The book called to me.
An understanding echoed in my mind. A firm realization as I pulled it from my arm bag—
'That this shit is creepy as fuck! What the hell did that dude give me!?'
I internally screamed while tossing the thing onto my bed, where it landed with a light flump. Miraculously, the book stayed closed.
I stared at the plain, black cover like it might sprout teeth. 'I might actually be lacking brain cells. I took a random book from some random dude. In a fantasy world. Have I learned nothing from fiction!?'
'...What if this thing's connected to Tzeentch? Am I about to grow tentacles and start seeing colors that don't exist?!'
I took a cautious step back while continuing to eye the book. Yet, after a couple of minutes of silent staring, I realized that it wasn't moving. Which, frankly, just made me more suspicious.
Eventually, with a sigh and a reluctant grunt of courage, I pulled my sheathed sword from my belt and gave the thing a couple of pokes. Still nothing.
At this point, I was more annoyed than afraid.
"Alright, you little bastard," I muttered, setting my sword on the bed. "Let's see what ancient cosmic horror you're hiding."
I picked it up again.
Cracked it open to the first page.
Words spilled out across the page. Words that hadn't been there the first time I checked.
Written all in flawless, perfectly readable English. A language I'd seen no imitation or existence of in this world.
"Ethan Caldwell's Gospel."
"He who represents Pride has found himself chained. Control of his path stripped from him."
"Pride seeks to regain control over his destiny. But the path is long and arduous. Travel into the forest past the village of Arlam. Into the mabeast infested woods."
"Alone, chains will hold you. Together, chains may break. Seek the faithful. They will kneel. In their devotion, your freedom begins."
'What the fuck is this?'
I read it once. Then again. Then flipped through the rest of the pages, expecting more.
Nothing. Just the one passage.
I stood frozen. The need to understand clawing at my ribs. The need for control grinding against my teeth.
Click
Reason and Judgment
The sound of my breath disappeared. My pulse went flat. Emotion sloughed off like dead skin. In its place, the cold clarity of my Authority washed over me.
'English. Perfect English. The book knows our name. That implies awareness. Sentience. Possibly omniscience. This is no diary. This is a tailored artifact keyed directly to us.
Gospel. The word of God. A holy truth. Something to be obeyed, spread, revered.
And it bears my name.
So. What do we do with this knowledge? The Gospel understands us, our desires, our chains, our hunger. It knows we crave freedom. That we seek control. That more than anything, we want the right to say: this path is mine.'
But that leads to the real question:
'Whose interests does this Gospel actually serve?'
Mine?
Unlikely.
First, we trace its source. Simple: Lucan. The overly enthusiastic merchant with an odd flair for dramatics.
'Reconstruct every word. Every action. Rewind the tape. He handed us the book, and I no longer believe that was mere coincidence.'
So I did.
Ran it all back, line by line. Then, something stood out. A phrase I'd ignored at the time, dismissed as colorful fluff.
"Oh, by Her love… sir, you're a blessing."
'Her.' He said Her. I hadn't caught it at the time. Wasn't cautious enough. Too lost in my own naive joy of exploration.
I knew little of this world's gods. But I did know that Lugunica revered one figure above all:
Volcanica. The Divine Dragon. Not a god in truth, but deified all the same.
He is worshipped. His name is praised.
So then…
Who the hell is "Her"?
'A rather elementary guess can be made here. He was referring to the Witch of Envy. Ergo, he was a witch cultist. And me coming into possession of this Gospel is my form of… initiation.'
I had once theorized that, because I bore the power of an Authority, the sin of Pride, I could serve as the Sin Archbishop for that seat.
It seemed the Cult had come to the same conclusion.
'So it becomes a question. Do we accept such a role? On one hand, it is beneath us, to be a pet on a leash, licking the Witch's feet while bending to the words of the Gospel. On the other hand, if we were to bury our pride, even for a moment… this could an opportunity.'
I knew who my enemy truly was. Not the favored individual, but the Witch herself.
Reinhard had once told me three heroes had sealed her four centuries ago. Not killed. Sealed. That distinction mattered. I didn't believe they did so out of moral virtue. More likely... it was simply the only option they had.
So where did that leave me?
I stood there, in the suspended stillness of my Authority. No sound but thought.
Just thinking.
'Enough of this. We need more information before making a move. Only a fool acts without understanding the board.'
The frozen moment dissolved. Reality returned. I slipped the Gospel back into my arm bag, adjusted the strap across my chest, then straightened my coat and re-secured my sword at my hip.
I would need to get access to the manor's library. Scour the archives here before I would rely upon the Cult for information.
I exited my room and began down the nearest stairwell—
Only to come face to face with Rem.
She stood silently at the base of the stairs, eyes cool and unreadable.
"Do you have something you wish to say, Miss Rem?"
My voice carried a confidence that surprised even me. The cloak from my Authority seemed to hang on to me for a little longer than usual. Clinging to my words, posture, presence.
She didn't answer at first.
"I came to inform the honored guest that dinner will be served shortly," she finally said, voice level. "Lady Emilia was wondering where you had gone. I offered my assistance in locating you."
'I've not been gone that long. And I told Emilia where I went. She isn't so clingy as to send a servant looking for me after only a few minutes.'
"May I ask what has occupied the honored guest's time?" Her tone pleasant, but the question was practically an accusation.
Click
Reason and Judgment
'Who does this woman think she is? Who does this servant think she is? Practically interrogating us in the hallway. Lying to our face.'
I scanned her frame. The subtle tension in her legs. The faint shift in balance. The angle of her right foot, prepared to pivot or pounce. The almost feral look in her one visible eye, the other hidden behind azure colored hair.
'She always faces us, expecting battle. Why?'
I looked even closer. Flickering through the past half-minute interaction between me and her. Watched the words leave her mouth and the minute changes in facial expression. The way her eyes subtly traced over my form.
'There's the slightest hint of disgust in her features. A revulsion to something… a revulsion to us.'
I had encountered in this manor one person already who could tell I was different from an ordinary individual, and suddenly I was guessing that I had, in reality, encountered two.
Rem could tell I held an Authority.
'But how? How did Beatrice even know? The little girl hadn't given any hints as to how she ascertained our power so quickly. No special words or phrases for us to correlate between her and Rem.'
Then the second connection became apparent.
'She thinks we're a witch cultist.'
'Oh my… how amusing. And here we are walking around with a Gospel given to us by a witch cultist. With words written on the page telling us to find our faithful sheep. We truly do look like a prime suspect.'
'Amusement aside, how do we deal with this problem?'
'We wear the crest of House Astrea openly, and she still suspects us. We claimed to be close with Reinhard van Astrea to her sister, but it is unlikely that this is to be believed from a mere second-hand account, and Ram wasn't present when Reinhard was around.'
'Merely speaking with the girl and attempting to convey our sudden innocence would only look suspicious. If she asked to check our person, she would find our Gospel. Whether that book's connection to the Cult is common knowledge or not is unknown.'
'We cannot simply kill the girl. She's acting in accordance with her reality, a world where people like us are monsters. And in that framework… we are one. She's not cruel. Just cautious.'
I was running in circles. I couldn't quite find a solution that would truly stick. I could lie and claim that I was cursed from birth. But would she really believe that? What was it about me that she could truly see? Did she even actually see my Authority, or was it something else?
'This is so… tiresome.'
I took a step away from the thought spiral.
Using Reason and Judgment, my mind unfurled backward.
I echoed back through time. A couple days ago, sitting on a bench beside the Astrea Estate's sparring yard. Flam's voice in one ear. Grassis chattering in the other.
I was an observer now. Detached. Watching the memory like a play I already knew the lines to.
But I could still feel it, the warmth of the sun soaking into my shirt. The sting of sweat clinging to my back. The breeze that tousled my hair and whistled through the garden trees.
It was… peaceful.
A sanctuary forged from memory.
Using my Authority to simply live in the past for as long as I pleased, basking in familiarity, even as my mind dissected problems in real time.
'We need to find our way to a beach one of these days. Having a cold drink in the warm sand would be an excellent memory to use in the future.'
I felt the echo of myself smiling, the past me, as Reinhard strolled over, holding that same glowing blue, disgusting, vile healing potion he'd tricked me with, what felt like ages ago.
I cut the resonance. Let the memory go numb just as past-me began to gulp it down.
Then reconnected. Just in time to laugh with Reinhard and the twins.
The past was a beautiful thing.
'But it won't move the future forward.'
'If you miss them that badly, just leave. Pack your bags. Walk away. You'd run the risk of another time loop, yes, but you'd get to see him again.'
I shook my head. Let the memory loop again.
But this time I watched it from the outside, focused on the now, while basking in the then.
'I see no means by which we can reliably decrease Rem's level of suspicion of us. We cannot simply remove our Authority, nor would we ever.'
A warmth bloomed in my chest. A comforting, arrogant truth.
'So then, there is one solution, albeit a rather simple one: we carry on. Let her watch. Let her whisper. She cannot harm us. After all... we are indomitable. If she confronts us, we can confront her with the fact that neither Puck, who is the Great Spirit of Fire, nor Beatrice, who is aware of our nature, have made any moves against us.'
I let time resume. Reality snapped back around me.
A calm smile tugged at my lips as I shook my head.
"I had to check that all the goods I purchased in Arlam were properly situated in my room," I said gently. "Thank you for your concern, Miss Rem."
"I'll head to the dining hall now. Will you be joining us?"
I descended the rest of the stairs slowly, practically staring her down.
"Not at the moment, honored guest," she replied flatly. "I must retrieve something from my sister's room."
She turned to go, footsteps tapping up the stairs I had just descended.
I waited until she reached the midway point. Then called up, smile widening.
"Oh? I was under the impression that the servant quarters were located in the right wing of the manor. Perhaps I misunderstood the layout."
She paused.
Looked down at me.
Blank. Cold.
Then turned and kept walking.
I snorted. My steps light, the bounce in my stride returned.
If the maid wanted to go through my belongings…
She'd come away sorely disappointed.
—
Stepping up to the double doors of the dining hall, I pushed them open with a slow, echoing creak. Not the groan of rusted hinges, just the natural sound of two massive oak behemoths dragging across their frames.
Inside, the table was already occupied. I was the last to arrive.
Seated in their usual arrangement: Emilia near the head of the table, Roswaal in his throne at the head, Beatrice in a high-backed chair with Puck nestled in her lap, and, to my mild surprise, Subaru. Considering he was now a member of the staff, I figured he'd either not be present or up against the wall.
From the sound of it, Roswaal was teasing Beatrice, and Subaru, in a move no one could claim was out of character, immediately took a jab at Roswaal in return. Beatrice ignored them both, too engrossed with Puck's latest reincarnation as a massage tool
Of course, the loud thunk of the doors closing behind me was hard to miss. Every head turned in my direction, except Beatrice's. Predictably, she didn't even bother.
"Oooooh my! Finally made your way here, Ethan?" came Roswaal's unmistakable drawl, every syllable an exercise in making you want to put a face through a wall. Preferably his.
I smiled thinly.
"My apologies if I made you wait, everyone," I replied, polite as could be, while casually scanning the table for an open seat.
"I only just got here myself, so I think you're fine," Emilia added quickly, waving me over with a soft smile and motioning to the seat beside her.
I noticed, in the time since I'd last seen her, she'd changed her outfit. A short white dress, faint lavender accents, her favorite color palette, clearly. Always some shade of amethyst. She wore it well.
I took my seat beside her with a quiet nod of thanks, giving Subaru a small nod as well. He returned it with a smirk, probably proud he'd beaten me here.
Roswaal, wasting no time, clapped his hands.
"Nooooow that most of us have gathered," he declared, "I belieeeve we can begin!"
At his cue, the dining room doors swung open.
The food was quickly served by Ram alone, and soon after, Rem quickly joined and picked up the slack from her sister, having been left to serve on her own.
It was a regular meal by Earth standards. A large slice of meat that looked like braised chicken, an odd side of radishes and bell peppers, both sautéd, and steamed potatoes covered in butter and seasoned with "solt" and "peppa" as so lovingly called in the bastardized language of this world. They had somehow butchered salt and pepper.
And I had only found out after asking if Lia would "pass the salt and pepper." Only for her to give me an odd look, commenting on my strange pronunciation of the words.
I'd had to pass it off with a lie about my late parents using that pronunciation, some sentimental quirk I clung to out of respect. That seemed to satisfy her.
But I swore, right then and there, in my prideful little heart: I would never call it solt or peppa.
No matter how many meals I ate in this world.
Some crimes were unforgivable.
As dinner began, conversation slowly began bubbling up across the table, starting, of course, with Subaru.
The boy was… bragging?
Something about how he'd helped prep the meal by peeling the potatoes. A heroic feat. Ram, naturally, wasted no time responding.
"Truly, Barusu, in the professional opinion of this maid, you cut your hands more than you cut the potatoes."
And she wasn't wrong. The dudes hands were covered in white wrappings. Makeshift bandages that almost made it look like he was wearing gloves.
'How do you even take that much damage in a single day of being a servant? Did they have you training with blades?'
Subaru's head dropped like a deflated balloon. Ram's verbal haymaker had landed. Roswaal cackled at his expense (bit rude, innit?), and the boy looked ready to collapse face-first into his buttered radish.
I figured I'd throw him a bone.
"Thanks for the hard work, Subaru," I said simply, reaching under the table to tap Emilia's arm, a gentle prompt.
She flinched with a startled little "eep!" and I kept a straight face, refusing to acknowledge her little blunder.
Recovering fast, she gave a bright smile and echoed me.
"Right! Thanks for the hard work, Subaru!"
Subaru's head jerked up. His eyes locked with mine, then darted to Emilia, widening in full-blown awe. A grateful smile spread across his face, like I'd just saved him from drowning and earned his eternal loyalty.
Though, if I had to guess, he wasn't thankful because I acknowledged his work.
He was just thrilled I'd gotten a beautiful girl to say something nice to him.
"I knew you were a real one, Ethan!" he beamed.
"Uh… no problem, buddy," I muttered, slicing into the chicken on my plate.
I scooped a forkful of buttered potatoes, dragged them through whatever sauce had pooled under the chicken, and took a bite. Tasty.
Sensing I wasn't going to say anything else, Emilia stepped in.
"But you do look awfully injured, Subaru. Would you like me to help heal your wounds?" she offered with that gentle warmth that always clung to her voice.
Before Subaru could answer, Roswaal interjected.
"Ah, ah, ah, Lady Emilia!" he said, wagging a gloved finger. "It is said that a man treasures certain wounds. They help build character… and strength of resolve."
He turned dramatically to face Subaru.
"Isn't that right, Natsuki Subaru?"
"Not sure why you said my name like that, Ros-chi," Subaru grumbled. "But I totally have to agree!"
I sensed something stupid brewing.
"Thank you for the offer, Emilia-tan~," he continued, the honorific sliding out like a tongue-slip he didn't regret.
"Tan?" Emilia echoed softly, brows knitting together.
She never got an answer.
"—But these wounds," Subaru declared, slamming his wrapped hands dramatically on the table, "these wounds give me character development! It's mandatory that I go through a period of suffering, so that on the dawn of a new day, I can fight stronger than ever!"
He struck a pose like this was the climax of a monologue. Emilia looked over at me for clarity.
I shrugged.
She blinked once, then tilted her head.
"...But you weren't in a fight, Subaru. Didn't you say you got those from cutting potatoes?" came Emilia's innocent confusion.
Subaru froze mid-smirk.
And then—
He stood. Leaned halfway over the table in a dramatic hush gesture.
"Hey! These are totally hard-earned battle scars."
Emilia blinked, still lost.
I leaned closer and whispered into her ear.
"He's just being silly."
"Oooh… I get it now!" she gasped, and burst into giggles, a full second too late and a gold coin short on delivery.
I let out a quiet huff of amusement, returning to my food… only to be cursed once more by the annoying voice of Roswaal.
"Hoooow was your first day here, Subaru? As your emplooooyer I would like to know how all my staff are feeling."
"Ros-chi, you seriously give me chills sometimes," Subaru muttered, glancing sideways. "Haven't you heard it's all about presentation?"
"I'm not suuuure what you mean by that~!"
"...Of course you aren't. You wear clown makeup."
Roswaal didn't even flinch at the insult. Instead, Subaru puffed himself up and declared with undue bravado:
"Anyway! Today was great. I think I did pretty well for my first day on the job."
Both maids, Ram and Rem, immediately chimed in with verbal execution orders.
I tuned it out.
'Is there anything I can actually accomplish at this table?'
I glanced across to Beatrice, who was currently feeding Puck dainty bites of her chicken while making high-pitched squeaky sounds.
Yeah. No dice there. I needed access to the library eventually, and Puck was my best bet at swaying her, but he was clearly… preoccupied.
I shifted left. Emilia.
She was still happily munching away, doing her best to pretend the untouched vegetables on her plate didn't exist.
"Y'know," I murmured, "you have to eat your vegetables if you want to grow big and strong, Lia."
She nearly choked on a piece of chicken and grabbed her tea like it was a lifeline.
Turning to face me, cheeks faintly pink, she glanced at my plate, then gave me a look of utter disbelief.
"Ethan," she said, voice soft but accusing, "you haven't even touched your peppirs or radsh."
She wagged a finger in my face, as if that settled the matter.
I almost puked when I heard her pronunciation of bell peppers and radish. I would forever curse the person responsible for the piss-poor naming conventions in this world.
"I'm merely saving them for last," I replied smoothly. "You know the saying, save the best for last?"
"Mmhmm, I've heard that."
"But I also see you've pushed all your vegetables into a little pile off to the side of your plate. I used to do that too. But Puck always scolded me for it."
"It's alright to admit you don't like them, Ethan."
'Where was this level of confidence when we were talking about national policy, Lia?'
Then, a soft hand slipped over mine beneath the table.
I looked over. Emilia was staring at me, dead serious.
"Together, Ethan," she said, fingers lacing gently with mine, "we can both conquer our dislike of veggies. I believe in you."
'What the hell is this?! I don't even hate vegetables! Radish and bell peppers are just an awful fucking mix!'
I forced a smile.
"Of course, Lia." I gave her hand a squeeze. She squeezed back. "Together, we shall conquer this battlefield."
And so we did.
Forkful by forkful, we faced the hideous pairing, a medley of properly prepared, linguistically butchered nightmares.
By the end, I downed the rest of my tea in one solid pull like I was a man dying of thirst.
'What is life? How did I get here? Why is she so damn obstinate about the most ridiculous things?'
I stared off into space as dinner quietly finished.
Surprisingly, Roswaal didn't have anything to say to me. Just an odd look as he glanced between me and Emilia before addressing Beatrice, who had lost her precious Puck.
If the floating tail waving in front of my eyes was any indication, I think I knew where he was.
"Truuuuly, Beatrice, consider my offer~! Perhaps it would be more entertaining than watching over the library all day looong~." The lord of the manor finished, and without waiting for a reply, simply walked out the door.
'Not even a good night, Roswaal? I hope your face paint stings your eyes the next time you put it on, then.'
A soft tapping on my head drew me from my fugue state, and I reached up to pry the offender from my luscious locks of hair.
"Sup!" the tiny cat said once detained within my hands. I didn't reply. Merely beginning to fluff his fur and get my petting in for the day.
The rest of the world moved on in a blur I had no intention of tracking. As far as I was concerned, the day was done. I'd clocked out.
Emilia stayed beside me, gently tapping at Puck every now and then like she wanted her turn too. I kept petting him. He didn't seem to mind.
Subaru had been dragged off long ago by the maids, rambling something that may or may not have been directed at me. I didn't catch it. Beatrice, meanwhile, had given me a lingering stare, butterfly eyes laced with jealousy, before huffing and disappearing in a swirl of puffed-up sleeves.
A soft yawn beside me drew my gaze. Emilia rubbed one eye with the back of her hand in a cat-like motion, and I briefly considered giving her a pat too, but restrained myself.
Instead, I rose to my feet, set Puck gently onto her forearm, and offered a hand.
"Want me to walk you back to your room?"
"Thank you for the offer," she said, smiling, "but I still have to talk with the spirits before I go to bed."
"Mind if I tag along?" I asked lightly. A little spirit communion under the stars sounded like a peaceful end to the day.
"Of course not," she beamed. "I'd be very happy if you came with me."
Without another word, she reached out and grasped my hand, turned, and began walking, a quiet determination in her stride as she pulled me along.
Emotions came easily to Emilia.
She shared them freely, sincerely. No ulterior motives. No masks.
And for all my posturing and pride and calculated charm, I couldn't help but envy that.
—
I sat beneath a star-scattered sky on the freshly cut lawn of the manor, the freshly cut blades of grass brushing against my boots
My gaze remained fixed on her, on Emilia, as she stood surrounded by her own stars
The spirits blinked and danced around her in delicate arcs of light.
At that moment, I truly believed it was a sight I'd never grow tired of.
Puck, currently lounging across my palms like a fuzzy loaf, seemed to agree.
His sleepy gaze never left her.
Then, softly, he spoke.
"What are you doing here, Ethan?"
I glanced down at the tiny cat in my hands, then turned my eyes back to Emilia, still glowing, still lost in communion.
"The whole truth? The one that wouldn't make any sense? Or an answer that would be enough to satisfy you?"
"Which one are you more comfortable with?" he asked with simple curiosity.
"Neither," I replied after a pause. "The one where I don't have to say anything."
He hummed faintly, settling deeper into my palm like it was a reclining chair.
"You know," he murmured, "I think I can trust you around her. To not lead her astray."
"And you can," I whispered back.
And I meant it.
I wasn't sure why. Or maybe I did and simply didn't want to think about it.
Emotions never really were my strong suit.
Emilia turned then, her eyes finding ours, a small smile already forming on her lips.
The lights around her had begun to fade, the last of the spirits drifting upward like dust caught in moonlight.
Now, only the night remained.
She stood bathed in silver, the soft glow outlining her silhouette like something from a half-remembered dream.
Approaching us with soft footsteps, she was quick to sit down next to us. Reaching over, she plucked Puck from my hands.
"It's awfully late for you, Puck. Don't you want to go to sleep?"
Puck gave a lazy hum, floating upward toward the familiar green glintstone resting against her collarbone.
"Yeah, I stayed up a bit late. But I got what I wanted."
"I'll see you in the morning, Lia. Don't stay up too late."
"I won't," she murmured. "Nighty-night, Puck."
"Good night, Puck," I added.
The little spirit paused midair, half-turning in my direction with a look I couldn't quite place, something between fondness and warning.
"Night, Ethan. Try not to think so much."
And with that, he vanished, a swirl of green light spiraling into the stone.
Emilia gave me a curious glance, but didn't press.
For that, I was grateful.
A peaceful stillness settled between us.
Just the cool air, the grass beneath us, and the alien stars above.
For the moment, I tried to follow Puck's advice.
No thoughts.
Just starlight.
—
Author's Note:
Not too much in this chapter. I just wanted to get something written while I had the time. I still think this one came out alright though.
If you think otherwise, imma send Puck after you.