It Begins

15th of December, the Year 1911 of the Hallowed Calendar, in the Levidis family mansion.

Nysa was already awake by dawn.

Today, she dressed without the help of her servant, choosing an assortment of equipment explicitly kept for this fateful moment.

She clad herself in a robe darker than a moonless night, ornamented with a mourning veil that hid her face. Inscriptions in Olden Sethiae glimmered with greenish Mana the instant the black fabric touched her skin, and for a brief second, she seemed to melt in the shadows despite the golden strands of daylight.

Grade 3 Relic—Dusk Raiment

So long as she wore this garb, she could swim through shadows like a fish in the ocean, though doing so would squeeze her limbs and stifle her breath until she emerged. If not careful, the pressure could crush her bones and fracture her skull, without even considering the strain on her mind due to the flow of Mana's corruption.

Grade 3 Relic—Sculpted Persona

Her left earring, shaped like a triangle of reddish stone with a carved eye, pulsated with the same rhythm as the writings on her clothes.

Once activated, this artifact would allow her brain to function as two, granting her unparalleled aptitude in weaving complex magecraft while still being able to move around and even fight at close quarters. However, should she maintain it for more than a few hours at a time, it could forever cripple her mind and leave her witless.

Grade 3 Relic—Pearls of Gematria

Three glistening pale spheres were embedded into a silvery necklace around her nape. Crafted from the bones of an Arcane Numerologist, each one of them could quantify a targeted magecraft and break its formula, thus destabilizing its foundation and dispelling its effects. They crumbled after a single use, so Nysa had to make them count.

As a final touch, she slid a thinly decorated black needle with purple patterns into a hidden pocket underneath her sleeve. It was her ace—her last card and the sole Grade 2 Relic in her possession.

With her preparations finished, Nysa left her room, climbing down the stairs toward the central courtyard.

On her way to the main gate, she spied into a usually deserted section of the house, where the altar for her recently deceased father had been built.

She surprisingly found her mother there, sitting on a wooden stool before the chiseled statue.

Wearing an old woolen tunic unbefitting even the servants, she busied herself with cleaning her husband's marbled effigy, her green eyes wide open from a shock she had seemingly yet to process.

Helle Levidis had borne that look ever since her talk with the Veiled Matriarch, though Nysa didn't know why. Neither of them spoke to the other for days, and the woman's irregular state mattered little to her, as she felt no filial love to her mother, only duty.

Hence, although heading towards inevitable death, Nysa didn't bother to inquire about her change in behavior or wish her good fortune. They merely locked eyes for a silent, excruciating minute before parting ways, knowing very well that they would never see each other again.

"It is time," Nysa muttered, steeling her resolve, "to accomplish my purpose."

—

Meanwhile, atop the highest spire in Priene.

Elementalist Yaen Beracha eyed the Blighted Crater below, now covered in a field of pale-white feathers and surrounded by makeshift, hastily built stone walls.

"Nave and Jonam made no contact since last night, you say?" He echoed before turning to face Ilana and Geffen. "Then it's safe to assume they've either been killed or captured. Has Alchemist Devora Jaffe tried to reach us? She should have noticed if her masterpiece, Segment V Jonam's core, was extinguished."

Geffen shook his head. "Nothing. I believe he was the last one attuned to his branch's Emerald Plaque. If he's not dead yet, we could trace back the mystical link and find where he is."

"I shall take care of that," Yaen ordered. "You two proceed as scheduled with your respective branches. Since the contract with Lady Quinctillia no longer binds us, you're free to act as you wish as long as it ends with the destruction of the Henosis Seekers. Furthermore, if the Temple of Stars magi try to interfere, you can dispose of them. Understood?"

"Yes, Master!" Geffen and Ilana answered energetically, though the latter had a mixed expression, visibly worried about something.

"We can still save Nave... right?" Her parted braids, mismatched with strands of purple, fluttered in the morning breeze.

"I don't know. It's not in the Henosis Seekers' nature to take live prisoners, but I'll attempt to rescue him nonetheless. As for you, focus on your battle and nothing else, Ilana. Otherwise, you may very well be the one we will have to mourn."

Yaen's words gave her a tinge of hope, enough to rekindle the sparkle in her eyes. Her lips curved into a devious smile, and violet Mana spilled from her body, coiling around her limbs like a shroud of ethereal light.

"I'll tease Nave to no end once we retrieve him."

"We all will," Geffen grinned beneath his lifted collar, allowing his Mana to flow out in a calm, yellowish wave.

Yaen's expression softened at their exchange. "Let us meet again soon, my friends."

Following that last farewell, their figures blurred, racing down the silvery building as each headed in a different direction.

—

Somewhere in the Divine Capital.

A young man with long raven-black hair and teal-colored eyes stood before a giant, ten-branched cross. He eyed the white-haired man crucified to its surface, then glanced at the wounded boy dangling below.

The latter's arms and legs had been severed preemptively, and he was strung to a nearby pillar. As a Homunculus from the Mekkubal Order, he would have normally been executed on the spot, but despite having an artificial soul, he was a magus.

This impossibility needed to be studied, hence his present circumstance.

"Well," the man mumbled. "The Ten Kanaph put a target on his head decades ago. We really ought to improve the Mind Registry. I nearly killed him before the accursed thing warned me."

"Master Lieli," a white-garbed, elderly adept called out, gaze locked onto his palm. "There is movement in the Theatre."

"Hm?" Lieli took out a small mechanical clock from underneath his tunic, inspecting it before sighing. "This early, and the dogs are already barking. They've got sharp noses too. The concealment spell should still be active for a few hours."

"What should we do?" The adept asked.

Lieli held his chin with his hand, thinking. "What's the current toll?"

The adept flung open a rolled piece of parchment, adjusting his spectacles as he read its content.

"The Pale Malady has touched around ten thousand people, sixty of which were confirmed magi. We also have nine-hundred seventy-five half-Dead Spirits currently active, and we managed to harvest more than four thousand Pale Eggs from them over the last few months."

"Regarding the Pale Eggs," he added, "The Wayfarer has refused to supervise their transport through the Western Hierapetran Province. Fortunately, we found some merchants willing to do so, and they should have crossed through Leucadia by now."

"Good." Lieli nodded. "The Pale Eggs are valuable currency. We'll need them to negotiate with the Unhallowed Emissaries. What about Aliya? Has she established the sacrificial link yet?"

"Mistress Aliya confirmed its formulation earlier this morning. It took the Archangel Nahaliel fifty-three nights with her to finally agree, but now the pale-white feathers should be harmonizing with our Relic. As a result, every individual afflicted by the Pale Malady in Priene, including the half-Dead Spirits, will soon be connected to the spell."

"It seems like our gamble paid off. Otherwise, we would have had to sacrifice all our members currently in Hierapetra to honor that mockery of a pact."

Lieli pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know why the Ten Kanaph are cooperating with those creepy, eye-worshipping bastards. They're miscreants and even bigger zealots than us. I don't see how this follows the teachings of His Winged Grace."

A rumble suddenly reverberated across the confined space, followed by blackish strands of pure Mana that coursed through the ten branches of the giant cross. They flowed into the limp body of the crucified, white-haired magus, awakening him from his daze.

His first reaction was an incomprehensive yell, then a scream of agony.

Lieli's expression twisted into a smile, and he cupped his hands below his temples, listening to the magus' tortured howls. "Ahh, the screech of the Mekkubal Order. Such sweet music to my ears."

The elderly adept remained listless, looking solemnly at the activating Relic.

"It begins."