Harmless accident

Cypher leisurely strolled across the stone bridge arching above a gentle stream. The water below trickled over smooth rocks, its rhythmic splashes filling the air with a soothing cadence.

The scent of damp earth mixed with the crisp morning breeze, carrying the faint fragrance of wildflowers growing along the riverbank. Birds flitted overhead, their wings rustling softly as they called out to one another, their songs weaving a delicate harmony with the bubbling stream.

With one hand clasped behind his back and the other holding open a battered book, Cypher looked the very picture of a learned scholar engrossed in his studies. At a glance, one might think he was indulging in some great philosophical text, absorbing the wisdom of ages.

But the book was empty.

Half the pages had been torn out, their edges frayed like old wounds, and the cover had long since vanished, leaving no trace of its origin. A closer look revealed that it wasn't a book of knowledge at all, it was Gabrielle's empty diary.

Cypher had been moving through the middle-class district, the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from nearby homes, mingling with the acrid traces of burning wood. He had just concluded a discussion with Drake about finding a sick cow, or at least, one infected with Cowpox. A mundane task, yet his mind lingered elsewhere.

The diary. Not because of its contents, but because of something far stranger. The Man in the Wall could see its words, but Cypher could not.

As the gentle stream whispered in his ears, Cypher frowned in thought.

"What is preventing us from seeing Gabrielle's writings? And more importantly, what is it trying to hide?"

He murmured to himself, flipping through the pages. He wasn't using his parasite's eyes, so the text remained invisible, but the implications gnawed at him. Something was at work here and it was clear it originated from something outside normal logic.

A sudden footstep broke his concentration.

A young man, seemingly out for a morning run, stepped onto the bridge. He moved with deliberate haste, head lowered, shoulders tense. His ginger hair fell over his eyes, but Cypher caught the subtle twitch in his fingers and the faint tremor in his breath.

"Don't notice. Don't notice. Don't notice."

The man's body language screamed with tension. He was desperate to remain inconspicuous to what he thought might be a noble.

Cypher's lips curled slightly as he passed by, "Excuse me. Could you come here for a moment?"

His voice was calm and pleasant. It sounded like an invitation, but underneath the politeness was an order that could not be disobeyed.

"Fuck." The man froze. The bridge suddenly felt far too small. Slowly, with obvious reluctance, he turned around and walked toward Cypher, his movements stiff with unease.

"S-Sire, please tell me if I've offended you in any way—"

Cypher chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "No need to be so nervous. I hold no ill will toward a diligent man such as yourself."

Jacob exhaled, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. "Thank you, sire. My name is Jacob. What is it you need? I'll help in any way I can."

Cypher gave an approving nod, then glanced back at the diary, his expression still thoughtful. "Well, you see, Jacob, I'm having a little issue. I need you to listen carefully and tell me if you feel anything."

Jacob furrowed his brows, now unguarded and at ease, "I'll listen. What do you need me to do?"

"Just pay attention," Cypher said smoothly, flipping a page and steadying his voice. Finally, he recalled the front covers title from memory, wetting his lips before opening his mouth.

Then, he spoke.

"BABYLON ARI—"

SPLAT.

A wet, pulpy explosion.

Cypher lowered the book slightly from eye level, blinking as warm droplets spattered against his cheek and sleeve.

"Ohh dear..."

Jacob was still standing.

Almost.

His body remained upright, but his head was gone, obliterated into a crimson mist. Fragments of skull and brain matter clung to the bridge's stone railing, dripping onto the cobblestones in thick, syrupy rivulets. The coppery scent of blood cut through the morning air, replacing the gentle fragrance of wildflowers.

Jacob's body swayed, still locked in its last motion.

Thud!

Then it collapsed with a sickening squelch. It reminded Cypher of a sack of meat hitting the floor.

Cypher sighed through his nose, brushing a speck of blood off his sleeve with mild irritation. He hadn't expected that.

Then, five more wet cracks followed.

His gaze flicked to the sky. The birds that had been singing moments before now tumbled lifelessly to the ground, their delicate forms crumpling upon impact. Each one missing its head. Tiny splashes rippled across the stream as feathered corpses plummeted into the water, staining it with drifting swirls of red.

For a long moment, only the whispering current remained, carrying away the remnants of something inexplicable.

Cypher tapped his fingers against the book's spine, staring at Jacob's ruined corpse with mild curiosity, but an equal hint of unease in his heart.

He hadn't even finished the sentence.

With a small sigh, he stepped over the pooling blood, his boots leaving faint red prints against the stone as he resumed his stroll.

"A shame," he murmured, almost absentmindedly. "I just cleaned this coat."

Snapping the book closed as he reached the end of the bridge, Cypher quickly made the informed decision to not mess with such a dangerous item without further knowledge.

After all, who's to say he couldn't end up like poor Jacob just as easily?

'Best not to push my luck.' Cypher affirmed, leaving the bloody scenes behind. At worst, if the guards found it, they would assume a Dreamweaver did it, and, had no reason to pursue any further action.

His boots clicked softly against the cobbled streets as he made his way toward his next destination.

The scent of fresh bread and roasting meat clung to the air, mingling with the faint traces of smoke curling from chimneys.

Merchants called out their wares, their voices weaving into the city's morning hum, and laborers bustled between stalls, shouldering sacks of grain and crates of vegetables.

Yet, despite the normalcy, an undercurrent of tension rippled beneath the surface. Cypher caught the subtle glances from passing pedestrians, furtive, and cautious, the way commoners always looked at nobility. None of them dared meet his gaze for long. If they noticed the blood speckled across his sleeve, they wisely chose to ignore it.

Before long, he arrived at a small cattle farm on the outskirts of the district. The scent hit him first - damp hay, wet mud, and the acrid tang of manure. Sheds lined the open-air market, housing various livestock. Cows, pigs, sheep, and horses stuck their heads through iron-barred enclosures, snorting and lazily flicking their tails.

A stout merchant stood in front of the pens, his thick beard scraggly and unkempt. He had the look of a man who had spent his life around animals. He was broad-shouldered and heavyset with hands rough with callouses. His sharp eyes scanned the passersby, ever watchful for a potential customer.

The moment he noticed Cypher, his demeanor shifted. The flicker of greed sparked in his gaze, and he straightened, plastering on a welcoming grin.

"Ohh! Dear customer, has one of my cattle caught your eye?" His voice was thick with feigned warmth, his hands rubbing together eagerly.

Cypher barely glanced at the animals. Instead, he reached into his coat and produced a crude needle, holding it between two fingers. His other hand lifted in a lazy gesture, pointing toward the merchant.

"You have a pustule on your left arm. Show it to me."

The merchant blinked, his practiced smile faltering. "Sir… perhaps you're mistaken-"

"Do you want to die?" Cypher cut him off, his tone as smooth as ever, yet cold enough to send a shiver down the man's spine. "Show it to me, or I will have you executed under my authority as a deacon."

At that, the merchant stiffened. His face paled as the weight of the title settled on him.

"A… deacon?" His breath hitched, his earlier confidence crumbling.

Cypher's patience thinned. He tapped his foot against the dirt in waiting.

The merchant hesitated only a moment longer before hastily rolling up his sleeve. Sure enough, a small, inflamed growth marred his forearm.- a telltale sign of Cowpox infection.

Cypher said nothing. He stepped forward, gripping the man's arm with one gloved hand while he carefully pierced the pustule with the needle. The merchant sucked in a sharp breath but didn't dare recoil. A bead of fluid welled at the tip of the needle, glistening in the moons light.

"Are you crying?" Cypher asked flatly, his eyes flicking up to meet the merchant's.

The man swallowed hard. "No, sir..."

Satisfied, Cypher withdrew the needle, carefully placing it inside a small black pouch at his waist. He released the merchant's arm without further comment and turned on his heel.

"I'll be on my way. Good day."

The merchant stood frozen, his arm still outstretched, as if expecting further punishment. When none came, he quickly pulled down his sleeve, his hands trembling. His lips pressed into a thin line, his face a mixture of humiliation and barely restrained resentment.

Yet, he held his tongue.

Cypher didn't look back. With the sample in hand, his business here was finished.

As he walked away, the merchant exhaled sharply, grinding his teeth in frustration. But no matter how much the indignation simmered in his gut, he dared not voice a single complaint.