Two grand arrivals
A few moments after Josh and Timothy left the café, everyone was awake, trying to make sense of what had happened. They all wore masks of confusion, except for one: the owner of the café. With a calm expression, he moved to escort the patrons out. No one dared to ask what had happened, but they all glanced at him, puzzled. After everyone was out, he locked up the place and tidied up, placing chairs on tables and cleaning the mess left behind.
Once everything was in order, he removed his apron, placed it neatly on the bar, and ran his fingers through his chestnut curls, giving him a regal look in contrast to his charming appearance. He went to the back where the food was prepared. The kitchen was surprisingly clean. He turned to a small door that was supposed to be a wine cellar and took out a small rusty key. Inserting the key and turning it, one might have expected the door to open, but it remained closed. Instead, black inscriptions, eerily similar to the Veilstones Timothy had seen in one of his Nana's books, appeared. They were slightly different, like a cheap imitation of the real ones. Timothy would have been shocked if he had seen this.
The inscriptions covered the door in a crucifix manner and surged with red light, filling the room. The café owner stood motionless, like a sculpture. After a short while, the red light faded, revealing a small bald boy in monk-like garments from the deserted mountains of Baas. The child had a calm expression and a gaze far beyond his years. The café owner kneeled, his forehead touching the ground roughly.
"Dol akni'feropnar, F'ARLIM," the café owner spoke in a language foreign to Zebhannon.
"Dol Akni'mezo, Bulahim. Rise, my son," the boy replied, his tone sweet and his gaze proud, like that of a father.
The café owner quickly stood and straightened his clothing, avoiding eye contact. The boy studied him while fiddling with beads inscribed with the same strange symbols as the door. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for the man to speak. The café owner took a deep breath, his chestnut curls now damp with sweat.
"I have done as you requested, F'ARLIM," the café owner began, his voice trembling with both pride and fear. "For the last 62 seasons, I have meticulously harvested the pure essence of children, transforming this humble café into a vast cauldron for your dark alchemy. Each essence was carefully collected to ensure the potency needed for your advancement."
"Get to the point, Bulahim. What is happening?" the boy asked, his expression shifting.
The owner gulped and nodded. "Yes, F'ARLIM. This town has been plagued by Konquerors of various paths, most unaffiliated and not of a high level. But now, two high-level Konquerors appeared out of nowhere right after 'you know who' died. One seemed to target the boy, and the other came to convey a warning. I don't fully understand their motives, but I open my heart to you, F'ARLIM. You can see through me."
The man knelt and removed his linen shirt, revealing his chest. On the left side, where his heart was, a rusty metallic plate was embedded in his flesh, oozing blood and pus with a horrid stench. The plate had a black ruby in the middle, pulsating with an otherworldly light. The café owner's face twisted in agony, teeth clenched, and fists balled. F'ARLIM approached slowly, whispering inaudible chants. The air grew dense, small winds kicked up, and the kitchen appliances clattered against the walls. The closer F'ARLIM got, the stronger the ruby's pulsation and the winds became, creating a barrier between them. The kitchen was in shambles, and the café owner was covered in blood and pus, tears streaming down his face.
"Do not worry, my son. It will all be over soon," F'ARLIM said, his voice comforting. The café owner clung to consciousness, motivated by these words.
"Blasphemous sigils, open the heart's eye to me," F'ARLIM intoned, his right hand outstretched, pointing at the ruby.
The moment F'ARLIM's finger touched the ruby, the winds stopped, and the air density returned to normal, but F'ARLIM was gone—or rather, he had been sucked into the ruby the moment he made contact with it. The owner of the café was motionless, seemingly unconscious, but his body did not fall.
Meanwhile, in the heart of Sif'ur, a man clad in black armor stood at the entrance of a grand cathedral, his sharp gaze betraying his inner turmoil. His contemplation was abruptly interrupted when a slender figure, appearing slightly disoriented, bumped into him. He steadied the girl, taking a good look at her. Her ebony hair cascaded down her back like a silk waterfall, exposing her slender neck. Her oval face, framed by large, beautiful blue eyes and rosy red lips, was striking. She wore an elegant emerald gown adorned with a few pieces of expensive jewelry, symbols of her noble status. However, it was her ring, bearing the Knottingwell family crest, that confirmed her identity: Sara Knottingwell, daughter of Decon Sedna Knottingwell.
The man bowed and spoke in a shaky voice, "I apologize, my lady, for standing in your way. Please spare this humble fool's life."
His tone was sincere, but his words fell on deaf ears. Looking up, he saw that the girl had already entered the cathedral. Straightening up, he looked at the sky and murmured, "Is this where I'm supposed to be?"
Sadly for him, there was no answer. With slow steps, he entered the cathedral after the girl. His footsteps echoed softly on the polished stone floor of the nave. As he moved further inside, the sheer scale of the cathedral overwhelmed his senses. The vaulted ceiling soared high above, intricately carved with scenes from sacred texts, while massive stone columns lined the nave, their surfaces cool and smooth to the touch.
Sunlight filtered through the vast stained glass windows, splashing the stone walls with a kaleidoscope of colors. His eyes traced the vibrant scenes—stories of saints and angels rendered in glass, each piece meticulously crafted and glowing with life as the light streamed through.
He wandered towards the transept, where the nave crossed with the shorter arms of the cathedral. Here, the space opened up, creating a vast, airy expanse. The choir, situated beyond, was filled with ornately carved wooden stalls. The air was heavy with the faint scent of incense, a lingering presence from the morning prayers.
Drawn by a soft hum, he approached the choir. The gentle murmur grew louder, revealing itself as a choir rehearsing for the evening mass. Their voices rose in harmonious unison, reverberating through the stone walls and filling the space with an almost tangible serenity.
As he continued his exploration, he came upon the crypt, a hushed, reverent place beneath the main floor. The air was cooler here, the light dimmer. Stone tombs lined the walls, inscribed with names long since faded. In the center of the crypt lay a relic, a small, ornate chest said to contain the bones of Saint Sif'ur himself.
Returning to the upper levels, he made his way to the apse, where the grand altar stood. The altar was a masterpiece of gilded wood and marble, adorned with intricate carvings and precious stones. Behind it, the apse formed a semicircular sanctuary, its ceiling painted with a depiction of the heavens—a swirl of angels and divine figures gazing down.
As the day wore on, he found himself standing in the cloister, an enclosed garden on the cathedral's side. The quiet serenity of the garden, with its blooming flowers and bubbling fountain, provided a stark contrast to the grandeur inside. Here, he felt a deep sense of peace, the garden's beauty a reminder of the simpler, contemplative side of faith. He had been following Sara from afar the entire day. The girl seemed to have no particular destination in mind, wandering aimlessly through the cathedral and its grounds, until they arrived here.
Before he could say anything, Sara turned to face him. Her large blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her demeanor remained ice cold.
"You've been following me all day," she said, her voice calm but icy. "From the moment I bumped into you until now. What do you want?"