It was midnight. Currently, teacher and I were sharing the same bed; this happened after I, apparently, and accidentally, resolved the problem related to The Absolute Mother.
We lay on our backs, staring at the ceiling, and then I asked:
"Am I an adult yet, Teacher?"
"If we're referring to..." she replied, her gaze shifting to my chest before returning to my face, "...then maybe. But in your choice of underwear, you are far more adult than I am," she said.
"You're just mocking me."
This time, I wouldn't just stay quiet. I sat up and pulled her hair, making her scream for mercy.
"This won't be easy."
I would not be as good as the Iron Maiden in granting forgiveness or leniency. I pulled her hair like a coachman holding the reins of a horse.
"Hahaha, please, stop."
She leaped from the bed, freeing herself from my grasp, and stood near the door.
"Now this place is mine."
I said, claiming the entire bed beneath me. I stood on it, facing my teacher who now stood below near the doorway.
"Hooh... So you've made a declaration. I will take that place back-"
"buk!!!"
She was saying something about taking it back, but before she finished, I threw a pillow at her face.
"How dare you..." she was shocked after the pillow landed right on her face. "Take this!" she retorted, throwing the same pillow back at me.
"Hahaha, missed! You're terrible at aiming."
I dodged easily and not only that, I retaliated with another pillow, which hit her face again.
A pillow fight began, with my position dominating. My throws almost always hit, while her throws always missed. The situation became chaotic; the inn room was a mess, feathers flying everywhere.
A few minutes passed until a pillow flew out the window. My teacher and I peeked outside and saw the pillow hit a man in the face.
"Shh, don't laugh."
She said, covering my mouth with her hand.
"That man is drunk."
"So, what should we do?"
"We'll ask the inn staff to take care of it."
My teacher then put on her clothes and went out of the room onto the inn's veranda. A few minutes later, I saw two men approaching the sprawled-out drunk man.
"They will handle it for us," said my teacher upon her return. Behind her stood a woman carrying two new pillows.
I was sure she had to pay quite a lot to compensate for the damage to the inn, and of course, for the man who was the victim of our pillow-throwing as well.
"Time to sleep."
"Alright..."
To be honest, I was quite tired. Even though my energy was high at the moment, my body seemed to be asking for rest.
A lot had happened today. Starting from exploring the city in the morning to getting lost in the pleasure district, and meeting the king afterward. It was still dark, with a few hours left until sunrise. Enough time to sleep and rest, I thought.
---
The next morning, a messenger arrived. A nobleman whose name I didn't know came with several knight guards.
"Madam, I bring a message from the palace."
The messenger turned out to be an envoy sent to fetch my teacher to the palace. I didn't know what was happening, or why they were inviting her again, especially since she had refused before and demanded the king come himself.
"Of course, let's depart now."
Now, this surprised me. She agreed to go after refusing before. I didn't think we would be receiving an award or a gift, because I had already made my own request.
"Pack your things. We will continue our journey after this."
I packed my things, although there wasn't much-just a few pieces of clothing and a bag containing the book.
Arriving at the palace, I was stunned by its magnificence. The grand houses and residences of the nobles might be large and splendid, but compared to this, they were all nothing.
My teacher and I were greeted by hundreds of servants at the entrance, while in the courtyard, thousands of knights in full armor were lined up in formation.
Isn't this a bit excessive? I thought, or maybe this kind of atmosphere was normal at the palace.
"Welcome, Madam."
Said a servant who appeared to be the head butler of the palace. His age was about the same as our coachman's, maybe in his fifties. Not young, but not so old he had to walk hunched over; his body was slim and he stood tall. He had the unmistakable aura of a veteran servant.
"Open the door."
The head butler commanded, and the massive door in front of me slowly opened. This was probably the biggest door I had ever seen in my life, even taller than the main gate of a large city.
Beyond it, I saw a very long hallway with a red carpet covering its entire surface. On both sides, hundreds of female servants stood.
I thought there were only male servants here, having been greeted by hundreds of men outside, but it seems I was wrong.
They bowed in unison. I was a little nervous. Thousands of knights lined up outside, hundreds of servants at the entrance, and behind the door, hundreds more bowing respectfully.
The head butler asked us to follow him inside.
"Teacher?"
I looked at her, as if to say, "Am I allowed to enter?"
"Of course," she smiled and took my left hand.
I felt that she was very used to this sort of thing. She was very calm and relaxed, perhaps even dignified.
We walked on the red carpet, passing one room after another until we finally arrived in front of a set of doors.
Four knights stood guard in front. They were different; their armor looked more magnificent, full of adornments.
"Please."
The head butler opened the door and invited us in. As the door opened, I felt something different from within.
My teacher and I stepped inside. There, I saw the king lying in bed. On the right side of the bed, two women were leaning, looking at the king with swollen, tear-filled eyes.
Not far from the bed, a man stood facing the window. I didn't know what he was doing, but he didn't seem to be okay. Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, another man already looked very unwell; his face was pale, his eyes were empty, and he sat silently in a chair.
What is happening here? I wondered. Then my teacher pulled my hand, leading me further into the room, closer to the bed.
From this position, I could see the king very clearly; he lay weak, his eyes closed, his skin pale, his breath so fine it seemed almost gone. But he was fine just last night, I thought. We even spoke, and I made a request to him.
I glanced around. The atmosphere was completely silent. Those who were here before we arrived made no sound. Even though the sadness was palpable, not a sound reached my ears.
Not only that, this room seemed tobe under a different sun; outside, the sunlight was bright, while inside, the light seemed to soften.
"It is time."
My teacher said softly. I looked at her, my expression asking, "What do you mean?" She then stroked my face with her right hand.
I was shocked by what happened next. After she touched my face, I saw a third woman, besides the two women leaning on the bed.
Her form was like a young girl's, though I couldn't see her clearly; only her shape and body, which glowed with a soft white light that didn't dazzle the eyes.
The girl stood beside the king's bed, pulling his hand as if asking him to rise. Then I saw something amazing; I saw the king get up from the bed.
What is happening? The king rose and took the glowing girl's hand. But then who is this? Who is lying in the bed?
I saw two kings: one lying stiff, and the other standing, following the glowing girl. They both seemed to be talking, but I couldn't hear them. And then, a girl with a pitch-black aura appeared, carrying something like a black scythe on her back.
Who is she, and why does no one else seem to notice them? The dark girl then reached for the scythe on her back. She was going to do something with it.
I was curious what she intended to do, but before I could even witness her draw the scythe, my teacher's hand swept across my face again.
Instantly, my surroundings changed. The light became sharper, the sounds became clearer, as if the silence before was the world taking a momentary breath.
The sound of crying began to fill the room. Outside, hurried footsteps were heard. From the window, the sound of trumpets roared, and from a distance, the bells in the city center tolled.
Even though no one told me what had happened, I could conclude: The King had drawn his last breath. For the first time in my life, I had witnessed the death of a ruler firsthand.
My teacher then pulled me out of the room. I didn't understand what all of this meant. Why were we invited only to witness the final moments of a ruler?
It's not that I'm unfeeling. To be honest, I felt sad, because just a short while ago we were talking, and he even told me to make a request.
Outside, my teacher spoke with someone who seemed to be of high status. After that, we were escorted to our carriage.
Before getting in, my teacher had a brief chat with a knight-one of the four knights with the ornate armor.
From inside the carriage, I saw her use magic. Something like a scroll appeared in her hand. She then tied the scroll to the back of a bird and released it to fly.
"Let's go."
She said to the coachman. Our carriage finally departed, leaving the palace. She sat relaxed in her seat, took a cigarette from her pocket, lit it, and smoked it.
Honestly, I didn't know where those cigarettes came from. She never bought or made them; they just existed every time she reached for them.
The atmosphere in the carriage was silent. I thought it was so strange, she just smoked and was lost in her own world.
The silence continued until we left the city. Only then did my teacher look at me.
"Come here."
She asked me to sit next to her, then pulled me close and stroked my head.
"How was it? You finally witnessed firsthand a Chronicler recording history," she said. She was asking for my reaction after seeing history being recorded, for the first time.
"So, that's why we were invited?"
My teacher nodded in response.
"You know, Teacher, I think you're very unfeeling. You don't even feel anything seeing someone who was just sitting with you breathe their last," I commented on her attitude.
"A Chronicler's duty is to record. We do not come to cry or to mourn," she replied.
"In that case, Teacher, I saw something in there."
I told her about the two girls, the light one and the dark one. She then asked me to open the book, but this time not just one page, but two at once: pages 010 and 018. I started with page 010 first.
APPELLATION: The Dusk Maiden
TITLE / EPITHET: The Final Usher, The Violet Girl, The Gatekeeper of Night
CLASSIFICATION:
Primer: Folkloric
Status: Active
Scale: Global
Level: Bound
ORIGIN: She is not a creature born of power or will. She is a natural process given form. She is the universe's first sigh of relief as the first star finally faded after millions of years of shining. She is the embodiment of a graceful end, a peaceful closure, and the beauty of a farewell. She is the balance to the chaos of dawn and the absolute silence of night.
FORM / ESSENCE: Her essence is the Conceptual Transition to an End. She is the principle of peaceful release and dignified closure. She does not represent death itself, but the quiet moment just before the end.
APPEARANCE & PERCEPTION: Her presence is always felt gently and softly. The world around you seems to grow quieter, with sharp sounds softening. The ambient light will shift to a warm golden or violet hue, even indoors. You will feel a strange wave of nostalgia and a melancholy peace-a sincere acceptance of all that has passed. Her manifestation is the ephemeral figure of a girl or woman, woven from twilight and long shadows. She is always seen from a distance, walking slowly toward the horizon, never showing her face and never speaking.
DOMAIN / INFLUENCE: Her domain is "closure" and "letting go." Her influence is passive and calming.
Positive Influence: She brings a peaceful end to those who have suffered too long. She might appear to a terminally ill person, helping them release their pain and pass quietly in their sleep. Her presence can help someone let go of old grudges or grief, providing long-sought emotional closure.
Anomalous Influence: She is a gentle agent of entropy. She can "persuade" things that unnaturally refuse to end. A tyrannical empire that has lasted thousands of years through dark magic might begin to peacefully collapse after her shadow crosses the capital. A ghost bound to one place by anger might be soothed by her presence and finally find its way to move on.
VULNERABILITIES / COUNTERMEASURES: Her passive and end-focused nature gives her clear limitations.
Powerless Before Beginnings: She has absolutely no influence over anything new, growing, or at its peak. Dawn, a newborn baby, a brilliant idea-all these are conceptually blinding and "invisible" to her.
Repelled by Violent Ends: She is the embodiment of a peaceful end. She will stay away from places with sudden, violent, and unresolved ends, such as brutal murder scenes or battlefields where the fight still rages. She cannot provide closure if there is no foundation of peace to begin with.
Cannot Be Accelerated: Her influence works as gently as a sunset. She cannot be forced, commanded, or used as a weapon to speed up an end. Any attempt to harness her power will make her vanish instantly.
ECHOES IN HISTORY & MYTH: Many cultures have stories of the "Horizon Girl" or the "Violet Spirit" who visits old kings or heroes on their final night. She comes not as a reaper, but as a final traveling companion, ensuring their story ends with a period, not with a rough tear.
WHISPERS / FRAGGMENTS OF KNOWLEDGE:
"Don't be afraid of the dusk. It only reminds you that every day, no matter how beautiful, deserves a rest."
"She doesn't take life. She just holds your hand when you agree to let go."
"Some say if you manage to follow her to the horizon, you will find not the night, but the dawn of another world."
Scribe's Note: Writing this entry brings a strange peace. Unlike other entities that trigger fear or awe, the Dusk Maiden evokes empathy. She feels like a natural part of life itself. She is a reminder that not all endings are a tragedy. Some are a beauty, a necessity. I hope, when it is time for this codex to end, her shadow will cross the final page.
"There's a record here about a figure called the Dusk Maiden. Does this have to do with what I saw in the king's room?"
She nodded slowly. "Try focusing on the origin section."
I read it again. "It says here that she is a natural process given form. So she's not a ghost or a physical creature?"
"Imagine a bright day suddenly turning to night. Then, imagine feeling pain without falling."
"That would be very sudden and strange," I said. It would be shocking if daytime suddenly became dark night, and strange to feel pain for no reason.
"Sudden and strange, right?"
I nodded. "So what does this 'sudden and strange' have to do with the Dusk Maiden?"
"Now imagine the day turning to dusk, and slowly, gently becoming dark night," she replied, asking me to imagine something very natural.
First, she asked me to imagine day suddenly becoming night, but now there was dusk, a slow transition to darkness.
"Now focus on the form and essence."
I re-read the requested section. "Her essence is the conceptual transition to an end," I said, my face still focused on the description.
Process and transition. I combined what I got from the two descriptions and concluded:
"So, like dusk, which is the transition process to nighttime. The Dusk Maiden is something like that. Then what is she for, what is her function? If she is a process, she must have a function."
"What you saw earlier was her function," she answered, playfully pinching my nose with her finger. At that moment, I remembered how the glowing white figure pulled the king's hand, and then the other figure of the king rose, leaving the one lying in bed.
"Her function is to... persuade?" I concluded, and then she pulled my nose harder.
"Ouch... that hurts." I might have let her before when she just touched it gently, but then she pulled it hard enough to make it red.
"Touching and causing pain are different, right?"
I wanted to be angry, but after she said that, it made me think, to differentiate between a touch without pain and one that brings pain.
Just a touch might make me comfortable because there was no pain, but when touched hard enough, it hurts.
"That gentle touch is what the Dusk Maiden does?" I asked.
"Yup. She touches you gently, until your defenses are lowered," replied my teacher.
I wouldn't stay silent. I retaliated by pulling her nose. "Then who was the dark girl?"
Her nose turned red after I pulled it hard enough in revenge. "Now, that dark girl is what you just did to my nose, if it's not accompanied by a light touch," she answered.
Then she asked me to turn to page 018.
APPELLATION: Azra
TITLE / EPITHET: The Angel of Death, The Final Reaper, The Librarian of Souls
CLASSIFICATION:
Primer: Mythological
Status: Active
Scale: Cosmic
Level: Abstract
ORIGIN: She is the inevitable consequence of life. When the first being with a finite destiny appeared in the universe-bound to a Scarlet Thread (Folio 014)-a mechanism for the "end" of that thread was required. Azra manifested as the embodiment of that termination itself. She is not the opposite of life, but its silent dance partner; a period at the end of every sentence.
FORM / ESSENCE: Her essence is Conceptual Severance and Archiving. Her form is that of a regal, calm woman with giant wings woven from starry silence. She carries a scythe made not of metal, but of crystallized silence itself, which hums with a low note of finality. Her presence feels neither cold nor warm, but neutral and absolute.
APPEARANCE & PERCEPTION: Only those precisely on the threshold of death can see her. For them, time and the sounds of the outside world will stop. All that remains is a peaceful silence and her presence. She does not speak, but communicates directly into the consciousness with one simple, undeniable concept: "It is time." There is no anger or mercy in her, only the calm authority of a task that must be completed.
DOMAIN / INFLUENCE: Her domain is death and finality.
Primary Function: With one swing of her conceptual scythe, she does not cut the body, but severs the final bond tying a consciousness to its physical vessel-the end of the thread of fate.
Anomalous Influence: What happens after is her greatest secret. The reaped soul does not go to heaven or hell. It is absorbed into Azra's own existence, perfectly archived within an infinite library of consciousness. She is the afterlife; a silent archive of every life that has ever been.
VULNERABILITIES / COUNTERMEASURES: She is a fundamental process, not a creature that can be fought.
Bound by Fate: She is a servant, not a queen. She has absolutely no free will and can only act when a person's thread of fate has reached its natural end. She cannot be persuaded, threatened, or tricked into taking a soul that is "not yet due."
Powerless over Immortality: Entities that are truly immortal or exist outside the life-death cycle have no "end of the thread" for her to cut. She has no jurisdiction or power over them.
Consequence, Not Cause: Trying to attack her is a futile act. She is a momentary manifestation of a process. Attacking her is like trying to punch the concept of "an end." Once her task is done, she vanishes. The only "counter" is to not die.
ECHOES IN HISTORY & MYTH: All personifications of death in human mythology-are mortal attempts to give a face to the process Azra represents. The scythe, the wings, and her role as a guide are recurring symbols because they are the closest humans can come to describing her incomprehensible function.
WHISPERS / FRAGG-"MENTS OF KNOWLEDGE:
"In the end, there is no tunnel of light or life flashing before your eyes. There is only silence, a pair of wings, and an understanding that the journey is over."
"She doesn't take you to an afterlife. She is the afterlife."
"Do not be afraid. She is not cold. She is just... final."
Scribe's Note: Writing about Azra feels solemn. There is none of the fear that usually accompanies our subjects, only a profound respect. She is the most misunderstood entity of all. Not a bringer of doom, but a grand librarian who ensures that no story, no matter how small, is truly lost when it ends. She is the ultimate preserver. The question that remains is not where we go when we die, but how silent that vast library will be where we all shall gather.
As I read that page, my whole body shivered. I knew immediately, just from reading her title: The Angel of Death.
"Are they partners?" I asked, because I thought if the Dusk Maiden was the touch without pain and this Azra was the pain, then the two must be inseparable.
"No, they are partners in one purpose, but not always," replied my teacher. "Like the touch without pain that made you let your guard down earlier, and then came the touch with pain," she continued.
"They both touch, but their effects are different?"
I concluded, because if both were about touching and could work together, then surely their functions and what they produced were different.
"You can force a touch to hurt someone, or you can touch them to make them complacent and then hurt them," my teacher replied, then continued, "Both can be done separately, but to bring comfort and pain, they must work together."
"So, it's about peace before the pain, or being hit directly with the pain," I concluded. "But Teacher, in the king's case, what did they both do?" I asked.
"They did this." She pulled my face to her chest, hugging me gently. Then, the hug slowly tightened, making it hard for me to breathe.