The door creaked open with purpose. I looked up, expecting another nurse or a junior priest with a clipboard and a prayer.

  Instead, I saw her.

  The Inquisitor from the Adamias incident—the same one who’d nearly burned a hole through me with her gaze last time—stepped into the room. She wore the same stark robes, dyed a deep crimson this time, with the aquilla insignia gleaming against her chest. Her boots clicked sharply against the tile as she approached, every step screaming authority.

  Her face was all sharp lines and cold judgment. No makeup. No softness. Just duty carved into flesh and bone.

  She stopped at the edge of my cot, eyes raking me up and down like I was some corrupted relic that hadn’t been properly catalogued yet.

  “You,” she said curtly. “You look like death.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Always nice to be complimented by a lady.”

  She didn’t laugh. Of course she didn’t.

  “I don’t have time for jokes, Samael. I’m here because once again you’re standing at the center of a mess the Inquisition has to clean up. I’m trying to figure out if that’s coincidence... or something more.”

  I groaned and sat up straighter, pain blooming across my ribs like a bar fight. “You’re welcome, by the way. For not letting Marcus bleed out all over your forest.”

  “That’s not in question.” She pulled out a small notebook, real paper, which was both expensive and ominous. “But something about you doesn’t add up. You awaken fire magic with no mana. You survive a blunt trauma impact that would turn most stage ones into soup. And now we have reports of... phenomena around you.”

  I blinked. “Phenomena?”

  She didn’t blink back. “Witnesses say the temperature around you dropped before you woke. Some say they heard whispers in a language no one recognized. The nurse says she saw light behind your eyes—light that shouldn’t be there.”

  I stared at her.

  “And then there’s your language. That word you said before the doctor fled the room? The one that caused a localized pulse of mana through the chapel ward? Yeah that's a no.”

  “Oh. That,” I said, scratching my head. “Yeah, we say that all the time back home. Real common.”

  “You’re playing with things you don’t understand,” she said, stepping closer. “And that makes people like me nervous.”

  “You should be nervous,” I muttered. “I am.”

  She leaned in, voice low. “You’re either the God-King’s worst candle... or an idiot waiting to explode. Either way, I’m watching you. So keep your little miracles in check.”

  I slumped back against the bed, the weight of her words settling over me.

  Candlel or idiot.

  Either way, someone was getting burned.

  “Wait,” I said, just as she turned to leave the room.

  She paused, hand on the door, body still as a statue. I don’t know why I spoke. Maybe I was just tired of holding it in. Maybe it was the meds. Maybe it was the ghost of Maria’s crushed skull still lodged behind my eyes.

  “I don’t know if you’ll think I’m crazy,” I continued, “but to be honest, in this place, one more crazy guy doesn’t make a difference.”

  She didn’t speak, so I pushed on.

  “I’ve got this… feeling. Like something’s coming. From the north. Big. Ominous. Cataclysmic.” I forced myself to look at her. “It’s not going away. It’s getting worse. Stronger.”

  Her face remained unreadable—marble with eyes.

  “I’m listening,” she said calmly. “You might be a latent Seer. Did you have a vision? Or is it just the feeling?”

  “I had a dream once. Felt like more than a dream. A fight against... hell, or something like it. Annihilation. I was there. In the mud. The trenches. I could hear the screams, smell the rot. When I woke up, it lingered.”

  She tilted her head slightly. “And now?”

  “I smelled it again. Just now. When I woke up. Same stench. Same wrongness. Like something is clawing at the edge of the world and no one wants to look at it.”

  She closed the door gently and took a step back toward my bed, her voice quiet now. “You will have an appointment with a Dreamancer. If you’ve seen something, we’ll extract it. And starting now, you’re under observation. You’ll be assigned an officer to keep you in sight at all times.”

  Then, she hesitated. Just for a heartbeat. A sliver of humanity breaking through the ice.

  As she turned to go, she whispered, almost too soft to catch:

  “You’re not the only one.”

  And then she was gone, leaving only the sound of my breathing and a cold weight in my chest that wouldn’t go away.

  About an hour later, a Dreamancer showed up.

  No words. No greetings. Just a white porcelain mask hiding the face, a deep hood over the head. Feminine build, I think, but the robes made it hard to tell. The only thing clear was the silence. No footsteps. No sound. Just this quiet weight in the room, like the air had thickened.

  She raised one hand, muttered something in a language that tasted like water and fire, and before I could blink—

  Darkness.

  Then the dream again.

  The trench. The cold. The rot. I could feel the muck pulling at my boots, the sky above choked with smoke and ash. The whistle of incoming death. The roar of something vast and wrong cresting the horizon. And I was there, axe in hand, about to squeeze the trigger—

  But this time, it cut early.

  Just a second. A moment where I saw it—Hell, or something worse, screaming toward me in a tsunami of flame and void. And then—

  I jolted awake, heart trying to break out of my ribs.

  The Dreamancer was screaming.

  Clawing at the mask, dragging it off like it was burning her skin. She stumbled into the hall, shrieking like a wounded animal.

  Then wham—the Inquisitor caught her mid-lurch like a cat catching a bird. Calm, precise. Efficient. The Dreamancer flailed once, then went limp, breathing in short, terrified gasps.

  The Inquisitor said nothing. Just dragged the poor soul away, disappearing down the corridor.

  I lay there in my sweat-drenched bed, chest still heaving.

  “Well,” I muttered to myself, “I guess I’m not the only one who thinks this shit is scary.”

  A nurse came in, did a bit of extra healing on my bones and nervous system, then handed me a pill for the pain. She lit one of those minty, banana-tasting cigarettes and stuck it between my lips before taking her leave.

  I finished it slowly, thinking about Maria.

  I barely knew her. But it was such a stupid death.

  It didn’t make sense for the academy to send us after that thing. Not with our level of training. Not unless someone wanted it to go wrong. Maybe someone high up had a twisted sense of cost-benefit analysis. Or maybe there’s a malicious bastard at work behind the curtain.

  Then my thoughts drifted north.

  Valakia and the Empire—both massing troops at the frontier.

  I couldn’t tell if the Empire was planning a crusade against the real evil festering up there… or if they were just gearing up for another round of genocide, hiding it behind holy banners and self-righteous hymns. Maybe they’d jam the Valakians between their army and whatever hellspawn was clawing its way down from the frostline. Let both sides bleed out. Clean-up duty after.

  God-King, I hope I’m wrong.

  But I’ve been around long enough to know how little that matters.

  The next day, I was getting dressed in my crimson gambeson, a kind nurse helping me with the straps and belts.

  Then the Inquisitor came back—this time accompanied by a young woman walking with difficulty, leaning on a cane.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  A ram-girl.

  But not just any ram-girl.

  Hope.

  So she was an Inquisitor after all.

  “Wait—you’re walking? Did they grow you a new leg?!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Sam,” she exclaimed. “Lilith made me a prosthetic. It’s still attuning to my mana, but in a few days I should be able to walk more easily. Give it a few weeks and I’ll be moving like nothing ever happened.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Hope,” I said, a weight lifting partly off my shoulders.

  Then a thought hit me. “I cant wait for Lilith to lift the mistery of my power and make me a cool arm!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Sam.” she said, laughing. “Though she might be able to make you a cheese grater or a coat hanger in the meanwhile.”

  “You’re mean!”

  “Well, get used to it. Starting today, I’m your official shadow,” she said with a wink. “I didn’t expect you to get tangled up in so much Cultist shit.”

  “I read the report,” she added.

  “Oh, I didn’t tell many people one detail. See, the dagger I impaled Adamias with? It was coated in gimp-pine extract. I figured you’d appreciate it.”

  “You didn’t!” she gasped, before bursting into laughter. “Somehow I’m a bit less sad that the bastard escaped us on horseback. His ass is gonna feel like the sun. That’s hilarious.”

  “He escaped you? Seriously?”

  “Indeed. But his father—the Duke of Westria—is now under tight scrutiny. We’re trying to determine if he’s a Cultist too. So far... the news isn’t good.”

  “You don’t think they’re going to genocide Valakia just to weaken the resistance against what’s coming, right?”

  “I don’t know, Sam. You have information I don’t, it seems. We’ll talk about that later. For now, you’re gonna be late to the museum. Miss Makina is heading the group, and I’m sure she’d be quite displeased if you foxed your way out of history lessons.”

  A cart was waiting for us at the door.

  I had my school trench coat on—this was a scholarly activity, after all. Hope had been kind enough to wear her Sister attire instead of full Inquisitorial garb. That would’ve intimidated the other students and probably made them think I was some dangerous freak under watch.

  Instead, she was playing the role of a nurse, one specializing in my unique brand of magicless nonsense.

  Of course, the dean and head teacher already knew the truth. Apparently, most of the faculty at the academy were part of the Church. Teaching the next generation was considered a holy duty for the strong, so many sought the honor—but only the best of the best were allowed to teach at the Grand Academy.

  It made for a very particular kind of environment—one where young nobles could conveniently build relationships with powerful future leaders from various countries.

  We arrived at the front of the museum just as the school carriages of the Elite Class pulled in.

  As soon as Wojtek saw me, he ran over and bear-hugged me—one of the most comforting hugs I’d had in a while.

  “Thanks, buddy. Sorry you were worried.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, straightening back into a more noble posture. We were in public, after all.

  Next, Lilith arrived—on her own cart.

  Horseless and super slow.

  “So she did it,” I mumbled, watching as people all around us stared at the strange carriage, trying to make sense of how it moved with no visible animal pulling it.

  A smile of pure satisfaction played on her lips as she stepped down, dressed in a classy purple-and-gold silk gown that hugged her alluring silhouette.

  Damn. She was stunning.

  And she worked fast as hell, too.

  “All students, please assemble,” she called out.

  We quickly formed into the standard three-row formation. When her eyes landed on me, I caught a flicker of color rising to her cheeks—just for a second—matching her curly red hair before her cold, teacher-mask snapped back into place.

  “Today, we will be visiting the Talaria Grand Museum,” she announced. “You are being granted access to the alumni section—a privilege afforded only to a very select few. I expect you to keep your fingers to yourselves.”

  She paused, scanning the group with that sharp gaze of hers.

  “Form teams of four and enjoy your visit. If any of you cause a disturbance, there will be hell to pay. The alumni tour begins at 1 PM sharp. If you’re not there…” she shrugged, “too bad, so sad. Better luck next year. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” I yelled.

  I was the only one who did.

  ...Oopsie.

  “Oh, and Sam,” Lilith added, a wry smile on her lips, “since Marcus and Jibby are still in the hospital, you'll accompany me and Sister Hope for today.”

  Once the student groups split and went their merry ways, Lilith grabbed my arm.“Oh, look how cute they are,” Hope said from behind us, making both of us flush red.

  "I'm surprised how fast you worked!” I said. “A car, percussion caps and guns, and a leg—all that in such a short time. I’m kind of floored. That’s seriously complex stuff for just a couple of weeks.”

  “Well, since I’m under the watch of the Church Intelligence Agency, they saw my work and offered to help—bigger lab, assistants, the works. I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your permission, but since you wanted things to move faster, I thought it was the best way forward. You’re not mad, are you?”

  “Mad? No. Impressed is what I am. Father Mathias was right when he said you’re the one.”

  We kept chatting as we walked through the museum.

  It was divided into seven sections—six of which were open to the public.The first section covered the history of enchantments and showcased ancient artifacts, some of which had enchantments we still couldn’t replicate. One item caught my eye—it reminded me of a camping fan powered by a battery. Over 4,000 years old, and somehow still well-preserved.

  The second section was about armor. A lot of it looked like stuff you’d see on Earth, from Roman-style kits to high gothic articulated plate—the current pinnacle of tech in this world. But one item stood out: composite ceramic and mythril plates integrated into a minimalist plate carrier rig. It was 2,000 years old.

  The third section was on agriculture. Honestly, most of it was pretty boring—until I stumbled onto an exhibit about the milk industry. There, a life-sized cow stood fitted with an automated milk extraction machine, dated at 4,000 years old.

  The fourth section covered mana usage. The fifth, runes.There were a few wands that screamed Harry Potter, but nothing explaining the link between the two disciplines, so I skipped ahead to the sixth section—art.

  At first, I thought I’d chill on a bench, but I figured I might as well check out the paintings and sculptures. Who knows? Might offer some introspective insight into this world.

  There was a big exhibit about the Hero Era—2,000 years ago. One oil painting mural stopped me cold: a trench scene, filled with chaos. In the center stood a grizzled man, easily twelve feet tall, bulging with muscle, holding a gigantic axe. Something about him looked…familiar.

  Below the painting, a bronze plaque told his story:

  The Nameless Hero, summoned by the Order in the Year of Our Lord 8069 to fight the Demon Tide.In 8076, at the Battle of the End, he finally pushed back the demonic invasion and wiped them from our planet, Valia, leading a coalition of the Order and every nation.He was killed in that battle while defeating a Demon—a Devil who had awakened as an Immortal, Stage 12.For reference, the strongest known existence today is the Pontifex, at Stage 8.The scale of that battle left scars across the land that are still visible to this day.

  Déjà vus are just tricks of the mind... right?

  I kept staring at the painting.

  “You okay, Sam?” Lilith asked.

  “Yeah… I think. I just… nothing. Let’s move on.”

  "How about we go eat? It should be about time," she offered, pulling a long, thin ebony pipe from her purse. She packed it with an herb that smelled like vanilla-flavored tobacco.

  I pulled out my last smoke—partially mangled, bent at the filter. Lilith just pointed to the bowl of her pipe, offering me a light.

  I leaned in.

  Our eyes locked as I took a deep drag to light my cigarette from hers. That's close.Oof.

  Why does this woman make me feel so weird?

  We turned and made our way toward the museum food court, the scent of vanilla and banana smoke lingering between us.

  "So, uh, I was curious—what’s the deal with that hero being summoned? Like, what’s his story? Does the Church summon people often?" I asked.

  "Well, no, of course not. Summoning the Avatar is extremely taboo," Lilith replied, taking a slow draw from her pipe. "It’s only acceptable during an active Demon incursion. But since the last one wiped out the demonic forces with his party, there’s no longer a purpose in summoning him again."

  "They say the only thing left of him after the final battle was his axe. His party brought it back after the Battle of the End."

  "And where is that axe now?"

  "Just wait till after lunch. You’ll see it. The original—brought back by his friends—is in the seventh exhibit. Along with a few of the hero’s artifacts."

  We ate in the food court, Hope sitting at the table just next to us. She seemed quieter than usual today, and I didn’t really understand why. But then again, I’ve never been great at understanding people, so I let it be.

  Instead, I just enjoyed my time in the good company of Miss Makina.

  After a hearty meal, we made our way to the entrance of the exhibit, where I rejoined Wojtek and the rest of the class.

  Waiting for us was a tall, suave elf—man or woman, I honestly couldn’t tell. Even their voice sat somewhere perfectly between the two.

  “Good day, Elite Class of the Grand Academy. Today, you are privileged to access our most prestigious exhibit,” they said with a practiced elegance. “I must remind you to keep your hands to yourselves. Some of the artifacts still contain lingering power that could spell your doom. The contents of this exhibition are to remain confidential. Now, let us begin our tour. Please follow me—and remain silent as we enter the sanctum of the Seventh Exposition.”

  “Let’s begin our visit. First, here on your left—the armor of the Hero’s party.”

  I saw three sets of armor on display. At first glance, they looked fairly basic, but the plates were thick—far thicker than anything made of steel should’ve been. It made me think the material had to be something else entirely. And still, something about them tugged at the back of my mind. A tickle of recognition. Déjà vu again. I stared harder, but whatever it was, I couldn’t place it.

  Then we reached the next exhibit—giant glass vats filled with glowing formaldehyde, each containing the twisted corpse of a demon. These, I did recognize. I’d seen them in my dream.

  Had I seen the past?

  In the vision, I had both arms.

  Magic circles at the base of each tank pulsed faintly, keeping the malevolent darkness sealed inside. The presence was oppressive, even through the thick liquid.

  One creature looked like a flayed deer, its body dotted with tumors and pustules.

  The next was a humanoid with two heads and three arms—one sprouting unnaturally from its back. Each finger ended in claws that looked sharper than razors.

  The more we walked, the more grotesque the displays became. Each tank worse than the last. This was hell bottled up.

  Then our guide spoke again, voice solemn now:

  “The next two items you’ll see are among the most sacred relics of the Order.”

  He led us to a glass case. Inside was a simple wooden beer stein.

  Except it radiated light—silver and gold energy pulsing off it like a lighthouse cutting through a storm.

  “This,” the elf said, “is the Holy Caliss. The Avatar’s cup. It is the least powerful of his seven holy artifacts.”

  Wait—Caliss? No wonder people flinch when I swear. They think I’m invoking the damn Avatar.

  That's... hilarious. What a terrible coincidence.

  We moved on to the final item. A pedestal in the center of the room. Resting on it was a massive axe—ridiculously oversized, with a flintlock-style grip near the base.

  No way that’s my axe... right?

  I drifted toward it, weaving around the other students to get a better look.

  It looked right... and yet it didn’t. Something was off. The proportions, the texture—it had that vibe of a copy. Like someone who had seen the real thing but never held it.

  I leaned in, checking the shaft.

  There it was.

  The mistake.

  It was solid.

  No barrel.

  I walked back to Hope and whispered, “Nice copy. Does the Inquisition have the real one?”

  “What do you mean, copy?” she asked, her expression suddenly sharp.

  “The shaft’s supposed to be hollow—it’s a barrel,” I murmured. “I saw it in my vision.”

  “Shit,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m gonna have to report this. But that makes no sense—the Hero’s best friend was the one who returned the axe...”