Alexandria's Keeper - Lord of the Mysteries

For the love of God, how much more unlucky do I have to be?! Not only did I slip from the terrace, but the moment I opened my eyes, I saw Leonard in front of me!

How do I know it's him? He looks the same as his official art, and let me tell you Leonard is fine. I also got all those memories from Irina, my poor head was begging for mercy during all that.

Although the problem has now shifted from having the worst headache of my life to Leonard, you get me? Leonard?! I mean he's hot and all that but he's also the one who's possessed, or whatever the heck it is, from Pallez, a sequence 2! Or was it 1 now? Doesn't matter, he's still an angel! Also, why is he hugging me so tightly? Wasn't he gay or something like that? Not gonna lie, this feels highly inappropriate for a man and woman in the Victorian era.

"Don't worry, Miss, everything is going to be fine." A cold voice tried to reassure her from behind, her memory connecting it to that of Dunn Smith.

"You are so helpful, sir," she said drily. "Coming from the one pointing a gun at my head."

As those words left the young girl's mouth, the hold that Leonard had on her suddenly tightened. "Yup— I—I can't breathe!" She barely managed to wring out that sentence.

I can barely feel my ribs!

"And how would you be aware of such?" Asked with an uncaring tone the Nighthawk's Captain.

I'm ohh so going to sass out this man! What do you mean by 'how would you be aware of such'?!

Irina's irritated smile remained hidden in the shadows of the room "Do you mean the breathing part or the barrel pressed against my skull?"

"Miss, please," Dunn said, his voice dropping to an icy note. "I require your cooperation."

Wow, his voice just went cold—like, shivers-down-my-spine cold... That's kind of ho—oh wait, focus! I need to answer!

"I don't know," Irina replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe it's female instinct. Or maybe it's the fact I can feel the barrel pressed against the back of my head?"

"Is that so?" Dunn replied flatly. "In that case, would you mind releasing my partner?"

Unbelievable, not a shift in his tone! What did I even do, kill his partner or something?

Irina rolled her eyes. "You might want to ask him that, not me. He's the one crushing my ribs."

With a casual shrug, she removed her hands from Leonard's back, raising them in mock surrender, yet the poet didn't move an inch.

"Release whatever control you have over him," Dunn commanded, his gaze narrowing, "whether through your hands or that compact mirror."

In that instant, Irina realized the source of the pressure on her ribs—the mirror, pressed painfully in between them.

"It's not just a mirror—it's a brush too, a rather nice and expensive one, thank you," Irina said, her voice tinged with irony.

As she spoke, she deftly slipped her hand between them and pulled the object free. The moment it was out of Leonard's reach, his body slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Well, that doesn't exactly paint me in the best light, does it? She mused.

Before she could react further, a sharp pain ripped through her head, and in an instant, everything went black.

One hour earlier, in the cover of night, two men clad in black windbreaker coats stood at the entrance of an orphanage.

Knock knock.

...

Knock knock.

...

"No one's answering," Leonard muttered, glancing at Dunn. "It is 11 p.m., so I suppose that's not too surprising. But something feels... off."

"You're right," Dunn replied, eyes narrowing. "Let's go in and check. The moment I sense danger, I'll pull them—and us—into a dream."

The two Nighthawks circled the building, searching for another entry point, and eventually slipped through an open window on the second floor. They moved quietly through several rooms, most filled with sleeping children, until they found the orphanage owner snoring loudly in a lavishly decorated chamber.

"Search around," Dunn ordered, his tone calm yet firm. "I'll question him."

Leonard nodded. "Yes, Captain."

Without waiting for Dunn to drift into sleep, Leonard began searching the room. After a few minutes, his brows shot up in surprise.

"Well, would you look at that," he whispered under his breath, barely audible above the rustling of papers.

The documents laid bare the orphanage's finances—specifically, how the owner had been skimming money from the funds meant for the children. And it wasn't a small sum either.

After reviewing a few more documents, Dunn woke up.

"Other than seeing some mysterious events and admitting to some fraud, he seems unaware of the source," he said. "We've also missed a caretaker—a 'crazy' 18-year-old girl who grew up here and now works at the orphanage. She was supposed to be in one of the rooms we passed. Let's check the ground floor and basement."

With a swift nod from Leonard, the two men left the sleeping owner behind and headed for the stairs.

Upon reaching the ground floor, a faint sound of singing floated through the air, weaving its way down the hallways.

As soon as the melody reached their ears, both men stiffened, freezing in place. The issue lay not in the tune itself, but in the tone of the voice—despair and agony seeped from each note, sending goosebumps prickling across their skin.

It felt as if their very identities were being stripped away from deep within their bones, ghostly fingers brushing against their skin, eerie eyes probing their souls.

It was but a fleeting moment—shorter than a second—so brief that they almost convinced themselves it was a mere figment of their imagination.

But the cold sweat trickling down their backs told a different story. By that point, both men were certain someone was losing control—a mid-sequence Beyonder at the very least, perhaps even a Demigod.

Their spirituality screamed of absolute danger. Yet, a deep-rooted fear lingered within them for what had just transpired.

As they slowly regained the ability to move, they stepped through the threshold of the previously closed door, revealing the source of the area's unsettling mysteries. The smell of rotting food assaulted their senses.

Every available surface was littered with decaying bread, meat, and the remains of once-living creatures—rats, insects, and other small animals. Open pantries revealed smashed plates and shards of glass were strewn across the floor.

In the center of the room, amidst the chaos, sat a lone woman on the only intact chair. Her calm demeanor strikingly at odds with the surroundings.

She now sang soothing tunes almost numbly while brushing her hair, presenting a stark contrast to the eerie atmosphere that enveloped them. Her dull, empty dark blue eyes gazed blankly in their direction, devoid of emotion, as if she were a marionette, animated only by unseen strings. The identity of the puppeteer was a mystery neither Nighthawk dared to unravel, fearing a repeat of their earlier encounter.

Whether it was the strange room, the haunting melody, or the remnants of their fleeting fear, neither of them entertained the thought of reciting any poems. The idea of invoking the Goddess's name in such a grotesque scene felt blasphemous.

Their hesitation to interrupt her was short-lived; she abruptly stopped brushing her hair and hurled the nearest knife in their direction.

Meanwhile, in an unknown dark place, a lone figure was finally stirring awake.

Where am I...?

...

Who am I...?

...

Irina?

...

No... I've never been her, not until now. I'm Elena... Or I was Elena.

And then there was... AssLover97... Wait! No! I changed that after hitting a few hundred followers. It became DarkPriestess. Ah, the emo phase—truly a dark age.

I used to write fanfiction back in the day. That led me to become an author of a pretty popular book, but the money? Never enough. Taxes—ugh. Still hate them. I even worked as a secretary for that company... What was it called? Alexandria something...

I dealt with the big shots, even worked with the boss. It was a sweet life. Easy. I was living the dream! I wish I could go back, but I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed.

I remember being at a terrace party, up on the corporate headquarters. It rained all afternoon, and the floor was slippery.

What kind of idiot gets close to the railing in those conditions? One with no survival instincts, apparently. Kids, always remember: safety first.

It's no surprise I fell off that building. After that? Blank.

...

I guess that means I'm dead.

I thought there'd be... Wait, these aren't my memories...

This girl is... No, this girl is me. I am also Irina... How the fu—

Elena snapped open the mirror in her hand and stared at the reflection. It wasn't Elena looking back, or any of the disguises she wore when going out as DarkPriestess. It was Irina.

Wow... I really do have too many identities now, don't I?

Irina... No family, no one but a name, a mirror with a brush, and a green shard of glass when she was left at the orphanage. Labeled "crazy" because of the voices she kept hearing... No wonder no one wanted to hire her. She ended up stuck with that corrupt orphanage owner. And yet, through it all, she had that mirror to keep her company.

...

She learned a lot with it by... watching videos... on its reflection...?

...

Wait a second.

Victorian era, right? Since when do mirrors have a YouTube function?!

What in the Goddess's name is going on here?

Wait.

I don't even believe in Gods... Also, when did God become female? No, hang on, there are multiple Gods...

Multiple Gods... Steampunk world... Mysterious artifacts... Hallucinations... The Church of the Evernight Goddess... the Church of the Lord of Storms... the Church of the Earth Mother... the Church of the God of Combat... the Church of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom... the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun... the Church of Steam and Machinery...

Oh no...

Don't tell me...

This can't be...

...

Did I...

DID I JUST ENTER THE WORLD OF THE LORD OF THE MYSTERIES?!

At the orphanage, adrenaline surged through Dunn as he swiftly tried to pull the trio into a dream. Leonard kicked every sharp object out of her reach, reciting a tranquilizing and purifying poem. Gradually, the woman's movements slowed, and Dunn seized the moment to question her.

Just as Leonard moved in closer, his hand brushed against the mirror she held. He sharply froze.

Minutes ticked by before Dunn shifted his focus back to Leonard.

"Leonard? What are you doing? Are you alright?"

Without warning, the Poet stood up stiffly. He walked toward them and, in a sudden, uncharacteristic motion, shoved Dunn away from the girl. Dunn's eyes locked on Leonard's right hand, now clenched tightly around the pocket mirror—an item that had quickly morphed from an ordinary object into a suspected Sealed Artifact.

Before Dunn could react, Leonard embraced the woman, pressing the mirror between them, their bodies locked together.

Dunn's voice echoed in a frantic chant "Oh, the threat of horror, the hope of crimson cries!

One thing at least is certain—that this Life flies;

One thing is certain, and the rest is Lies;

The Flower that once has bloomed forever dies."

The Captain continued chanting, his voice steady, but Leonard showed no signs of calming or regaining lucidity. On the other hand, the girl seemed to slowly regain control, though Dunn had no idea why.

After nearly ten minutes, she began to stir, her eyes flickering with the first signs of consciousness. Not knowing what would happen when she fully awoke, Dunn drew his revolver, the barrel now aimed at her head.

If she becomes hostile, I'll have no choice but to shoot, Dunn thought grimly. I can only hope it breaks Leonard free from her—or from whatever control that Sealed Artifact has over him. It's a dangerous gamble, but I can't risk the lives of everyone in this building.

With measured calm, he spoke. "Don't worry, miss. Everything is going to be fine."

"You are so helpful, sir," a voice, dripping with dry sarcasm, responded. "Coming from the one pointing a gun at my head."

Before Dunn could respond, Leonard's grip tightened, crushing her.

"Yup— I—I can't breathe!" She gasped, struggling to draw in air.

Dunn's gaze narrowed. "And how would you be aware of such?"

"Do you mean the breathing part or the barrel pressed against my skull?"

Dunn's mind raced. Joking? In a moment like this? Do I look like a fool to her? Is she trying to buy time? He pushed the thought aside. There were more urgent matters.

"Miss, I need your cooperation."

Her voice wavered, a hint of panic breaking through her flippant tone. "Maybe it's female instinct. Or maybe it's the fact I can feel the barrel pressed against the back of my head?"

Dunn hesitated. No hostility in her words. My spirituality is calming down too. "Is that so? In that case, would you mind releasing my partner?"

A pause hung in the air before she spoke again, the weight of Leonard's body still crushing her. "You might want to ask him that, not me. He's the one crushing my ribs."

Without another word, she slowly raised her hands, surrendering. Leonard remained immobile, his grip unchanged.

Dunn's voice hardened. "Release whatever control you have over him, whether through your hands or that compact mirror."

The girl sighed. "It's not just a mirror— it's a brush too, a rather nice and expensive one, thank you."

Why would that even matter?!

Before Dunn could respond, she slipped her hand between them and pulled the brush-mirror free. The moment it left Leonard's grasp, his body collapsed, unconscious, to the floor.

Fuck.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the nearest blunt object—a frying pan—and, in one swift motion, struck the girl on the back of her head. She crumpled to the ground beside Leonard, unconscious.