, processing it all before asking the obvious, "How do I digest the potion?"
Morgane smiled, soft and knowing.
"Acting."
Arianne did not attempt to hide her confusion. Acting? As in acting like a sleepless person? Morgane's smile ever so slightly gleamed as if finding some hidden enjoyment in Arianne's confusion. She was. It feels good to be on the other side for once… She mused to herself, recalling every instance of utter confusion when Klein explained the hidden wonders of this world to her.
Mentally sighing, she parted her lips and repeated what Klein had said before, "The Key thing about potions is not about grasping them, but digesting them. About Acting them!
"The Acting Method is a process of Acting in accordance with the Potions name in order to fully digest the potion. It is the key through which one can truly tap into the potions strength and also grasp their pathway step by step." Morgane slowly explained, keeping her tone measured and savouring Arianne's enlightened expression.
"The key to acting is the potion's name itself. This is not something I or anyone can fully explain but something that'll have to be learned by yourself. Explore the Potion, lay out your acting principal and act on them… But remember, at the end of the day, you are still acting." She spoke the last words with heavy firm, putting weight behind the statement. Because otherwise you'll risk losing yourself in acting… she did not voice this thought out for obvious reasons.
It was also when her attention was suddenly caught by a distant that lingered in her mind without rest.
Arianna understood and repeatedly nodded in affirmation. Acting like a Sleepless… before Arianne could have continued her thought, Morgane spoke once again, this time a bit distantly. "There is another thing…"
Arianne refocused her attention on her. "While this may not be relevant to your Sequence, it may be crucial to maintaining yourself." Morgane softly voiced out, thinking back to something distant—a statement that revered in her mind without pause.
"You. You are my anchor—my greatest Anchor."
"Anchor." Morgane uttered, her tone now draped in affection… and something deeper that Arianne couldn't fully grasp. "An anchor is someone or something that can remind us as to who we truly are. What makes the you in 'yourself'." Arianne deeply listened, almost able to feel the emotional weight of every word.
"It may be our feelings or people that we care about. Or a vow that seizes our focus, or a distant promise drowned in the ever marching time. The feelings that are strongest to us are what anchors our humanity and sanity. It is that fear of losing and that wantingness to be that carves our path and helps us tread on the Paths of Divine. Of course, the nature of your feelings can be different…" With each word Morgane spoke—Amanises spoke, her breath was caught further and further, not out of suffocation but of memories and weight behind them.
The memories of an era now buried in ruins. And the memories she had made in this life, that held the most important weight in her heart mixed with insuppressible emotions that crawled and clung tighter and tighter.
"For some… it is the lust of power. That desire to be the strongest and the overwhelming surge to rule. To others it may be to protect themselves or to destroy everything that makes up existence. Sometimes it may be to better their lives through the supernatural and others it is simply their instinct.
"And in one very special case... it is their vow to guard a world they chose to remain in—because to him, those things matter more than anything else." Morgane discreetly closed her eyes, hiding her face in dark. Unbeknownst to her, a small smile had formed on her face. A small, tired, loving smile.
"What are your feelings then?" The question caught her off guard. Morgane snapped her eyes open, keeping her movements to a minimum. My feelings? She felt her entire body stiffen with this single thought. Her heart drummed in her chest and her eyes widened not with shock but with something indescribable, something even she couldn't put in words.
Arianne witnessing her silence felt a sliver of panic. "Eh, I mean…"
"Reliance… and trust and…" A word that was swallowed by her throat. "I do not want him to be alone nor do I wish to suffer from loneliness ever again. I wish to fill in the gap he did in my life…" Morgane lowered her head, her smile maintained. Arianne looked at her with eccentricity. It was not the answer she had expected at all.
But… she felt it was the only true and correct answer. Reliance, trust and… Love. It reminded her of her Marianne—her sister, though their love may only be familial. She knew certainly that was not the case with The Lady and The Fool, The Knight and The Magician.
They stood still in silence for a while, before Morgane her head once more and gazed at Arianne with an unreliable expression. "You should leave now. Rest easy for the day and keep thinking about the Acting Principal. Also spent time with your sister, her advancement has also yielded success." Marianne was handled by Merlin, for reasons she didn't fully understand but regardless allowed him to do as he pleases.
Arianne nodded in affirmation and turned around, leaving the room without a word. She found herself capable of navigating the dark now. As the door closed, Morgane took a deep breath letting her body settle and her mind to calm. She caressed his chin and her crimson cheeks, her gaze distantly lowered to the floor.
And imagined herself falling deeper and deeper into a spiral she had not realised off. Falling too deep to crawl out.
A chuckle parted her lips.
There was something wrong with her.