The chaotic neon storm of the Spirit World parted like a curtain.
Klein Moretti stood at the prow of a conceptual ship formed from his spirituality, his left hand raised. The [Hunger of the Digital Void] on his hand hummed, devouring the turbulent coordinates of the Third Epoch and spitting out a stable path.
Behind him stood the Secretive Plotter and Kim Dokja.
"This glove," the Plotter noted, eyeing the sleek, black artifact, which turned transparent.
"It has been... domesticated," Klein replied, adjusting the coordinates. "By technology."
He slashed the air.
RIIIP.
The void tore open. They stepped out of the Spirit World and into the physical realm.
Cold wind bit at their faces. They stood on a snow-capped peak, overlooking a valley shrouded in eternal twilight.
Unlike the sunny plains of the Creator's domain, this place was dark. But it wasn't the terrifying darkness of Forsaken Land of the Gods. It was a serene, velvet night, lit by star-flowers and the soft glow of moonstones embedded in the cliffs.
A massive, gothic cathedral sat in the center of the valley, its spires piercing the low-hanging clouds.
"Halt."
Shadows coalesced around them. Twelve figures emerged from the darkness. They wore black trench coats and fedoras—a uniform that Klein found heartbreakingly familiar. They held swords of black metal.
Nighthawks.
Or rather, the First Nighthawks.
The leader, a woman with a scar running down her pale cheek, stepped forward. Her eyes were pitch black, devoid of whites.
"Identify yourselves. This is the domain of the Lady of Starry Night."
Klein tipped his top hat.
"Sherlock Moriarty. And companions. We are here by invitation."
The commander paused. She tilted her head, listening to a whisper in the wind that only she could hear. Her expression softened instantly. She bowed deep.
"The Matriarch awaits you. Please, follow us."
The interior of the cathedral was vast and silent. Stained glass windows depicted scenes not of saints, but of constellations. There were no statues of the Creator. Only a single, massive statue of a woman holding a scythe and a balance, draped in stars.
Underneath the statue, sitting at a simple wooden table that looked completely out of place, was a woman. She was eating a steak.
Amanises looked up as they entered. She wiped her mouth with a napkin that looked suspiciously like a piece of the night sky.
"You're late," she grinned. "I ordered the steak medium-rare, it's getting cold."
"We had to dodge a few patrols," Klein said, walking up to the table. The Nighthawks retreated, closing the heavy doors behind them.
Amanises gestured to the empty chairs.
"Sit. Eat. It's wolf meat. Very chewy."
Dokja and the Plotter sat down, looking wary. Klein sat opposite her.
"So," Amanises leaned back, swirling a glass of red wine. "Welcome to my humble abode. It's not much, but it's home."
"It is... nostalgic," Klein admitted.
"Right?" She laughed. "I designed the uniforms myself. Always liked the noir aesthetic."
She took a sip of wine, her expression turning serious. "Before we get down to business, let's clarify the board state."
She waved a hand. A map of the continents appeared on the table, formed from starlight.
"Grisha—the Sun God—has divided the world among his Kings of Angels," she explained, pointing to different regions. "I am here, in the North, managing the Amantha range. My neighbors are Leodero (Lord of Storms) and Aucuses (Eternal Blazing Sun)."
She pointed to the Southern Continent. "Salinger (Death) is down there. Along with Amon."
Klein stiffened. "Amon is in the South?"
"Yes. Dealing with the remnants of... Never go there," Amanises warned.
"And the islands?" the Plotter asked.
"Medici," she said.
She dismissed the map. Then, she looked at Klein with intense curiosity.
"Now... the million-Riso question."
She leaned forward, her crimson eyes twinkling. "Where are you from? In the Modern Era."
Klein hesitated for a split second.
"China," he said softly. "The city of... well, it doesn't matter now."
Amanises' eyes widened. A genuine, bright smile broke across her face.
"Ni hao!" she chirped in broken Mandarin. "I'm from Germany."
She looked at the Secretive Plotter. "And he? He doesn't smell like he came from the cocoons."
"He is..." Klein struggled to explain. "From another universe."
He briefly summarized the collapse of the three worlds, the merging of the Star Stream and the World Will, and their displacement into this Recorded Past.
Amanises listened, chewing on a piece of wolf meat. She swallowed.
"Wow," she deadpanned. "That sounds like the plot of a mediocre fanfiction written by a bored teenager.Three worlds colliding..." Amanises shook her head. "No wonder the spiritual logic of this era is fluctuating. But that's good for us. Chaos is a ladder, as they say."
She pushed a plate of steak towards Klein. "Eat."
Klein picked up a fork.
"Miss Amanises... may I ask? When did you become a Sequence 0?"
"About a thousand years ago," she replied casually. She looked at her hands. "I know what you're thinking. 'Does she still have her humanity?'"
She sighed, her gaze drifting to the stained glass windows.
"I feel it, you know. The divinity. It sips into me like cold water. Serenity. Concealment. Horror. Sometimes, I forget to breathe. Sometimes, I look at a human and I don't see a person... I see a resource. Or a fleeting dust mote."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"It's difficult to maintain emotions. I have to act them out sometimes, just to remember what they feel like. But my memories... the Modern Era... that's my anchor." She tapped her temple. "I hold onto them. The taste of coffee. The sound of cars. The internet. My best friend..."
She smiled, a sad, fragile thing.
"I had a best friend back then. We planned to travel together. I hope... I hope she's in one of those cocoons in the Sefirah Castle. Maybe, in the future, she'll wake up."
Klein gripped his fork. 'Cocoons...' He knew exactly what was in Sefirah Castle. He knew the tragedy of the transmigrators hung above the gray fog.
"You know about the Sefirah?" Klein asked.
"Of course I do," she laughed, regaining her composure. "My previous 'Boss', the Demonic Wolf Flegrea, was obsessed with it. He wanted to accommodate it." She pointed at herself. "He felt its aura on me. Because I came from it. He thought eating me would give him the key."
"So," her eyes turned cold, "I killed him."
"I plotted with Grisha. We set a trap. Flegrea died. That's how I ascended. A classic corporate takeover."
She clapped her hands, dispelling the heavy atmosphere. "But enough about the past. Let's talk about the future."
She looked at Klein.
"You are of the Fool Pathway. What Sequence?"
"Sequence 2," Klein answered. "Miracle Invoker."
Amanises rubbed her chin.
"Sequence 2... That's good. But to survive...to fight Kings of Angels... you need to be stronger."
She checked a pocket watch. "We have one day left before the Rose Redemption meeting."
She drummed her fingers on the table. "We made a pact with God Almighty—Grisha. No internal conflicts. No hunting high-sequence Beyonders until he accommodates the Chaos Sea."
She sighed. "But... eventually, he will fail,as you said. He will die. The pact will be broken anyway."
She looked up, a predatory glint in her eyes that reminded Klein that she was, fundamentally, a Goddess.
"So, what's the point of following the rules?"
She stood up, her dress of starlight rippling. "You need a Sequence 1: Attendant of Mysteries characteristic."
Klein's heart hammered. "Do you have one?"
"No," Amanises grinned. "But I know who does."
She pointed towards the deeper ranges of the Amantha mountains, where the shadows were darkest.
"The children of my old boss. They are hiding in the peaks, refusing to submit to the Sun God."
She pulled a scythe made of pure moonlight from the air.
"I planned to do it in the future anyways. Let's go wolf hunting, Junior."