Lord Of The Mysteries: A Slug of Time

The town palace loomed ahead of the shrine, its high arches and stone pillars casting long shadows that merged seamlessly with the dark concrete. The air hung serene with incense and the faint chill of dusk, as the sun slowly descended and the crimson moon rose up in the sky.

The entire town had gathered.

The city guards stood in precise ranks along the stairs and walls, clad in pitch-black armour polished to an uncanny sheen, their visors down, spears aligned with perfection. Behind them, the civilians pressed together, caught in their own little discussion. Merchants still in their work clothes, mothers clutching children close, men's some dressed full while others only half displaying their type of work.

Further ahead, flanking the shrine's entryway, the palace workers had assembled, robed in attire of modest luxury, silks trimmed with muted silver and dark sashes. Closer still to the shrine, the priests and devotees of the Goddess of Misfortune had taken their places. Dressed in pitch black hooded robes, their prayers had not fully seized, their lips run without falter—not a sound escaped their breath yet their words reached only to The Lady.

At the very front, before the carved shrine doors, a wooden podium reinforced with stone stood tall and upon it stood a single figure.

Morgane.

She wore a black hooded cloak that shadowed her whole body. The hood shadowed half her face, concealing her dark serene eyes that glimmered faintly beneath it. One hand rested firmly upon the pommel of her intricate obsidian black blade, carved with design that spoke of a legend. The weapon's sharp tip touched the podium floor.

She witnessed the crowd gather and gather and finally as it seemed that every person had come, Morgane tapped the hilt of her sword once. Just once. And that was enough.

The murmurs, the shifting of feet, the rustle of robes all fell away. Every gaze, whether from noble, priest, or commoner, fixed upon her at once. Everyone's attention was caught by the Knight in a single tap.

For Morgane was the Deliverer. She had a message to convey, the very words of the Goddess "Herself" that ought be heard by her Devotes and Followers.

The air hung heavy with silence for long until Morgane tapped the hilt of her sword once more. Followed a cold breath as the crimson in the sky drowned the last bit of dawn from this world.

"Years ago, on this very day, the Goddess of Misfortune bestowed "Her" first blessings upon this land and its people. The oppressed, the cast aside, those deemed unworthy of life—mere playthings for the creatures that plagued these forsaken soils abandoned by the Creator. All things were "His" creation, yet only some were permitted to live in comfort, to flourish in luxury."

Her words seemed to settle over the crowd. The guards stood sharper. The priests bowed their heads. The civilians dared not move.

"They soared in the sky, walked the land, sang in the sea, crawled in shadows, consumed blood, and basked in the glory of dawn—creatures born far beyond the reach of humankind, while men and women were left powerless and unequal. Upon that twisted board, countless innocent lives were scattered and devoured, their fate little more than a cruel game."

She shifted her hand slightly along the obsidian blade. "Then came the dark of night. It rippled across existence, and the arms of the Goddess opened for the forsaken. Countless lives were gathered, sheltered, and guarded from further torment. Such is the tale of Tingen."

A quiet murmur passed among the crowd filled with reverence and recognition. Morgane's hooded gaze swept over them.

"You have heard this tale countless times—under the groves, taught in classrooms, uttered amidst the prayers of the Church. It is as true as truth may be."

Her arms extended outward, her cloak folding like wings in the torchlight.

"Tingen prospered amidst chaos. It grew in number, in size, in strength. Its people lived richly, worked diligently, and walked in step with the prophets and angels of the Goddess. And today, we gather not only to commemorate this day, but to pay respect to the countless who could not shed a tear before death, and to those who could not live to share in our present."

Morgane's voice softened, yet carried the same force. "Their silence echoes in our breath. Their loss binds us together. And their memory sanctifies this day."

She let her hands fall back to the sword, gripping it steady, her hood tilting slightly downwards.

Morgane let the quiet hang once more, letting the gravitas of her words steep into every heart gathered before the shrine. Then she lifted her gaze from the blade, her voice deepening, as if the night itself spoke through her.

"Yet we are not here for remembrance alone. We are here because the Goddess still walks with us. "Her" embrace has never waned, "Her" gaze never strayed. "She" who took the broken and the cast aside into "Her" arms, "She" who carved sanctuary where there was only ruin has not ceased to guide, nor ceased to shelter."

The priests stirred with reverence, heads bowing lower. The guards shifted their grips upon blackened spears. A hush rippled through the crowd as the weight of her words pressed deeper.

""She" has willed it so," Morgane continued, her tone unwavering. "That "Her" name, spoken in prayer, must not be bound to just misfortune any longer. For misfortune, she bestows only to cruel and bloodthirsty. Not to her devotes, the innocents, the children's."

A faint breath, almost disbelief, shivered across the assembly.

""She" has watched Tingen prosper. "She" has watched you, "Her" faithful, endure. And now, "She" offers not only protection in the night, but strength within it. "She" calls you not cursed, but chosen. Not broken, but whole. "She" would have her people know "Her" not as the Goddess of Misfortune… but as the Evernight Goddess."

As those words release from her grasp, the toll of a bell resounded from a far and unknown, resonant and inescapable.

"The night is vast, eternal, and mysterious. It is "Her" veil, "Her" grasp, "Her" boundless strength. And so, today, by "Her" will, we set aside the old name. From this day forth, we call "Her" Evernight, and in that name, we live beneath "Her" eternal embrace."

Morgane raised her obsidian blade upright, its edge catching the pale light of the shrine and crimson.

"Praise The Lady."

The crowd, trembling with awe and fervor, seemed to breathe as one, and repeated after her.

"Praise The Lady!"

"Praise The Lady!"

"Praise The Lady!"

Again and Again, they repeated, voice in perfect harmony giving birth to a reverie choir that murmured in the stillness of the Night. The Darkness rippled and from its seams the crimson descended brighter than ever though as if the Moon itself was grasped by The Lady above. Enormous in size, entwined with countless stars, it felt as if the Moon fixed ever so close to the ground as if almost touching it.

Standing a distance away from the podium, under the veil of dark and crimson, Marianne, Arianne, Kotar and of course Merlin observed the grandeur of the Knight of Misfortune—The aforementioned Lady herself. The twin sisters had an indescribable shine in their eyes, utterly awed by the Goddess come Knight's speech. Their hands entwined with each other, grasping the fair palm firmly as they too once had experienced the cruelty and evil of other's, may it not be mythical races but of their own kind. Yet they were saved, protected and loved by the Goddess with no malice.

Kotar, on the other hand, stood partially dumbfounded and partially trying to make sense of all this. Was she making a jab of us? He rubbed his forehead. Also the embrace part, was that the day out feast was stolen from us and former Master's Divine Kingdom was attacked?! His eyes widened from realisation.

Fraud!

He glanced toward Merlin, the wandering magician stood leaned against a wall, his classic hat adorned with red feather rested in his crossed arms and his one leg slightly curled, foot stood angled at the wall. His bangs swayed lightly with the night's wind and an indescribable smirk enrich his face. His gaze fixated towards Morgane and Morgane alone.

It was impossible to tell what the envoy of the goddess was thinking. Kotar breathed a sigh and praised the fool in his mind. Why am I here again? He assumed his poised stance once more, having no interest in using his mind any longer.

As for Merlin…

Suffer. That was his dominant thought. To the others Morgane seemed rather composed and confidant. But only Merlin could see under the facade that the Knight put well together to hide the mild cringe and embarrassment that bit her tongue, How did Klein managed all this time… She could almost feel a shiver.

Merlin giggled in his thoughts, his smirk only growing wider. I am actually quite surprised, the name of Evernight came before her accession to Sequence 0. He let out a snicker before finally moving towards composure. But it makes sense nonetheless; the cult of Evernight was formed nearly three thousand years before my Transmigration but the church is said to have tails dating even before that.

He internally nodded in his head. Evernight Goddess… Not the Evernight I know. The name originated from the Evernight Demonic Wolf and was likely adopted by Amanises to fully distinguish herself from the Goddess of Misfortune of Flegrea's subsidiary gods. It is one of those things that are simply inherent to her—just like her cruelness and selfishness.

And yet he loved.

Merlin let out a low chuckle, the periphery of his vision caught the approach of Marianne in that instant. He composed himself well and turned his head slightly towards her, "How have you been doing?"

Marianne drew up besides him, nodding at his question with a smile. "Well. And so is Arianne."

Merlin nodded and smiled at her. "Have the initial effects of your advancement worn off?" Marianne gazed over the Knight and spoke, "Mostly yes. I only feel a slight bit of headache from overload at times but there haven't been a serious issue. I have also been communicating about my condition with Arianne and Teacher.

"We are also slowly discovering the Acting Principals for Sleepless by staying up the night to help the watch guards and assisting in the Town Palace when majority of people are asleep." Marianne slightly cleared her throat. "There are many wonders in the night that simply can't be experience in the Day, whether that be the slight tingle of cold, the stillness and quietness of the night, or those pretty stars that adorn the night's crimson sky." Her gaze wandered towards the sky on her own. The Giant Crimson Moon took most of her vision but the surrounding beautiful silver and yellow dots embellish her eyes.

She held her breath for a moment. "There are way too many things worth staying up through the night for." She muttered under her breath, turning her eyes back toward Merlin. The Wandering Magician observed the teenager with a quite and a smile that spoke for him. His expression displayed—to Marianne—happiness. Genuine Happiness.

And that was true. But Merlin's thoughts were also captivated by another feeling. Nostalgia. Those memories of staying up through the night flooded him; the nights he would spend gaming on his computer, sometimes get a midnight snack, or when he was a child and would sneak out of his bedroom and quietly watch whatever his parents had put on TV from a crack—though the result may have been a lifelong fear of snakes. There was also that distant memory of stargazing when they would visit his uncle's house. The view was really nice from there.

Merlin or Klein could never look at the night sky same ever again, for every look spared at it would give him a grim reminder of what was to come and what laid beyond those pretty edges. What was the truth of such pretty stars and that Crimson abomination that hung in the sky, waiting to devour what rightfully belonged to "Her".

Hmm, would a hug from Amanises be equivalent to enjoying the night? The thought suddenly popped in his head. Merlin discreetly, slightly slapped himself. His lips twitched and his facial expression begged to break the control of Clown. Thankfully, Marianne did not noticed any of that instead her mind was focused on something else.

A distinct thought.

She measured Merlin for a moment, the wandering magician noticing it instantly causing him to elicit a confused bearing. "Arianne told me about something…"

"Continue." Merlin voiced giving her the confirmation she needed. "She said that Miss Morgane mentioned a certain Man to her on the topic of Anchors—something or someone that would always remind us of what we truly are."

Merlin's smile slightly dropped, the pupil in his eyes slightly contorting. "To Miss Morgane, that Man is her greatest anchor and someone she wished to accompany through all hurdles. To rely and trust on him and to fill the void he did in her life."

Merlin straightened his posture, arms dropping down as the smile deplete from his face more and more. "She relied one more thing to me… about the vow the man has taken and ever since I have had a question, no. More like a thought…"

Their conversations slowly dissolve to stillness. The only sound heard was the reverious prayers to the Evernight Goddess.

"What is a Guardian?"

It was a question born out of curiosity and perhaps somewhat haze. Of course, it wasn't a literal question—their were several meaning in that case. It was a question meant only for Merlin or Mister Klein that laid beneath him, only to gain his answer and insight.

Merlin remained quiet for a moment and then broke into a chuckle. Lifting his hand, he steadied his classic hat on his head and slowly sighed. A memory surfaced in his mind that only caused his smile to brighten.

"We are guardians, but also a bunch of miserable wretches that are constantly fighting against dangers and madness."

Indeed we are Captain. Indeed we are. He looked straight into Marianne's eyes and uttered only a single sentence before turning around and leaving, sparing a look at Morgane that now stood quite on the podium with a smile while gazing over her believers.

"Those that have protected us. Yet their name only one among countless many."

…

The sea rippled beneath "His" feet—blues and reds, purples and blacks, colours known and colours unknown, bleeding into each other in an indescribable chaos. They did not attempt to submerge, instead they painted a scene that could not be truly conceived. God's gaze lowered, sweeping across the fragile world suspended below him.

Where once stood the City of Sanguine, only a remnant remained. Its people had gathered near the colossal Barrier, the wall of grey fog that shrouded and severed the Western Continent. Their village stretched just shy of that oppressive mist, its looming presence drawing uneasy parallels to Sefirah Castle.

Further south, Moon City stirred in quiet of the day. Wood and stone houses cradled the architecture—they had attempted to make similar to the City of Sanguine's. Some toiled in construction, arms rising with tool and falling heavy on debris and wood. Others prayed, voices rising into a chorus that spoke of the Omnipotent and Omniscient.

From the town hall, Red Angel Medici emerged, "His" figure board but slack in posture. Behind "Him" came Dark Angel Sasrir, "His" steps were slower, "His" gaze tilting faintly upward—toward the figure in the Astral World, as if acknowledging the gaze of God.

Grisha's attention lingered. The corners of "His" lips shifted into the faintest smile. A breath escaped him, threaded with a low sound of question, "Why," "His" voice unfurled across both worlds, "do you wish to be an Envoy?"

"Call it," Sounded a half reply. Grisha' averted "His" gaze and turned "His" figure towards the man standing behind "Him". Black hair, black eyes, wearing a formal black long coat with pants and polished shoes of same colour. His pristine white shirt hung tight to his lean figure and his comically large top-hat rested easy on his head. His figure leaned on his silver cane.

"Curiosity." Klein completed his answer and flashed Grisha a simple deceiving smile. In most cases, the God would have seen through his half return and cognize his intentions through words and expressions. But this was not such a case. The Fool that stood before "Him" was partially immune to such tricks. He was not only a professional swindler but also a clown adept at hiding his intentions. All of this further backed by the authority of concealment from a Sefirot.

Grisha wanted to pry further but "He" also knew that the attempt would be meaningless. Wasting "His" or Klein's time was not ideal. Thus he released a low breath from "His" lips and uttered, "I am assuming you would not go with this body, would you? The King possess a characteristic of Error and would converge onto you if left unrestrained by his consort."

Klein nodded and snickered. "Right. Bless whoever steps in the edge of Dawn light." Grisha squinted slightly and joined in his laughter. "Don't worry, I do not doubt your abilities to fight off The Giant."

"Just that's not the goal." Klein finished "His" statement and lingered in the moment. He and Grisha stood still for a while, the former due to having an intuition that God wanted to say more and the latter pondering "His" words.

"How do you maintain yourself?"

Huh? Klein blinked twice.

Grisha looked like "He" had no intention of elaborating any further. Klein shook his head and tilted at an angle. "Wake up… on time and work around the house? I also exercise occasionally…" Klein rubbed his chin, thinking. Grisha's face crunched for moment and an almost disappointed sigh escaped him.

"I mean your humanity." Grisha sighed turning his gaze towards Tingen. "Off all the things I had foreseen on my awakening, you were a total blind spot. Incapable of being Divined or correctly prophesied. Capable of Love and affection nonetheless…

"What exactly are you?" Grisha muttered. Not asked but muttered. A laughter sounded from the man up front. And as "His" gaze retreated from the real world, The Fool had already disappeared. Leaving behind only one linger in God's mind. A linger "He" mumbled,

"A Mystery."

…

Klein found himself once again upon the rugged pathway. To his left stretched a sheer cliff face, jagged and unyielding; to his right yawned a sun-soaked abyss, clouds rolling in endless depths that seemed bottomless under the afternoon light. Though subtle, wraiths of impossible size stirred under amidst the glory of Dawn.

He advanced. At the heart of the wall that split the city stood a colossal door, tens of meters tall, its surface a gray-blue hammered with golden nails that glimmered faintly in warm light. Before it stood two Silver Knights, their oppressive aura pressing down like a weight even from a glance. They alone guarded the threshold into the royal court.

Klein's steps carried him closer, his figure slowly deforming. His black court changed colour, taking shade of a Dark Purple. His vest underneath changed hues into grey and so did his pants. His shoes now boots, a gun holster rested on his hip. His facial features contorted becoming cold and sharper, gold-rimmed glasses rested on his brown eyes. He lifted his hand adjusting his neat black hair before resting the half top hat back on his head.

His mind wandered elsewhere, back over the series of events and questions that had brought him here, and inevitably toward the River of Eternal Darkness. He had no real way of obtaining or even interacting with it at the moment due to the churning river of Darkness, Death and Twilight having already fallen under Gregace's dominion. "She" had already almost completed forging her Divine Kingdom on top of it.

If Klein were to confront "Her" now, the outcome was certain. Defeat. Not only did the ancient gods wield an unnatural advantage due to grasping multiple pathways at once, but the phoenix ancestor was further anchored by the authority of the corresponding Sefirot of Death. Klein himself possessed the other—Sefirah Castle belonging to Door. He had absolutely no intention of testing what calamity might arise if the two Sefirot's clashed together in such unstable environment. It was far better to wait. Let the Phoenix Ancestor meet "Her" inevitable end, and only then move to claim the River of Eternal Darkness.

That thought had barely settled when the Giant King Court rose into view, vast and austere. The two Giants clad entirely in burnished metal armour, their forms towering, blades poised in readiness. The moment they noticed the lone figure of a human drawing near, both lifted their swords as if to strike down an unworthy insect.

But twilight descended.

It spilled from the divine court, folding the world in hues neither day nor night. Within it shimmered countless runes and symbols, intricate engravings that flickered and almost glitched. Klein instinctively understood each character to convey a message, a declaration. Bathed in that twilight, the Giants froze, their swords lowering, their hostility dissolving back into stillness.

Klein stepped forward with measured calm. Before the gates of the court, he bowed slightly, lifted his hat in his usual manner, and with a half-smile introduced himself to the kingdom of twilight:

"Gehrman Sparrow."