Lord of Mysteries - Earth Mother

July 7, 502 of Third Epoch.

Few hours before the beginning of Zenith Exhibition.

Anastasia, the Headmaster of Aruknia Institutions, listened intently as the final reports were presented by Her subordinates and the Deans of the Educational Branches. Everything appeared to be in order, but Anastasia always deemed it necessary to scrutinise every detail. She expected no less from those under Her leadership. 

From the complete list of participants and their presentations to the carefully assigned venues that would best showcase their work, nothing escaped Her attention. Security arrangements had been bolstered not only by the institution itself but also by the Enforcement Divisions of the Church. 

At the very top of the security hierarchy, eight angels were tasked with overseeing the smooth and orderly functioning of the Exhibition. Of these, four—Anastasia Herself, Ellen, James, and Deiter—were stationed at the Exhibition venue. All of Them hailed from Aruknia Institutions and had been exalted under the Omniscient One's banner. 

The remaining four—Elyon, Zariel, Adele, and Adrian—were affiliated with the Punishers and the Inquisition of the Church. Their role extended beyond the Exhibition itself, ensuring the general security of the Capital City during this unprecedented event. 

Even with all these measures in place, Anastasia ruminated, they still wouldn't be truly sufficient. Even if She summoned Claus and Emilia from Their seclusion and requested additional reinforcements from the Church, it wouldn't suffice. The stakes were simply too high—particularly with the Angel of Fate of the Creator personally participating in the Exhibition and the anticipated arrival of other Kings of Angels. 

For now, they were relying on the presence of Kings of Angels as a deterrent against any Chaos beyond their control. For there remained one unpredictable variable they couldn't ignore: the possibility of unorthodox Gods and King of Angels—such as the Evernight Goddess or the God of Combat or the Goddess of Harvest—attending. 

Under the grace of the Resplendent Sun, odds of such a scenario were abysmally low, but "low" didn't mean zero. 

The briefing continued smoothly. Aside from the unpredictable variable, everything was in place. As the final arrangements for food and refreshments were made, a quiet, almost knowing silence settled in Anastasia's office.

"What is it?" Anastasia asked sharply, though She already had a sinking feeling.

"The Inquisition is being adamant," James—the Balancer of Elysian and Leader of the Governing Council of the Kingdom—finally broke the silence. Straightening from where He had been leaning against the wall, He spoke solemnly. "They want to involve themselves in the security of the venues."

"They really can't take 'no' for an answer, can they?" Deiter—the Sage of Stars and Dean of the School of Discovery—scoffed. Rising from the sofa, She set Her half-finished coffee cup back down on the table. "Do they really think we don't know why they've suddenly become so enthusiastic?"

Gaia… Anastasia's thoughts drifted to the rising star—the primary reason security had been elevated to its maximum. The infamous author, and her even more infamous book, had been released to the public a month ago. The reception, though somewhat anticipated, had been nothing short of astronomical.

The situation had escalated to the point where it was brought before the Governing Council of the Elysian Kingdom. The council had initially voted on whether to ban the book entirely. It was James who invoked an established precedent protecting limited rights of expression and speech, overturning the majority vote and sparing the book from prohibition. Not stopping there, James insisted on granting Gaia protection to ensure her safety—protection everyone here was fairly certain she didn't need.

The author had proven herself more than capable of defending her own life. But even as a Saint, endowed with the immense authority of a Pallbearer, Gaia wouldn't stand a chance if the Inquisition managed to sink their claws into her.

"Oh, Deiter," Ellen—the Angel of Enlightenment and Dean of the School of Science—drawled lazily, exhaling a puff of smoke from His cigar. Lounging comfortably on the sofa, He crossed His legs with a smirk. "Don't you know? No one says 'no' to the White Angel of the Creator."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Deiter snapped, glaring at Him. "If you light another one in here…"

"Oh?" Ellen arched a brow, His lips curling into a mocking grin. "Or what?"

"Both of you—" James stepped between Them, His voice carrying the practiced patience of a mediator. Saints and demigods standing around the room exchanged wary glances, making themselves as scarce as possible while the Deans locked horns once again.

"You are right, Ellen," Anastasia's voice cut through the rising tension, commanding the attention of all. "But let us take the honour of establishing the precedent, shall we? Deny any member of the Inquisition involvement in the event's internal security. If they have any complaints, send them to me—even if it's the White Angel Himself. I'll be certain to remind Him who exactly we answer to." Her gaze swept the room, silencing all objections.

Content with the quiet agreement, She added, "If there are no further matters, I wish you all good luck. You are dismissed." She paused briefly before continuing, "Thalion, stay behind."

Thalion, who had been trying to slip out first, froze in place. Saints and Demigods passing by gave him long, meaningful looks as they left, and Anastasia noted the weight of their gazes seemed to settle heavily on him.

As the room emptied, Anastasia's sharp tone returned. "And Ellen, if I catch you lighting another cigarette on university premises, you'll be writing a dissertation titled 'Effects of Additives: How They Harm Mortal Physiology and Divine Perception.' I'll expect no less than a million words in a week—complete with practical solutions at the end. And no, Ellen—you won't be allowed to delegate it to your assistants."

"Your word is law," Ellen said with an exaggerated bow, spreading His hands wide. The cigarette in His mouth dissolved into specks of starlight brimming with information under the irritated grumble of the Sage of Stars. "Madame,"

Anastasia didn't bother parsing Their verbal sparring as They finally left. Their rivalry was undeniably beneficial for the progress of Their Schools and, by extension, the Institutions as a whole. Still, a firm hand was necessary to ensure Their clashes didn't tip into chaos.

A few moments later, the room was empty, save for Anastasia and Thalion. Hesitant silence thickened the air before She broke it.

"You will welcome Gaia," She ordered.

"Me?" Thalion blinked, startled.

"Yes," Anastasia confirmed, Her tone leaving no room for debate. "You are to be her chaperone throughout the event." The implications of Her assignment were clear.

"But, sister…" Thalion hesitated before pressing on. "I'm not the most suitable choice."

Anastasia rose from Her seat, taking Her coat as She approached him. "Welcome her," She repeated, Her voice resolute. She reached out, smoothing a messy strand of his hair as his annoyed eyes met Hers, though he didn't stop Her. Holding his gaze, She softened, a touch of gentleness threading Her words. "Chin up, Thalion. Remember our promise."

"Always," he whispered, his breath steadying, a small smile curving his lips. "Us against the world."

"Always," Anastasia echoed softly. Then the fleeting gentleness faded as She turned, donning Her white coat. Behind Her, a shimmer of light took form, and Her wings unfurled with breathtaking brilliance, their radiance commanding the room.

Her duty called. She would oversee the city until the start of the Exhibition, particularly the carefully planned route Gaia would take. It was a precaution—a necessary one—should the Inquisition dare to try anything.

"Why can't we just teleport her…?" Thalion suddenly ventured, his question practical yet tinged with naïveté as he squinted against the intensity of her glow.

Anastasia didn't turn, Her voice distant, Her brilliance nearly blinding. "Think on that yourself until you receive her, Thalion."

And then She was gone.

————————

Eve of the Zenith Exhibition.

The carriage creaked forward, its wheels grinding against the stone road as it edged closer to the public entrance of the exhibition. Selene sat frozen, her heart pounding as she tried to prepare herself for what lay ahead. She thought she'd seen angry crowds before—wild, chaotic mobs protesting taxes or trade laws—but this? This was a different beast altogether. 

The roar hit like a tidal wave, an unending din of jeers and screams that vibrated through the air. Beyond the line of beyonder guards—broad-shouldered, implacable, and armed to the teeth—a sea of faces twisted with rage surged against their barricade.

The marble gates of the Aruknia Institutions loomed ahead, pristine and distant, but between the gates and the carriage stretched a battlefield of seething hatred.

The crowd seemed to grow louder as the carriage neared. They held up banners and signs, their messages scrawled in angry strokes:

"Burn the Blasphemous Book!"

"Protect Humanity's Purity!"

"Send the Half-Breed Back to the Wilds!"

Selene caught sight of a banner so large it nearly obscured the guards: "Humans Rule, All Others Bow!" The words were surrounded by crude illustrations of chained Sanguines, kneeling Elves, and Giants behind bars. Another read: "Her Kind Will Destroy Us!"

The venom in their voices was nearly tangible, twisting through the air like a living thing, sharp and suffocating. It wasn't just anger—it was fear, honed into hatred and set loose.

Selene's throat tightened as the words clawed their way inside her. None of it felt right. None of it made sense. All of this rage, this hatred—simply because her lady had dared to hold up a mirror to their world, to show them what they refused to see.

A tomato splattered against the window, the vibrant red streaking down the glass like blood. Selene flinched instinctively, heat rushing to her cheeks as she realised how tightly she was clutching the folds of her dress. Another roar rose from the mob, guttural and unrelenting: "WHORE!" The carriage shook slightly as the guards began pressing back harder, shields locking to force the crowd away.

"My Lady…" Aaron's voice broke the heavy silence inside the carriage, low and controlled, though his hand gripped the hilt of his orange blade with a force that betrayed the tension coiled within him. His eyes didn't leave the chaos outside, sharp and ready. "Give me the word…"

"No." Lady Gaia's voice was calm, like the first breeze after a storm, soft but absolute. Her gaze moved between them, steady and commanding in its quiet power. "That's exactly what they want—a reaction. A spark to light the pyre they've already built." She paused, letting her words settle like dust, before a faint, knowing smile curved her lips. "And while a spark will come, it won't be the one they're expecting. Rest your blade, Aaron. Calm your nerves, Selene."

Aaron and Selene obeyed instantly, their hands falling to their sides as though moved by some unseen force. To defy her would have felt unnatural—impossible, even. If it had been anyone else, the sheer ease of her control might have terrified them. But this was their Lady. The one who had saved them. The one who had given their lives purpose when the world left them adrift.

And yet, a small flicker of doubt lingered in Selene's heart. She knew her Lady had a plan—she always had a plan—but whatever it was, Selene and Aaron weren't privy to it. There were many mysteries to Lady Gaia, far too many to count. Mysteries, their Lady had once said, that they were not yet strong enough to understand.

The irony wasn't lost on Aaron either; Selene could see it in his faintly wry expression when their eyes met. For all their vows and promises, for all the strength they thought they wielded, they weren't her shield as much as her shadow. And yet, in that fleeting glance, a silent understanding passed between them.

The vow they had made felt as sharp and new as the day it was first uttered, etched into their souls by the roar of the crowd outside and the lingering smile on their Lady's lips.

No matter the cost, no matter the enemy, even if it meant their lives—

They would protect their Lady.

The carriage jolted forward, the uneven stones of the road rattling beneath its wheels as the crowd's chants swelled into a deafening crescendo. "Burn the Giant!" "End the Half-Blood!" "Humanity First!" Each cry struck like a blow, vibrating through the very air around them.

The towering marble gates loomed ahead, casting long shadows that seemed to swallow the carriage whole. Beyond them, the golden fountain with the symbol of the Omniscient Eye shimmered in the afternoon light, a polished emblem of authority and omnipresence. The carriage slowed as it rounded the circular courtyard, eventually coming to a halt before the grand entrance of the Aruknia Institutions.

The door swung open with practiced ease, and David, their coachman, greeted them with a smile that barely faltered. Almost imperceptible, but not to Selene. She felt the strain on him, the wear and tear of bearing witness to the volatile path they'd just tread. His vital aura flickered like a candle in a draft, unsteady yet clinging to its light.

She descended first, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. The touch wasn't idle; a subtle pulse of her spirituality flowed into him, steadying his aura, fortifying him against the invisible weight. As a Druid, a Sequence 5 of the Mother Pathway, Selene could sense the life force in all things—the pulsing vitality of the world around her. For David, she left behind a few mutated seeds in his coat pocket, unseen but ready to spring to life at the first sign of danger.

They exchanged a brief smile, hers soft, his grateful, before she turned to join Aaron. Together, they scanned the perimeter. The press waited in a frenzy just beyond the red carpet, camera flashes bursting like white-hot sparks, reporters' eyes sharp and hungry. Selene's senses extended outward, her connection to the natural world allowing her to comb through the chaotic hum of life for anything out of place—a whisper of stillness in the storm, or worse, something unnatural lurking beneath it.

And then, after a pause that seemed to stretch that both fleeting and eternal, Lady Gaia stepped into view. The shift was immediate, like the turning of a tide. Every eye snapped to her, the crowd's deafening roar swallowed by her mere presence, and the greedy flashes of cameras faltered as if extinguished by some unseen force. For one trembling moment, Selene could have sworn the entire natural world had stilled. The wind ceased its whispering, the restless earth seemed to settle, and even the heavens above seemed to hold their breath. It was as though Earth itself had paused, awed into silence.

Gaia moved with perfect grace, the soft white fabric of her gown catching the light like the first snowfall. She turned her gaze to the protesters, those who spat on the truth, who sullied her name with their venomous cries. And yet, against the weight of their hatred, her expression didn't harden, didn't falter. Instead, her lips curved gently, her face softening into a smile.

It wasn't a smile of defiance, nor one of pity. It was impossibly tender, radiating a warmth that reached beyond anger, beyond rejection. A smile of pure acceptance. Of knowing. Of love so vast it could cradle even the most wayward soul.

The smile of a Mother, Selene thought instinctively, her breath catching in her throat, a chill running down her spine at the sheer awe of it.

And then, like a dam breaking, the silence shattered. It wasn't a slow return to noise; it was an explosion, a flood that drowned everything in its path. The air filled with the clamour of rage, voices swelling to an unbearable crescendo. The natural world, which had seemed so reverently still, now roiled with hate and wrath, but more than anything else—with fear. Fear so deep, so all-consuming, that it rippled through the crowd and twisted everything it touched.

The protesters screamed louder, their fury ignited into something rawer, something uglier. Selene's stomach turned as she realised this wasn't a protest anymore. This was no longer about slogans or banners or even anger. It was primal, untethered.

A war cry.

Selene's chest tightened. She tried to grasp it, to understand why, to understand how—but she couldn't. None of it made sense. None of it.

She didn't understand.

She didn't.