Chapter 6: One of the 13 Books

Celeste had stated earlier that Mr. Ralph must be found before it was too late. That alone suggested some form of danger surrounding him. In contrast, the officer, Kalwein, had advised William to stay away, implying that the danger could also extend to him.

From their statements, I can only conclude one thing: Mr. Ralph is both in danger and a danger himself. But why? And how was that even possible?

William tried to think it through, but the answer eluded him. A mental illness, maybe? That was one of the few explanations that made any sense… but even that felt too simple.

If Mr. Ralph wasn't at home, then where else could he be?

Not to mention, he hadn't gone home since last night. Driven by worry, William turned to his desk, hoping to find something— perhaps a journal, or a clue left behind. Anything.

Lilac City wasn't vast by any means, not compared to other cities, but it was still large enough for someone to vanish. There were countless alleyways, empty stores, unregistered buildings— loopholes in the system where one could easily hide.

He searched the room methodically, going through corners and drawers, beneath books, even checking behind furniture. Still, nothing.

Only one area remained: the practical lab section and the small room to the left of the laboratory. That room had always been kept locked or avoided, and Mr. Ralph had once warned him that there were things inside he does not want William to see yet.

Even so, worry overpowered hesitation. He made his way toward the space.

As he stepped inside the lab's practical area, all he saw were scattered tools, gears, and scraps on the floor and benches. The usual clutter. Still, something felt different now.

I'm sorry for entering without your permission, Mr. Ralph... but I'm worried sick, William thought as he approached the half-opened door to the side room. He remembered clearly: 'There is something in there he does not want anyone to see yet.' Mr. Ralph's words came back, clearer than ever.

Standing before the door, he paused. Again, he whispered an apology, then slowly pushed it open.

And then,

This…

Etched into the floor was a symbol. One he immediately recognized. It was the same image from The Prophet, the book Mr. Ralph had once introduced to him.

He froze. A chill ran down his spine. He… he tried it? He actually attempted what was in that book…

More terrifying than that realization was the possibility it wasn't just theory. Does he actually believe in those things? Is that what caused all of this?

Confusion flooded at first, but as it settled into understanding, the emotion that remained was fear. William stood there, unmoving, staring at the imprint on the floor, suddenly aware of one possible path Mr. Ralph had chosen.

He paused. There it was again. That nagging memory. One of the book's entries. Not just a symbol this time, but a requirement. 

The blood of an owl.

His eyes flicked to the far end of the room, and sure enough, nestled at the sides, near the door and a dusted wall, including at the back of the fully opened door, were metal buckets. Dried smears clung to the lip of one. Just beside it… a single, rust-colored droplet that had crusted onto the tiles.

That's it… the blood.

William stepped closer, heart tightening. Was this what had stained the floor with that eerie imprint? Perhaps, after the ritual, the blood vanished, leaving only the sigil behind, etched not by ink. But that was only speculation. Still, the idea made his skin crawl.

It began with that book… The Prophet… It's not just an object. It might be the danger itself. He swallowed and looked away, grounding himself.

"The book doesn't matter unless Mr. Ralph is found." 

Focus. That was what he needed. A clue. Anything. Yet after half an hour scouring the lab, pulling open cabinets, flipping through loose papers, even examining the trash bin for something— anything— William found nothing.

The room gave no answers. Only sterile silence. No such thing as notes. The laboratory was a cage of pure academics, without the mess of a personal life. Eventually, he gave up and slumped onto the nearby sofa.

How am I supposed to find Professor Ralph like this? Should I just give up? Let the authorities handle it? The thought made him restless.

Just as he leaned forward to stand, the door slammed open with a thud. He flinched, startled, eyes snapping toward the sound. A figure stepped in without pause. No knock and no warning. Mannerless, a term that formed in William's mind.

"Why did you come back here?" William asked flatly with his voice laced with disbelief.

It was the same man from earlier— the one who carried himself as though the entire world were just another one of his possessions, Celeste.

His dark hair framed his pale face with deliberate precision, and his formal suit was just a little too clean for someone chasing these kinds of matters. Yet even with his annoyance bubbling at the surface, there was something oddly theatrical about him, like he was trying to convince himself he belonged in this scene.

To William, it was almost comical. He looked… oddly out of place. Like a man playing detective in a costume. Still, William didn't laugh. Not out loud.

Celeste let out a strangled groan. "How am I supposed to find a single man in this city of thousands of people?!"

So he was clueless.

William leaned back. Of course, he didn't know where Mr. Ralph lived. Neither of them did. That made this laboratory their only viable lead.

Celeste rubbed his temples, exasperated, before turning his gaze toward William once again.

This time, his tone shifted. "Do you know that your professor, Mr. Ralph, owns a book bound in old leather… leather made by Chalestin?"

William stiffened. He didn't need Celeste to say more. He already knew.

The Prophet.

That book again. It kept returning, closely tied to the matter, every warning, every subtle change in Mr. Ralph. William sighed, pushing aside the dread blooming in his chest.

"Yes," he said quietly. "He has it." Then, meeting Celeste's eyes, he added, "What does that have to do with any of this?"

Celeste didn't answer immediately. He simply exhaled through his nose, composed and deliberate. "It can't be helped," he finally said. "I'll explain it so you understand just how urgent this is. Whether you believe me or not... well, that's your choice."

There was no trace of arrogance in his voice this time. No mockery. Only calm necessity. Celeste had assessed William the moment he questioned the book's significance. And from that, he came to one conclusion: He had not taken part of the ritual. Uninvolved, in simpler terms. 

And in this situation, an innocent bystander was better than an unstable cultist. Celeste sat down across from him, elbows on knees, as if to lower his guard. William noticed it. The shift in posture. A temporary truce.

"The book in question isn't just some esoteric manuscript. It's one of the Thirteen Books of the Celestial Archive. Each of the thirteen holds formulas… rites… ways to embody a specific Celestial Essence. The one Ralph possesses grants a path— however fragmented— to the Prophet's Domain."

William listened, but his mind snagged on each foreign term. Celestial Archive? Prophet's Domain? He had never heard such fantasy-like concepts used in real conversation, let alone linked to a real person.

"But the book Ralph had, which belongs to the Prophet…" Celeste continued, his eyes flicking briefly to the sofa cushion, "It was unique. It was formatted more like… a novel. Which is strange, considering the Archive's books are known to be dry, coded only with information of the domain, and nearly unreadable, unlike a fantasy novel written in today's language."

That finally snapped William from silence. "Wait," he interjected. "How did you know it's novel-like?"

Celeste didn't hesitate. Instead, he reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a carefully folded page, yellowed, thin, and worn at the edges. Even from across the table, William could feel its age. Holding it up between two fingers, Celeste said plainly, "Because I read this."

The parchment fluttered slightly, almost brittle. "This page was torn from the book long ago... before it passed hands and ended up with Ralph. This fragment alone was what led me to him. It was part of the Prophet's Calcination. A story-like explanation, written in the voice of a fictional main character.'"

William froze at the term. Prophet's Calcination?

He knew it. He had read it. He remembered the opening pages of Ralph's book— three of them, to be exact. It contains the ritual instructions. "The professor's book..." William said slowly, "is thinner than you'd expect. Only the first three pages remain."

Celeste leaned forward slightly. "Only the first three…" He tapped the edge of the paper against his knee. "So you've seen the ritual. Or at least the beginning of it. That means you know exactly what the Prophet's Calcination requirements are."

William nodded once, almost reluctantly.

"I saw where he did it, too. That room." He pointed toward the sealed chamber on the left. "It's still… marked. I didn't expect a man like Professor Ralph to believe in something so absurd."

He chuckled faintly, more out of disbelief than amusement. "I mean, there are tons of novels that use rituals and alchemy as power systems. You'd think he'd know better than to trust a book."

Celeste raised a brow at that. "And yet, he did."

William fell silent again. He didn't have an argument for that. It wasn't just any book. The presence, the strange weight it seemed to carry, the symbols, the blood everything about it felt deliberate. 

After a moment of pause, he inquired. "Do you want the ritual's information? How about a trade?" William offered, his tone shifting with a playful cleverness, perhaps too playful.

But Celeste's reaction wasn't what he expected. The other man's face contorted into a subtle grimace, unmistakably disgusted.

"You don't want it?" William asked, confused.

"As if I want it," Celeste replied smugly. He leaned back a little, almost amused. "Becoming less or more than a human would be the last thing I'd do."

"You're quite the poet," William muttered, half-impressed, half-annoyed. "If you're looking for that book, what other things do you want to do with it?"

Celeste paused, thoughtful. His eyes drifted away, as if considering whether to share. "Just for collection. Is that enough reason?"

"Isn't the book only three pages?" William pressed, eyebrows raising in disbelief. It was strange to claim something so short was worth chasing down just to collect.

"I told you," Celeste replied with a firm voice now, "the book is one of the Celestial Archive. Because of that, no matter what, its formula will restore itself using fate as a medium."

William blinked. Another unbelievable claim. Layer upon layer of strangeness had fallen on him today like some sort of cosmic joke.

The world, he had always believed, was grounded in logic—measurable and explainable. But this? This was something else. And as the thoughts spiraled, as the surrealness swelled, he found himself questioning more than just the book. 

Was the world he lived in even real?

He rubbed his glabella with a sigh, fingers brushing across the bridge of his nose in a feeble attempt to organize the chaos in his mind.

Then Celeste tossed the folded paper toward him. It fluttered through the air before landing on William's lap. "I care less if you know about it," Celeste said. "But I can tell you're interested in them. Just give them back after reading."

William stared at the paper. This, at least, was tangible. Coming from the earlier talk of trade, it felt like an unspoken extension, something that, even with doubts, he could accept. More than that, he thought of Ralph. Of his professor, lost in something beyond his understanding. If any of this was real, then perhaps this was a step toward helping him.

"I'll temporarily take it," he murmured. "Thank you for this. However… only for free?"

"Just help me find that book....or Ralph," Celeste replied, his tone casual, even dismissive. "Whether you succeed or not does not matter. That is all."

William nodded, slowly digesting everything. "I understand why everyone is so interested in that book. The police are also looking for it. And I doubt you were lying when you said it was for collection." His expression darkened slightly. "However, helping you means opposing those other parties looking for them. An example is the Lilac Police."

He recalled Kalwein. The sharp gleam in his eyes when the book was mentioned. The sudden, almost unnatural shift in tone. Looking back, William realized it wasn't just professional curiosity. It was something deeper.

He didn't say it out loud, but the thought crept in anyway: Kalwein might know.

Celeste didn't even flinch. His expression sharpened as he uttered coldly:

"Don't bother with those individuals. They are power-hungry."