Gabrielles Dairy

A small candle rested calmly, flickering as the lantern it sat upon illuminated the dim space.

Cypher leaned his head against the wooden wall inside the back of a horse-drawn carriage. Outside, the muffled sound of boots striking the ground echoed through the air, but he paid them little mind.

Beside him, Clementine sat, dark circles under her eyes. Her golden helmet, dulled by exhaustion rather than battle, lay haphazardly on the bench beside her, its once-radiant metal catching faint glimmers of candlelight.

Despite their victory, an oppressive weight loomed over them like a dark cloud. Cypher understood his own gloom—after all, he had just learned he was dying, possibly before reaching the age of sixteen. But Clementine? It was strange to see her so dejected.

Of course, Cypher noticed. He shifted slightly, lifting his head off the wooden wall, his gaze turning toward her.

"Clementine, is something wrong? Is our victory not enough? Surely the Archdemon can die another day."

Clementine nodded absently. "I know. It's not about him. I am simply... angry at myself. Tell me, how would you feel if a certain group of people took the most beloved thing from you?"

'So it's a personal issue.'

Cypher considered her words. He had no one he loved dearly enough to grieve, let alone seek vengeance for. Emotions, in his view, were similar to tides on the shore.

Once you let them carry you away from the sand that once grounded you, held you firm and gave you foundation to build up to your dream - you may never find solid land again. You could be drifting into a inescapable sea, but never realise your too far to swim back ashore.

Even so, Clementine wasn't looking for a lesson in detachment.

"I think I would hate them," Cypher said at last. "Maybe I would keep trying to kill them, every chance I got." His voice was soft, solemn.

"I'm glad," Clementine murmured, her fingers curling into fists. "Because so would I. An Archdemon killed my son—assassinated him within Empire territory. The worst part? They got away. And they took his body with them. I'm sure the alchemiss would never let him rest in peace."

Her voice wavered. Tears welled, but she wiped them away swiftly, lifting her chin in forced composure. "But maybe I shouldn't be so upset. I am a Saint. I should act like one."

Cypher opened his mouth to respond—

Thud.

A noise outside. Someone was fiddling with something near the carriage.

The wheels had yet to move— they were still waiting for the soldiers to finish scavenging Castle Fenn for resources or information left behind. Once they finished, they would depart back to Thorn.

A moment later, the cloth covering of the carriage was pulled aside. A young man, clad in steel armor, stiffened at the sight of Clementine. In his hands was a disorderly collection of notes and dusty books.

He swallowed before speaking. "Saint Clementine! The general has requested I deliver the recovered documents from the Kingdom's Command House in the castle!"

"Give them here."

Clementine stretched out her hand and took the stack, closing the covering behind him.

A faint sigh of relief came from outside before hurried footsteps scurried away.

The papers were crumpled and worn, roughly handled by whoever had previously held them. Cypher only needed a glance to determine they weren't important.

Clementine, however, was cursed with a high position of power. And with power came the enemy of all political figures—paperwork.

When she returned to Thorn, she would be expected to file a detailed report on every aspect of the campaign, including anything written by the enemy.

Power truly did have an unfair price.

With a sigh, Clementine began with the most tattered pages. As she skimmed through them, the carriage jolted slightly.

"Move out!"

The general's voice rang out, and soon, the entire army was moving. The rhythmic patter of hooves echoed against the ashen road.

"Nothing..."

"Useless..."

"Why is this even written down?"

Note after note was discarded, her patience thinning with each passing moment.

Then, her hands froze. She held a small, chipped book with a rough black leather cover. A thin layer of grime coated the surface, and yet, there was no title, no markings, nothing to identify it.

The book was thin—half its pages had been torn out in what appeared to be a fit of rage.

It was old. Very old.

Cypher narrowed his eyes. With nothing better to do, he studied it carefully. If he were to compare it to anything, it would be the ancient tomes locked away in the Vatican.

Nobody ever read them. Yet, they remained, untouched for centuries—gathering dust.

Clementine hesitated before pressing her fingers against the cover. Slowly, she lifted it open.

Her face quickly contorted into a grimace.

She flipped through another page. Then another.

"What is it? Did you find anything useful?" Cypher asked.

She turned a few more pages before snapping the book shut.

"Nothing."

"What?"

"They have a book with nothing in it!"

With an air of disdain, she tossed it to Cypher. He caught it easily.

Flipping it open, he found the pages were yellowed with age—stained and brittle. And yet, they were completely blank.

The same was true for the next page. And the next.

"They do this on purpose," Clementine muttered, rubbing her forehead before moving on to the next pile.

Cypher turned another page. Then another.

His fingers brushed across the paper—rough, dry. He was prepared to shut it and push it aside when—

A small shift.

In the corner of his vision a shadow manifested into existence.

His breath hitched.

FUCK!

Cypher jolted upright. A massive, looming shape was imprinted on the wooden surface of the carriage, stretching unnaturally across the bench in a disjointed manner.

Clementine's head snapped up. Her hand darted to the hilt of her sword in a blur of superhuman speed.

Her eyes swept every inch of the small space in a millisecond.

After searching, she found absolutely nothing within the carriage.

"What is it, Cypher?" she asked, still alert.

Silence.

The shadow moved, However Clementine didn't react.

It raised a dagger-like nail to where its mouth should be.

A slow, deliberate shushing gesture followed.

The Man in the Wall.

Cypher's fingers twitched. His throat unmistakable in its dryness.

He forced his expression into something neutral. "Cough… It's nothing, Clementine. A fly flew into my ear. I think it left."

She frowned slightly. "Oh. Well, if it comes back, tell me."

She hesitated for a moment before returning her attention to the documents. 'I didn't hear a fly… strange,' the thought flickered across her mind, but she dismissed it.

There was a voice. Low, distorted, as if spoken from somewhere deep within his own mind.

"Didn't I always teach you to be calm, Aleck? Or is it Cypher now?"

There was amusement in its tone, laced with something Cypher couldn't quite name.

His lips parted as if to respond, but a moment later, he shut his mouth.

Clementine was nearby, and right now she didn't see the intruder. To her, him speaking would be like a mental patient talking to a hallucination.

He didn't even know if this was a hallucination.

"Do not speak with words, but with thoughts."

The whisper coiled around his skull like a vice.

'Can you… hear me?' Hesitantly, Cypher projected the thought forward, his mind bracing for the possibility that he was losing his sanity.

The shadow moved. Its inky form shifted against the wood, unnatural in the way it stretched and contorted without a light source to cast it.

There was a nod.

'Who are you? What are you—'

"I'm not here to answer questions. The longer I stay, the quicker you will die."

Despite the warning, there was something subtle beneath the words—something that almost sounded like concern.

Cypher's eyes narrowed. His mind worked quickly, trying to figure out a possible reason for this shadow to present itself at this moment.

'Then what do you want?' His scowl deepened. 'I don't believe you'd show yourself just for a friendly visit.'

He did not like this.

No, loathed was a better word.

It wasn't hatred—he had no illusions that this thing wished to hurt him. Infact, it saved him. No, what unsettled him, what truly made his blood curdle, was the ease with which it had taken control of him back in the Well.

His mind had barely even resisted.

And for a man whose greatest, most profound fear was losing his will, that was unacceptable.

"I noticed it," the Man in the Wall murmured, voice curling like smoke in the depths of his mind. "The book in your hands. You may not see it, but I do. Lower your head."

The shadow's finger, long and needle-like, pointed downward.

Cypher hesitated. Then, with careful subtlety, he bent his neck, letting his face slip into the darkness of the carriage's interior.

He turned back to the book's front cover.

Almost simultaneously, a profound sensation struck his face

A stark draining of color, as if reality itself had been wrung dry. Everything around him turned black and white, the candlelight dimming to a feeble glow.

His vision warped.

If anyone had looked at him now, they would see his eye sockets had hollowed into deep voids, his pupils stretching into slits—inhuman and unreadable.

The Man in the Wall had expected this.

Cypher blinked, and in that instant, the book changed.

From the corners of the aged leather cover, ink bled forth in delicate crimson rivulets. Ornate writing slithered across the once-empty surface, forming elegant yet unnatural script.

'What did you do?'

"Nothing," the Man in the Wall murmured, his form pressing impossibly close without ever making a sound. "I simply gave you my eyes. Now you will see what something didn't want you to. As for what that something is…"

After a brief pause.

"Even I do not know."

Cypher's breath felt slowed.

He scanned the title, each letter carved in the most precise, skillful script he had ever seen. Oddly, it was written in perfect Latin.

A dead language in his old world. Even among scholars, one could learn some of it—but never all.

He translated carefully, lips barely parting as he read the Title to himself.

"Aristocracy of Babylon: My Diary and Research Journey Into This Wonderful World"

His gaze drifted downward to the author's name, written in bold and unwavering strokes.

There was a name he did not recognize.

And yet, somehow, it seemed to carry with it and unexplainable weight.

Even the Shadow leaned in, Curling over Cypher as it read the writing.

"By Professor Gabrielle Acri' Sanctum."