Notes Left Behind

As I step into the disconcerting field of red spider lilies, my senses tingle with a mix of curiosity and caution. I've never gone further than just the shore of the river of this place. Where is Lily taking me? Is there more than merely the other side of the river where my father's shadow lies?

The crimson blooms stretch out endlessly before me, casting a ghostly glow against the abyssal sky. It feels like I've stumbled into a realm untouched by time, where reality and dreams meld together. And what I feel is accurate, for this is the mind of a weapon, the Ether within it giving it life. Or perhaps... the Sigil is alive. I wonder which it is... Does Ether give life, or were they already alive? Hmm... those are questions for someone who knows much more than me.

Guiding me through this ethereal dreamscape is a young girl with striking red eyes that seem to hold secrets to Ether, my past, and the world I can only imagine. Her presence is both confusing and unsettling, her demeanor veiled in an enigmatic aura. Every step she takes is deliberate, leading me deeper into the heart of this floral maze without walls. The air is thick with a bizarre scent, a blend of sweetness and melancholy that hangs in the atmosphere. Each petal of the lilies whispers hushed scrapes as I brush against them, their delicate touch running across my hand. The ground beneath my feet feels strangely soft and yielding, as if I'm treading upon a bed of forgotten memories. This is Lily's mind, right? If I tread far enough, what would I find?

In response to my thoughts, the girl's gaze remains fixed ahead, her crimson eyes darting from one blooming spider lily to another as she leads me by the hand. But a sense of unease lingers, a nagging feeling that I'm being led down a path I may not be ready to tread. Yet, I continue. I want to know more about the Blooming Spider Lily, my father, and my family.

The lilies sway gently in a phantom breeze, their long, slender stems bending gracefully under its touch as they move out of the way for Lily. They seem to dance in harmony with the girl's steps, their petals unfurling like delicate silk as if inviting me to delve deeper into their enchantment. Their vibrant red hue intensifies, creating an otherworldly spectacle that captivates and unnerves me simultaneously.

I continue through this dreamy landscape with no destination in sight, the isles covered in bouquets of crimson. Lily is uncharacteristically quiet as she moves but continues to glance back at me, her pointed teeth showing in a grin.

As we traverse further into the field, the path becomes less distinguishable, the boundaries between reality and illusion blurring. Edges of the plains seem to distort, turning indistinct and hard to notice. Are we leaving her mind? Or are we reaching the border? The whispers of the lilies grow louder, their voices intertwining in a symphony of secrets and forgotten tales. I strain to catch the fragments of their words, hoping that they speak actual words, but it seems they do not.

The girl's presence becomes more enigmatic with each passing moment. Her gaze flickers with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion as if she's testing my resolve, probing the depths of my intentions. And I prove my resolve as I follow her without stopping.

There is an undeniable allure to this strange realm, an irresistible tug that draws me further into its depths. I can't help but be both captivated and apprehensive, as if I'm tiptoeing on the edge of an abyss, unsure of what awaits me on the other side. This feeling persists despite knowing that Lily would do nothing to hurt me. It's a soul-deep feeling that won't depart. I must be entering some depth of her mind. Or her soul if she has one. Maybe it's like a deeper version of what Abraham did to me. I guess I'll find out, though.

I'm caught between fascination and worry in this endless field of red spider lilies before I toss away that indecision. If Lily wanted to hurt me, she would have done so when Hura pulled the trigger on me. The girl leads onward, her steps steady and purposeful. I follow, my heart pounding with anticipation, as the blossoms turn an even more vibrant shade of red.

The plains of sanguine sink, increasing our pace as I notice the outline of something in the distance. Not sure what it is, I persist. I want to ask a question, but I don't. Lily's movement is filled with too much gravity for me to breach the solemn silence. She's not skipping or humming like usual. Instead, she is silently walking, so much so that even her bare feet don't create noise upon the grass below.

As we descend the hill of crimson spider lilies, a sense of foreboding grips me tightly. The petals beneath my feet give way to damp, moss-covered ground, and that's when I see it. A building is in the distance of an endless field I thought was only composed of flowers. The air packs thickly to the ground with an eerie mist, the origin of which is billowing out from the broken glass windows of a decrepit shack in the distance. Beyond it is a distorted sky, one that is impossible to see through or in as the colors shift and meld into madness, and the lilies on the ground are barely visible, the red colors fighting to stay above the fog.

But despite this odd phenomenon, Lily's steps quicken, her red eyes fixed on the dilapidated structure as if drawn to its shattered presence. I attempt to pull my arm, but she ignores me, her hand clasped around mine with such force I can't even resist. The fog curls around our feet, softening each step as if to not hurt the flowers below. Each breath I take feels heavy, as if the air is charged with a suppressed energy.

The closer we get to the shack, the more its decaying state becomes evident. The wooden planks creak and groan from the fog alone. The windows are smashed, their jagged edges framed by tendrils of mist that seep through the cracks.

I step to the threshold of the entrance, the air inside thick with an unsettling silence. Lily releases my hand as she backpedals into the shack, spinning around such that her skirt twirls a bit. Shadows dance alongside her on the walls, cast by the faint light filtering through the fog from the empty sky. The shadows grow a mouth as she speaks, the sound seemingly coming from both simultaneously.

"Look! This is where I was born! Killian put it in my mind so that I'd never forget it! Isn't it gorgeous!?"

My gaze sweeps across the room at her questioning, taking in the remnants of her birthplace, or more accurately, where she was built. Tattered curtains sway gently, a ghostly dance in the stagnant air. The floorboards creak under my weight despite my stillness. Dust motes swirl in dim light beams, illuminating the fragility of the structure.

My eyes focus on the mist as I think about her question. Fog spills through the broken windows, wrapping around the decaying remnants of items. It then intertwines with the echoes of memories, blurring the sight of a notebook at the far end of the room.

The notebook draws my attention, and so do the weapon parts placed beside it, the components reminiscent of Lily's frame in the waking realm. But I get the sense that she wants an answer as she grows impatient, her toes tapping on the creaky floorboard.

The girl stands at the center of the room, her presence magnified by the surrounding decay as her face holds a grin. Her red eyes gleam with inquisition as she awaits my answer. Clearing my throat, I give it to her.

"It's uhh... certainly unique."

Lily giggles, nodding her head as she waves her hands, clearing some of the fog with the motions.

"Of course! This is a replica of the house Killian lived in while he was in the Underworld! I was made from the Cardinal, but even he can't create things inside of it. So, he made this! The home for the two of us. Well... three."

Her words catch my attention, pulling it from the notebook for a second. Three?

"Three of you?"

Lily nods, answering a question I've long held about my father.

"Yeah! Killian, me, and Datura! Though... Datura didn't talk much. Killian always said he was an incomplete Colt and that I would quickly surpass him. I don't think Killian could sense it, but that always frustrated Datura."

My thoughts race as I put together her words in my mind. Datura? Colt? Unfinished? Is that the blue revolver Killian had in those memories? As I step into the room, I ask another question, the floor squeaking beneath me.

"Datura? Is that the Colt's full name?"

Lily shakes her head, her midnight hair twisting alongside the skull.

"Of course not! It's the Wilting Datura! He was the most astonishing thing I've ever seen, but Killian always complained about him anyway, citing something about decay."

My eyes slowly return to the notebook on the dilapidated table even as I ask another question.

"Why was it so impressive? What could it do?"

Lily puts her hands behind her back as she bends forward, focused on remembrance. While she does so, I move closer to the notebook, ignoring the fog.

"Uhmm. Well. I'm unsure of most of it, but I know what its Dominion did. Everything around Killian would be slowed down in time, almost as if moving through mud but leaving him at normal speed. Oh! It also had poison that was within each bullet! The venom would make the target age faster, whether living or not, until it broke apart. Datura really was incredible. All I have is my Life Siphon and Soul Steal, being my Power and innate skill."

Again my eyes twist from the ruined journal as I forcibly comprehend what she just spoke. Dominion? Was... Is... the Datura a 9th Mark? It must be. Or... it could be an 8th Mark, too, I suppose. 8th Sigils can have Dominions as well before their advancements. I guess that would align with the unfinished portion of the gun.

After thinking for a moment, I move to the journal, bringing it up in our conversation as I glance at the parts.

"What about this notebook? Is it special?"

Lily turns her head as she notices it, shrugging her shoulders.

"Dunno. I don't think I've ever seen that before. Kind of reminds me of Killian's workbook, though. The one he used to sketch skills."

Her words only make me more suspicious of it, as this is her realm, her domain. She should know everything placed within her mind. And if she doesn't, then... how did it get here? The only answer could be Killian.

I step forward, standing directly before the table, but for some reason, my eyes gravitate toward the parts first, even as my mind yearns to survey the leatherbound journal.

And so, I gaze upon the components laid out before me, scattered haphazardly on the cracked and splintered table. Each piece bears the mark of the Blooming Spider Lily, its essence intertwined with the deathly beauty of red spider lilies that grace their surfaces.

The barrel, sleek and gleaming, is etched with intricate patterns resembling delicate petals. The metal seems to pulse with a subtle energy, the Ether wafting off the object in droves. It is a conduit, a vessel that channels power and purpose.

Beside it lies the frame, crafted from weathered steel that has stood the test of time. Adorned with carvings reminiscent of twisting vines, it speaks of resilience and growth. Embedded within the metal, the red spider lilies seem to dance, their presence alive and vibrant despite the passage of unknown years.

The trigger, forged with meticulous care, is a thing of precision and control. Its surface shimmers with an almost hypnotic quality, mirroring the restless allure of the spider lilies. It beckons as if urging me to embrace the power it promises.

The cylinder, adorned with swirling patterns, is a vessel of potential. The red spider lilies upon the spinning piece seem to shift and flow, creating an illusion of movement within their stillness. It holds the capacity for transformation, each chamber a gateway to life and death.

And finally, the grip, worn yet new, bears the weight of it all. Embedded within its grain, the red spider lilies stand as symbols of sacrifice and resilience, a reminder of the blood spilled and the lives touched by this formidable weapon.

But as I finish my inspection, a voice calls out to me.

"See? Isn't it relaxing?"

I nod to her. It is. Merely standing here, looking at the work of Killian from years ago, brings my heart a calm I haven't felt in... ever.

Lily giggles, telling me to continue, to put it together. I oblige, my hands moving with nary a command.

With a steady hand and a heart absent of ripples, I begin the painstaking task of reuniting these fragmented pieces. Each click and slide, each intricate connection, brings me closer to the culmination of a masterpiece. And alongside each movement, I feel more at peace, the clicks, clacks, and swirling flowers bridging the gap between reality and dream.

And as I have the completed form of the Colt in my hands, I can almost hear the echo of a thousand tales waiting to be written, bound within the crimson embrace of the spider lilies.

Holding the weapon gingerly, I turn to find Lily, but she is no longer there. The young woman with pointed teeth, midnight hair, and crimson eyes is gone. Without having to search, I know the answer as I gaze back at the Colt.

I give her a nod as I respectfully place her back on the table to watch, my attention shifting to the journal.

And as my hand approaches the journal, the fog thickens, obscuring my vision yet somehow enhancing my senses as my focus is left only on the blank cover. With a brimming curiosity threatening to break the calm ordained by Lily, I open its pages, revealing a tapestry of handwritten notes and faded ink. The words are written in messy handwriting, that of a man in a hurry, but I imbibe each word with every ounce of my being due to who it is from.

Hey, Wyatt. It's... me. You know who I am. But I do not have time for introductions or heartache. And neither do you. Man up. Become more. Life is harsh, and that will never change. We can only become better.

And so can Lily.

I made the Colt with all my knowledge, power, and devotion. She is the accumulation of a life of suffering, hardship, and turmoil. She is the only weapon I've ever made that doesn't consist of my flesh. Instead, she utilizes my soul.

Now, I am not dead. At least not at the time of writing this message to through my connection to Lily. I will set it to only appear once you reach the Nave, the halfway mark to the top. But this message has far more to do with Lily than it does with you.

The 7th Sigil is only the starting point for her. I built her to sustain you all the way to Heaven's Door deep in Hell. You are my Candidate. You likely have no idea what I speak of, so I will tell you. But I must be brief. Behemoth is near, and he seeks my life. The western coast is close as well, though. Soon, my mission will be over, and I can return.

Anyway, Heaven's Door is a theory, one proposed by Vincent Harvey half a century ago and turned into a small organization two decades back, consisting of me and three others. It is also a place, the supposed core of the world where the one below resides eternally. Since those years, it has grown. The theory suggests that for one to become a God, one must be 9th Sigiled, have all three Absolutions, and be capable of accomplishing a feat denoting that of a God, just as to become an Angel, one must perform an act showing they are worthy.

Many of the powerful agree with his thoughts as even he, the Wastelander, is stuck at the peak, known only by Eli and me to be traveling the world in seek of a true answer. But for an Angel to achieve a feat of a God, that requires an extraordinary person. One that can bridge the gap between realms of Sigils with talent, skill, or some other specialty. This is not merely asking for a noteworthy person. It is asking for one that can transcend all others at the pinnacle.

This person must be showered with gifts, training, artifacts, Colts, Claymore, skills, and everything under the sun to become the one to reach Divinity. Merely being strong is not enough. One must be ordained. And this person will be the one to seal the one below once more, just as Death, Gluskab, and the newly risen Devil did long ago. Hopefully, they won't be alone. But... they may be.

Marshall chose a young boy, one with the ferocity of the deadliest beast. That young boy is now a man with all the skills of the legendary figure and thrice the talent.

Ed chose a young girl, one from the unseated tribe of Hollows, more accurately known as the Comanche. The young girl is now a woman with an Artifiction in her eye that can offset the hunger of Demonsbane, a match made in paradise.

Maddox chose the most talented, brutal, and arrogant child he had, teaching them all that he could. That child is now nigh unrivaled in the waters.

Eli's choice is unknown even to me, the manipulative bastard too sly to ever reveal it, but I'm sure he's made multiple contingencies. It's just who he is.

Vincent's choice is himself, the old man believing that he qualifies, only that the "Ritual" for ascension is supremely difficult. Perhaps he can succeed, but all the powerful in the world will arrive to stop him. He is... arrogant, yet only his arrogance is deserved. Any other man thinking the same thing... I would call it hubris. Him? It might just be prophecy.

I only know those picked among us humans, for the Pygmy and Nahullo candidates are hidden from even the most penetrating gazes. I also am unsure of the candidates chosen by the Estates. They are secretive to the extreme, but I wager a guess they are working with Eli.

But my choice?

It is you, Wyatt.

I had not the time, know-how, or patience to teach you. I offloaded it all to a companion. All I could do was give you a friend that would stay alongside you until the end. I know you have none of those things as well. But that is fine. Sometimes ignorant defiance is enough. It's what we're best at, after all. Even the eldest of our line stood at a forefront he was unprepared for. At the very least, you shall begin your journey twice as old as he.

Yet, I believe you might not need any of it, for you are my son, and I, myself, never had anyone or anything. All those that I followed quickly died, just as those who followed me did the same. But, if in the end you do, I think my gift will be the difference, not any of the things one can gain with effort. At the top, it is lonely. Very lonely.

We lose our perceptions of the world quickly when all we deal with is the life, death, and suffering of thousands. Backstabbing and betrayal are simply par courses of Angelhood. But you, you alone, will never be alone. Ed's Candidate may also have a Claymore and an Artifiction, but Demonsbane is... unfriendly, to say the least. And her Artifiction that replaces her eyes merely combats the Claymore. None can become allies with what can turn you into a Wendigo, after all, and within her wages a war that Ed hopes will shuttle her to the top as her hate dyes all red. Even the greatest Hollow ever only brought balance inside his body, not true harmony.

I believe that at the end of the road, when reality treads a razor's edge, Lily is what will make the difference. She will be the light in the deepest dark, her crimson dying the abyss red. But as she is now, she is too weak. She has a meager ability to siphon life and manipulate already dead souls. She must improve, just as you must.

And I have left my notes behind so that you may grow alongside her. Don't worry. You don't need a Craftsman to finish the job. Doing as I say is enough. I made it that way. She starts off weak, but as we do, but will rapidly develop into the most harrowing flower in existence.

For her 8th Sigil, she must devour the soul of the following:

One demon, Pygmy, Nahullo, and human Angel. You can supplement any of the races for another sentient race, like the Rougarou or the Bado.

Once the following is achieved, she will evolve, her essence devouring the Sigil of the last to advance, dying her blossoms even rosier. I know not what her Virtue will be, but I do know it will be extraordinary, just as the rest of her is. More is to come, for my remnant soul is here to gauge the following steps, but first, you must advance her before I can tell you more.

So, go on. Get to it. We all got things we have to do. You were simply born with heavier shoulders. As was I. You get used to it. A long road lies ahead, one that may not possess an ending for either of us. So, take your first step, for at the Nave, the windy road has only just begun.