They did more than speak the same Loen tongue. They radiated the same tense, uneasy energy, as though the fog around them fed directly into their nerves.
Where am I? What am I to do here? Zhou Mingrui repeated their unspoken questions inwardly, seeking calm in the rhythm of thought.
Yet what struck him most was not their words, nor their meaning, but the emotions that clung to them like shadows — confusion, vigilance, panic, and awe all mingling in a fragile, trembling balance.
Two people had been drawn into this gray, whispering void for reasons unknown. Zhou Mingrui himself, the architect of their displacement, already felt a vertigo of disbelief. How much more incomprehensible must it be for those who had been pulled here without warning, without consent?
For them, this must defy all reason.
A choice flickered through his mind. One path: play the helpless victim, hide his power, win their trust, and watch events unfold before intervening. Another: preserve the aura of mystery, subtly shape the course of events, and gather the knowledge hidden in their reactions.
Time would not wait for deliberation. Instinct took the lead, and he chose the second path.
He would manipulate their minds. Bend the shadows of their fear to his advantage.
After a heartbeat of silence, Zhou Mingrui let out a low, soft chuckle. His voice, calm yet deliberate, sounded as though it were replying to the polite greetings of invisible hosts.
"An attempt," he said.
An attempt?
Audrey Hall blinked at the veiled figure through the gray-white mist, her thoughts collapsing into absurdity, dread, and disbelief all at once.
Moments ago, she had been standing in front of her dressing table. Now, she was here, in this endless fog, where the air itself seemed to shiver.
It was impossible.
She drew a slow breath and forced a courteous, composed smile. "Sir," she said, her voice carefully measured, "is the attempt complete? Might we be allowed to return?"
Alger Wilson's curiosity was equally keen, but his composure held. Years of experience tempered his impulses; he remained the silent observer, watching the dance of the mist and its master.
Zhou Mingrui's eyes roamed through the haze. The woman — tall, with hair like spun gold — remained indistinct, her features blurred. The man beside her had dark-blue hair, slightly tousled, a frame neither imposing nor frail.
And then he realized: perhaps, when he grew stronger, when his understanding of this world deepened, he might pierce the fog and see them as they truly were.
Here, they are the visitors… and I am the master.
Shifting his perception, the subtleties of the scene came into focus. Both the woman's voice, melodious and bright, and the man's calm, restrained presence appeared faintly insubstantial, tinged with crimson light — echoes of the two red "stars" beyond the gray.
They were projections. Their existence here relied on a fragile, invisible thread tethered to him. Sever the connection, and they would vanish, returning to their own world.
Zhou Mingrui nodded to himself, then addressed the blond figure with a quiet smile. "Of course," he said. "If you formally request it, you may return at once."
Audrey's shoulders relaxed at the absence of threat in his tone. To her, a gentleman capable of such impossible feats was bound by honor — a witness whose word was law.
Her fear melted away, replaced by fascination. Her green eyes sparkled with a strange, almost dangerous curiosity.
"This… this is extraordinary," she whispered, her words tumbling over themselves. "I have always longed for something like this! I adore mysteries — miracles, the supernatural… Sir, what must I do to become a Beyonder?"
Excitement made her breath quick, her gestures fumbled, her earlier terror erased as a long-held dream nudged against reality.
Good question, Zhou Mingrui thought, a faint irony in his mind. I would like to know that myself.
He hesitated — not from uncertainty, but from awareness. A being of his nature should not simply stand. Shouldn't he be seated upon a throne, at the head of a grand table, an ancient chair engraved with arcane patterns, observing silently?
The thought barely formed before the fog responded. It churned, twisting and roiling as if in obedience, and both Audrey and Alger stiffened in shock.
Stone pillars emerged from the mist, rising toward a distant, vaulted dome. The hall was colossal, awe-inspiring — a palace carved for giants, yet made from the very breath of fog and light.
Beneath the gray dome, a bronze table materialized, long and polished, flanked by ten high-backed chairs on each side, with two more at the ends. Crimson constellations shimmered faintly on the chairs' backs, outlining star patterns that did not exist in the waking world.
Audrey and Alger now sat opposite one another, at the head of the table, flanking the seat of honor.
The girl's eyes wandered, lips parted slightly. "How… fascinating," she murmured.
It is indeed, Zhou Mingrui thought, brushing his fingers lightly over the bronze edge, expression unreadable.
Alger studied the hall, then broke the silence. His voice was calm, measured, carrying authority. "Are you from Loen? If you wish to become a Beyonder, you must join one of the Churches — the Evernight Goddess, the Lord of Storms, or the God of Steam and Machinery."
He paused, letting the weight of the information settle. "Most never encounter a Beyonder in their lives. Some clergy doubt they even exist. And yet they persist — hidden in courts, tribunals, execution agencies — guardians against the creeping darkness, though their numbers dwindle from those of the Iron Age."
Zhou Mingrui listened, but he did so with casual indifference, as if hearing the gossip of children, hiding the intensity of his mind.
Through fragments of memory, he understood the Iron Age referenced the Fifth Epoch, begun thirteen hundred forty-nine years ago.
Audrey exhaled softly. "I know this," she said. "I know more — of the Nighthawks, the Mandated Punishers, the Machinery Hivemind — but I will not trade my freedom."
Alger's low chuckle held no judgment. "You cannot become a Beyonder without sacrifice. If you refuse the Churches' trials, your choices narrow to ancient royal or noble lines, or to luck — and the shadowy organizations lurking beyond sight."
Audrey puffed her cheeks in frustration, glancing furtively. "There must be another way," she whispered.
Alger fell silent. Half a minute later, he turned toward Zhou Mingrui, whose eyes observed the duo from the seat of honor.
Seeing no movement from him, Alger spoke again. "I possess two Sequence 9 potion formulas."
Sequence 9… Zhou Mingrui murmured to himself.
Audrey's eyes lit. "Which ones?"
Alger leaned back. "As you know, humanity can only ascend to Beyonderhood through potions. Names change across translations — Jotun, Elvish, Hermes, Feysac — but the essence remains. The name reflects the potion's core."
"The first, Sailor, grants perfect balance. On a storm-tossed ship, you walk as on solid ground. You gain strength, scales beneath the skin, the endurance to swim ten minutes unaided, and the agility of a marine predator."
Audrey's eyes gleamed. "The Keepers of the Seas… from the Lord of Storms?"
"Once called so," Alger nodded. "The second, Spectator, sharpens perception. Like an audience watching actors, you read the truth behind people's words, their emotions, gestures, the hidden currents of thought."
He fixed her with a somber gaze. "But remember — whether in grand halls or crowded streets, a Spectator remains an observer. Always."
Audrey's chest rose with excitement. "I… I love that idea. How can I get it? What can I trade?"
Alger's smile was faint but firm. "The blood of a Ghost Shark. At least a hundred milliliters."
Her excitement faltered into hesitation. "And if I… if I can get it, how can I know you will give the true formula in return?"
"I will provide an address. Upon receipt, the formula will be sent. Or shared here, if desired. As witness…" His gaze swept to Zhou Mingrui. "…the mysterious gentleman observes."
Audrey's eyes sparkled. "Yes! With him watching, neither of us could dare break our word."
She turned fully to Zhou Mingrui, earnest and respectful. "Sir, please witness this trade."
Then she remembered her manners. "Sir… may I ask — how should we address you?"
Alger inclined his head, mirroring the question.
Zhou Mingrui paused. Fingers tapping the bronze table, he recalled the image from his divination. Leaning back, he folded his hands beneath his chin, a faint, enigmatic smile on his lips.
"You may call me…" He hesitated, then spoke with calm authority, resonant and precise:
"The Fool."