," the fortune-teller could only say, utterly bewildered. "... There seems to have been a mistake, my apologies," she mumbles.
"Mistake?" Klein asks, voice odd. "That's two times now!"
Zhou Mingrui stayed silent, lips twitching in silent amusement.
"There shouldn't have been three Fool cards," the fortune-teller explained, quickly gathering up the three cards to examine them closely.
"I must have mixed up my cards earlier..." Then she looked into Zhou Mingrui's eyes. "Forgive me, sir. Would you like another—"
Just as the fortune-teller was about to begin another divination; the tent's cloth curtain was abruptly lifted open, and a blinding light poured in like floodgates, making Zhou Mingrui—and by extension, Klein Moretti—instinctively narrow their eyes.
"Why are you impersonating me again?!" a woman's voice snapped, angry. "Divination is my responsibility!"
"Impersonating...?" Klein's voice trailed off.
"Get back to your post right now!" the angry woman continues, "don't forget—your're just an animal trainer!"
"... Animal trainer?" Klein's voice sounded slightly heartbroken. At his dejected tone, Zhou Mingrui fought off the urge to laugh. This is a reasonable outcome.
(... Zhou Mingrui hadn't noticed it before, nor had he ever realized it. But looking back—wasn't this a fitting reflection of what his life had become from that moment on?
... A Fool. A Circus. A Performance... a never-ending opera...
... like a joke...)
An animal trainer? Klein Moretti squinted through Zhou Mingrui's eyes, feeling ashamed. Their eyes had grown accustomed to the light now, and there, before him; was another woman, her face painted in the same red and yellow hues.
They looked quite identical, Klein mused. The only difference was that she was taller and more slender than the other one.
"Don't mind her," the 'fortune-teller' quickly stood up, her tone laced with irritation. "I just enjoy doing this," she says.
"But really," she reasoned, "my divinations and interpretations can be quite accurate sometimes, I'm serious..."
Klein, recalling how she'd forgotten to ask Zhou Mingrui what he'd like to divine... then fumbled her cards like a misorganized child—only to be exposed as a fraud playing a Diviner's role—could only grumble irritably.
"Accurate, you say?" he sulked.
For a moment there, Klein Moretti actually almost believed that the tarot cards could truly be used for genuine divination; that they weren't merely a scam, as he'd always been told.
It wasn't faith so much as the atmosphere—an invisible pressure in the air that felt tangible, grounding, and almost magical.
After all, if transmigration and Zhou Mingrui could exist, then surely pure divination couldn't be impossible, right?
But then, the so-called Diviner turned out to be a hoax, and the illusion immediately shattered before his very eyes. Mysticism might as well be real behind the scenes, but this incident did make it far less wondrous than he'd imagined.
Who knows what's real, and what's not?
After turning down another offer of divination from the real fortune-teller, Zhou Mingrui—as well as Klein Moretti—quickly put the matter at the back of their minds.
They then spent seven pence at the 'Lettuce and Meat' market for a pound of rather mediocre mutton. "Just mediocre?" Klein says, "I'd say it's quite a steal..."
Zhou Mingrui tsked like a disappointed father. If they weren't in public, he would've wagged his index finger disapprovingly. "Klein, Klein, Klein—your otherworldly mind might not understand it yet," he almost threatens, "but I 'will' make a great chef out of you."
...
"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Klein meekly asked.
"It's a promise," Zhou Mingrui says, ominous.
'Why?' Klein thought, helpless and amused.
After that, they picked some tender broad beans, half-sliced green cabbages, a few onions and potatoes, then several other ingredients they'd yet to restock in the house.
Including the bread they'd brought earlier, their total expenses came to twenty-five copper pennies; equivalent to two soli and one pence.
Klein Moretti sighs. "There's really not enough to go around for spending, poor Benson..." he laments.
Not only had Zhou Mingrui spent two whole notes of money he'd brought with him, but he even had to make up the difference with the single penny left in his pocket.
"We'll find a good job later," Zhou Mingrui comforts.
Klein's voice turned wistful. "Why do you think there's such an abundance of poor people here? Jobs are practically hard to find these days, but still..."
...
Zhou Mingrui sighs, and hurried back home. "With staple food," he says to the other occupant in his head, "I can now carry out the luck-enhancement ritual."
"I see," Klein simply says.
(... Strangely enough, Zhou Mingrui isn't really that excited about going back home... he wonders why... Isn't this his long-term goal?)
After the tenants on the second-floor had gradually left for the day, Zhou Mingrui still didn't rush to perform the ritual. "Are you not in a hurry to get back home?" Klein asks, curious.
"Well, since we're people from different worlds," Zhou Mingrui began, "wouldn't it be more fitting if I were to translate it first?"
Enlightened, "I agree," Klein says. "... 'The immortal Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings'... that sounds like an honorific name of the Gods," he explains thoughtfully.
"Judging from your memories," he continues, "your generation have no Gods..."
Zhou Mingrui hums as he continued to translate the following words into ancient Feysac and other widely known Loen languages.
Distracted, he explains, "it's human nature, people tend to make Gods and other idols into being out of necessity."
"... That sounds blasphemous," Klein says honestly.
Zhou Mingrui shrugs, lips twitching as he tried to hide his amusement. "What could you do?" he says.
"... If the incantation failed to take effect..." Zhou Mingrui trails off, "I can always try to do it again tomorrow with the translated languages."
"Good idea," encouraged Klein. After all, they had to take into account the difference between the two worlds. As Roselle Gustav once says, "when in Rome, do as Romans do!"
Thinking about the late Emperor 'Julius Caesar', Klein's expression twitched; reminiscing. Zhou Mingrui didn't really brought it up... but according to these memories...
'Is Mr. Gustav a Transmigrator...?' After all, most of his quotes mysteriously corresponds with what Zhou Mingrui grew up with. And with the existence of the World Wide Web, there are quite many examples...
... There had never been a city called Rome here—nor had there ever been one in recorded history.
It could easily be dismissed as part of the Emperor's fictional writings... yet Klein couldn't help but find it uncanny how well it alligned with what he knew of the other world.
An Empire on the other hand... but is it related? Rome. Roman Empire...
Too many coincidences. As Mr. Gustav once said, "once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, thrice is a pattern." Even this seemed to hint at the existence of alternate realities.
Did Emperor Roselle's famed quotations originate from philosophers of that land? Socrates. Plato. Aristotle. Dante. Pascal.
Klein's eyes quivered slightly. 'Mr. Gustav, you...'
"... Mr. Zhou," Klein says lowly.
"Hm?" Zhou Mingrui responds.
"... Is Roselle Gustav a Transmigrator like you?"
Zhou Mingrui's hand stopped, ink dripping from his quill. "... You could say that," he answers, wistful. "We came from the same generation... from the very same country... from the very same place."
"You could say," he says, voice faint like the wind, "you could say we're neighbors."
Ah. Klein's understanding of the world proceeds as normal; by that, he means it's crumbling.
Zhou Mingrui frowned, eyes conflicted as he reflected on his words. 'I never had any neighbors named Roselle Gustav... I wonder what his name is.'
(... "Huang Tao...")
After preparing for everything, Zhou Mingrui finally took out the four loaves of rye bread.
One was placed in the corner where the coal stove used to be. Another at the bottom inner side of the dressing mirror. A third on top of the cupboard where two walls met. And the last at the right side of the desk cluttered with miscellaneous items.
Taking a deep breath, Zhou Mingrui moved to the center of the room. He then spent several minutes steadying his thoughts.
He hesitates.
"Klein?" he calls out uncertainly, his voice reverberating in the silence.
Klein, recently awakened from his existential crisis, took a long time to answer. "... Yes," he blinked, dumb.
"This ritual..." Zhou Mingrui says, "it's the reason for my transmigration."
Klein blinked again. "Yes, what's the matter?" After all, Klein already knew.
"... I don't know if it'll work," Zhou Mingrui explains, sounding lost, "and I don't know what'll happen either... what if you get dragged in with me?"
Enlightened, "oh," Klein simply says.
After a while, he continues. "I mean... truthfully, I'm quite hesitant." After all, this was uncharted territory, and these things tended to be terrifying. "But what can we do?" Klein smiles.
"We can't exactly know if we don't try it, right?" he tries, "so it's okay, you can proceed as you wished."
Zhou Mingrui stills, contemplating.
Then he smiles, relieved. "... Alright," he says, "let's do this."
Zhou Mingrui drew in a deep breath... then, with measured solemnity, he began to walk in a counter-clockwise square.
On the first step—his voice barely above a whisper—he intoned, "The Immortal Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings."
(... "The Fool that doesn't belong to this Era...")
On the second step—with a voice carrying more sincerity—he continues; "The Sky Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings."
(... "The Mysterious Ruler above the Gray Fog...")
On the third step came a soft exhale, "The Exalted Thearch of Heaven and Earth for Blessings."
(... "The King of Yellow and Black who wields Good Luck...")
At the fourth, a harsh breath escaped his lips as he focused deeply, murmuring; "The Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth for Blessings."
(... "Lord of Mysteries... King of Space-Time... Beacon of Destiny... Embodiment of Sefirah Castle... Dominator of the Spirit World...")
When he returned to his starting point, Zhou Mingrui closed his eyes and stood still; waiting for the outcome. A mix of anticipation, unease, hope, and fear stirred from within him.
Could he make it back?
(... could he...?)
Would there be any effect at all?
(... mist... fog... an ancient castle lost through time...)
Could something unexpected happen?
(... home... in ruins... forgotten...)
The unknown before him shimmered with the crimson light of hope. Zhou Mingrui's thoughts swirled chaotically, impossible to calm. Then, as if the world itself held its breath, the air thickened; heavy and mysterious.
Whispering rose beside his ears. It's everywhere—sometimes real, sometimes sharp, sometimes imagined, sometimes alluring, sometimes maniacal, sometimes utterly insane—
He could not understand the words, yet a strange compulsion forced him to listen, to try and decipher them.
"What is happening?!" Klein panicked.
Pain shot through Zhou Mingrui's skull, like steel being driven into his brain consistently. Colors exploded in his eyes, hallucinatory—like a torrent of thoughts in a sea of incomprehension. His head felt ready to burst.
He tried to open his eyes, yet even the simplest action eluded him.
"Zhou Mingrui!" Klein calls, ignored.
His body tightened, each muscle threatening to snap, and a bitter, mocking thought rose in his mind—as it had done before, and before, and before—
"If you didn't seek death, you wouldn't die."
The agony was unbearable. Just as his mind teethered on the edge of collapse, the whispers faded, leaving behind an eerie silence.
He tried to open his eyes again. This time, it was effortless. A gray fog stretched before him; hazy, endless, and obscure.
'Very strange,' Zhou Mingrui mused. A tame thought, almost absurd against the chaos surrounding them.
"Goddess," Klein Moretti grunts, suspended in the gray fog.
He has a body now, Zhou Mingrui noticed. Not real at the moment but at the very least, they were seperated by their astral bodies.
'Klein looks disoriented,' he notes absentmindedly. The Time-traveler didn't blame him. After all, that had been a while ride.
Though the disorientation seemed to be fleeting, something that could easily be pushed aside. Or perhaps, a thought creeps into Zhou Mingrui's mind; maybe this strange adaptability only works on him?
Sefirah Castle shifted like a dream, replaying a scene Zhou Mingrui's soul knew all too well.
For an indeterminate amount of time, the Celestial Worthy has taunted him with these very same images.
His home.
It aches still, but the past is merely a coffin left to be buried.
The world crumbled like sand. Calamity has arrived. The end of an era. The start of an era.
Buildings ripped from the Earth like weeds. Animals slaughtered like sacrifices. Trees shattered and hacked apart. An ocean of red and black, and decay. Birds falls like droplets of crimson rain. People, collapsing like marionettes, strings cut, forms discarded like dolls.
This... was extinction.
"Ah," Zhou Mingrui says, impulsive. His eyes are indifferent, unconcerned with the absolute carnage left behind.
"So that's what happened," he murmurs, as if it's merely a well thought out joke among Gods.
"What." It seems Klein had finally found his bearings, eyes wide in horror at the scale of destruction, at the end of everything laid bare so casually like this. Zhou Mingrui lifted his gaze to the sky. The moon's silver glow was swallowed, corroded by a tide of crimson. The stars remained impassive, though some burned brighter than before.
For a fleeting heartbeat, Zhou Mingrui felt compelled. Then he looked away, his chest still aching. He blinked, numb.
'So a heart still beats... how surprising.'
Gray fog pressed in, thick and fast, enveloping him entirely. There was no time to fear, no room for even surprise.
Zhou Mingrui—formerly Klein Moretti—plunged into darkness.
Klein stares at the void in silence, absolutely dumbfounded. Then the panic sinks in fast, like poison in his veins.
"... Mr. Zhou?"
He calls out blankly. The void stares at him, just as blank. It seems... he's alone.
Uh.
.
.
.
Klein Moretti opened 'his' eyes to an abyss, almost to 'his' disappointment. A void of inky darkness stretched endlessly, broken only by 'his' own presence... and one other figure.
The figure wore a black robe that swallowed everything except 'His' bony, pale hands. Long, black hair spilled from the robe's cowl, brushing past 'His' knees.
'He' muttered words too low for Klein to hear, in a language Klein did not recognize. It had been a long time since 'he'd' encountered a tongue so utterly alien.
Klein watched as the figure paced, circling 'him' again and again, and again—once, twice, thrice. The utter silence made each step resonate, echoing across a floor indistinguishable from the surrounding void.
Then the figure stopped. Slowly, 'He' turned towards Klein and spoke, 'His' tone calm, almost indifferent, far different from what Klein has expected.
"How irritating," 'He' said. "That's what you are... irritating."
In an instant, ravings screamed in Klein's head.
... 'he' felt as if 'he' would collapse and perish... before the chaos quieted once more. Not even Evernight's voice had stirred 'him' like this before 'he' became a Demigod.
This was the sheer might of an Outer Deity. The Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth. The Almighty Ruler of the Spirit World. The Lord of Mysteries.
Klein remained silent, watching as the figure turned 'His' head to meet Klein's gaze. Beneath the cowl are yellow, terrifyingly indifferent eyes; glowing like stardust. As though merely observing an ant on a sidewalk.
'His' pupils were as dark as a starless night—a similarity 'They' both shared.
"Irritating," 'He' said again. The ravings surged in Klein's mind, but 'he' was prepared. "Are all irritants like this?" 'He' murmurs, "like cockroaches?"
'Ah,' Klein thought impassively, 'but this cockroach won.'
The Celestial Worthy turned away, staring into the void; at the sheer blankness of non-existence. "Not used to this... these feelings," 'He' spat.
"They," 'His' eyes glowed as 'He' glowers at nothing, "do not belong to me." Then 'He' swung 'His' gaze back to Klein, 'His' eyes a piercing black.
The mental onslaught intensified tenfold, a hundredfold, a thousandfold—and Klein thought 'he' might really die then and there.
"Do they belong to you?' the Celestial Worthy asked, as if curious.
Klein stares, unable to respond. The ravings slowly waned to a gentle, haunting lullaby. The Being waits, patient. Perhaps to an existence such as 'His', patience is of no value.
Eventually, it dwindles down to quiet mutterings. 'They' remained locked in each other's gaze. Klein considered the question, the answer forming as naturally as breathing.
"Perhaps," Klein says...
"Perhaps 'You' have been influenced by 'me', to some extent... "
"Perhaps 'I' have been influenced by 'You', to some extent..."
"Perhaps 'We' had influenced each other, to some extent..."
... 'he' ends.
It lingers in 'Their' presence, words taking form as some sort of heavy nothing that serves no value. The void trembled. Gray fog seeps in through fractures in the darkness.
Slowly, a smile crept across the Celestial Worthy's face, widening maddeningly, 'His' teeth sparkling behind the cowl.
Mad Gods. Mad Gods. Beware the madness of the Mad Gods.
"Yes," 'He' says, something like joy in 'His' tone. Pieces of void fell away, revealing a castle shrouded in mist. Unbiddenly, Klein thought of Klein. The real one. Not the stolen identity.
"That's the answer, isn't it?" murmurs the Lord of Mysteries.
Then the void shatters, and Klein felt darkness swallow 'him' once more.
"What's with this situation?" Klein asks in faux calm. He is dying. He is dead. He is panicked to the point he's completely still.
He's floating at the edge of an endless fog. It flows like water, and was dotted with dozens of crimson 'stars'. There are enormous ones. There are also miniature ones.
Some are seemingly floating above the mist, while others are drowned within the depths; like faint reflections rippling across water.
Gazing at the strange, almost holographic sight, Klein Moretti extended his left hand—half in confusion, half in curiosity—towards a crimson 'star' that seemed to hover just above the mist.
He reached out, hoping that somehow, this touch might reveal a way to leave this Divine Kingdom. Unnoticed, because there's absolutely no way this isn't home to some Divine Being.
His hand brushed against the surface of the 'star'—a watery mark rippled out from within, stirring the 'star' to burst into an almost crimson blaze. Dreamlike, as if fire were blooming underneath a sea.
Klein Moretti recoiled in alarm, withdrawing his hand—only for his trembling fingers to graze yet another 'star'. This too, bursts like a blaze, fleeting yet bright.
Uhhh.
Hm.
This is a reasonable response. Klein then proceeds to hyperventilate... in his mind... because he could not move in his terror.
Aaaaaaaaaa—
This too, is a reasonable response. Everything can be attributed to 'this is a reasonable response'. Because it is.
There is no other way around it.
Loen Kingdom's Capital, Backlund.
Ten minutes passed, and Audrey Hall had finally given up her pursuit for the extraordinary.
She murmurs softly, "so, Father really was lying to me... he kept saying this mirror belonged to the Dark Emperor of the Roman Empire... that it was some kind of extraordinary relic..."
Her voice trailed off. The bronze mirror upon the dresser suddenly emitted a crimson glow, enveloping her figure entirely.
In the Sonia Sea.
A three-masted sailboat that was clearly an ancient relic sailed through the raging storm. Alger Wilson stood upon the deck, yet he maintained his balance with ease.
In his hand was a strangely shaped glass bottle, and within it; bubbles billowed, frost turned to snow, and faint traces of gusting wind could occasionally be seen.
"We're still missing the Ghost Shark's blood..." he murmurs.
Without warning, crimson light bursts forth between his palm and the bottle, surging outward to engulf the deck in a single breath.
Amid the fog, Audrey Hall regained her eyesight.
Amid the fog, Alger Wilson regained his eyesight.
Moments later, their eyes traced the length of the ancient bronze table, and met the figure who was shrouded in impenetrable mist.
Klein, seated at the end, met their questioning gazes with his own—inside, he was just as confused.
'Ah,' he thought, numb. 'Is it too late for reimbursement?' Klein would like to forfeit his life. Hadn't he already shot himself anyway? Technically, it's within his rights.
The Seat of Honor remained empty, waiting for the rightful host to arrive.
Notes: