u/Ezcu123

(This post is inspired by this one: https://www.reddit.com/r/LordofTheMysteries/s/JvZF3zvjw5 )

Long ago, when the first gods were beginning to ascend, there was great resistance

A clear example is what befell the dragon race; they were forced to swear allegiance to a stranger who had attained divinity

Yet, resistance was futile; they stood no chance against a god

The hunt for the dragons lasted for centuries; no matter how well they hid, it was difficult to withstand the immense control a god exerts over the Beyonders on their path

Is it right to attack someone who cannot defend themselves? Can one force another to believe in them?

No, that was something I could not tolerate.

I offered them my help

Unfortunately,, they could not accept that a god would wish to help someone without expecting anything in return—especially someone with whom they shared no bond

To those proud dragons, it was inconceivable that a superior being would stoop to aid an inferior one.

They suspected I was an evil god seeking to enslave them, or that the whole affair was merely a ploy by the Visionary to hunt them down

I did everything I could to save them, but I could not force salvation upon them; I could only mourn the loss of those I failed to rescue

In the end, I managed to win the loyalty of several dragons who sensed the compassion in my words.

I bestowed my blessing upon them so they could dwell in my World of Shadows, free from the fear of being hunted

As time passed, some of the dragons flourished, and the memory of their rescue faded into the past; there were those who came to venerate me with loyalty, praying daily in gratitude for their lives

Faith is not something that can be imposed by force; it is like a seed that must be cultivated in order to germinate. If you have done so well, the believer's faith will not waver, not even in the face of the fiercest storm

Source: Shadows House manga

[deleted]

Lately, I have felt somewhat saddened by one of my dear little sheep; their progress seems to have stalled. They desire to move forward but lack the necessary guidance to channel their efforts, so I have decided to lend a hand

Drawing upon the realm of shadows, I projected my consciousness into u/chuckii2 shadow

Once there, I could see them striving in their studies. They have always been a lover of knowledge, which is why the path of the White Tower suits them so well, so I wish to offer them the chance to go as far as they can; the rest will be in their hands.

"Greetings, my dear little sheep; forgive the intrusion."

You were suddenly startled; you immediately realized it was your own shadow that had spoken and sensed my divine presence, and you responded to my greeting in a solemn tone

"It is a pleasure to hear your words, and please, do not worry: your visit is always welcome. If I may ask, what brings you here?"

"I have noticed that you have been struggling lately; your wool is stained by a sense of helplessness. You yearn to ascend toward divinity, yet you do not know how to take the next step."

You were deeply moved "There was no need for you to go to such trouble, oh, my God..."

"You have always been one of my beloved little sheep, and that is why I wish to help you. You have spent so long in the dim shadows of uncertainty... allow me to guide you. After all, that is my duty as a shepherd."

*Suddenly, your shadow rose up and enveloped your body. It did not suffocate you; on the contrary, it felt like a warm embrace—like returning to the womb, to the very moment when my shadows first covered your body.*

Fragments of information began to surface in your mind, organized and easy to assimilate. It was a process of pure understanding; it was as if you had absorbed the contents of hundreds of books without the effort of having to analyze them "I see. So, my Lord is providing me with information on both the Hermit and the Paradigm to help me process what I gain from the drop of blood. Furthermore, for the next sequence, perhaps leaving the angel completely vulnerable will suffice, whereas for Sequence 1, I could utilize my Lord's connection to the Sea of ​​Chaos; that might meet the requirements."

Once the shadow receded from your body, you blinked a few times, absorbing the information. Your mind filled with profound clarity, and your heart overflowed with gratitude toward your God for allowing you to "know" without having to suffer

"I regret that I cannot offer more help at the moment, but I wished to help clear away your doubts. It pains Me to see My beloved sheep suffer, especially when it is something I can prevent"

"There are no words to express my gratitude; allow me to serve You with heart and body in whatever way You require"

"You share my blood; helping you is part of my duty as the deity closest to humanity. You possess the free will to follow Me or other Gods; even so, I shall love you as My little sheep and bestow all My love upon you."

You could not help but shed a few tears as you felt a warm hand caressing your head and heard a soft, soothing melody that lulled you to sleep

That night, you had the most wonderful dream, while all your mental fatigue vanished as if it had never existed

Praise the Lady!

Given that the ritual for Sequence 0 of "The Hanged Man" requires contact with the Sea of ​​Chaos, and considering that Sequence 8 allows for the use of abilities based on the entities with which contact has been established, wouldn't it be possible to wield the powers of the Five Paths by leveraging the corruption derived from the Sea of ​​Chaos?

We know the True Creator was capable of doing so, making it highly likely that his enhanced capacity as a "Listener" played a pivotal role; the reason he could no longer utilize those powers must be that the Sun and the Tyrant purified much of the corruption he had obtained from the Sea of ​​Chaos, preventing him from continuing to employ them and leaving behind only a tenuous connection.

Sauce: Shadows House

Look at this beautiful place, yet filled with such a blind and superficial flock.

They run beneath the sun, wounding themselves with iron and magic, fearing the darkness... when it is the shadow that has offered them rest since they were in their mothers' wombs.

My poor little sheep... So frightened, so broken inside. Your suffering ends now. Your shepherd has arrived to lighten the burden of your sins and lull you with his whispers.

This is an invitation to join r/ChurchOfAuroraOrder! We have an active roleplay where you can interact with various members of the sub to help you get started! We also have main locations in both Intis and Loen, so you can quickly familiarize yourself with the environment for your roleplay.

And without a doubt, the biggest benefit is that you can hear my ASMR every time you pray to me!

So don't think twice and join our church!!

I always forgot there was a god on this path! Seriously though, is it even relevant? What a great power of concealment! (laughs)

Seriously, what a waste of a characteristic Beyonder! Why don't we choose someone else? They're hogging a position they don't deserve.

Here we have the greatest case of laziness on this subreddit: someone who simply announced they had become a god without having made any prior contributions related to the path or rituals.

Not to mention their unhealthy obsession with tentacles. Wouldn't they have been better off taking a path under the MGOD?

Not to mention they run a scam casino! I'm pretty sure it's designed to make you win the first few times and then make you spend all your money and need to mortgage your divine kingdom to pay off the debt... not that it's happened to me before...

Is no one going to talk about our delusional demon, Gakamis, and his apparent mastery of multiple paths? No offense, but this is the greatest culmination of mental masturbation I've ever seen.

Not to mention the concept of purity; I just can't quite grasp it. What kind of logical leap does one take to arrive at that thought? Is the most corrupt path also the purest, or something? I don't know.

Oh, he was also involved in the creation of the Tree of Shadows. I admit, it seemed like an interesting idea, but it was simply abandoned, and I'm not sure what the point of it all was.

Although, to be honest, I'm a little too envious of how he stole the show during the God Fight. Ah, it's a shame. My only consolation is that the Hanged Man's Path mostly counters the Abyss.

We were at my church's headquarters in the Shadow World (r/ChurchOfAuroraOrder) to bless u/hlo2you_.

Due to the potential negative effects, we are the only ones here right now, not to mention that everyone in my church already knew I wouldn't be able to answer their prayers or enter the Shadow World for a while.

"Are you ready to receive my blessing?"

"Of course, oh my lord. I have summarized the principles of action for the other sequences in the chain during my time of silence."

"Perfect. After quite some time, I believe you have remained long enough to serve me and deserve to be rewarded with my blessing."

"It will be an honor to be blessed by you, my lord. I cannot thank you enough for granting me this honor and enduring the curse."

“Since the Hanged Man naturally bears the sins of my followers, I will face your curses as best I can.”

“My God, are you sure you can bear this? I don’t want to cause you this trouble just because of my desire to ascend…”

“Don’t worry, you can no longer continue down that path. Indulgence is what condemned you to fall into the abyss. to avoid becoming more corrupted, you must change course.”

“I will not let you down, and I will do everything I can to help you in whatever you need. Just speak, and I will listen.”

“I am glad to hear it. I expect great things from you. I made you my son so that you might find redemption by practicing temperance. Now you seem ready to receive my blessing, which will also purify your soul of all sin.”

“I cannot thank you enough! I was a stray sheep, but a merciful God came and forgave my sins. He bears the sins of the whole world and offers them redemption..."

"You only needed a shepherd to guide you on the right way, and I saw it in you. You needed a new beginning, and you will have it right now.

I place my hand on your head and recite

Look into my welcoming darkness Oh my child, for I have already redeemed you.

I love you with an everlasting love, and so I extend my kindness to you. I am always with you in your shadow; I will never leave you nor forsake you.

I know the plans I have for you, to give you a future and a hope.

So stretch out your hands and receive the grace of my blessing, while your madness and hatred corrupt my mind.

Let my flesh be stained with your darkness filled with evil and chaos, while my soul falls into the abyss.

I take your curse and bear your sins so that you may have a new beginning and live without sin or chains that bind you to your past.

Do not weep for the torment that now deforms my body, Oh my child, for sacrifice is my language. My purpose and my greatest glory.

Heal in my wound, strengthened in my fall, for I know suffering and know how to return, for pain is my crown and the abyss only my temporary bed.

Go in peace, bearer of my essence, while I remain in the shadows, trapped between madness and hatred, for soon I will ascend again.

"Praise be to you!

He who possesses countless secrets.

The embodiment of filth and the degeneration of all living beings.

The master of the shadow world u/Ezcu123!

I praise you!"

When my divine will touched your soul, I could feel your filth trying to contaminate me, your malice trying to exploit my desires, your source of curses trying to curse me.

But above all, I could feel the pain you carried because of your sins.

So you carried all this pain, but don't worry, because now I will carry your sins.

With With what little sanity I had left, I placed my hand on your cheek and dried your tears, comforting you as a mother comforts her child.

For now you have been reborn, free from sin, like a baby, for these tears are from one who has committed no sin and is pure before the world.

While rereading the novel, I noticed that this ability wasn't listed on the wiki nor had it been mentioned by CF. Did he forget it?

It was another peaceful day in the Shadow World. As I sipped my tea, I couldn't resist the temptation to watch my followers.

It's been a while since I've seen u/Crimson_Demoness. I wonder what adventures he's been up to.

*The shadows swirled, creating a window that allowed me to observe him.*

[Suddenly, I was confronted with the shocking sight of my follower inside the stomach of some creature, covered in fluids.](https://www.reddit.com/r/LordofTheMysteries/s/hB4gs5UFRJ)

What a... peculiar sight.

How did he end up in u/darkened_sage's basement? Seriously, putting himself in danger like that... he's being incredibly reckless, though I suppose it's inevitable for someone on the demoness path; getting into trouble is second nature to them.

As I continued watching, I saw him get into increasingly compromising situations; he was even caught by tentacles.

...I'm sure u/Big-Anxiety-2596 would enjoy watching this.

As I continued watching this little fanservice-filled adventure unfold, things seemed to get increasingly complicated.

I think I should intervene somehow.

However, before I could, I saw u/darkened_sage suddenly intervene and recruit him into his company.

Hmph, and they say I'm someone who monopolizes believers. Still, it'll be interesting to see how this all plays out.

Later, I learned that he had also received u/TechnicalKage's blessing.

I see my little lamb isn't wasting any time, considering his path... It seems like a rather fitting development.

Even so, this little sheep is quite unpredictable. Could it be that he's planning to contact all the gods?

I quickly closed the window to the physical world. I think I've had enough for a while.

I think I should make him visit my church more often, even if his path requires it; he's quite cheeky.

(This is a small experiment of mine to connect more with my believers. If you'd like to participate, you can send me a direct message 👌)

Chapter 11 -Fragments and Training-

Professor Rowan remained seated for a few moments after closing the notebook, his fingers idly tracing the worn leather cover as though debating where best to continue. At last, he rose from his chair and crossed to one of the cabinets lining the study. Unlocking it with another small silver key, he carefully withdrew a shallow wooden tray divided into several compartments. Resting within were neatly labeled bundles of dried herbs, small glass bottles filled with fragrant oils, polished gemstones, powdered minerals, and objects that appeared utterly mundane at first glance.

He placed the tray between us before speaking.

"Now that you understand who may safely receive a ritual, we must discuss how such rituals are properly constructed. One of the most common mistakes among inexperienced mystics is believing that a ritual consists solely of reciting an incantation. In reality, words are only one part of the process. Every ritual is built upon symbolism."

Picking up a dried sprig of mint, he held it delicately between his fingers.

"Everything placed upon an altar possesses meaning. The candles, the direction they face, the incense that burns, the objects offered, even the location where the ritual is performed—all of it contributes to establishing a symbolic connection with the existence you wish to reach. Mysticism is, in many respects, a language. Symbols are its vocabulary."

He set the mint back into the tray before selecting a small pouch tied with black cord. Loosening it, he allowed several dark tea leaves to spill into his palm. Their aroma was rich and earthy, carrying a faint bitterness that lingered in the air.

"Our Lord is no exception."

I instinctively sat a little straighter.

"Like every deity, the Sin-Bearing Hanged Man possesses preferences. These are not arbitrary demands born from vanity, nor do they somehow 'feed' Him in the literal sense, as some misguided occultists believe. Rather, they are symbols that resonate with His authority and establish a stronger mystical correspondence between the ritual and the divine realm."

He gestured toward the tray one item at a time.

"Black tea leaves are among the most commonly used offerings. They represent contemplation, endurance, and the quiet bearing of burdens—qualities deeply associated with our Lord's authority."

Next came the sprig of mint.

"Aromatic mint herbs symbolize clarity of mind amidst darkness. They remind us that even when surrounded by corruption, one's thoughts need not become corrupted as well."

Finally, he uncorked a tiny crystal vial, allowing the warm scent of cinnamon to drift into the room.

"Cinnamon extract is another favored offering. Its fragrance carries remarkable symbolic weight in ritualistic traditions predating even the Fourth Epoch. It represents perseverance through hardship and the warmth of hope carried into places where little warmth remains."

He returned each offering to its place before reaching beneath the desk. To my surprise, he produced a bottle of dark red wine and, wrapped neatly in cloth, a small loaf of garlic bread.

I blinked.

"...I don't think those were in any of Viel's books."

Professor Rowan chuckled softly.

"They rarely are. Mysticism is a living discipline. As our Lord has established His Church, certain correspondences have become recognized through repeated successful rituals."

He uncorked the wine and poured a small amount into a silver chalice resting nearby.

"Red wine is frequently offered during prayers of gratitude or requests for protection. It symbolizes both sacrifice and fellowship. To share wine is to acknowledge trust."

He then unwrapped the bread, breaking off a small piece before placing it upon a porcelain plate.

"As for garlic bread..." His expression became almost amused. "I confess that many new initiates react exactly as you just did."

"I was trying very hard not to stare."

"I noticed."

The Professor smiled before continuing. "Bread has always represented sustenance and hospitality. Garlic, meanwhile, has long been regarded in various mystical traditions as a ward against corruption and unseen evils. When the two are offered together, they symbolize shelter freely given to those who walk difficult roads. Our Lord has shown a particular affinity for that symbolism."

For a moment, I simply stared at the simple meal resting upon the altar.

It was strangely... ordinary.

No precious jewels.

No rivers of blood.

No impossible treasures gathered from ancient ruins.

Just tea. Herbs. Spices. Wine. Bread.

"I expected something..." I admitted, searching for the right word. "...more extravagant."

Professor Rowan laughed, the sound warm enough to fill the quiet study.

"So do many people. They assume the greater the existence, the greater the extravagance required to attract its attention. Fortunately, the hidden world is rarely so superficial."

His expression softened.

"The value of an offering lies far less in its monetary worth than in its symbolic correspondence. A wealthy nobleman offering a chest of gold that bears no relation to the ritual may achieve less than an ordinary priest offering a handful of tea leaves with sincere reverence."

He gently arranged the offerings into the center of the table, forming what looked less like a sacrifice and more like a humble afternoon tea.

"You will discover this is true of nearly every orthodox deity. Each possesses symbols that resonate with their authority, and those symbols shape the rituals performed in their honor. As you continue your studies, you will memorize the correspondences of all the orthodox Churches, not so that you may invoke them, but so that you may recognize them. A skilled Raven should be able to enter a room, glance at an altar, and determine who—or what—the ritualist intended to contact."

He looked at me with a faint smile.

"And sometimes, more importantly..."

"...whether they succeeded."

The room fell quiet again as I looked over the simple arrangement before us. It was remarkable how mundane it appeared, yet I now understood that each object carried a meaning invisible to anyone unfamiliar with the hidden world.

Mysticism, I was beginning to realize, was less about performing miracles...

...and more about learning to speak a language that reality itself understood.

Professor Rowan turned another page in the notebook before pausing.

"There is one final matter regarding ritualistic offerings that you should understand."

I looked up from my notes.

"You have already learned that every deity possesses preferred correspondences. The same is often true of Angels. While a ritual directed toward an Angel can certainly be performed using offerings associated with the Lord, establishing a stronger symbolic connection sometimes requires offerings that resonate more directly with that Angel's own authorities and history."

His finger came to rest beneath the name of the White and Blood Angel.

"The Lord's symbolic son possesses... rather unusual correspondences."

"...Because of the Abyss?"

Professor Rowan inclined his head.

"In part."

He folded his hands before continuing.

"Before coming under the Lord's protection, he walked the Path of the Abyss. Though he has long since sought redemption and faithfully serves the Church, traces of that history remain reflected in the symbolism surrounding him."

I felt my pen hesitate over the page.

"...What kind of offerings?"

"The remains of powerful supernatural creatures."

I blinked.

"...Remains?"

"Corpses, to be precise."

My expression must have changed because Professor Rowan gave a small, understanding smile.

"I expected that reaction."

He reached for another book and opened it to an illustrated bestiary.

"The bodies of Succubi, Gorgons, Fire Salamanders, Sphinxes, Weather Giants, Magma Elves, and Demonic Wolves are all known to possess a strong mystical correspondence with the White and Blood Angel."

The illustrations were impressive.

And more than a little unsettling.

Professor Rowan continued before I could ask the obvious question.

"...People actually use these in rituals?"

"Occasionally."

He closed the book.

"But not you."

His answer was immediate.

"Miss Veil, understand this clearly."

"The overwhelming majority of Ravens will never perform a ritual requiring such offerings."

He leaned back in his chair.

"These correspondences exist primarily for senior clergy, researchers of mysticism, or high-ranking Ravens conducting operations against exceptionally dangerous entities."

His expression became more serious.

"In practice, if you ever found yourself in possession of the corpse of a Sphinx..."

A faint smile crossed his face.

"...your first priority should be explaining to your Captain why you fought a Sphinx."

I couldn't help laughing.

"I suppose that's fair."

"The Church has no expectation that ordinary believers gather such offerings. They are simply documented correspondences, much like herbs, gemstones, or incense. Most exist solely to deepen one's understanding of mystical symbolism."

He tapped the notebook gently.

"It is knowledge."

"Not instruction."

I quietly wrote the list into my notebook anyway.

Seeing me finish writing, Professor Rowan smiled approvingly.

"Good."

"You needn't memorize every correspondence today."

"But someday..."

His gaze drifted toward the ritual circle in the center of the study.

"...recognizing the significance of an offering left upon an altar may tell you exactly who—or what—someone intended to contact."

I looked once more at the list.

The hidden world truly did have a language of its own.

And every lesson seemed to reveal just how much of it I still had to learn.

Professor Rowan allowed the silence to settle once more, giving me time to organize the whirlwind of information that had filled the better part of the morning. My notebook already contained several pages of hurried notes, hastily sketched ritual circles, and more underlined warnings than I cared to count. Seeing the state of it, the old scholar smiled to himself.

"I imagine your mind feels rather full."

"...That's one way to describe it."

He chuckled warmly.

"Good. Mysticism should never feel simple after one's first lesson. If it does, then either the teacher has failed... or the student has misunderstood."

Closing his own notebook, he rose from his chair and began returning various ritual components to their proper cabinets with practiced care.

"There is still much we have yet to cover. Spirit World navigation. Advanced ritual construction. Mystical correspondences between the pathways. The proper methods for identifying Sealed Artifacts. Spirit Vision. Anti-divination techniques. The signs of corruption and the earliest symptoms of losing control."

Each item was returned to its place with almost ritualistic precision.

"But those are lessons for another day."

He looked back toward me.

"A Beyonder who attempts to learn everything in a single sitting rarely remembers anything correctly."

I nodded, unable to disagree.

"Today's objective was considerably simpler."

He adjusted his spectacles.

"To ensure that when you leave this room, you possess enough knowledge to avoid making the sort of mistakes that kill most inexperienced mystics."

"...Comforting."

"It should be."

His smile widened ever so slightly.

"You are still alive."

I couldn't argue with that logic.

Professor Rowan extinguished the final candle upon his desk before gathering several of the books we'd referenced throughout the lesson.

"Your homework."

He slid three volumes toward me.

The first was an introductory text detailing the basic principles of ritualistic magic.

The second catalogued common mystical herbs, minerals, and their symbolic meanings.

The third was considerably thinner.

Prayers and Liturgies of the Aurora Order.

"You are not expected to memorize these by tomorrow," he said.

"I am expected to read them?"

"You are expected to begin."

He looked almost amused.

"The difference is significant."

Balancing the books beneath one arm, I rose from my chair.

"Thank you... Professor."

He inclined his head.

"You've done well today."

The compliment caught me slightly off guard.

"I have?"

"You asked questions."

He smiled.

"The students who concern me are never the ones asking questions."

"They are the ones convinced they already know the answers."

The quiet halls of the cathedral felt strangely different as we walked back toward the Umbral Ravens' headquarters.

Perhaps it was simply because I now understood a little more of what surrounded me.

The prayer halls above.

The Gate of Shadows hidden far below.

The sealed artifacts sleeping beneath layers of stone.

The angels whose names I had only just learned.

The entire cathedral had transformed in my mind.

It was no longer merely a church.

It was a fortress standing between humanity and the darkness.

As we descended the final staircase, the familiar murmur of conversation drifted through the headquarters once more.

Aldren was, unsurprisingly, in the middle of telling a story.

"...and then she had the audacity to say it was my fault."

Lydia didn't even look up from the paperwork she was signing.

"It was."

"I hadn't even reached the important part yet."

"I've heard the important part."

Professor Rowan quietly walked past the exchange.

"Our lesson has concluded."

Captain Ashcroft looked up from his desk.

"So soon?"

"For today."

The Captain nodded before closing the ledger he had been reviewing.

"Excellent."

His attention shifted toward me.

"Miss Veil, if you would come here for a moment."

The Captain's office occupied one corner of the headquarters, separated from the main room by a pair of heavy oak doors that had been left open throughout the morning. Unlike Professor Rowan's study, it was practical rather than scholarly. Maps covered one wall, each marked with colored pins and handwritten annotations. Shelves held neatly organized case files instead of ancient tomes, while a large iron safe stood against the far wall beside a locked cabinet that I suspected contained more than paperwork.

Captain Ashcroft gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.

"I won't keep you long."

Once I had taken my seat, he opened one of the drawers and withdrew a thick envelope sealed with the silver crest of the Church.

"I've already spoken with the cathedral's bursar."

He broke the wax seal and slid the envelope toward me.

"Ordinarily, Ravens receive their wages every Friday."

I looked at the envelope but made no move to pick it up.

"However..."

His expression softened.

"...your circumstances are somewhat unique."

He didn't need to explain.

Everything I owned fit inside the small room the Church had given me.

The clothes I'd arrived in weren't even mine.

"You've awakened in a new life with no savings, no employment, and no practical means of supporting yourself outside the Church."

He folded his hands.

"Under those circumstances, the Bishop has authorized an advance."

I carefully opened the envelope.

Inside rested a tidy stack of bank notes and several neatly wrapped rolls of coins.

"For the next three weeks," Captain Ashcroft explained, "your salary has been paid in advance."

I did the calculation in my head.

Four Louis d’or, Ten Verl d’or...

Three weeks…

Twelve Louis d’or

Forty Verl d’or

It was more money than I had ever held at one time.

I stared at it in silence.

"...This is..."

"A loan?"

Captain Ashcroft smiled.

"No."

"A gift?"

"No."

He shook his head.

"It is simply your wages."

He leaned back in his chair.

"The Church takes care of its own."

I looked down at the money again.

It wasn't merely the amount.

It was what it represented.

For the first time since waking in this world...

I had something resembling stability.

Somewhere to sleep.

Food to eat. People who expected me to return tomorrow. Employment. Purpose. My throat tightened unexpectedly.

"...Thank you."

Captain Ashcroft smiled.

"Spend it wisely."

Aldren's voice immediately carried in from outside the office.

"And don't let Lydia take you shopping."

"I heard that!"

"You were supposed to!"

Captain Ashcroft sighed.

"...On second thought..."

He looked toward the door.

"...perhaps let Lydia take you shopping."

Once we returned to the main headquarters, Captain Ashcroft unlocked the tall iron cabinet standing beside his office.

Unlike the safe, this one was lined with velvet rather than steel.

Several identical black leather cases rested neatly upon its shelves.

Each bore a small silver plaque engraved with a Raven's name.

Captain Ashcroft removed the only empty case before placing it gently upon the central table.

"This," he said, resting one hand upon the lid, "is issued to every Umbral Raven."

Even Aldren lowered his newspaper.

Lydia set aside her pen.

Roland looked up from cleaning his own revolver.

For the first time since I'd met them...

The room had become completely quiet.

Captain Ashcroft undid the brass clasps.

With a soft click...

The case opened.

Inside, resting upon black velvet, lay a polished silver badge, a beautifully maintained service revolver, a sealed ammunition case bearing the Church's crest, and a carefully folded black uniform embroidered with the silver raven upon its inner lining.

Captain Ashcroft looked at me with quiet pride.

"Miss Veil..."

"These are the tools of an Umbral Raven."

He gently lifted the silver badge first.

"And today..."

"They become yours."

Captain Ashcroft carefully lifted the silver badge from its velvet-lined compartment. It was heavier than I had expected when he placed it in my hand, its weight carrying far more significance than the polished silver alone could account for. The raven engraved upon its face spread its wings before a crescent moon, each feather carved with astonishing precision. Around the edge ran the words Church of the Aurora Order – Umbral Ravens, while the reverse bore a much simpler inscription.

Probationary Investigator

Veil

For several quiet moments, I simply stared at it.

"It doesn't seem like much," Captain Ashcroft said, noticing the way my thumb traced the engraved lettering. "But to members of the Church, this badge represents years of trust. It identifies you as one of our own, grants you authority to investigate incidents involving the supernatural, and serves as proof of your office should you ever require assistance from local clergy or law enforcement."

Professor Rowan stepped beside him, adjusting his spectacles as he examined the badge in my hand. "It is also engraved with several minor ritual arrays," he added. "Nothing powerful enough to be considered a Beyonder artifact, but sufficient to resist weak spiritual interference. It will not save your life against a Devil, but it may prevent a lesser spirit from clouding your thoughts or disguising itself while you're carrying it."

Captain Ashcroft nodded in agreement. "Treat it with the same care you would your revolver. If you ever lose it, report the loss immediately. We would much rather spend a week searching for a misplaced badge than discover it in the possession of someone who shouldn't have it."

"I understand."

"I know you do."

Satisfied, he gestured toward the second compartment of the case. Nestled within black velvet rested a revolver that immediately caught the light. Unlike the worn civilian firearm I had purchased only days earlier, this weapon had clearly been crafted specifically for the Church. The frame was forged from deep blued steel polished to a mirror sheen, while delicate silver engravings wound their way along the barrel and cylinder in the form of intertwining ravens disappearing into shadows. The grip was dark walnut, fitted perfectly to the hand, with the Church's crest carved subtly into its base.

Captain Ashcroft lifted it with practiced familiarity before offering it to me grip-first. "Your service revolver."

I accepted it carefully.

The moment it settled into my hand, I understood why Roland had insisted balance mattered so much. It wasn't especially heavy, nor particularly light. The weight rested naturally between my wrist and forearm, making the weapon feel almost like an extension of my arm rather than something I merely carried. Instinctively, I checked that the cylinder was empty before looking it over more closely.

Roland gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Good."

I looked up.

"You checked it."

"I did."

His expression remained as unreadable as ever. "Every time."

Professor Rowan smiled faintly. "A habit every Raven is expected to develop."

Captain Ashcroft folded his arms. "Assume every firearm is loaded until you've personally verified otherwise. Then verify it a second time if you've been distracted. Complacency has claimed more Ravens than faulty weapons ever have."

I nodded seriously before opening the cylinder once more, counting each empty chamber despite having already seen they were clear.

Roland's approval was subtle, but unmistakable.

"Better."

Captain Ashcroft reached into the case once more and withdrew a small black metal ammunition box. Unlike the revolver, this one bore a bright red wax seal stamped with the raven insignia. Breaking it carefully, he opened the lid to reveal six gleaming cartridges resting in individual velvet slots. At first glance they appeared identical to ordinary revolver rounds, but looking closer I noticed impossibly fine silver engravings covering each bullet from tip to casing. Tiny runes spiraled around the metal in patterns so intricate they were almost invisible.

"Demon Hunting Bullets," Professor Rowan said quietly. "Each one is handcrafted by artificers of the Church. The silver is ritually purified, the powder specially prepared, and every engraving carved by hand before being blessed beneath the Gate of Shadows."

Captain Ashcroft lifted one carefully between two fingers. "Against an ordinary criminal, these perform little better than conventional ammunition. Against creatures of the supernatural..." He paused briefly. "...the difference can mean survival."

He placed the cartridge back into its slot before closing the box.

"You are being issued six rounds today. You will carry them whenever you are on duty. However, you are not to use them unless ordered by a senior Raven or unless your life—or the life of another—is in immediate danger. These are difficult to manufacture and cannot simply be purchased."

"I understand."

"I know." His expression softened. "I'm telling you because every new Raven feels tempted to rely on them. Don't. Your greatest weapon is still your judgment."

Finally, Lydia unfolded the neatly pressed uniform and held it up for me to see properly. It was elegant without being ostentatious. A long black coat tailored for freedom of movement fell nearly to the knees, its interior lined with deep violet silk embroidered with subtle protective patterns. Beneath it rested a fitted waistcoat, crisp white shirt, black trousers reinforced at the knees, polished leather boots, gloves, and a shoulder holster designed specifically for the Church-issued revolver. Countless hidden pockets had been sewn into the lining, each positioned for ammunition, ritual materials, notebooks, chalk, silver powder, and other tools a Raven might need in the field.

"We try to avoid looking like soldiers," Lydia explained as she brushed an imaginary speck of dust from one sleeve. "People are far more willing to speak with investigators than armed patrols. Besides, the coat hides most of your equipment without restricting movement."

"It looks..." I searched for the right word as I ran my fingers across the fabric. "...expensive."

"It is," Aldren answered from across the room. "Which is why Roland nearly had a heart attack when I tore my first one climbing over a cemetery wall."

"I did not."

"You sighed!"

"...I did."

I saw his eye twitch and even listening to the teasing made me want to slug the man again even if it wasn't directed at me. 

Lydia laughed. "For Roland, that's practically screaming."

Captain Ashcroft looked toward me with an amused smile. "There are changing rooms just beyond the armory. Put it on. Once you've returned, we'll see how everything fits."

A few minutes later, I stood before the full-length mirror inside the changing room, fastening the final button of the waistcoat.

The uniform fit remarkably well.

The coat rested comfortably across my shoulders without feeling restrictive, while the trousers and boots allowed far more freedom of movement than I had expected. The revolver settled naturally into the shoulder holster beneath my left arm, hidden almost completely once I pulled the coat closed.

For a long moment...

I simply looked at my reflection.

Only this morning, I had been a frightened stranger wearing borrowed clothes.

Now...

A silver badge rested against my chest.

A Church-issued revolver hung beneath my arm.

The black coat of the Umbral Ravens draped across my shoulders.

It still felt unreal. The face staring back from the mirror wasn't mine. Not originally.

Yet...slowly...The woman reflected in the glass no longer looked like a stranger pretending to wear someone else's uniform. She looked like someone trying to grow into it. Taking a slow breath, I adjusted the badge one final time before opening the door. When I stepped back into headquarters, conversation paused almost immediately.

Lydia smiled first.

"Looks like it was made for you."

Aldren nodded thoughtfully.

“Still a bit short though”

I barely held myself back from walking forward and knocking the amused grin off of his face, then I paused as the idea caught up to me.

I sighed in frustration

“I'm not that short though…”

I whispered under my breath

My inner thoughts were interrupted when he started to speak again. 

"I give it... three days before she starts standing like Roland."

Roland looked up from cleaning his own revolver.

"...Your posture is acceptable."

Lydia burst into laughter.

"There it is."

I frowned.

"...What?"

She grinned.

"That was Roland's version of a compliment."

A faint warmth spread across my cheeks.

Captain Ashcroft allowed the moment to pass before reaching for his own coat.

"Excellent."

He checked the pocket watch hanging from his vest before snapping it shut.

"There's one last thing to do before lunch."

He looked toward Roland.

"Our newest Raven has a revolver."

Roland stood, holstering his own weapon in one smooth motion.

"Now she learns to use it."

Without another word, he turned toward a heavy iron door at the rear of headquarters, retrieving a ring of keys from his belt.

Captain Ashcroft smiled as he gestured for me to follow.

"The firing range lies beneath the eastern courtyard. It's where every Raven fires their first shot."

As the iron door swung open, a cool draft drifted up from the stone staircase descending into the darkness below.

I tightened my grip on the revolver case tucked beneath my arm.

It seemed...

My first practical lesson as an Umbral Raven was about to begin.

-End-

------

Art made by VirendraBhai on reddit

End of another chapter! Once again a BIG thanks to u/Ezcu123 for details and some of the rituals mention! Another thanks shall be given to u/Straight_Painter_846 for being kind enough to give me some details related to him as well to add! Of course like last time I added few details of my own to flesh certain parts out so if I got anything wrong it if anything needs correcting please let me know! Thank you everyone for all the support you have given thus far!

Praise the Hanged Man!

Chapter 10 -Fragments and Studies-

The conversation gradually dissolved into dozens of smaller ones.

Lydia returned to sorting through the reports that had accumulated upon her desk overnight, occasionally muttering under her breath whenever she found an improperly completed form. Aldren wandered back toward the fireplace with a fresh cup of coffee in one hand and his newspaper tucked beneath the other arm, somehow managing to appear both completely relaxed and perpetually ready to start another conversation. Roland disappeared so quietly that I didn't even notice him leave until the chair he had occupied sat empty once more.

The headquarters settled back into its natural rhythm.

It struck me that this was probably what it looked like every morning.

Investigations waiting to be assigned.

Reports needing to be filed.

Coffee growing cold while someone inevitably became distracted by work.

Despite everything I now knew about the hidden world, the room retained an almost ordinary atmosphere.

Perhaps that was precisely why the Umbral Ravens were able to endure it.

If every day felt like the end of the world, no one would survive very long.

A stack of papers sliding across the table pulled me from my thoughts.

Captain Ashcroft had placed a leather folder before me.

Unlike the documents detailing my schedule, this one bore the silver raven emblem embossed into the cover, surrounded by a thin ring of intricate runic markings that shimmered faintly whenever the light caught them.

"This," he said calmly, "is the final formality."

I rested a hand upon the folder but didn't open it immediately.

"...A contract?"

"In more ways than one."

The Captain folded his hands together.

"Every member of the Umbral Ravens signs one before beginning their service."

"It serves as both a legal agreement recognized by the Kingdom and a binding covenant with the Church."

His tone remained even, though the weight behind his words was unmistakable.

"It outlines your duties, your rights, the protections afforded to you by the Church, and the obligations expected of every Raven."

He smiled faintly.

"It is also considerably less intimidating than it sounds."

Lydia looked up from her paperwork.

"That's debatable."

Aldren nodded solemnly.

"There are several very frightening paragraphs regarding paperwork."

"The paperwork exists because of you."

"I maintain that incident was greatly exaggerated."

"You accidentally submitted an investigation report written on the back of a grocery list."

"It contained all the relevant information."

"It also contained your shopping!"

Aldren considered that.

"...The Captain did ask for complete documentation."

A quiet ripple of laughter spread through the headquarters.

Even Roland, who had somehow reappeared without my noticing, allowed the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Captain Ashcroft waited patiently for the conversation to settle before gently opening the folder.

Inside rested several neatly written pages, each bearing both the Church's seal and that of the Kingdom.

He turned the first page toward me.

"I'll summarize the important sections."

His finger rested near the top of the document.

"First, your employment."

"As of today's date, you enter the service of the Church of the Aurora Order as a Probationary Umbral Raven. You are entitled to the compensation we discussed earlier, lodging within Church grounds should you choose to remain here, medical treatment, and instruction necessary for your duties."

I nodded slowly.

Nothing unexpected so far.

"The second section concerns confidentiality."

His expression became more serious.

"The existence of Beyonders, Sealed Artifacts, mystical investigations, and the operations of the Umbral Ravens are not to be disclosed to ordinary citizens except under direct authorization from the Church."

I found myself unsurprised.

If people knew even a fraction of what I'd learned over the past two days...

Panic would spread quickly.

Captain Ashcroft continued.

"The third concerns loyalty."

"You are not a soldier."

"You are not a prisoner."

His blue eyes met mine.

"If, one day, you choose to leave the Umbral Ravens, the Church will not chain you here."

That caught me off guard.

"...Really?"

"We ask for commitment."

He spoke with quiet certainty.

"Not captivity."

"You may resign your commission provided you surrender Church property, fulfill any outstanding obligations, and continue to honor your oath of secrecy."

Somehow...

That answer earned more of my respect than if resignation had been forbidden.

He trusted loyalty freely given.

Not loyalty demanded.

"The final section," he continued, "is perhaps the most important."

He turned to the last page.

There, beneath several lines of carefully written text, rested a blank space awaiting a signature.

At the very bottom was the silver raven crest.

"The oath."

Without realizing it, I began reading aloud.

"I swear, before the Eternal Light of Aurora, that I shall use the knowledge entrusted to me in defense of humanity."

My voice echoed softly through the headquarters.

"That I shall neither seek corruption nor willingly spread it."

The room had grown completely silent.

"That I shall guard the secrets placed in my care."

"That I shall stand beside my fellow Ravens in times of darkness."

"And that so long as I bear these wings..."

I paused.

"...I shall not abandon those who cannot protect themselves."

Silence lingered after the final words.

No one rushed me.

No one urged me to sign.

The decision remained entirely mine.

For a long moment, I simply stared at the blank line awaiting my name.

A single signature. Such an ordinary thing. Yet it marked the end of one life...and the true beginning of another. Slowly, Captain Ashcroft uncapped a fountain pen and laid it beside the document.

“Whenever you're ready."

I reached for it. The polished metal felt cool against my fingertips. For just a moment...an image surfaced unbidden. My old apartment. My family. Friends whose faces I could still remember, though their voices already seemed strangely distant. A world I would almost certainly never see again. My chest tightened.

"...Goodbye."

The word escaped as little more than a whisper.

Not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

One final farewell.

To the man I had been.

Then I lowered the pen.

With careful strokes, I signed the name that now belonged to me.

Veil.

The ink glistened for only a moment before soaking into the parchment. Captain Ashcroft gently closed the folder.

"Then allow me to say it once more."

A warm smile crossed his face.

"Welcome to the Umbral Ravens."

For the first time...

Hearing those words no longer felt like someone speaking to a stranger.

They felt like they were speaking to me.

Professor Rowan quietly cleared his throat before stepping away from the bookshelves.

"If our administrative affairs have concluded..."

He glanced toward the brass clock hanging upon the wall.

"...then I believe your first lesson is already five minutes late."

Aldren leaned back in his chair.

"He's timing you already."

"The pursuit of knowledge waits for no one," the Professor replied without missing a beat.

Lydia smirked.

"It also explains why he hasn't had a warm cup of tea in twenty years."

Professor Rowan looked down at the cup sitting forgotten on the corner of his desk.

"...Curious."

He lifted it.

"...When did this become cold?"

The headquarters erupted into quiet laughter.

The old scholar merely sighed.

"I suppose another pot will have to wait."

He turned toward me, adjusting his spectacles.

"Come along, Miss Veil."

"I imagine you have a great many questions."

I rose from my chair almost instinctively.

"I do."

"I suspected as much."

Together, we left the warmth of the headquarters behind, stepping into one of the quieter corridors branching away from the central hall. The sounds of conversation and laughter gradually faded with every step, replaced once again by the peaceful silence of the cathedral.

Professor Rowan walked with unhurried confidence, his hands folded neatly behind his back as he guided me deeper into the Church.

"We won't be using the library today," he said after several moments.

"We won't?"

"No."

A faint smile appeared beneath his neatly trimmed beard.

"My study is better suited for first lessons."

I couldn't help but feel a spark of curiosity.

"What makes it different?"

He glanced back over his shoulder.

"It contains fewer books that have attempted to bite people."

I blinked.

"...I'm sorry?"

"You'll understand soon enough."

He continued walking as though he'd said something perfectly ordinary.

I hurried after him, suddenly much less certain what exactly qualified as "ordinary" anymore.

Far ahead, at the end of the corridor, an old oak door came into view.

Unlike the others throughout the cathedral, this one bore no symbol of the Church.

Only a simple brass plaque.

Professor Alistair Rowan
Master of Mysticism

The Professor reached into his robes, produced a small silver key, and unlocked the door.

As it slowly swung inward, the unmistakable scent of old paper, candle wax, herbs, and something faintly metallic drifted out to meet us. The title and room seemed far more impressive than I expected.

For just an instant, I caught sight of towering bookshelves, ritual circles painted into the wooden floor, strange instruments of brass and crystal...

...and hundreds upon hundreds of books.

Professor Rowan smiled.

"Welcome, Miss Veil."

"To where your real education begins."

-
Professor Rowan stepped inside first, waiting patiently while I followed him into the study.

The door clicked shut behind us with a soft metallic sound, muffling what little noise had followed us from the headquarters. The room immediately felt different from the rest of the cathedral. It wasn't merely quieter.

It was... older.

Years of careful study seemed to have seeped into every corner.

Towering bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, each one packed so tightly that several shelves had begun accommodating horizontal stacks atop the vertical ones. Some books appeared centuries old, their leather bindings cracked with age and their pages yellowed by time. Others looked comparatively recent, though many were filled with handwritten notes protruding from between the pages.

Not every shelf contained books.

Several displayed carefully labeled jars containing dried herbs whose names I didn't recognize. Others held crystal vials filled with powders of every imaginable color. A collection of polished gemstones occupied one cabinet, each resting upon black velvet beneath a tiny handwritten card explaining its origin.

Against one wall stood a glass display case containing what appeared to be ritual implements.

Silver daggers.

Bronze bells.

Bundles of incense.

Small mirrors framed with intricate engravings.

Crystal pendulums suspended from delicate chains.

A dozen objects whose purpose I couldn't even begin to guess.

Yet despite the sheer number of mystical items filling the room, nothing felt cluttered.

Everything had its place.

Everything had been arranged with deliberate care.

The center of the room remained almost entirely empty.

The polished wooden floor had been cleared except for a large ritual circle painstakingly painted into the wood itself. Silver lines intertwined with dark blue ink, forming geometric patterns so intricate that simply trying to follow one line caused my eyes to lose track of where it began.

Instinctively, I looked away.

Professor Rowan noticed.

"An excellent instinct."

He closed the door behind us before setting his worn leather satchel upon a nearby table.

"The first lesson every mystic learns is that not everything benefits from prolonged observation."

He walked toward the ritual circle, stopping just outside its edge.

"Many symbols possess meaning."

His eyes remained on the silver lines beneath his feet.

"Some meanings are merely philosophical."

He gestured toward one of the smaller markings.

"Others..."

His voice grew noticeably quieter.

"...answer when observed."

A slight chill crept across my skin.

I remembered the strange map hanging in the Ravens' headquarters.

The one whose symbols had seemed to shift whenever I looked away.

"...The map downstairs."

Professor Rowan smiled without looking up.

"I wondered whether you had noticed."

"So I wasn't imagining it."

"No."

He folded his hands behind his back.

"You have become a Beyonder. Your spirituality has awakened. You now perceive fragments of the world that ordinary people overlook."

He finally looked at me.

"That gift is both a blessing and an extraordinary burden."

I remained silent.

Something about the way he spoke made it difficult to interrupt.

"The greatest mistake new Beyonders make," he continued, "is believing that heightened perception is equivalent to understanding."

He walked toward one of the bookshelves, retrieving a small brass box no larger than his hand.

"In truth..."

He placed it gently upon the table between us.

"...it is rather like handing a child the key to a vast library."

The lid clicked open.

Inside rested an ordinary river stone.

Gray.

Smooth.

Unremarkable.

I frowned.

"...A rock?"

"A river stone."

He corrected me pleasantly.

"It has never been enchanted."

"It contains no spirituality."

"It possesses no mystical properties whatsoever."

He picked it up between two fingers before placing it into my palm.

"Tell me what you perceive."

I stared at the stone.

At first…nothing. It was cool against my skin. Slightly rough in places. Its weight was reassuringly mundane.

"I don't..."

I hesitated.

"...I don't think I sense anything."

Professor Rowan nodded approvingly.

"Good."

I looked up in surprise.

"Good?"

"Very."

He smiled.

"You've just passed your first lesson."

I blinked.

"...By doing nothing?"

"By refusing to invent something that wasn't there."

He gently took the stone back and returned it to the box.

"You would be astonished how many aspiring mystics convince themselves they perceive invisible energies simply because they believe they ought to."

His expression became thoughtful.

"The hidden world is dangerous enough without adding imagination to it."

That...made sense.

More sense than I'd expected.

Professor Rowan folded his hands once more.

"Remember this well, Miss Veil."

"A true mystic does not begin by believing everything."

"He begins by doubting everything."

The sentence lingered in the quiet study.

"Even yourself?"

I asked.

The Professor's smile widened.

"Especially yourself."

He walked slowly toward one of the tall windows overlooking the cathedral gardens, sunlight filtering through the stained glass and casting soft patterns across the wooden floor.

"For every genuine miracle, there exist a hundred misunderstandings."

"For every authentic revelation..."

He glanced back toward me.

"...there are a thousand delusions."

His expression grew solemn.

"And delusion has killed more Beyonders than monsters ever have."

A silence settled between us. Not an uncomfortable silence. The sort that invited thought.

After several moments, Professor Rowan returned to the table and pulled out two chairs.

"Sit."

I did.

He settled opposite me before reaching into one of the desk drawers.

When his hand emerged, it carried a simple leather notebook and a fountain pen.

He slid both across the polished wood.

"They're yours."

I looked down at them.

"...For class?"

"For your life."

He leaned back slightly.

"Every Raven keeps a journal."

"Every observation."

"Every ritual."

"Every unusual dream."

"Every strange encounter."

He tapped the cover gently.

"Your memory will fail you."

"The written word rarely does."

I ran my fingers across the notebook's smooth leather cover.

It was plain.

Unadorned.

Yet somehow...

It felt important.

"This notebook," Professor Rowan said quietly, "will become one of the most valuable tools you own."

I looked back up.

"More valuable than a revolver?"

He chuckled softly.

"A revolver may save your life once."

His eyes twinkled behind his spectacles.

"A carefully kept journal may save it dozens of times."

He rested both forearms upon the desk.

"Now then..."

"For your first actual lesson."

He folded his hands together.

"Tell me."

His voice became almost conversational.

"What do you believe mysticism is?"

The question was identical to the one he'd asked downstairs.

Yet somehow...

Now that we sat alone in his study...

Surrounded by books collected over a lifetime...

It felt like an entirely different question.

-
I nodded slowly, turning the professor's question over in my mind before finally answering.

"...I think mysticism is... trying to understand the hidden side of the world."

Professor Rowan smiled, though he didn't immediately respond.

"That is how most beginners answer."

His fingers folded neatly together atop the desk.

"And it is not wrong."

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the countless books lining the walls around us.

"But it is incomplete."

The study fell quiet once more.

"Mysticism is not simply the study of the hidden."

"It is the study of laws."

He raised a finger.

"Every Beyonder pathway follows laws."

"Every ritual follows laws."

"The Spirit World follows laws."

"The corruption brought by the cosmos follows laws."

His expression became more serious.

"Even the gods themselves are not free from them."

That sentence caught my attention.

"...The gods?"

He nodded.

"You have joined the Church of the Aurora Order. Naturally, much of your education will involve understanding the blessings our Lord has bestowed upon us."

He stood, walking toward one of the bookshelves before retrieving a rolled parchment secured by a black ribbon.

Returning to the desk, he carefully unfurled it.

The parchment depicted an intricate architectural drawing of the cathedral.

Beneath it...

Another structure.

Far larger than anything visible above ground.

Except...

It wasn't entirely beneath the cathedral.

The deeper the illustration descended, the stranger it became. Hallways no longer obeyed ordinary geometry. Staircases bent at impossible angles before fading into an expanse of black ink that swallowed the remainder of the page.

I frowned.

"...This doesn't look like the cathedral."

"It doesn't."

Professor Rowan gently rested a hand upon the parchment.

"It is merely the portion that can be represented with ordinary ink."

He tapped the black expanse.

"The remainder lies elsewhere."

"...Elsewhere?"

"The Shadow World."

The words settled heavily within the room.

I had heard the term before.

Only in passing.

Never explained.

Professor Rowan noticed the curiosity on my face.

"I imagine you've heard references to the Spirit World."

I nodded.

"A little."

"The Shadow World is... different."

He spoke carefully, choosing each word with obvious precision.

"It is not merely another layer of reality."

"It is the divine domain of our Lord."

His finger traced one of the black lines descending beneath the cathedral.

"Every cathedral belonging to the Aurora Order possesses something known as a Gate of Shadows."

I blinked.

"...Every one?"

"Every one."

His expression remained calm.

"Beneath each church rests a sacred seal."

"It anchors that church to the Shadow World."

I stared at the drawing.

"...A connection..."

"Precisely."

He smiled approvingly.

"Our Lord, in His wisdom, established a means by which every church could draw upon the protection of His divine realm."

He allowed me another moment to study the diagram before continuing.

"However..."

"No connection between worlds exists without cost."

He reached for another parchment.

This one contained what appeared to be dozens of concentric circles surrounding a single dark symbol.

"The Gate is not sustained by machinery."

"Nor by Beyonders."

"It is strengthened by faith."

"...Faith?"

"The sincere prayers of the faithful."

He looked at me over the rim of his spectacles.

"Every heartfelt prayer offered within one of our churches reinforces the seal."

"Every act of genuine devotion strengthens the connection between our world and the Shadow World."

He folded his hands once more.

"This is why cathedrals located within great cities possess remarkably stable Gates."

"There are many believers."

"Many prayers."

"Many souls placing their trust in the Lord."

His expression became thoughtful.

"A lonely chapel standing in an isolated mountain village..."

He shook his head gently.

"...cannot call upon the same strength."

"So the seals differ?"

"They do."

"The weaker the congregation..."

"...the weaker the Gate."

I found myself thinking back to Earth.

Churches had always seemed like places of worship.

Community.

History.

Here...

They were something more.

They were foundations supporting an invisible structure spanning an entire kingdom.

Professor Rowan watched my understanding slowly take shape.

"I see the idea is settling."

"A little."

I admitted it honestly.

"It still feels..."

I searched for the proper word.

"...enormous."

"It is."

He smiled.

"That feeling never entirely disappears."

He rolled the first parchment away before retrieving another.

Unlike the previous drawings, this one had clearly been created by an artist rather than an architect.

At its center stood an indistinct humanoid silhouette composed entirely of shifting darkness.

Its outline constantly dissolved into smoke before reforming again.

Several notes surrounded the image.

None of them were reassuring.

"This," Professor Rowan said quietly, "is another consequence of the Gate."

I studied the illustration.

"...What is it?"

"The faithful know confession as a means of seeking forgiveness."

He folded his hands behind his back.

"But confession also serves another purpose."

His voice became noticeably quieter.

"When sincere sins are laid bare before the Lord..."

"...they do not simply vanish."

A faint chill crept across my spine.

"They are drawn toward the Gate."

I looked back at the parchment.

"...Drawn?"

"They accumulate."

"Not as corruption."

"Nor as evil."

"But as something... transformed."

He tapped the illustration.

"Eventually."

"They become guardians."

My eyes widened slightly.

"The shadows born from confessed sin."

"They exist solely to defend the Gate entrusted to them."

He paused.

"The greater the weight of humanity's repentance..."

"...the stronger those guardians become."

I remembered what Captain Ashcroft had said downstairs.

Not everything within the Church was as gentle as it appeared.

"...Do they attack people?"

"They attack intruders."

Professor Rowan corrected gently.

"Anyone attempting to violate the Gate without possessing the Lord's blessing."

He hesitated only briefly.

"To those carrying the Lord's Aura..."

"They remain entirely docile."

"The Lord's Aura?"

He nodded.

"A sacred mark bestowed through ritual."

"It is granted only to trusted servants of the Church."

"The Umbral Ravens."

"The higher clergy."

"Those whose duties require them to pass safely through places ordinary priests should never tread."

“It functions similarly to Chanis Gate of the Evernight church, in keeping items held safely” 

I couldn't help asking.

"...Will I receive it?"

Professor Rowan smiled.

"In time."

"Not today."

"The ritual is only performed once your instructors are satisfied that you understand the responsibility accompanying it."

He adjusted his spectacles.

"It is not merely permission."

"It is trust."

The Professor walked toward one of the windows overlooking the cathedral grounds.

"Tell me, Miss Veil."

"What do you believe happens to Sealed Artifacts once the Church recovers them?"

I thought for a moment.

"...They're locked away?"

"A practical answer."

He inclined his head.

"And true."

"But not the complete truth."

He gestured toward the floor beneath us.

"Many of the artifacts recovered by the Umbral Ravens eventually find their way beneath churches such as this one."

I frowned.

"...Here?"

"Not immediately beneath our feet."

His smile returned.

"Far deeper."

"Within chambers surrounding the Gate itself."

"The influence of the Shadow World suppresses them."

"Some only slightly."

"Others almost completely."

"The stronger the Gate..."

"...the greater the suppression."

He allowed that statement to settle before continuing.

"This suppression extends beyond artifacts."

"If a dangerous Beyonder must be imprisoned temporarily..."

"...they too may be confined within those chambers."

I blinked.

"The Gate suppresses Beyonders?"

"It suppresses many supernatural phenomena."

He looked directly at me.

"But there is a price."

"The Shadow World's influence is not gentle."

His expression grew solemn.

"Those who enter without the Lord's Aura gradually find their souls corroded."

"Their minds begin to fracture."

"Their bodies slowly reject the world around them."

He spoke with absolute certainty.

Not fear.

Experience.

"Even among those protected by the Aura..."

"We limit unnecessary exposure."

I felt the weight of those words.

There was an entire prison...

An entire vault...

Hidden beneath the cathedral.

And I had slept only a few floors above it.

Professor Rowan let the silence linger before speaking once more.

"There remains one final purpose for the Gate."

He looked toward the impossible darkness depicted on the architectural plans.

"It is, quite literally..."

"...a gate."

He smiled faintly at the obviousness of the statement.

"When conditions permit..."

"The Gate may be opened."

"Not merely as a seal."

"But as a passage."

I leaned forward unconsciously.

"A passage... into the Shadow World?"

"Exactly."

"The main cathedral of our faith lies within our Lord's divine realm."

His eyes reflected something approaching reverence.

"On rare occasions."

"When sufficient spirituality is gathered."

"When the seal is stable."

"When the Church has need."

"The faithful may pass through."

He paused.

"The stronger the Gate..."

"...the more people may safely cross."

"A weaker Gate demands greater spirituality from those entering."

"And should someone attempt to force more travelers through than the seal can sustain..."

He shook his head.

"The strain alone could shatter it."

The implications slowly settled over me.

Every cathedral...

Every church...

Every humble chapel...

Was not merely a place of worship.

It was a fortress.

A vault.

A prison.

And...

Potentially...

A doorway into the domain of a god.

Professor Rowan carefully rolled the parchments closed before placing them back inside their protective case.

He looked at me with a faint smile.

"Now, Miss Veil..."

"I believe that is enough theology and architecture for one morning."

He chuckled softly.

"Our next lesson..."

His eyes drifted toward the ritual circle in the center of the room.

"...will be considerably more practical."

A hint of anticipation stirred within me.

For the first time since entering his study...

I had the distinct feeling that class was about to become much more interesting.

--
Professor Rowan carefully rolled a parchment shut before returning it to its place upon the shelf. Rather than immediately retrieving another document, he walked toward one of the windows overlooking the cathedral gardens. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass, painting shifting patches of violet and gold across the floor between us. He remained silent for several moments, allowing everything we had discussed to settle naturally.

"When most people hear the word magic," he finally said, "they imagine stories. Fire conjured from empty hands. Lightning hurled across battlefields. Miracles performed by speaking a few ancient words." He smiled faintly before turning to face me. "Mysticism is rarely so dramatic. More often, it is patient. Deliberate. It rewards understanding far more readily than talent."

He returned to his desk and opened one of the drawers, removing a small leather-bound notebook whose pages had become stained by years of use. Resting it between us, he carefully turned to a page depicting several ritual circles of varying complexity. None resembled the elaborate array carved into the floor. These were simpler, cleaner, and built from symbols I vaguely recognized from Viel's scattered memories.

"The first practical discipline every Beyonder studies," he said, tapping one of the circles with a finger, "is ritualistic magic."

I leaned forward slightly, my curiosity immediately piqued.

Professor Rowan nodded approvingly. "Unlike Beyonder abilities, ritualistic magic is not exclusive to any particular pathway. A Sequence Nine Sleepless, a Lawyer, a Seer, or even an ordinary person possessing sufficient spirituality may all perform certain rituals. The difference lies in their understanding, their spirituality, and their judgment."

He paused long enough for me to absorb that.

"In other words," I said slowly, "someone without a pathway can still use mysticism?"

"To a limited extent."

His answer came without hesitation.

"They cannot replicate the abilities granted by a potion, nor can they channel spirituality with the same efficiency as a Beyonder. However, the hidden world has always possessed methods by which mankind could borrow strength greater than their own."

"Borrow?"

He smiled.

"An excellent choice of words."

Professor Rowan opened the notebook to another page. This one contained a carefully written sentence beneath an elegant drawing of a ritual altar.

Every ritual is, at its heart, a request.

He allowed me a moment to read it before continuing.

"A ritual is not the commanding of higher powers. It is not a demand." His tone became noticeably firmer. "Many beginners perish because they mistake reverence for authority."

His finger rested beneath the sentence.

"When you perform a ritual, you are making a request according to established mystical laws. Whether that request is answered depends upon many factors. Your preparation. Your symbolism. The sincerity of your prayer. The entity being addressed... and sometimes, simple fortune."

I found myself frowning.

"So... it isn't guaranteed."

"Far from it."

He chuckled softly.

"If every prayer were answered, the world would be considerably stranger than it already is."

The Professor rose once more, retrieving a small wooden box from another shelf. Inside rested several familiar objects: candles of different colors, small vials of essential oils, silver powder, sea salt, herbs, and strips of parchment carefully labeled in elegant handwriting.

"You may have noticed," he said, "that the Church does not forbid ritualistic magic."

I nodded.

"I did."

"That is because ritualistic magic is not inherently dangerous."

He selected a white candle and set it upon the desk.

"Its danger comes from ignorance."

He then selected a black candle.

"And arrogance."

Finally, he looked directly at me.

"Above all else, Miss Veil, remember this."

His expression lost every trace of amusement.

"The greatest danger in ritualistic magic is not performing a ritual incorrectly."

He allowed the silence to linger.

"It is directing that ritual toward something you do not understand."

A chill settled over me.

I didn't need further explanation.

Even without knowing much about the cosmos, I had already encountered enough to understand that there were beings in this world whose mere attention could be fatal.

Professor Rowan seemed satisfied that I understood.

"Fortunately," he continued in a gentler tone, "the Church does not expect its members to navigate that danger alone."

He opened the notebook once more, revealing a carefully copied list written in beautiful calligraphy.

"There exist many entities throughout the world to whom one might pray."

His finger slid down the page.

"Most should never be approached."

Another line.

"Some are indifferent."

Another.

"A handful are outright hostile."

Then he looked up.

"And a very small number are considered safe."

He turned the notebook toward me completely.

"For members of the Church of the Aurora Order, there are presently three beings to whom prayers may safely be directed under ordinary circumstances."

At the very top of the page was the title of their Lord.

Beneath it were two additional names.

Professor Rowan rested a hand beside the first.

"The first is one of our Lord's angels."

His voice carried quiet respect.

"The Lady of Apocalypse and War."

He continued reading each honorific with measured clarity, allowing the weight of every title to settle naturally.

“The Lady of Apocalypse and War.”

“The Demonness Who Dwells Where Mirrors and Shadows Converge”

“The Warmonger Scholar Who Sought Countless Answers”

“The Enchanting Angel Blessed by the Sin- Bearing Hanged Man”

“The Angel of Cataclysm u/Straight_Painter_846“

When he finished, the study remained silent.

I couldn't help noticing the contradiction.

"...Those titles sound..."

I searched for an appropriate word.

"...terrifying."

Professor Rowan's smile widened ever so slightly.

"They are."

He folded his hands together.

"Names rarely reflect temperament."

Seeing my confusion, he elaborated.

"Many angels bear titles earned long before entering the service of our Lord. Some reflect ancient battles. Others describe what they once were rather than what they have become."

He tapped the page gently.

"Within the Church, you will learn that despite those fearsome names, the Lady is considered entirely safe to pray to."

He paused.

"Safe."

He emphasized the word.

"Not obligated."

I tilted my head.

"So... she may simply ignore the prayer?"

"Quite."

The Professor seemed almost amused.

"Higher existences are not servants waiting to answer every request."

His finger moved to the second name.

"The same is true of another of the Lord's angels."

His voice softened slightly.

"Past Follower of the Abyss."

"He Who Sinned Against the Gods and Sought Redemption."

"The Divine Son of the Hanged Man, Whose Sins Were Borne."

"The White and Blood Angel Who Greets You With His Name u/hlo2you_"

When he finished reading, he closed the notebook partway.

"This angel's history is... unusual."

I waited patiently.

"There was a time," Professor Rowan said carefully, "when he walked a darker path. He was pursued relentlessly by the orthodox gods until our Lord extended mercy where others offered only judgment."

His expression became almost contemplative.

"The Lord accepted him as His symbolic son."

"The burden of his sins was borne."

"From that day onward, he became one of the Church's greatest protectors."

The room fell quiet once more.

"There is a lesson in that," Professor Rowan said softly.

I looked up.

"Our Lord's faith is not one that teaches redemption as impossible."

His eyes met mine.

"It teaches that even those who have walked through darkness may yet choose to walk toward the light."

Those words lingered in my thoughts longer than I expected.

Professor Rowan closed the notebook with a gentle thump.

"You should understand one final point before we end today's lesson."

His voice returned to its usual calm cadence.

"Within this Church, both of these angels are regarded as safe beings to invoke in ritualistic magic when appropriate. Should circumstances require it, you may direct prayers toward them without fear of immediate corruption."

He smiled warmly.

"Do not, however, mistake safety for certainty."

I blinked.

"They might not answer?"

He nodded.

"Precisely."

"The Lord hears all sincere prayers."

"As for His angels..." A faint chuckle escaped him. "They are individuals. They possess duties, priorities, and wills of their own. Some prayers receive an answer. Others receive silence."

He folded his hands once more.

"Neither should be mistaken for rejection."

I found myself nodding.

For some reason...

That made them feel less like distant, unknowable powers...

And more like people.

People unimaginably greater than myself...

But people nonetheless.

-End-

-----------

Art found in the Luck Enhancement Ritual section of the lotm wiki!

Finally the info drop chapter! I want to give a MASSIVE thanks to u/Ezcu123 for helping build the base for the lore of this chapter and the information it provided and the church and related details! It was a big help and I took some liberties here and there for details on certain parts so if there is anything wrong please inform me so I can correct them! I also want to give a big thanks to my lords angels for there part in the lore this chapter. Also sorry if the chapter is a bit wordy I had to cover a lot!

As always,

Praise the hanged man

I wanted to briefly explain how my church works.

Taking advantage of the omnipresence of the Shadow World (similar to the Mirror World), I established a connection between all my churches and the Shadow World through a seal located beneath each one, called the Gate of Shadows.

This seal is strengthened by the sincere prayers of the faithful, so in sparsely populated areas, churches will have weaker seals.

Furthermore, sins confessed in the confessional will give life to entities similar to the Shadow of Depravity, which will guard the seal and attack anyone who does not possess the Hanged Man's aura. The strength of these entities will depend on the number of sins confessed and their severity.

To obtain my aura, it is necessary to perform a ritual, and it can only be acquired by being a member of the Umbral Ravens or a high-ranking member of the church.

The seal has two main functions:

The first is to seal away Beyonder artifacts, suppressing them through the influence of the Shadow World (my divine realm). Of course, the level of suppression is limited by the strength of the seal, so the number of Beyonder artifacts and their power levels will be affected accordingly. This suppression effect will also affect intruders, either corroding their souls or degenerating their bodies and minds unless they possess my aura. Those imprisoned here will be in rooms where the effect will be less severe, but the suppression of their powers will be greater.

The other function is to use it to enter the Shadow World, where my main church is located. If the seal is strong, it could allow entry to a large number of people with little spirituality; however, if it is weak, it would only allow entry to a few people and would require great spirituality. In the worst-case scenario, the seal could break due to the strain.

Chapter 9 -Fragments and Ravens-
-------------------

The heavy oak door swung inward without so much as a groan.

Warm lamplight spilled through the doorway, washing over the cold stone corridor where Father Kornelius and I stood. For a brief moment, I remained rooted in place, allowing my eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. I had expected something solemn—perhaps a hidden chamber lined with sacred relics, rows of weapons displayed upon polished racks, or an atmosphere so heavy with mysticism that merely crossing the threshold would make the hairs on my neck stand on end.

Instead...

The first thing I noticed was the smell.

Freshly brewed coffee mingled with the familiar scents of ink, old parchment, and polished leather. Beneath it all lingered the faint odor of gunpowder and machine oil, subtle enough that I might have missed it had my spirituality not become more acute after becoming a Beyonder. It wasn't unpleasant. If anything, it reminded me strangely of an office... albeit one occupied by people who occasionally hunted monsters.

Father Kornelius stepped aside, gesturing toward the open doorway with an easy smile.

"Go on."

His tone was gentle, almost encouraging.

"They're waiting for us."

I nodded, drawing in a quiet breath before stepping inside.

The headquarters of the Umbral Ravens occupied a surprisingly spacious chamber hidden beneath the cathedral. Thick stone walls surrounded the room, yet rather than feeling oppressive, they gave it an unexpected sense of security. Lanterns hanging from iron brackets cast warm pools of light across polished wooden floors, softening what might otherwise have been an austere underground hall.

The room itself was a curious balance between organization and absolute chaos.

A massive map of Trier dominated one wall, its surface covered with dozens of colored pins connected by lengths of black thread. Small handwritten notes had been pinned beside certain districts, while others bore circles drawn repeatedly in red ink, suggesting places of particular concern. Nearby stood another board filled with newspaper clippings, sketches of unfamiliar symbols, and reports fastened together with colored string in ways that almost looked random—until my eyes followed a few of the connections and realized there was a deliberate pattern hidden beneath the apparent disorder.

Several large desks occupied the center of the room, each one buried beneath stacks of reports, journals, maps, loose sheets of parchment, empty coffee cups, and half-burned candles. Someone had abandoned a chess match halfway through. A revolver lay disassembled atop another desk beside a cleaning kit, while a dark coat had been carelessly draped over the back of a nearby chair. Nothing about the headquarters resembled the pristine order one might expect from the Church.

It looked...

Lived in.

My gaze drifted toward the far side of the chamber, where a row of reinforced steel cabinets stood against the wall. Silver engravings covered each door, forming intricate ritualistic patterns that faintly tugged at my spirituality. Even without opening them, I could tell they were anything but ordinary.

Sealed Artifacts...

The thought surfaced instinctively before I forced myself to look away.

Some curiosities were healthier left unsatisfied.

"...So that's our newest Raven?"

The unfamiliar voice pulled me from my thoughts.

A man seated near the fireplace slowly folded the newspaper resting in his lap before rising to his feet. He couldn't have been much older than his late twenties. Dark brown hair had been combed neatly away from his face, and a pair of thin spectacles rested comfortably upon his nose, giving him the appearance of a university lecturer rather than someone who confronted supernatural horrors for a living.

His gray eyes wandered over me with unconcealed curiosity.

"So young," he murmured, almost to himself before tilting his head slightly. "I confess... I expected someone taller."

I felt offended by the commented even though I never had a problem with my height before

I blinked.

"...Good morning to you as well."

There was a bitter and sarcastic tone lining my words as I spoke.

The words left my mouth before I had the chance to reconsider them.

Silence settled over the room.

For exactly one heartbeat.

Then the man laughed.

It wasn't loud or mocking. It was the sort of laugh that escaped naturally, accompanied by a broad smile that reached his eyes.

"I like her already."

I wanted to to slug him as he gave me a coy smile but I held back....barley

Father Kornelius released the quiet sigh of someone who had witnessed the same exchange many times before.

"Mr. Aldren."

"What?" the man replied innocently, raising both hands in surrender. "I was simply making an observation."

"You were provoking our newest probationary member before she'd even stepped fully into headquarters."

"I prefer to think of it as assessing her disposition."
-

"Naturally."

The bishop's perfectly flat response earned another chuckle from somewhere deeper within the room.

Only then did I realize we weren't alone.

A second figure emerged from behind one of the towering bookshelves lining the rear wall. Unlike the first man, I hadn't heard him moving at all. Had he not chosen to reveal himself, I doubted I would have noticed he was there.

He appeared to be in his late thirties, dressed in a long black coat whose hem reached nearly to his boots. His dark hair was cropped short, and a simple sword hung comfortably at his side, its worn grip suggesting years of regular use. Sharp amber eyes settled upon me for only a moment before turning toward Father Kornelius.

"This is the survivor from yesterday?"

Father Kornelius inclined his head.

"She is."

The swordsman's gaze returned to me.

There was no curiosity in his expression.

No suspicion.

Only a quiet understanding.

"You have my condolences."

The words were simple.

Yet somehow they carried more sincerity than an elaborate speech ever could.

"...Thank you."

He gave a single nod.

Nothing more needed to be said.

Before the silence could settle again, another voice drifted across the room.

"If all of you insist on introducing yourselves before I have the chance, one of these days I'm assigning paperwork to the entire office."

I turned toward the sound.

A woman stood beside a polished brass coffee pot, calmly pouring another cup as though she hadn't just interrupted the conversation. Auburn hair was tied neatly behind her head, and the sleeves of her white shirt had been rolled to her elbows. An open shoulder holster rested comfortably beneath a dark leather vest, the polished grip of a revolver visible beneath her arm.

She took a measured sip from her cup before finally looking in my direction.

"So..."

"You're Veil."

Her tone wasn't questioning.

She already knew.

"I am."

She studied me for another moment before giving a satisfied nod.

"You look considerably better than yesterday."

A faint smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.

"I'd certainly hope so."

The woman regarded me for another heartbeat before setting her coffee cup aside and extending a hand.

"I'm Lydia Mercer," she said. "Investigator, quartermaster when necessary, and the unfortunate soul responsible for making sure these idiots actually complete their paperwork."

She cast an exaggerated glance around the room.

"I'm losing that battle."

"I heard that," the spectacled man called from across the room without looking up from his newspaper.

"You were supposed to."

A few quiet chuckles drifted through the headquarters.

I accepted Lydia's hand. Her grip was firm, the calluses on her palm making it immediately apparent that she was no stranger to hard work. She carried herself with an easy confidence that only came from experience. Unlike Father Kornelius, whose calm seemed born from wisdom, Lydia's composure felt earned through years of surviving dangerous situations.

"It's nice to meet you," I replied.

"It usually is." Her lips curled into a crooked smile. "Try not to let Aldren scare you off. He enjoys pretending he's clever."

"I am clever," the man protested.

"That's exactly what someone pretending would say."

Father Kornelius pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I see nothing has changed."

"Not since yesterday," Lydia answered cheerfully.

"Or the day before that."

"Or the year before that," Aldren added.

The bishop sighed in quiet resignation.

"I walked into that one."

The lighthearted exchange drew another laugh from the room, and I found myself smiling despite the lingering nervousness. Somehow, it felt... normal.

Too normal.

These were people who hunted Devils.

People who investigated cursed artifacts and confronted creatures capable of driving ordinary people mad.

Yet here they were arguing about paperwork over morning coffee.

The contradiction was strangely comforting.

A chair scraped softly against the wooden floor.

The quiet swordsman I had spoken to earlier approached with measured, almost silent steps. Up close, I could see faint scars tracing across the backs of his hands and disappearing beneath the cuffs of his coat. They were old scars, long since healed, yet numerous enough to hint at a life spent in constant danger.

He stopped an arm's length away before offering a slight bow of his head.

"Roland Voss."

His voice was low and even.

"I oversee combat instruction."

Combat instruction...

So he would be one of my teachers.

"I look forward to learning from you."

He studied me for a moment before giving a single nod.

"I hope so."

It wasn't encouragement.

Nor was it criticism.

Simply a statement of fact.

Then, almost as quietly as he'd arrived, Roland stepped back toward the bookshelves.

I watched him go.

"...He doesn't speak much, does he?"

Lydia chuckled.

"Not unless he has something worth saying."

"He once went three entire days without speaking," Aldren added.

Roland looked up from the book he'd apparently resumed reading.

"I was enjoying the silence."

"You see?" Aldren spread his hands dramatically. "He's a comedian."

The swordsman's expression never changed.

"I've been told."

Another ripple of laughter spread throughout the room.

"As entertaining as this is," Father Kornelius interrupted, "I do believe our newest probationary Raven deserves to meet the individual she'll be reporting to."

The atmosphere shifted.

It was subtle.

No one snapped to attention, nor did anyone suddenly become rigid. Yet there was a quiet change in posture, as though everyone's attention naturally turned toward the staircase leading deeper into the headquarters.

Heavy footsteps echoed against the stone.

Measured.

Unhurried.

A broad-shouldered man emerged from below, carrying a stack of neatly organized reports beneath one arm. He appeared to be somewhere in his early forties, his dark hair touched with streaks of gray around the temples. A short beard framed a face that had seen its fair share of sleepless nights, while sharp blue eyes swept across the room with calm familiarity.

He didn't radiate overwhelming power.

He didn't need to.

There was an unmistakable steadiness about him, the sort that naturally drew people's confidence.

He handed the reports to Lydia without breaking stride.

"Morning."

"Morning, Captain."

He finally looked at me.

For several quiet seconds, neither of us spoke.

His gaze wasn't intimidating.

It was... evaluating.

Not in the sense of judging my worth, but as though he were trying to understand the person standing before him.

"So," he said at last, a faint smile appearing beneath his beard, "you're Veil."

"I am."

"The young woman who managed to survive her first encounter with the hidden world by immediately crossing paths with a Devil."

Heat rushed to my face.

"...When you phrase it like that, it sounds incredibly reckless."

"It was."

His answer came without hesitation.

Then he smiled.

"But you're still here."

The simple statement carried far more warmth than I'd expected.

"I'm Gideon Ashcroft," he continued, extending a hand. "Captain of the Umbral Ravens."

I accepted it.

His handshake was firm without being forceful, steady in a way that immediately inspired confidence.

"It's an honor to meet you, Captain."

"I hope you'll save that judgment until you've known me a little longer."

The corners of my mouth lifted despite myself.

"I'll keep that in mind."

He released my hand before glancing toward Father Kornelius.

"So."

"The bishop finally convinced her."

Father Kornelius smiled faintly.

"I merely explained the options."

Captain Ashcroft looked back at me.

"And yet you chose us."

"I did."

He folded his arms, studying me for another thoughtful moment.

"May I ask why?"

The question caught me off guard.

I had expected congratulations.

Perhaps a speech.

Not... this.

My eyes drifted briefly around the headquarters.

The maps.

The reports.

The coffee cups.

The people quietly returning to their work while pretending not to listen.

Finally, my thoughts returned to the apartment.

To the Devil.

To the promise I'd made before the mirror.

I drew a slow breath.

"When I woke up..."

The words came more easily than I expected.

"I didn't understand anything."

"I still don't."

I looked back at him.

"I don't know why I survived."

"I don't know why I woke with so many fragments of my life taken”

The room had grown completely silent.

"But..."

I clenched my hand unconsciously.

"I know one thing."

"If I turn away from all of this..."

I glanced toward the reinforced cabinets containing the Church's sealed artifacts.

"...none of it stops existing."

"There will still be devils, evil beyonders, and beyonder creatures."

"There will still be people who lose their lives."

"There will still be someone else waking up one day to discover the world is far stranger than they ever imagined."

I met his eyes.

"If I have to live in this world..."

"...then I want to understand it."

"...And someday..."

"I want to be able to protect someone the way your Ravens protected me."

“The way u/Spinning_Dragonite saved me”

For several long moments, Captain Ashcroft said nothing.

Neither did anyone else.

Then...

A slow smile spread across his face.

Not the amused grin he'd worn moments earlier.

One of quiet approval.

He nodded once.

"I think," he said softly, "you're going to fit in here just fine."

The tension I'd been carrying since stepping through the door eased, if only a little.

For the first time since awakening in this unfamiliar world...

The future didn't seem quite so frightening anymore. 

Captain Ashcroft's smile lingered for only a moment before he glanced around the headquarters.

"Well," he said, clasping his hands behind his back, "introductions are only half the job."

His gaze settled somewhere beyond my shoulder.

"Professor."

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then a quiet voice answered from the far corner of the room.

"I was beginning to wonder if you intended to leave all of the teaching to me without so much as introducing me first."

My eyes followed the sound.

Until that moment, I hadn't realized someone else had been present.

Tucked away in the headquarters' small library, almost completely hidden behind a stack of towering books, sat an elderly gentleman whose attention had never left the thick volume resting in his lap. A pair of small, circular spectacles perched low upon his nose, and silver hair, tied neatly behind his head, reached almost to the collar of his dark robes. His beard had been trimmed short and meticulously cared for, giving him the appearance of an aging university scholar rather than a Beyonder.

Several open books surrounded him.

Some rested upon the table.

Others had been stacked precariously on the floor, forming uneven towers that looked one careless step away from collapsing.

An untouched cup of tea sat beside his elbow, long since gone cold.

The old man slowly closed the book with a soft thump before carefully marking his page with a ribbon.

Only then did he rise.

His movements were unhurried, almost leisurely, yet there was an unmistakable grace to them. Though he appeared well into his sixties, he walked without the slightest sign of frailty.

He approached us with his hands folded neatly behind his back, studying me over the rims of his spectacles.

"So."

His voice was gentle.

"This is Miss Veil."

"I am."

"Hm."

He circled me once—not invasively, but thoughtfully, like a physician observing a patient or an artist examining a sculpture.

I wasn't entirely sure where to look.

Finally, he stopped in front of me again.

"You've been a Beyonder for..."

He tilted his head.

"Approximately two days."

"...Yes."

"And you've already survived losing control, encountered a Devil, fought for your life, joined the Church, and accepted a position within the Umbral Ravens."

He removed his spectacles, polishing them with a neatly folded handkerchief.

"...You have a rather unfortunate sense of timing."

A chuckle spread through the room.

Even Captain Ashcroft couldn't suppress a smile.

"I've been told that before."

"I'm certain you have."

The old man slipped his spectacles back into place before offering a courteous bow.

"My name is Professor Alistair Rowan."

"I oversee the Ravens' education in mysticism."

His expression softened into something almost grandfatherly.

"Which means, for better or worse..."

"...I shall be responsible for correcting every dangerous misconception you currently possess."

I blinked.

"...That sounds like a very long list."

"It is."

He smiled pleasantly.

"But I do enjoy a challenge."

Professor Rowan gestured toward the small library occupying one corner of the headquarters.

"If Captain Ashcroft is responsible for ensuring you survive what waits beyond these walls..."

"...then I am responsible for ensuring you do not accidentally kill yourself before you ever leave them."

Aldren nodded solemnly.

"He's not exaggerating."

Lydia pointed toward one of the reinforced cabinets.

"The last probationary Raven who ignored one of the Professor's lectures attempted to identify an artifact by touching it."

I frowned.

"...What happened?"

"He spent three days believing he was a pigeon."

"...A pigeon?"

"A remarkably convincing one."

Captain Ashcroft cleared his throat.

"It was... an educational experience."

Roland spoke without looking up from his book.

"He also tried to build a nest."

The room fell quiet.

"..."

"...You're joking."

Four pairs of eyes looked at me.

No one answered.

"...You're not joking."

Professor Rowan sighed, though amusement danced in his eyes.

"The young often possess an unfortunate tendency to believe curiosity alone is sufficient preparation."

He folded his hands together.

"It is not."

As he spoke, he wandered toward one of the towering bookshelves, running a finger absentmindedly across the worn spines.

"Mysticism is not simply a collection of rituals and incantations, Miss Veil. It is a discipline."

He withdrew a weathered leather-bound volume.

"A science."

Another.

"A philosophy."

Then a third.

"And occasionally..."

He glanced over his shoulder.

"...an argument with reality itself."

For some reason...

That description made perfect sense.

The professor returned carrying three books.

He laid them gently upon the nearest desk.

Each was considerably older than anything I'd handled before.

The leather bindings had cracked with age, while countless handwritten notes filled the margins left by previous readers.

He rested one hand atop the stack.

"Tell me, Miss Veil."

"What is mysticism?"

The question caught me entirely off guard.

"I..."

Fragments of Viel's memories stirred uneasily.

Candles.

Tarot cards.

Silver powder.

Ritual circles drawn painstakingly across wooden floors.

I swallowed.

"...The pursuit of the supernatural?"

Professor Rowan smiled.

"A reasonable beginning."

"But incomplete."

He tapped the topmost book.

"Mysticism is the study of the hidden laws governing our existence."

His finger moved to the second.

"It is the language through which humanity communicates with powers greater than itself."

Finally, he touched the third.

"And it is also the most efficient method ever devised for getting oneself killed."

Laughter rippled through the headquarters once more.

The Professor waited patiently for it to subside before continuing.

"You will spend many hours in this library."

He looked around at the countless shelves surrounding us.

"You will learn the twenty-two standard pathways, the nature of spirituality, ritualistic magic, divination, the Spirit World, corruption, the dangers of sealed artifacts, and the countless mistakes made by those who believed they already knew enough."

His gaze met mine once more.

"I will not ask you to memorize everything."

His smile became just a little warmer.

"I will merely ask that you survive long enough to try."

I couldn't help smiling in return.

"I think..."

I glanced around the library.

"...I'd like that."

Professor Rowan nodded with quiet satisfaction.

"I had hoped you would."

For the first time since entering the headquarters...

I found myself looking at the endless shelves of books not with intimidation...

But with anticipation.

There were answers here.

Perhaps not to why I had come to this world.

Not yet.

But they were answers all the same.

And for now...

That was enough to take the first step.

Captain Ashcroft glanced around the headquarters before clapping his hands together once.

"Now that everyone has managed to satisfy their curiosity..."

His eyes swept across the room, lingering briefly on Aldren.

"...more or less."

"I was perfectly restrained!" Aldren replied.

Lydia snorted into her coffee.

"You asked if she was taller than expected."

"I was making conversation!"

"You were making trouble."

Captain Ashcroft raised a hand before the exchange could continue.

"As fascinating as this debate undoubtedly is, our newest probationary Raven should probably learn what being a probationary Raven actually involves."

The room settled almost immediately.

Several chairs were pulled closer to the large central table while Lydia gathered a handful of folders and placed them neatly before the Captain.

He motioned for me to take the empty chair nearest him.

"This won't take long."

I wasn't entirely convinced.

Once everyone had settled, Captain Ashcroft opened one of the folders before him.

"The first thing you should understand is that becoming a probationary Raven is not the same as becoming a full Raven."

He spoke calmly, as though reciting something he'd explained dozens of times.

"Think of the next several months as an apprenticeship."

"You will accompany senior members on investigations, but only when they deem it appropriate. You are expected to observe, ask questions, and learn."

He looked directly at me.

"If combat becomes unavoidable..."

"...your first responsibility is surviving."

No one laughed.

Apparently that wasn't intended as a joke.

"You are not expected to defeat Sequence Seven Beyonders."

"You are not expected to confront Devils alone."

"And if I ever discover that you've charged recklessly into danger in an attempt to prove yourself..."

A faint smile crossed his face.

"...Professor Rowan has already volunteered to explain exactly why that was a poor decision."

The Professor adjusted his spectacles.

"I have several lectures prepared."

"I don't doubt it."

Captain Ashcroft slid another sheet of paper toward me.

"This will be your weekly schedule."

I lowered my eyes.

The page had been written with remarkable precision.

Every day had been divided into morning and afternoon lessons.

Only Sundays appeared largely empty.

"The Church believes that routine saves lives," the Captain explained. "Discipline is often the difference between a Raven returning home... and becoming another name in our memorial hall."

His finger rested beside the first entry.

"Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings will be spent with Professor Rowan."

The old scholar inclined his head.

"We shall begin with the fundamentals."

He adjusted his spectacles.

"History of the Twenty-Two Pathways."

"Spirituality."

"The Spirit World."

"Ritualistic Magic."

"Divination."

"The dangers of corruption."

"The proper handling of Sealed Artifacts."

His smile became almost mischievous.

"And perhaps most importantly..."

"...how to recognize when something wishes to eat you."

I wasn't sure whether he was joking.

Judging by Lydia's expression...

Probably not.

"The afternoons on those same days," Captain Ashcroft continued, "will belong to Roland."

The quiet swordsman gave a small nod.

"I'll teach you how to survive."

"...That sounds broad."

"It is."

His answer was as brief as ever.

"We begin with physical conditioning."

"Movement."

"Awareness."

"Defensive techniques."

"Firearms."

"Weapons maintenance."

"Eventually..."

He rested one hand upon the sword at his side.

"...close combat."

I glanced toward the revolver lying disassembled on one of the desks.

"I've... never been properly taught to fire a gun before….at least i dont remember such"

"Good." 

I blinked.

"...Good?"

"It means I won't have to correct bad habits."

Captain Ashcroft continued.

"Tuesdays and Thursdays will be dedicated to field work."

I looked up.

"So soon?"

"You won't be fighting."

Lydia answered this time.

"You'll mostly be observing."

She leaned comfortably against the table.

"We investigate reports."

"Interview witnesses."

"Search crime scenes."

"Study ritual sites."

"Sometimes..."

Her smile disappeared.

"...we recover bodies."

The room became noticeably quieter.

Captain Ashcroft continued without pause.

"You'll accompany whichever senior Raven is leading that week's investigation."

He looked toward each member in turn.

"Every Raven approaches problems differently."

"You'll learn something from each of them."

"And Saturdays?"

I noticed the final day listed separately.

Captain Ashcroft smiled.

"Review."

Professor Rowan nodded approvingly.

"No lessons."

"No investigations."

"You will spend the day reading, practicing rituals, writing reports, and asking questions."

Aldren leaned back comfortably in his chair.

"...Or listening to the Professor explain why your reports are terrible."

"They usually are."

"I work better under criticism."

"You merely work slower."

Captain Ashcroft closed the schedule.

"That leaves one final practical matter."

He opened another folder.

"Compensation."

That caught my attention.

He noticed.

"It generally does."

A faint smile appeared.

"As a probationary Umbral Raven, you will receive four Louis d'or and ten Verl d'or each week."

“After two weeks your pay will be increased to 5  Louis d'or until the end of your probationary period” 

I blinked.

That...

Sounded like a considerable amount.

"The Church also provides lodging within the cathedral, meals, medical care, ammunition used during official training, and any approved mystical materials required for your education."

Professor Rowan added another point.

"Potion ingredients required for your advancement will likewise be supplied by the Church, provided your evaluations remain satisfactory."

I looked between them.

"...That's..."

More generous than I had expected.

Captain Ashcroft nodded.

"The Church invests heavily in its Ravens."

His expression became serious.

"Because replacing one is considerably more expensive."

The dark humor earned several knowing smiles around the room.

"There is one final matter."

Captain Ashcroft folded his hands.

"You should know the strengths of the people you'll be trusting with your life."

He looked toward the others.

"Aldren."

The spectacled man stood first, offering an exaggerated bow.

"Aldren Hayes."

He smiled with practiced confidence.

"Sequence Eight."

"The Hunter Pathway."

"...Provoker."

He said the last word with obvious amusement.

I stared at him.

"...That explains a great deal."

"It does, doesn't it?"

I suddenly felt the urge to punch him in the face as he looked at me smugly.

Lydia sighed.

"We've been trying to tell him that for years."

Roland stood next.

"Roland Voss."

"Sequence Eight."

"The Warrior Pathway."

"...Weapon Master."

Simple.

Direct.

Entirely unsurprising.

Lydia took her turn.

"Lydia Mercer."

She tapped the revolver resting comfortably beneath her arm.

"Sequence Eight."

"The Arbiter Pathway."

"...Sheriff."

"I specialize in investigations, interrogation, and keeping these fools from accidentally violating half the kingdom's laws."

Aldren raised a finger.

"It was one time!"

The provoker yelled defensively. 

"It was three."

"Technicalities."

Professor Rowan smiled warmly.

"Alistair Rowan."

"Sequence Eight."

"The Hermit Pathway."

"...Mysticism Magister."

"I spend considerably more time with books than people."

He looked toward Aldren.

"Usually by choice."

Finally...

Everyone's attention shifted toward Captain Ashcroft.

He remained seated.

"My pathway is less important than my responsibility."

Lydia rolled her eyes.

"He's doing it again."

Aldren sighed dramatically.

"The Captain has this terrible habit of pretending mystery is somehow impressive."

"It usually works."

Captain Ashcroft finally relented.

"Gideon Ashcroft."

"Sequence Six."

"The Twilight Giant Pathway."

"...Dawn Paladin."

The room fell quiet.

Even I recognized the significance.

Sequence Six.

He wasn't merely stronger than everyone else. He was an entire Sequence above the rest of the team a mid sequence beyonder...

Captain Ashcroft met my gaze calmly.

"My responsibility is simple."

"If things have gone so badly that I must personally enter the fight..."

He offered a reassuring smile.

"...then my responsibility is making certain every Raven under my command returns home alive."

Silence lingered for several moments.

Looking around the table...

I realized something.

Every person here had chosen this life.

Every one of them willingly stepped into the darkness so others never had to.

And now...

So had I.

For the first time since waking in this world...

I truly felt like I had become part of something larger than myself.

-End-

----------------------------------------------

Art made by Nela Dunato

The newest members of the cast have finally been introduced I hope you like them. Thank you everyone for your support! It is always appreciate so thank you all.

As always,

Praise the Hanged Man!

Chapter-8 Fragmented path and a choice made

----

The first thing I noticed upon waking was the silence.

Not the uneasy silence that had haunted the abandoned apartment, where every creaking floorboard seemed to conceal something waiting just beyond sight. Nor the oppressive stillness that had settled over the church infirmary while I drifted in and out of consciousness after the battle with the Devil.

This silence was... peaceful.

Morning sunlight filtered gently through the curtains, spilling across the wooden floor in warm golden bands. Dust drifted lazily through the light, dancing in currents too subtle for ordinary eyes to notice. Somewhere beyond the walls, distant church bells echoed across the cathedral grounds, followed by the muffled sound of voices beginning another day's work.

For several long moments, I simply lay there.

The events of yesterday slowly resurfaced one by one.

The mirror.

The tears.

The promise I'd made to the young woman whose life I had inherited.

My fingers unconsciously tightened around the edge of the blanket.

"...Good morning."

The words sounded strangely hollow in the empty room.

No one answered. 

I wasn't sure whether I had expected someone to.

With a quiet sigh, I pushed myself upright. My body still protested the movement, but compared to the aching exhaustion I'd felt yesterday, it was a remarkable improvement. The bandages wrapped around my arms and ribs remained snug, though most of the sharp pain had faded into little more than a dull reminder of how close I had come to dying.

My gaze instinctively drifted toward the desk.

The silver mirror rested exactly where I had left it.

Morning light shimmered across its polished frame, illuminating the engraved vines curling around the handle. It appeared completely ordinary now, almost mundane. Had I not remembered the previous night so vividly, I might have convinced myself that everything I'd experienced had been nothing more than a fever dream born from exhaustion.

"...Let's hope you stay quiet today."

The mirror, thankfully, ignored me.

I wasn't entirely certain whether that was comforting or disappointing.

I slowly slid out from under the warm covers and got out of bed. I shivered as my bare feet hit the cold wooden floor and sighed.

I lingered in the room for several more minutes, putting off the inevitable.

At some point, I was going to have to leave.

At some point, I was going to have to stop pretending I could simply stay inside this room forever.

With a quiet sigh, I reached for the simple clothes Sister Marianne had brought me yesterday and laid them neatly across the bed. They were plain by any standard—a cream-colored blouse, a charcoal skirt, dark stockings, and a modest coat embroidered with the Church's violet raven. Practical clothing. Comfortable clothing.

Women's clothing.

I stared at them for a long moment before rubbing a hand across my face.

"...Right."

There wasn't exactly another option.

Just as I was trying to work out how I was supposed to put everything on, another gentle knock sounded at the door.

"Miss Veil?" Sister Marianne called from the other side. "May I come in?"

"Yes."

The door opened just enough for her to step inside, carrying a neatly folded towel over one arm.

"I thought you might appreciate this."

She noticed me standing beside the bed, looking rather helplessly between the clothes and the door.

"...Is something wrong?"

I hesitated.

There was no sensible way to explain that yesterday I had been a man in another world.

"...Actually..."

I scratched awkwardly at my cheek.

"I was wondering..."

She waited patiently.

"...Where exactly is the washroom?"

For a heartbeat, she simply blinked.

Then understanding crossed her face.

"Of course."

A small, apologetic smile appeared on her lips.

"I shouldn't have assumed you knew your way around."

I let out an inward sigh of relief.

Thankfully, she had misunderstood my hesitation.

"The communal baths are just down the hall. There are separate facilities for the sisters and the brothers. Since you're staying in the residential wing, you'll have access to the sisters' bathhouse."

The words hit me with surprising force.

The sisters' bathhouse.

Right.

Of course.

There wasn't exactly another option anymore.

I managed a stiff nod.

"Thank you."

"If you'd like, I can show you."

"...I'd appreciate that."

A few minutes later, Sister Marianne led me through the quiet corridors of the residential wing.

Morning had fully settled over the cathedral. Priests hurried between offices carrying stacks of documents while several sisters swept the stone hallways or exchanged cheerful greetings as they passed. More than one offered me a welcoming smile.

I still wasn't used to people smiling at me.

Eventually, Marianne stopped before a polished oak door marked with a small silver plaque depicting a basin overflowing with water.

"The baths are through here."

She handed me the towel she'd been carrying.

"Take your time. I'll wait outside if you need anything."

"...Thank you."

She inclined her head before leaving me alone.

I stared at the door for several seconds.

"...Well."

There really wasn't any avoiding it.

The bathhouse was pleasantly warm.

Steam drifted lazily through the room, carrying with it the scent of lavender soap and fresh cedar. Several private washing stalls lined one wall, while a larger bathing pool occupied the center of the chamber. Fortunately, it was still early enough that no one else seemed to be using it.

I silently thanked every god I could think of.

Closing the door behind me, I slowly began removing my clothes.

The awkwardness arrived almost immediately.

Every movement felt... unfamiliar.

Not because I didn't know how to undress.

Because the body responding to those movements wasn't the one my mind expected.

I carefully slipped the oversized sweater over my head before setting it aside.

Then froze.

"..."

Pale shoulders.

A noticeably narrower frame.

Long strands of silver-white hair spilling over skin that still looked impossibly foreign.

I swallowed.

"I really wasn't ready for this."

My reflection in one of the polished brass fixtures offered no sympathy.

Taking a slow breath, I continued.

Every new layer made the disconnect sharper.

It wasn't embarrassment.

Not exactly.

No one else was here.

No one was watching.

It was the simple, undeniable reality that this body belonged to someone else.

To Viel.

A young woman whose life had ended before mine had inexplicably begun.

By the time I stepped beneath the warm water, my thoughts had grown unusually quiet.

The heat soaked into sore muscles almost immediately, washing away the lingering stiffness from yesterday's battle. I closed my eyes, letting the water run through my hair.

Then paused.

"...Wait."

I opened one eye.

"...How do I wash this properly?"

A handful of silver-white hair draped over my shoulder.

There was...

So much of it.

I stared at it with growing concern.

"I've never had hair this long."

The realization struck a moment later.

"...I've literally never washed long hair before."

For several embarrassing minutes, I was forced to rely on trial and error, occasionally recalling fragmented memories from Viel herself. Every so often, instincts that clearly weren't mine surfaced just long enough to guide my hands before fading again.

"...Thanks," I muttered quietly, unsure whether I was thanking my own subconscious...

Or the memories she'd left behind.

By the time I finally finished, I felt oddly accomplished.

-

After drying myself as best I could, I stood there for a long moment with the towel wrapped tightly around me.

The warmth of the bath had done little to quiet the unease lingering in the back of my mind.

It wasn't that I disliked the body.

If anything...

That almost made it worse.

I looked down at myself before quickly looking away again.

"...Still not used to this."

My voice echoed softly through the empty bathhouse.

Everything about this body felt lighter than the one I remembered. My shoulders were narrower, my waist slimmer, and every movement carried a subtle shift in balance that I still hadn't adapted to. Even standing still felt different, as though my center of gravity had quietly moved overnight.

It wasn't unpleasant.

Just...

Foreign.

Taking a slow breath, I picked up the neatly folded clothes Sister Marianne had left for me.

The first thing that caught my attention was the blouse.

Simple cream-colored fabric, soft to the touch, with small pearl buttons running down the front. It looked easy enough.

"...I can handle a shirt."

That confidence lasted all of ten seconds.

I frowned as I turned it around in my hands.

"...Which side is the front?"

After an embarrassing amount of trial and error—and one particularly confused moment where I'd somehow managed to hold it completely upside down—I finally slipped it over my arms.

"...There."

I looked down.

"...That actually wasn't too bad."

The skirt, however...

I held the dark garment up by its waistband and stared at it.

"...Right."

I had never worn one before.

Not even once.

There was no hidden memory to draw upon this time. Viel clearly hadn't left behind any convenient instinct for getting dressed, or perhaps she had simply never imagined someone else might need to borrow those memories.

"...Thanks. Really helpful."

The sarcasm made me feel slightly better.

Eventually, after another awkward struggle that I hoped no one would ever witness, I managed to fasten everything properly.

Or...

At least I thought I had.

The stockings proved even worse.

I spent nearly a minute trying to understand why they kept twisting around my legs before finally realizing I had them backwards.

"...Seriously?"

I let out a defeated sigh.

"I used to get dressed in under five minutes."

Now it felt like solving a puzzle designed by someone with a deeply personal grudge against me.

Fortunately, persistence eventually triumphed over confusion.

By the time I buttoned the charcoal-gray coat over the blouse, everything finally looked... correct.

At least, I hoped it did.

There was only one way to know.

I walked over to the polished mirror hanging near the entrance.

The woman staring back at me looked nothing like the terrified stranger who had awakened in that bloodstained apartment.

The cream blouse contrasted gently against her pale complexion, while the charcoal skirt and long coat gave her a composed, almost scholarly appearance. The embroidered violet raven stitched near the cuff caught the morning light, its wings spread as though preparing to take flight. Combined with the silver-white hair cascading over her shoulders and those striking crimson eyes, the outfit carried an understated elegance that somehow suited her far better than the oversized sweater from the day before.

"..."

I adjusted the collar.

Then the sleeves.

Then the coat.

Then...

I stopped.

"...I'm fidgeting."

I hadn't realized how nervous I was until that moment.

I wasn't worried about whether the clothes looked good.

I was worried about whether I looked convincing wearing them.

Would someone notice?

Would they see something in the way I walked?

The way I stood?

The way I carried myself?

Would they realize the person inside this body wasn't the woman who had been born into it?

The thought sent a chill through me.

Slowly, I exhaled.

"No."

I met my own gaze in the mirror.

"I have to stop thinking like that."

No one here knew the man I'd once been.

To everyone in this world...

I had always been Veil.

The only person comparing the two lives was me.

That didn't make accepting it any easier.

But...

It did make it possible.

I reached up, awkwardly gathering my long silver hair behind my shoulders before immediately letting it fall again.

"...I really need to learn what to do with this."

The image in the mirror offered no advice.

Only a young woman standing at the beginning of a life neither of us had chosen.

After one final glance at my reflection, I straightened my coat, took a steadying breath, and reached for the door.

There was no point hiding in my room any longer.

Whatever awaited me beyond it...

I would face it as Veil.

For now...

That would have to be enough.

_

After washing and changing into the clothes Sister Marianne had prepared, I took a moment to study myself once more. The crimson sweater from yesterday had been replaced by simpler attire suited for life within the church. Practical, comfortable, and modest. If not for the silver-white hair falling over my shoulders and the crimson eyes staring back from the mirror, I might almost have mistaken myself for one of the ordinary attendants bustling through the cathedral. 

Almost.

The face reflected there still wasn't mine and my hair was a mess of knots and tangles even though I did my best to get the worst offenders out. I sigh

Perhaps...

One day, it would feel less like a stranger's body.

A polite knock interrupted my thoughts.

Three steady knocks, spaced with almost practiced precision.

"Miss Veil?"

Sister Marianne's gentle voice came through the door.

"Are you ready?"

"I am."

"May I come in?"

"Please."

The door opened quietly, revealing the familiar sister carrying a small wicker basket. Fresh bread, sliced fruit, and a steaming cup of tea rested inside, the pleasant aroma immediately filling the room.

"I thought you might prefer breakfast before beginning your day."

I blinked.

"You brought it here?"

She tilted her head ever so slightly.

"You were crying when I checked on you late last night."

“So I assumed you would want to eat in your room”

She said and motioned for me to follow her back which I did.

Heat rushed to my cheeks.

"I..."

"There is no need to explain."

Her smile remained as warm as ever.

"Everyone mourns differently."

For a moment, I simply looked at her.

She hadn't asked questions.

Hadn't pressed for answers.

She had simply... understood.

"...Thank you."

"I've lived long enough to know that some grief cannot be eased with words."

She placed the basket upon the desk before glancing toward the window as we arrive inside after going through the twisting halls.

"His Excellency has asked that you visit him once you've finished breakfast. There is something he wishes to discuss regarding your future."

"My future..."

The phrase still felt foreign.

Only two days ago, my greatest concern had probably been deciding what to eat for dinner.

Now...

My future involved Beyonders, Devils, and a church dedicated to a god whose very existence would have been considered fantasy in my old world.

The thought might have been absurd.

Instead...

It simply felt inevitable.

Nearly half an hour later, I found myself once again standing before the large oak doors leading to Father Kornelius' office.

The nervousness surprised me.

Yesterday, I had entered this room searching desperately for answers.

Today...

I was entering to make a decision.

Sister Marianne offered me an encouraging smile before giving the door a gentle knock.

"Your Excellency?"

"Come in."

The familiar voice answered almost immediately.

She opened the door, allowing me to step inside first.

The office appeared much as I remembered. Tall bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, packed tightly with leather-bound tomes whose titles ranged from theology to mysticism and history. The morning sun poured through stained-glass windows depicting the Hanged Man, painting intricate patterns across the polished floor. Somewhere in the room, incense burned softly, its subtle fragrance mingling with the scent of aged parchment and freshly brewed tea.

Father Kornelius looked up from the document he had been reading, carefully setting aside his pen before offering the same calm smile that had greeted me yesterday.

"Good morning, Miss Veil."

"Good morning, Father."

"I trust you were able to rest."

"I was."

I hesitated for only a moment before adding, "Better than I expected."

"I'm pleased to hear that."

He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.

"Please, sit."

I did as requested.

Rather than speaking immediately, Father Kornelius studied me in silence for several moments. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. If anything, it felt as though he were making certain that I truly had recovered before continuing.

Finally, he folded his hands atop the desk.

"Yesterday, I promised that once you had recovered, we would discuss what comes next."

I nodded.

"You did."

"Then let us begin."

He leaned forward, opening one of the drawers built into his desk before withdrawing two thin leather folders. With deliberate care, he placed them side by side upon the polished wood.

At first glance they appeared nearly identical.

Looking closer, however, I noticed each bore a different emblem pressed into its cover.

The first displayed the familiar symbol of the Church of the Aurora Order.

The second...

A raven with wings spread wide against a crescent moon.

For reasons I couldn't explain, my eyes lingered on the raven.

Father Kornelius noticed.

"These represent the two paths presently available to you within the Church."

He rested one hand upon the folder bearing the Church's crest.

"The first is a quieter life."

His fingers traced the embossed symbol absentmindedly as he spoke, as though he had given this explanation countless times before.

"Every church requires more than priests delivering sermons and Beyonders battling hidden threats. There are records that must be maintained, correspondence exchanged between dioceses, relics catalogued, libraries cared for, and countless mundane tasks that allow the Church to function. They are responsibilities that rarely receive recognition, yet without them, everything else would quickly descend into disorder."

He offered a small smile.

"People often underestimate the importance of ordinary work. In truth, it is the foundation upon which extraordinary work is built."

I found myself nodding despite never having considered it that way.

The hidden world was filled with monsters, rituals, and gods, yet someone still had to organize reports, preserve historical records, and ensure the right books reached the right hands. Even the Nighthawks—no, the Umbral Ravens—would eventually return from their missions with documents that needed to be archived.

Someone had to do those things.

Father Kornelius continued.

"Considering the circumstances of your arrival, I believe you would adapt well to such a position. Your fascination with mysticism before becoming a Beyonder gives you a stronger foundation than most initiates. Although much of your knowledge is incomplete, you possess genuine curiosity. Properly cultivated, that curiosity would serve you well within our archives."

His words painted a surprisingly peaceful picture.

Days spent among ancient books and forgotten histories.

Helping scholars decipher old rituals.

Assisting priests with research.

Learning at a measured pace while remaining safely within the cathedral's walls.

After everything that had happened...

It sounded comforting.

Safe.

Father Kornelius seemed to recognize the appeal of that image, because he allowed the silence to linger before speaking again.

"It is an honorable path."

There was no hint of condescension in his voice.

"Do not mistake its quiet nature for insignificance. Many of the Church's greatest scholars have never drawn a weapon in their lives, yet have saved countless others through wisdom alone."

I believed him.

Perhaps because he himself seemed to embody those very qualities.

Then...

He moved his hand to the second folder.

The atmosphere within the room shifted almost imperceptibly.

"The second path," he said, his voice becoming noticeably more solemn, "is very different."

His fingertips rested upon the raven embossed into the leather cover.

"The Umbral Ravens."

The name carried a peculiar weight.

Yesterday it had simply been another unfamiliar title in a world already overflowing with them.

Today...

It felt important.

"I've heard the name once before," I admitted. "Sister Marianne mentioned them."

Father Kornelius nodded.

"I suspected she might."

For a brief moment, his gaze drifted toward the stained-glass window behind me before returning.

"The Umbral Ravens are the Church of the Aurora Order's official Beyonder organization. While the clergy concern themselves with guiding the faithful and tending to their spiritual well-being, the Ravens walk a far darker road."

He paused, allowing his next words to settle.

"They investigate disturbances that ordinary people cannot explain."

"They recover mystical artifacts before they bring calamity to innocent hands."

"They dismantle cults devoted to forbidden entities."

"And..."

His expression hardened ever so slightly.

"They hunt those creatures that prey upon humanity from the shadows."

Despite myself, memories resurfaced.

The apartment.

The suffocating pressure that had filled the room.

The Devil's smile.

The impossible sense of despair that had nearly driven me to surrender before the battle had even begun.

Without the Church...

Without the people who had arrived that night...

I would have died.

Not might have.

Would have.

"It is dangerous work," Father Kornelius continued, seemingly reading the thoughts crossing my face. "Far more dangerous than I believe you currently realize."

He folded his hands once more.

"The hidden world is not made solely of Devils. There are corrupted Beyonders who have abandoned their humanity, sealed artifacts whose very existence twists the minds of those around them, remnants of ancient rituals that continue to claim lives centuries after their creators perished, and influences from beyond our world that cannot be allowed to spread."

His voice remained calm throughout.

There was no attempt to frighten me.

Only honesty.

"The Umbral Ravens stand between those dangers and the ordinary citizens who will never know they existed."

Silence settled over the office.

Outside, I could faintly hear the cathedral bells announcing the hour.

Life continued beyond these walls.

Merchants would be opening their shops.

Children hurrying to lessons.

Families sharing breakfast.

Completely unaware of the horrors hidden just beyond their understanding.

Father Kornelius broke the silence.

"If you choose this path, the Church will invest considerably more into your development."

He opened the raven folder, revealing several neatly written documents.

"You will receive formal instruction in mysticism, ritualism, Spirit World navigation, Beyonder combat, and the proper methods for handling sealed artifacts. Experienced Ravens will supervise your training, and your digestion of the Secret Suppliant potion will be carefully monitored."

His eyes met mine.

"You told me yesterday that you wished to understand what had happened to you."

"I did."

"You wished to ensure that the fate which befell Miss Viel would never become your own."

My fingers tightened slightly upon my knees.

"I do."

"Then there is no environment better suited to helping you achieve those goals."

He closed the folder once more.

"However..."

The single word carried enough weight to make me sit a little straighter.

"There is something you must understand before making your decision."

His gaze became unexpectedly gentle.

"Joining the Umbral Ravens is not merely accepting employment."

The room seemed quieter than before.

"It is accepting responsibility."

His voice never rose, yet every word landed with unmistakable clarity.

"You will willingly step into places others flee from."

"You will witness tragedies that cannot be spoken of outside these walls."

"You will confront beings capable of shattering an ordinary person's mind simply by being seen."

He allowed that image to linger.

"And despite all of that..."

A faint smile returned to his face.

"You will not face them alone."

Something stirred within my chest.

Perhaps because those were precisely the words I hadn't realized I needed to hear.

Since opening my eyes in this world, I had been alone.

Alone in a stranger's apartment.

Alone with memories that weren't mine.

Alone while mourning a life I could no longer return to.

The Church hadn't erased that loneliness.

But little by little...

It had begun to share its weight.

Father Kornelius leaned back in his chair.

"I should also temper your expectations."

His smile became almost amused.

"If you choose the Umbral Ravens, you will not become a full member immediately."

I blinked.

"I won't?"

He chuckled softly.

"No."

"Every Raven begins as a probationary member."

His expression became serious once more.

"You have survived your first encounter with the hidden world, but survival alone does not make one prepared to protect others. There is much you must learn before I would ever permit you to undertake missions without experienced Ravens at your side."

Strangely...

That was reassuring.

If he had expected me to begin hunting monsters tomorrow, I might have questioned his sanity.

"I understand."

"I'm glad."

He gently pushed both folders toward me.

"The choice, Miss Veil, is yours."

Neither path was wrong.

One offered stability.

The other offered understanding.

I lowered my eyes to the raven engraved upon the second folder.

The image of the Devil returned once more.

Then the mirror.

Then the promise I had whispered to the woman whose body I now carried.

"I'll find out why this happened."

"I'll make sure your death meant something."

Could I keep that promise from behind a desk?

...

No.

I reached forward.

My hand came to rest upon the folder bearing the raven.

Lifting my eyes to meet Father Kornelius's, I took a slow, steady breath.

"If this world is filled with things like the Devil I encountered..."

I paused.

"...then hiding from them won't make them disappear."

A faint smile appeared on the bishop's face.

"I suppose not."

"I want to understand this world."

My voice grew steadier with each word.

"I want to become strong enough that the next time I face something like that... I won't have to rely entirely on someone else to save me."

For a long moment, Father Kornelius simply looked at me.

Then, with quiet approval, he slid the raven folder the rest of the way across the desk.

"Very well."

His smile was small, but genuine.

"Then allow me to formally welcome you, Miss Veil."

He rose from his chair, and for the first time since we'd met, extended his hand.

"From this day forward..."

"...you are a probationary member of the Umbral Ravens."

I stood, accepting the offered handshake.

His grip was firm.

Steady.

Warm.

For reasons I couldn't entirely explain...

It felt less like accepting a job...

And more like taking the first step into the life that awaited me.

Father Kornelius held the handshake for only a moment before releasing it. There was nothing ceremonial about the gesture, yet it carried an unmistakable finality. The decision had been made.

"Congratulations, Miss Veil."

His voice remained calm, but there was a warmth behind it that hadn't been present when we'd first met.

"I hope, in time, you'll come to think of the Umbral Ravens as more than merely your place of employment."

I looked at the raven-crested folder resting in my hands.

The leather felt surprisingly worn, as though countless others had held it before me.

"I'll... do my best."

"I ask nothing more."

Father Kornelius resumed his seat, interlocking his fingers atop the desk.

"Before we go any further, however, I believe it would be beneficial to explain precisely what becoming a probationary Raven entails."

I straightened instinctively.

"As a probationary member, your foremost responsibility is to learn."

There was no hesitation in his words.

"You are not expected to solve investigations, hunt monsters, or face dangerous Beyonders on your own. In fact, should you attempt such things without authorization, I would consider it a personal failure on the part of the Church."

I blinked.

"Really?"

He smiled faintly.

"You possess a Sequence Nine potion and little more than fragments of mystical knowledge. Confidence is admirable. Overconfidence fills cemeteries."

"...That's... difficult to argue with."

"It usually is."

The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

"For the first several months, you will accompany senior Ravens during their investigations. Your purpose is to observe, ask questions, and learn. Only when your instructors believe you are ready will you be entrusted with independent responsibilities."

That...

Actually sounded reasonable.

I'd expected something closer to being handed a revolver and told to start hunting monsters.

Instead...

They intended to train me.

Properly.

A knot of anxiety I hadn't realized I was carrying eased ever so slightly.

"As for your education," Father Kornelius continued, opening the folder before me, "your schedule will be divided between practical instruction and academic study."

He withdrew a single sheet covered in neat handwriting.

"In the mornings, you will attend lessons regarding Beyonder history, ritualism, Spirit World theory, and the doctrines of the Church."

He placed a second page beside it.

"The afternoons will be devoted to practical exercises. Meditation, spirituality control, physical conditioning, firearms training, emergency first aid, and instruction in handling mystical incidents."

My eyebrows rose.

"...Firearms?"

He regarded me curiously.

"Does that surprise you?"

"A little."

"I see."

He leaned back slightly.

"The Churches learned long ago that faith alone rarely stops a bullet."

I couldn't suppress a small laugh.

For some reason...

That was exactly the sort of practical answer I'd begun expecting from him.

"The Lord blesses wisdom just as readily as courage," he continued. "A Beyonder who refuses every mundane advantage because they possess supernatural abilities seldom remains alive for very long."

That...

Made perfect sense.

Magic and guns weren't mutually exclusive.

If anything, combining them seemed the obvious choice.

I made a mental note never to underestimate the people of this world simply because they wielded mystical powers.

Father Kornelius allowed me another moment to read through the documents before quietly closing the folder once more.

"One final matter."

His expression grew more serious.

"The Umbral Ravens are more than comrades."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

"Every member is entrusted with knowledge capable of endangering countless lives if handled carelessly. Consequently, absolute trust within the organization is not merely encouraged."

"It is required."

The room fell silent.

"I understand."

"I believe you do."

I look around awkwardly as a thought runs through my mind now that I knew what path I would take.

"Is there a way I could give proper thanks to the man that saved me last night from that devils attack?"

I quickly contained to explain myself

"I-I mean I was unable to show my gratitude after he had saved me as I quickly lost consciousness when the fight ended and after I woke up in the cathedral"

The Bishop nodded slowly in understanding.

"The kind gentleman that saved you is u/Spinning_Dragonite. He is also an Umbral Raven and if you wish to speak with him or convoy your appreciation for his actions I will see what I can do. Though knowing him, he will make his own plans to come to check on you in time, so there is no need to worry yourself over it"

He rose once more.

"In any case..."

He walked toward the office door.

"Come."

I looked up.

"Where?"

He smiles

"To see the others you will be working with"

I tense unprepared to be thrown into this so suddenly

"Now?"

He nodded.

"It would be rather cruel to recruit you into the Umbral Ravens while leaving you to wonder who your new companions are."

A nervous flutter stirred in my stomach.

"...Fair enough."

The cathedral felt different as we walked together.

Perhaps it was because I was following someone with purpose.

Father Kornelius greeted nearly everyone we passed with the same calm warmth he had shown me. Priests paused their conversations to bow respectfully. Sisters smiled as they continued about their duties. A pair of young attendants carrying stacks of books nearly tripped over themselves trying to make room in the hallway, earning only an amused chuckle from the bishop.

It struck me that, despite his position...

No one seemed afraid of him.

They respected him.

There was a difference.

Eventually, we reached a corridor I hadn't visited before.

Unlike the bright halls above, this section of the cathedral was quieter. The stained-glass windows gradually gave way to smooth stone walls adorned with iron lanterns. The bustle of the church faded behind us, replaced by a stillness that felt... deliberate.

Father Kornelius stopped before an unremarkable oak door reinforced with black iron bands.

At first glance it appeared no different from any of the dozens of doors we'd already passed.

Then I noticed the symbol carved into its center.

A raven.

Its wings spread protectively around a crescent moon.

The carving was subtle enough that most visitors would probably overlook it entirely.

"The headquarters of the Umbral Ravens," Father Kornelius said softly.

I couldn't hide my surprise.

"...It's inside the cathedral?"

He smiled.

"Where better to place those entrusted with protecting it?"

That...

Was difficult to argue with.

He reached into his robes and withdrew an old-fashioned brass key.

The lock clicked heavily as he turned it.

Instead of pushing the door open immediately, he looked toward me.

"One final piece of advice, Miss Veil."

I met his gaze.

"The men and women you're about to meet..."

A faint smile crossed his face.

"...will very likely become the people with whom you entrust your life."

The words settled heavily in my chest.

Because I knew...

He wasn't exaggerating.

He slowly pushed open the door.

Warm lamplight spilled into the corridor, accompanied by the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the faint murmur of conversation.

Somewhere inside, someone laughed.

Another voice complained about paperwork.

A chair scraped across the floor.

For reasons I couldn't explain...

The atmosphere felt unexpectedly... ordinary.

Not like the headquarters of elite monster hunters.

More like...

A home.

I followed Father Kornelius through the doorway, my heart beating just a little faster.

Whatever waited beyond that threshold...

It would be the beginning of my new life.

-End-

----------------------------

Art made by by MISSILE228

Finally at the end of another Chapter! Thank you to everyone that has supported me thus far! With the end of this chapter Viel is now moving onto the next arc of the story and next chapter shall be introducing more members of the Church of the Aroura Order.

Chapter-7 Fragments of a new Home

The bishop's hand was warm.

It wasn't an overwhelming sensation, nor did some mystical force surge through my body the moment our hands met. There was no divine light, no invisible contract being etched into my soul.

Just a handshake.

Simple.

Ordinary.

Yet somehow...

It carried more weight than anything else that had happened since I had awakened in this unfamiliar world.

For the first time since opening my eyes in that apartment, I wasn't facing the unknown alone.

Father Kornelius released my hand before offering another gentle smile.

"Then allow me to officially welcome you to the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity u/MrDeltaXII  Ms. Veil.”

His voice retained its calm steadiness.

"You've suffered greatly in a very short amount of time. While there is much we must eventually discuss, today is not the day for overwhelming you with more information."

I hadn't realized how relieved I was to hear those words until my shoulders relaxed.

"...Thank you."

He nodded.

"Recovery is also a responsibility."

He stepped toward the door before opening it.

The woman who had been caring for me stood patiently outside, as though she had anticipated the meeting ending.

"Would you accompany Miss Veil?" the bishop asked.

"Of course."

The woman smiled warmly before looking toward me.

"My name is Sister Marianne."

I blinked.

Now that introductions weren't happening while I was half-conscious, the name felt far easier to remember.

"It is a pleasure to properly meet you."

"I... likewise."

She motioned for me to follow.

"If you'll come with me, I'll show you where you'll be staying."

The church felt different now.

Earlier, every hallway had seemed unfamiliar.

Potentially dangerous even if peaceful 

Every stranger had been another unknown variable in a world that refused to make sense.

Now...

It was still unfamiliar.

But it is no longer frightening.

The corridors stretched beneath high stone arches, sunlight pouring through stained-glass windows depicting scenes I couldn't fully understand.

The Hanged Man appeared again and again.

Sometimes watching over crowds of kneeling worshippers.

Sometimes extending one hand toward those lost in darkness.

Sometimes hanging silently against a backdrop of stars that somehow looked far older than the night sky itself.

Each image stirred something deep inside me.

Not recognition.

Not exactly.

More like...

Resonance…and with it I felt the idea of a ritual form in my mind, the train of thought which I immediately extinguished. To scatter these lingering and potentially dangerous thoughts I quickly looked away. As whatever instinct had stopped me from dwelling on Honorific Names earlier now warned me against staring too long at those windows. A single thought entered my mind that made me shudder “Never look directly at god”...

I stumbled after that thought entered my mind and cringed as a fragment returned…. A memory of madness of voices…of the RaViNgS!

Sister Marianne either didn't notice my odd expression or politely chose not to comment as my mind was left scrambling, all she did was help me steady myself. Which I silently appreciated as I gathered myself again. 

Instead she spoke about considerably safer subjects.

"The church receives many guests."

"Guests?"

She nodded.

"Travelers. Those seeking sanctuary. Orphans. Sometimes people injured during accidents."

"...Beyonder accidents?"

She smiled faintly.

"Sometimes."

That answer somehow confirmed far more than she had actually said as I let my mind wonder in the deeper meaning of her words and their implications. 

We eventually reached another section of the building and unlike the public halls, these corridors felt lived in. Doors lined both sides. Books rested on windowsills. Fresh flowers decorated small tables. Someone had left a basket of laundry outside one room. Another door stood partially open, revealing shelves stacked with medical supplies. I slowed slightly.

"...People actually live here?"

"Many do."

"The priests?"

"And the sisters."

She continued walking.

"As well as some of our attendants, apprentices, and those still receiving education."

“Even some Umbral Ravens stay here between missions” 

That...

Made sense.

For some reason, I'd subconsciously imagined churches as places people visited before returning home.

Not places that were themselves homes. I suppose I will have to get used to the concept….sigh

She eventually stopped before a simple wooden door.

"This room belonged to one of our missionaries."

A brief shadow crossed her face.

"He departed several months ago to serve in another diocese."

She opened the door.

The room was modest: a bed, desk, a wardrobe, a bookshelf containing perhaps two dozen well-worn books and small window overlooking part of the courtyard. Nothing extravagant. Yet...

Everything was clean.

Everything had clearly been cared for.

"It isn't much."

"It's more than enough."

I couldn't stop myself from smiling.

Compared to waking in a stranger's apartment with blood on the floor and a Devil breaking through the door...

This looked positively luxurious.

Sister Marianne seemed pleased by my reaction.

"You may stay here for as long as necessary or at least as long as the bishop permits until you can be given more permanent living arrangements”

I slowly walked inside.

The wooden floor creaked softly beneath my feet.

The bed looked inviting enough that I briefly considered collapsing onto it immediately.

I somehow resisted.

Barely.

"There are only a few rules."

I turned back toward her.

"The first is simple."

"Please don't wander into restricted areas."

I nodded slowly 

Reasonable.

"There are archives, ritual chambers, and storage rooms that require permission."

I nodded.

"I wasn't planning on exploring mysterious underground chambers anyway."

"...There are no underground chambers”

Her response came perhaps a little too quickly this time

I stared.

She stared back.

"...Right."

"..."

"...There definitely aren't mysterious underground chambers."

"I believe you."

"I appreciate that."

For the first time since we'd met...

She looked faintly embarrassed.

It was oddly comforting.

"The second rule..."

She continued with considerably more composure.

"If you intend to leave church grounds, please inform someone."

I tilted my head.

"So you can keep an eye on me?"

"So we know where to look if something unfortunate happens."

"..."

That answer was difficult to argue with.

Considering my first day in this world had involved nearly becoming a ritual sacrifice...

Fair enough.

"I'll let someone know."

"Thank you."

I noticed her saw and I assumed she thought I would be difficult on the matter. 

"The final rule."

Her expression softened.

"If you need help..."

She hesitated before continuing.

"Ask."

The simplicity of those words caught me off guard.

She noticed.

"Many people who arrive here believe they must carry everything themselves."

Her eyes briefly drifted toward the hallway beyond the open door.

"They usually discover they're wrong."

Something about the way she said it made me think she wasn't talking only about me.

Perhaps...

She had once been one of those people herself.

"I'll try."

She smiled.

"That's enough."

---

After explaining where the dining hall, chapel, library, and infirmary were located, Sister Marianne prepared to leave.

She paused in the doorway.

"Oh."

"I almost forgot."

She reached into one sleeve before producing a small iron key attached to a polished wooden tag.

She placed it gently into my hand.

"Your room."

The key felt unexpectedly heavy.

Ridiculous.

It was only a key. Yet... I stared at it for several long moments. Not because of what it was but because of what it represented.

A room

A place.

Somewhere that was...

Mine.

The realization nearly made my chest tighten.

How long had it been since I'd truly had somewhere to belong?

The answer wasn't Veil's memory.

Nor was it entirely my own. It was something shared between us. Loss. Displacement. Loneliness. Different lives. The same emptiness.

Sister Marianne must have noticed something in my expression.

Her voice became almost motherly.

"Get some rest."

"There will be plenty of time to learn tomorrow, also I have been told to inform you that the Bishop wishes to give you your options on what the church can offer you to help you move on from this”

I slowly closed my fingers around the key and nod

"...Thank you."

She inclined her head before quietly closing the door behind her.

---

Silence settled over the room. For several long minutes... I simply stood there. No monsters. No whispers. No screaming.

Only the faint sound of birds somewhere beyond the window.

Eventually...

I walked over to the desk. The journal still rested where the church had placed my belongings.

Beside it lay the necklace that had somehow survived everything.

I picked it up carefully.

The cool metal rested against my palm.

"...I almost died."

Saying it aloud somehow made it more real.

Yesterday...I had been living an ordinary life.

Today...

I was a Beyonder, a Secret Suppliant.

A member of the Church of the Aurora Order.

A transmigrator trapped inside another person's body.

I laughed quietly.

"...What a ridiculous sentence."

No one answered. The silence unlike before was comforting this time.

Finally alone in my room I looked over what belongings the church had left for me. Of course it was the bare essentials. Besides them just the odd necklace and the journal. As I look through its pages I notice parts missing and I frown. I had expected them to look through it of course. That only made sense….I hardly even expected them to return it to me. But for some reason, them just giving it back and not bothering to hide anything left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I sigh softly as I put the book back down on the table.

My eyes were then drawn to the bed. It was simple—almost disappointingly so at first glance—but the longer I looked, the more I appreciated it. The sturdy oak frame bore the tiny scratches and imperfections that came with years of use, yet it had been lovingly maintained. Fresh white sheets stretched tightly across a surprisingly thick mattress, and a neatly folded quilt rested at the foot of the bed beside a plump feather pillow. A faint aroma of lavender lingered in the fabric, mingling with the clean scent of sun-dried linen. It wasn't luxurious. It wasn't extravagant. It was simply... cared for. Somehow, that made it feel far more welcoming than any lavish bed could have. After sleeping in fear—if I had slept at all—the sight of it alone was enough to make my aching body beg for rest.

But I held and looked through what items they left me inside the small bag with clothing. I paused as I found my target and slid it out. It was a circular silver mirror no larger than my hand. Time had dulled its once brilliant shine into a soft, muted luster, though careful polishing had preserved its elegance. The handle was cast in the shape of intertwining ivy vines, each leaf painstakingly engraved by an artisan's hand, while the frame surrounding the glass bore delicate geometric patterns intertwined with tiny stars and crescent moons. They weren't mystical symbols—not truly—but decorative flourishes inspired by old folklore and occult traditions. Someone with no knowledge of mysticism would have mistaken it for an expensive vanity mirror. Someone who did understand mysticism would recognize it as the sort of trinket eagerly purchased by enthusiastic amateurs hoping appearances alone carried spiritual significance.

The memory made me cringe in embarrassment but I pushed on towards the main goal and slowly raised it to my face and body.

For a long moment, I simply stared.

The silver mirror reflected a face that still refused to feel like mine.

White hair framed delicate features in loose, slightly untamed waves, cascading past slender shoulders before disappearing beneath the crimson robe I now wore. It wasn't the pristine white of fresh snow, but something softer, touched by faint shades of silver whenever the light caught it. A few stubborn strands had fallen across my forehead, partially obscuring eyes that regarded me with the same uncertainty I felt.

My eyes...

No.

Her eyes.

They were a deep crimson, almost ruby in color, their brilliance subdued by exhaustion. Dark circles lingered beneath them, a testament to sleepless nights and the ordeal this body had endured before I arrived. Despite that fatigue, they possessed an odd clarity that hadn't been there yesterday. Every so often, I caught them shifting ever so slightly as my enhanced spirituality unconsciously focused on things beyond ordinary sight.

It was unsettling.

Not because they were frightening.

Because they were beautiful.

Far more beautiful than I had ever expected.

My gaze drifted lower.

A straight nose.

Soft lips that remained slightly parted as I breathed.

Pale skin, almost porcelain in complexion, unmarred save for a few faint scratches that had yet to fully heal from the previous night's struggle. Even those imperfections somehow failed to diminish the elegance of the face staring back at me.

I reached up hesitantly.

The reflection did the same.

Cool fingertips brushed against my cheek.

The skin was impossibly smooth.

Real.

I swallowed.

"...This isn't my face."

The words escaped in little more than a whisper.

The mirror offered no contradiction.

It simply reflected the young woman standing before it.

She couldn't have been more than twenty years old. Slender without appearing fragile, graceful even while standing perfectly still. The oversized crimson sweater hanging from her shoulders only emphasized how slight her frame was, its sleeves covering part of her hands. The color contrasted sharply against her pale complexion, drawing attention to the silver-white hair spilling around her like moonlight.

It was...

Beautiful.

There was no point pretending otherwise.

If I'd passed someone who looked like this on the street back home, I probably would have done a double take.

That thought made me wince.

Back home.

The memory felt distant already.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

When I opened them again...

She was still there.

I tried smiling.

The woman in the mirror smiled back.

It felt wrong.

Not horrifying.

Not grotesque.

Just...

Wrong.

The expression wasn't one I recognized.

The smile curved unfamiliar lips. My cheeks lifted differently than I expected. Even the way my eyes narrowed carried a softness that didn't belong to the person I remembered being.

I raised a hand and awkwardly ran it through my hair.

The strands slipped effortlessly between my fingers, finer than anything I'd ever felt before. They brushed against my neck as they settled back into place, longer than I was accustomed to by an absurd degree.

"...I'm going to have to learn how to take care of this..."

The thought surfaced before I could stop it.

A small, incredulous laugh escaped me.

Of all the things happening in my life—

Transmigration.

Beyonders.

Devils.

Secret churches.

Ancient gods.

—and somehow my biggest immediate concern had become figuring out how to brush waist-length hair.

The absurdity of it all almost made me laugh again.

Almost.

Instead, I simply looked into the mirror once more.

The face looking back wasn't mine.

It belonged to Viel.

A young woman who had been fascinated by mysticism, who had reached beyond the ordinary world searching for something greater...

...and had paid for it with her life.

I reached out once more, resting my fingertips against the cold surface of the mirror.

"I'm sorry," I murmured quietly, unsure whether I was speaking to the reflection...

...or to the woman whose place I had unwillingly taken.

For several long moments, neither of us moved.

Only one reflection remained.

Then tears fell, one after another. I didn't try and stop them, with each crystal tear another seemed to follow.

I reached out once more, resting my fingertips against the cool silver surface of the mirror.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, unsure whether I was speaking to the reflection...

...or to the young woman whose place I had unwillingly taken. The room answered only with silence. For several long moments, I simply stood there, staring at the face before me.

White hair.

Crimson eyes.

A stranger.

No matter how many times I looked, no matter how much I tried to convince myself that this was reality now, my mind now refused to bridge the gap between what I remembered and what I saw.

I remembered rougher hands.

A broader frame.

A deeper voice.

I remembered shaving in the morning.

Throwing on a wrinkled shirt before work.

Absentmindedly running a hand through short hair that never stayed the way I wanted.

Small things.

Meaningless things.

The sort of things no one ever appreciates until they're gone.

I couldn't remember my mother's face as clearly as I wanted.

Or the last meal I'd eaten.

Or what I'd been doing before...

Before...

My brow furrowed.

"...Before what?"

Nothing came.

The memories stopped there.

It was like standing before a cliff and knowing an entire world existed beyond the fog, yet no matter how desperately I strained my eyes, I couldn't see it.

"...No..."

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Come on..."

Nothing.

Not a single answer.

Only silence.

My breathing became uneven.

"I had a life..."

The words came out barely above a whisper.

"I know I did..."

Friends, family, coworkers, someone, there had to be someone!

Someone who would wonder why I never came home, someone waiting for a phone call that would never come, someone who would search...and never find me. A sharp pain settled in my chest.

"...They're going to think I died."

The realization struck with crushing force. Not disappeared. Not transported.

Dead.

To everyone I had ever known...I had simply vanished from existence.

My parents...Would they blame themselves?

Would they spend years wondering what happened?

Would they ever stop looking?

"...I..."

My voice cracked.

I tried to take another breath, but it caught in my throat.

"I never even get to say goodbye!"

The tears came before I realized I was crying.

One drop struck the silver mirror.

Then another.

Soon they blurred the reflection entirely.

I raised a trembling hand to wipe them away, only for more to replace them.

"...Damn it..."

I laughed weakly.

The sound broke halfway through.

"...Damn it..."

My shoulders shook. Everything I'd held together since awakening finally began to unravel. The confusion. The fear. The exhaustion. The loneliness. It all came rushing out at once. I covered my mouth with one hand as a sob escaped despite my best efforts.

"I don't want this..."

Another followed.

"I didn't ask for any of this..."

The room remained silent.

No comforting voice answered.

No miracle returned me home.

Only the quiet walls of an unfamiliar room inside an unfamiliar church in an unfamiliar world.

I slowly slid down the side of the bed until I was sitting on the wooden floor, knees drawn against my chest.

The mirror remained on the desk above me.

Its reflection now hidden from view.

I buried my face against my knees.

"I just..."

Another sob interrupted me.

"...I just want to go home..."

The words echoed softly through the room before fading into silence. Home. Even as I said it...I couldn't remember enough to picture it. The realization hurt more than anything else. It felt as though someone had stolen my life piece by piece, leaving behind only fragments. Enough to know what I'd lost. Not enough to truly remember it.

"...Why?"

I wasn't sure who I was asking.

God?

The world?

Fate?

No answer came.

Only the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere beyond the room.

Eventually...

The tears slowed.

Not because I felt better.

Because I had cried until there was nothing left.

I sat there in silence, eyes swollen, breathing unevenly.

Then...

My gaze drifted back toward the mirror.

Toward the young woman reflected within it.

"...And what about you?"

My voice was hoarse.

"You didn't ask for this either..."

“I barely recall anything substantial from my past…I have more memories of your life then mine….hah….haha…”

I slowly stood and approached the desk once more.

The reflection looked just as exhausted as I felt.

Twenty years old.

Too young. Far too young. I thought of the journal. The careful handwriting. The excitement with which she'd written about mysticism.

The hope.

The curiosity.

The dreams she must have carried.

All gone. Reduced to a corpse that I now inhabited.

"I'm living because..."

I swallowed.

"...because you died."

The words tasted bitter.

"I don't even know if I have the right to stand here."

My fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.

"I'm wearing your face."

"Your voice."

"Your life."

Another tear slipped free.

"I'm sorry."

The apology came more easily this time.

"I'm sorry I can't give any of it back."

Y̸͖̱̻̌̽̌̎̊͝͝ȏ̸̳̻̪͚̆̓̾̏̓͂͜͝ͅư̷͈̜̬̲̑̏͗̀̆̆̈̾̆̀͠͝͠ ̸̧̜̰͚͕̖͙͍̤̺͔͈̮̭̭͖͋͒̓̌̾̄̃͛̽́̕͠c̷̘͉̪̝̠̝̦̗͚̰̗̜͚̖̯̓́̐̌̏̊̔́̏͌̏̈͋̎͐̋̕ͅa̵̖͓͌͂̽̂͌̕n̸̞̫̯̳̰͖̙̮̜̉̔̐̇̌̿͗͒̚̕͜ ̷̨̛̻̮̭͎̎̔̅͗͂̈́̑͠ͅģ̵̢̭͈͖͎͛̇̉̔͊̍̓̀̿͑͘̕̚͘į̴̧̯͕͙̰̪̘̺͉́̋̂̑͑̂͠v̸̢̨̙̺̦͍͚̗̯͔͚̻̈́͐́͗͌̽ę̸̢̼͎̭͉̱̻̥̭̥̮̊̊̅̾͊̌͌̍̑̚ ̵̙͚͍͙̦̩̠̀́̑́̈́͋̽̒̐̎̔̍̃̾͘͜͝i̵̫͚͔̱̝̍̈̍́̔̂̂̓͛̌̔t̶̡̧̹͔̜͉̯̝͓̣͎̬̦̭̘̩͂̄̿̓ͅ ̸͍̓͆͆͐̌̀̿̋́̓͆̃͂b̷̡͇̥͚̤͓̖͇̘̱͚̜̯̘͖͎̂̀̎́͗̋̈́̆̂̏͂̊â̶̜̠̱̓̓̓͐̐̈̕͝͝c̴̨̲̠̗̺͇̙̻͆͗̈͛̽̍̿̋͂̕͠͠͠ķ̶̛̟̘͚̔̉̈́̇̈̂̏͑͋͛͝ͅͅ.̵̩̲̜̣̤̤̖̖̤̫̬͓͔͚̙̓͑̒ͅ.̴̛̛̭͖̼̘̖̲͔̈́̾̉̎̂̾͌̈́̓͜.̶̢̳͉̥̭̒̑̅͘͜ͅͅ.̶̛̛̜̙̖͗͐͑͊͐̄̒̉̚̕͝.̸̢̨̝̹̖̼̠͓̫̳͎̌͆̈́̆̋̌̒̀͛̐͜

I tense at the sudden voice and quickly search around the room, only to realize after my first sweep that I am still alone…… I sigh between sobs trying to gather my  bearings and trying to decide what that voice was. I slowly stumble to the bed, as a wave of exhaustion hits me along with a splitting migraine.

Between the pain and the exhaustion I feel my consciousness quickly fade. As I slowly gave my room one last look through to make sure I was alone my eyes caught the sight of my face in the mirror….I saw a look of disgust stare back at me, my own face….I blink. Its gone…..or well the expression it gave at least, what was left was a small fracture in the mirrors surface no bigger then a hair. But exhaustion finally wins and drift off but I mutter softy as I pass out.

“What is madness...........?”

-End-
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Art made by ririrura on pinterest

Finally finished this chapter and sorry if it seemed like a bit of a slower chapter. I want to give a special thanks to u/Ezcu123 for helping me build up the church here and provide me with detailed information on some of the inner workings to make it more accurate and of the faith! Thank you all as always for all the support!

Praise the Hanged Man!