Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“—So that you can be reborn in Sefirah Castle?”

Before the captive Klein, Amon paced languidly about. He took a slow step forward, then veered sharply at a right angle, over and over, gracefully placing one foot after the other. One step, two steps, a third, and finally, the forth, forming a complete square.

Nothing happened.

With a smile, He glanced at Klein, monocle glinting.

...The more I talk to this fellow, the more mistakes I make… Sitting stiffly upon a stool and feeling like one of Emyln’s doll, Klein decided that perhaps the best course of action was to remain silent. Fatigue, both mental and physical, weighed down his depleted spirit and motionless body. Mistakes came easier than ever. He’d had a long day—from disrupting the apotheosis ritual of a king, to fighting numerous saints and angels, and then having to flee from Zaratul—and the last thing he wanted now was to have a chat with The Angel of Time.

Amon, however, did not seem to care. Clasping His hands behind His back, the Angel continued to walk in a square, casting soft shadows upon the walls as He went, a simple, pleased smile playing about His lips. Shaking His head in amusement, He said soothingly, "There's no need to be so afraid. Actually, there's no bad blood between us."

Klein did not respond.

Amon paused. He took a step forward towards His captive, His monocle glinting as it caught a beam of light. Leaning in uncomfortably close, Amon stared into His foe’s unblinking eyes from barely even an inch away, His dark eyes curving into crescents, a spark of something unknowable, something unidentifiable, something mad trying to claw its way to the surface, and time seemed to stall to a still as he declared—

“—The only conflict we have is regarding Sefirah Castle.”

Then the moment broke. With a picture-perfect smile plastered on His thin face and an elegant swish of His classical robes, the nigh-divine entity calmly leaned back, resuming His pacing.

"But do you really wish to shoulder that fate?” Amon asked over His shoulder, smiling broadly as He looked upon Klein’s tense form. He chuckled. “Aren't you worried that the true owner of Sefirah Castle will revive within you?"

Wearily following Amon’s every move as best he could with stiff eyeballs, Klein had to—reluctantly—admit that the trickster had a point. At times, in the dark of night when doubt and longing could not be suppressed, he wondered if he would ever make it home at all. He wondered if everything had already been arranged, and that the last piece was merely waiting to be placed. He wondered if, one day, he would go to sleep, and then He would wake up.

He did not speak.

Though Amon’s eyes drifted about the room, Klein was certain that he had the ancient Angel’s full, undivided attention. The air was heavy with it, pressing down on him even as he sat with complete stillness, a thousand unseen eyes fixated on his motionless form from every angle. There was no escape, no hope, no end.

Completing another circuit, Amon came to stand before Klein once more and smiled. "But the solution is simple… If you give me Sefirah Castle, all your problems will be resolved,” He said happily, clapping His hands together as if to say that’s final.

Klein did not move. He did not blink. But in that instant, his heart beat with such hope he was surprised it didn’t simply explode.

Amon shot him another small, secret smile. Adjusting His monocle, He continued, "That way, whether the original owner of Sefirah Castle comes back to life, or if the corresponding fate can be shouldered, the person who needs to worry is me, not you.” He turned away and took a step forward, His tone light and airy.

"I'll be the one to take over the subsequent arrangements of my dear Father, Door, and Lil' Zaratul's pursuits. Ah—And, the benediction of Evernight, too, naturally.” Step.

“You will be freed from all this and never have to face that cruel, cruel fate. See? We do not need to become enemies. My prey will only be Pallez, Lil' Zaratul, and Door. I won’t even touch that fascinating little Tarot Club of yours.” Step.

“Ah! How about becoming my Blessed? You will still have many opportunities to achieve Angelhood, if that’s what you desire. Under my aegis, what wish is there that cannot be fulfilled?” Step. Finishing another cycle, Amon spun around and faced His captive audience as he made His proposal, throwing out His arms, smiling from ear to ear. He almost seemed to be anticipating applause, brimming with all the eagerness of an actor’s first performance.

Klein took a moment to consider it.

“Kill me,” he said.

"Is that the only thing you know how to say?" Amon said without any signs of anger, disappointment or displeasure. Laughing brightly, He stepped closer to Klein—a touch too close for Klein’s already disturbed peace of mind—His flawless monocle gleaming eerily in the dim light.

The Angel of Time’s smile never wavered. Leaning down next to the unmoving Klein’s ear, He whispered…

“Or perhaps you would like the method to return home—This ‘Earth’, as my Father calls it?”

────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

“In return for transferring ownership of Sefirah Castle to Amon, Klein Moretti shall receive Amon’s full support in returning home—returning to planet Earth of the Solar System. To this end, Klein Moretti will be provided with the potion formula, ritual, and beyonder characteristic of the Door Pathway’s Sequence 2, also known as Planeswalker. Henceforth, Klein Moretti is declared the Blessed of The Angel of Time—soon Blessed of Mysteries—and he and his family shall be under Amon’s protection until the collapse of time and the destruction of fate,” a priest intoned. He wore a gentle smile, overlooking all living beings with compassion and radiating a holy light. Turning to the two people seated before Him, He asked softly: “Well?”

Situated in a cathedral of corpses were three figures, each immersed in their own world. Standing tall before a majestic cross, a priest wearing robes of the purest white clasped His hands together, seemingly in prayer. Smiling with child-like innocence, the priest—Adam—was holding onto a long scroll containing elegant words scribbled in gold, glowing with a mysterious inner light, banishing away the cathedral’s non-existent shadows.

Gazing kindly at His guests, He reiterated, “Well?”

Seated on opposite pews, Amon and Klein both ignored the smiling Adam.

Wearing an outwardly calm and composed demeanor, Klein was inwardly falling apart. In his violently steady hands, Klein held an illusory copy of the contract, his dark eyes rapidly scanning over each and every clause, searching for some loophole or trick, barely daring to hope even as the key to all his dreams lay clutched—gently—in his hands. He wanted—he yearned desperately for everything that had just happened to have been true, to have not been a lie, to have been more than a fleeting dream. He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything; more than he had wanted to survive when facing down the True Creator’s Spawn; more than he had wanted revenge against Ince Zangwill; more than he had wanted to never feel again when he first laid eyes on the softly swaying cocoons. He wanted—he wanted…

I…

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in, Klein finally let himself hope as he finished reviewing the contract for the seventeenth time. Unbidden, a small smile rose to his lips.

… Will finally go home.

In contrast, Amon was practically vibrating with excitement and did not bother hiding it. With a maniacal grin and wide, unblinking eyes, he turned to face Klein and said happily, “Really, Mr. Fool, this is all very exciting, don’t you agree? Though, I must say—I’m very disappointed that you didn’t put up much of a fight. I was looking forward to seeing what kind of challenges you might’ve presented me, but alas…” the Angel of Time shook his head in apparent sorrow, adjusting his crystalline monocle with a hint of disappointment.

Klein did not deign to reply, only bothering to cast Him a nasty glare out of the corner of his eyes. Amon smirked back.

Adam cleared His throat politely. Two sets of glares pivoted to the priest, who gently remarked, “Have you two inspected the contract to your satisfaction?”

Taking off His monocle, Amon thoughtfully wiped clean the already flawless lens with a silken cloth. “I suppose so, Father,” He drawled, drawing out the word Father, intently studying His monocle in the Corpse Cathedral’s muted light. The corners of lips curled slowly upwards and his eyes lit up, as though seeing a beautiful future reflected within the pristine lens. “There’s no point in drawing this out anymore.”

Glancing at the still and silent Klein, He put His monocle back into place and smirked, declaring, “I am satisfied with this agreement.”

Adam turned to look at Klein, patient.

Klein’s head remained bowed, his dark eyes roaming over the mystical document in his hands yet again. As gentle as the beat of a butterfly’s wings, his fingers trailed over the words “...help Klein Moretti return home,” watching, mesmerised, as the golden letters shimmered and shined.

Uncaring of the twin stares burning holes into his silent profile, he ran his eyes over those precious words again and again, trying to brand the sight onto his soul. It almost didn’t feel real. For so, so long he’d chased after this ethereal goal, and now, it was within reach at last. Was this it, then? The end of his journey, the curtain call of his tale? There was still so much he didn’t know, so much that was left unanswered. Why had he transmigrated to begin with? Why had he been able to access Sefirah Castle? Even if he managed to return home, how much time would’ve passed? Would his parents still be alive? Would his friends still be around? Would they happily welcome back their wayward son, their long-lost friend? Or would’ve he have become a stranger—no, a monster, twisted and inhuman, in their eyes? What if—

—No.

Klein clutched the slippery, illusory contract in his trembling hands, breathing hard. He needed to believe. He needed to have faith. How could he doubt their love towards him, the bonds of blood and the decades of memories they held?

This was it. He could no longer hold any doubt. It was too late to turn back now. This was the key—he needed only to reach out and unlock the door; that brilliant, beautiful door leading home.

“Yes,” he said at last. Klein Moretti closed his eyes. “I am satisfied.”

“Wonderful!” Amon exclaimed, the sound echoing off the skulls and bones and souls composing the Corpse Cathedral, His dark eyes narrowing in delight. His monocle glowed with the force of a miniature star. It rankled Klein that he had been the one who’d made Amon so pleased, but there was no helping it, he supposed.

“Alright,” was Adam’s reply, as calm and indifferent as ever. Lightly flicking His wrist, the scroll the priest was holding rapidly rolled in on itself and revealed its last few lines; the place where they would sign their names, binding them to the contract forevermore. Simultaneously, the illusory copies before the two Lord of Mysteries candidates faded away. Manifesting a feather quill, Adam beckoned them over.

Without hesitation, Amon Stole the distance between Himself and His father. Picking up the quill, He swiftly wrote the name Amon on the dotted line, gazing at the burning golden letters with giddy satisfaction. Klein, who had walked like a normal human being, was greeted enthusiastically with a white quill being shoved forcibly in his hand. Pausing briefly to glare at the now impatient Amon, he took up the quill and…

And…

…

“What’s the matter?” Adam asked calmly, having turned His back to them and was now staring devotedly at the gigantic cross that made up the centerpiece of the Corpse Cathedral. A pair of placid golden eyes glanced towards Klein. “Is there a term you would like to add?”

Amon was quiet, only gazing at the current owner of Sefirah castle with a hooded gaze.

“I…” Klein began, only to pause. Because… because suddenly, the feather quill in his hand weighed more than the tallest mountain. Because he knew, in that moment, that he was about to lose something important—something even more precious than the memories buried deep in his soul, something more invaluable than Sefirah Castle itself. And he didn’t know what it was. He was making some kind of mistake. He was sure that he was being tricked, somehow, despite the fact that he had thoroughly checked the terms, over and over and over—

“Zhou,” Adam called out gently, his golden eyes full of that child-like innocence, limpid and bright, alight like morning dew in the sunlight, burning with inner radiance. How beautiful, how holy, how inhuman. The priest smiled serenely. “What’s the matter?”

At once, Klein tightly pursed his lips together. “Don’t call me that,” he snapped, curt and not a little angry. What right did Adam, of all people, have to say that name? Liar, manipulator, false friend—!

He let out a shaky breath, trying to steady his emotions, bringing to bear all the powers of a Clown. What mattered now wasn’t Adam. Hadn’t he already resolved to do this? To doubt himself was to fall into the abyss. To doubt was death. He had lost the privilege to doubt the moment he first swallowed the Seer potion; the only way was forward, there was no turning back.

Klein exhaled, gently. “It’s nothing. It’s… nothing.”

Adam and Amon only watched on, not urging him to sign or change his mind.

Gripping tightly onto the quill in hands, the foreigner adrift from his homeland slowly reached out and wrote the words Klein Moretti on the final line. As the last stroke was carved into the page, staring at it, he felt something falling into place—or perhaps something had broken apart. The quill fell silently away, dissolving into motes of light.

There’s no turning back now.

“—It is done,” a voice pronounced. He did not know who's.

────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

Humming a happy tune to himself, Klein skipped leisurely towards a full-body mirror, admiring his current appearance with a light smile. A face somewhat resembling the crazy adventurer Gehrman Sparrow gazed back at him—no, not resembling, but rather the face that had inspired Gehrman’s appearance was reflected before him, brimming with an almost alien aura of content.

Klein reached out, fingers brushing over his outline in the mirror. Though once exceedingly familiar, the appearance of Zhou Mingrui now felt… ill fitted. Like a stranger’s. Still, now with his destination finally in sight, it would be wise to get used to his original form once more. He didn’t want to scare his parents, after all.

At that thought, Klein’s smile widened further. He imagined his mother, staring at him in confusion but with acceptance as he narrated tales of his journey. Perhaps she would interject at times, scolding him about taking better care of himself, then “forcibly” feeding him his favourite foods and sweets, all while saying, “Now that you can control your weight, no more saying that we’re making you chubby!” or something of the sort, before proceeding to pile his plate with more food. He thought of his father, completely baffled and not following along with his explanations at all, and yet pretending to completely understand all the same, laughing loudly at his mistakes and jokes, commenting frequently and derailing his tales. And then his friends would…

Suddenly, a stream of information flowed into his brain like a rushing tide drowning an empty basin, startling him out of his recollections.

Sequence 2, Planeswalker… Main ingredient: one Interdimensional Hunter's Brain, also known as the Eye of a Purple Phoenix, and a piece of Active Void... Or a Planeswalker Beyonder Characteristic… Supplementary Ingredients: a Worm of Star, a Worm of Time, a Worm of Spirit… Ritual: Leave legends about yourself at 9 different locations outside of this planet…

Furrowing his brows, Klein focused on absorbing the information pouring into him. In the not-so-private confines of his mind, he cursed Amon.

That little… Would it have been so hard to warn me? Struggling to contain his expression, Klein’s left eye twitched wildly. His hands made a grabbing motion mid-air, strangling an imaginary neck. He thought of Amon, who was probably spectating him at this moment and let out a sad sigh, resigned. There was nothing he could do to Amon now, save perhaps pray to Adam for help; although whether or not his pleas would be answered was another matter entirely. Still… so this is what it’s like being on the receiving end…

Just then, a familiar grayish-white fog filled his vision, and from a distant height he saw the figure of the God of Mischief lounging causally on a high-backed chair. Amon smiled down at him, chin in hand.

“An attempt,” the new and far too comfortable owner of Sefirah Castle explained cheekily, grinning down at His Blessed. Amon ran a loving hand through the long mottled table before Him, ordering loftily, “Set up a bestowment ritual. I’ll send down your little knick-knacks. Oh, and quickly contact the Abraham family. I want you to advance to sequence 2 as soon as possible. Make haste.”

And thus, the mystical vision disappeared and once more Klein found himself faced with his baffled reflection.

After a few heartbeats of blank staring and incomprehension, Klein let out a tired sigh, brushing a hand through his hair. Well, no one said it would be easy, he thought, a touch bemused. Oh well. He would simply have to make do with what he had at hand, as always.

Quickly taking out his supplies, Klein briskly set up the bestowment ritual. Taking out a dagger, setting up a wall of spirituality, lighting the candles… It was a familiar process, one he’d done a hundred times before—too familiar, in fact, that he nearly used the incorrect honorific name when praying. Klein’s expression did not so much as twitch. With his head bowed and hands clasped together, he appeared the very pinnacle of piety, devotedly praying for the grace of his god like a good little Blessed and in no way a blasphemous fool that had nearly called on the wrong deity. Softly, he whispered,

"The Clock-Hand that Tampers with Time,

The Shadow that Roams across Fate,

The Embodiment of Deceit and Trickery.

Your devoted servant prays for your attention,

I pray for you to open the gates to your Kingdom.

I pray for you to give me strength."

Through the Door of Summoning, various objects flowed out, quickly filling the altar, with Creeping Hunger nearly smacking him in the face as it flew out of Sefirah Castle. Thankfully, his new “employer” had seen fit to grant him a nifty Traveler’s bag, and so the contents of the junk pile (sans Creeping Hunger, who seemed to require some reinstruction) once more were stuffed out of sight and out of mind—though he noted with some regret that some of his possessions, like the cards of blasphemy, were missing. What a pity. He hadn’t had a chance to dangle them over Roselle’s head quite just yet. Still, he supposed that hoping for all of his belongings to remain un-pilfered was asking too much of the soon-to-be God of thieves. At least he still had all his money… little as that may be.

With that done, Klein quickly outlined his next steps in his mind, tapping a thoughtful finger against the full-body mirror. Summoning the historical projection of a pen and paper, Klein quickly drew a series of symbols representing secrecy and mystery prying, intending to summon Arrodes and draw up a plan. Standing before the full-body mirror, he waited.

And waited.

…

Nothing happened.

Noting the lack of aqueous ripples on the mirror’s surface and the brightness of the room, Klein frowned, a sense of… unease… crawling through him. A bit cold, he drew his jacket tighter around himself.

Is it because I’m not the owner of Sefirah Castle anymore? he wondered, feeling a twinge of sadness at the thought. He shook it away. But I should still have some of its lingering aura… Or is it because it's not in Backlund right now?

Taking out a coin, he flipped it, chanting the divination statement in his mind. Heads. His frown deepened. How very strange. How very… unusual.

I wonder what kind of circumstances would require a sealed artifact such as Arrodes to be taken out of Backlund now of all times…

Suddenly, a pang of pain ran through him. A wave of dizziness assaulted him, and he struggled to stay upright. His unsteady hand brushed over an object—a vase, a brush, or perhaps a cup, he couldn’t tell—falling to the floor and breaking upon impact. Whisperers of ravings hovered at the edge of his hearing and odd, illusory shapes appeared in his blurry, blinking vision.

Damn… Klein cursed in his mind, quickly ending the summoning of the pen and paper. I’ve completely drained my spirituality… I need… sleep… I need… to get…… bed…

Stumbling over himself, Klein crossed the small inn room as swiftly as he could, staggering into the tiny bedroom and nearly smacking his head against the door frame in the process. In a few short steps, he was next to his bed and fighting a futile battle against the pull of darkness.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow, falling into a long, dreamless slumber.

Chapter Text

“That is all for today,” he spoke calmly, his voice echoing throughout the magnificent ancient palace.

“By your will,” the familiar figures of the Tarot Club replied like clockwork, standing up as one to pay their respects, before being engulfed in a sea of crimson.

Sefirah Castle returned to its unchanging, lonely silence once more. Letting out a small breath, Klein leaned back in his high-backed chair, eyes falling close.

“—Done already?”

From behind him, a young man with curly black hair wearing classical robes and holding a crystalline monocle—Amon—approached, emerging from the ever-shifting fog, a smile on His face. Causally, He perched Himself on the seat of honor’s armrest, forcing Klein to shuffle over and give Him room. Klein sent Him a nasty look, which the Angel of Time utterly ignored.

Grinning amicably, Klein’s employer asked, “Anything to report, my dear Blessed?” From the depths of His robes, Amon pulled out another monocle—despite already wearing one—and started cleaning it, patiently awaiting Klein’s answer.

Forcing himself to remain calm, Klein raised an eyebrow. “As if you weren’t listening to everything,” he deadpanned. He tried to sit up from his seat, only to be forced back down by Amon Himself.

Amon laughed upon seeing his confused look. Smiling, He tried to put the monocle on Klein’s right eye, though the latter batted Him away, clearly irritated. He shook His head and sighed sorrowfully, “Can’t I ask my diligent Blessed for a report? How mean. Should I deduct this infraction from your salary?”

“You don’t pay me anything,” Klein retorted, sounding more than a little annoyed about that fact. If I have to slave away, why can’t I be paid to do so?! Even the Church of Evernight takes better care of their members than you, and I’m your only subordinate!!

Making a tsk sound, Amon finally overpowered His “dear” Blessed and forced His monocle on Klein—albeit on the left eye. Klein scowled. Amon smirked.

The Angel of Time leisurely kicked off the seat of honor, His robes swishing as went. “Well?”

Klein paused to pull off the monocle and swiftly rearranged his thoughts, carefully considering his words. “...Miss Magician is planning on assaulting the Saint of Secrets Botis soon. The ladies—that is, Miss Justice, Ma’am Hermit, and Miss Judgment—will be participating. I’ll most likely lend aid as ‘Gehrman’ as well, and hopefully we will retrieve the Box of Great Old Ones. If so, it will most likely be sacrificed to ‘Mr. Fool’,” he stopped, waiting to see if Amon would add anything.

Starting to circle the 22 seats, Amon’s footfalls echoed within the vast palace. Idly, His hand brushed over the symbol adorning Miss Magician’s chair—that of many illusory doors layered upon each other. He hummed thoughtfully.

“The Box of Great Old Ones is too dangerous to be used as a potion ingredient,” the Angel said simply, tucking His hands behind His back and inspecting the other high-backed chairs with curiosity. “Continue,” He prompted in the accompanying lull of silence.

Klein did, tapping rhythmically on the bronze table. “In that case, I plan to trade with the Abraham family for one of their other sequence 2 Beyonder Characteristics, using the Box of Great Old Ones and…” despite himself, Klein hesitated briefly, “... And a promise to help rid them of their bloodline curse in exchange,” he finished as casually as he could.

Amon shot him an amused look, now standing beside The World’s seat.

“While I would love to see the look on your face when I reject your little request…” Amon drawled, smiling meanly as He caught Klein’s glare, “...I did, however, promise to help you advance to sequence 2,” He finished reluctantly, not at all hiding how much He relished the thought of torturing His Blessed. Klein’s glare intensified.

Amon sighed, a hand trailing over the back of The World's chair. “Even I cannot treat Father’s contracts lightly. So don’t worry your squishy little head over insignificant matters, Mr. Fool. I shall honor my promises. At least,” the Lord of Mysteries candidate added mischievously, “for the moment. But who’s to say what the future holds?”

That did not abade Klein worries at all. Still, it was a promise to help… at least… he thought it was…?

…I’ll take what I can get.

“Ah!” Amon exclaimed suddenly, as if He had just thought of something. Klein was instantly on guard. Smiling, He turned to His Blessed, head peeking out from behind an unoccupied seat. He adjusted His monocle and tilted His head, His black pointed hat falling to conceal His left eye, leaving only a small, sly smile visible to Klein’s eyes. The Angel’s voice was deceptively light. “And what of Pallez’ host… The Star?”

At that, Klein tensed, though he quickly brought his bodily movements under control. “The Star?” he asked just as airily, resting his head on a gloved hand. Earnestly, he looked into his “Lord”’s eye, his open expression the very definition of sincerity. “I don’t believe that he nor Pallez suspect anything. Whatever you’re planning, they know nothing of it.” Neither do I, for that matter.

“Yes,” Amon laughed, striding up to The Hanged Man’s seat, an air of amusement about him. A dark eye peered at Klein through the lens of a monocle, the playful malice of a child flashing through the Angel’s eye. Amon’s lips curled upwards. “You’re very good at lying to those closest to you, aren’t you, Mr. Fool?”

Klein’s smile painfully stretched wider. It felt like a thousand shards of glass had impaled his beating heart. It was necessary, he thought, though the pain did not stop. It was for the best. I always knew that I’d have to leave for home one day; it’s best for there to be as few farewells as possible when the time finally comes. Besides, Leonard will be fine—Amon can’t hurt him, nor any of the other Tarot members, as per our contract. Adam will see to that, and so will Roselle. Even Amanises will help where She can—so it’s fine. It’ll be fine.

So why didn’t it feel fine?

With considering steps, The Angel of Time strode past Klein, disappearing from the latter’s view, unheeding of His Blessed’s internal turmoil. “That is well. All is proceeding as planned. Although there’s no pressing deadline, it’s still best to complete things as soon as possible. Remember to quickly contact the Abraham family, Mr. Fool,” Amon spoke languidly, before suddenly coming to a stop.

“That reminds me…” Klein heard Amon say, His voice distant and fleeting, as though filtered through a haze. “When I retrieve the final sequence 1 characteristic from Pallez and advance to sequence 0 at last… I won’t have any more use for your little Tarot Club, will I?”

Klein sat deathly still, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

“And for the ritual, you’ll need to wander the cosmos, which I’m sure will leave you extremely occupied, Mr. Fool,” Amon idly remarked, his voice growing fainter and fainter. Grayish-white fog filled Klein vision, drifting closer to him by the minute. “You’ll be going home soon anyway. What point is there in dragging out an inevitable parting? This could even be a good thing for you, you know. When I ascend to Error, and then beyond that, everyone will simply assume that I gobbled you up along the way. You won’t even have to face the consequences of your lies and get to disappear silently.” He laughed, as though there was anything amusing about His words at all.

It’ll be fine, Klein thought, staring at the fog suffusing Sefirah Castle with unblinking eyes, watching detachedly as it slowly crept closer towards his motionless form. I can still contact them as The World, can’t I? In a way, this is a very neat resolution. The Tarot Club is strong. They’ll be fine on their own. I’ll have done some good in this mad, wretched world, by helping them as I have so far.

The grayish-white fog enveloped his hand, as though holding it in comfort, or perhaps binding it in chains.

One day, they will barely remember the blurry faces of Mr. Fool and Mr. World at all, remaining only as a distant memory, unimportant and insignificant. And he would be home, back on Earth, surrounded by his family and friends; the meaning of his life, the reason he existed. No more looking over his shoulder, fearing for his life. No more scheming, no more lying. No more dancing with death, dangling on the edge of the abyss, forever fearing the monster, the madness, that lurked within. Zhou Mingrui—Klein Moretti—whoever he was—would be free, safe and happy.

“Goodbye, Mr. Fool,” Amon’s farewell came to him as if from the bottom of a well, echoing from a distant point far beyond his reach. “See you next Monday, 3 P.M. Backlund time. Don’t be late.”

The fog had nearly engulfed him now, obscuring all that he could see. Klein lifted a hand, and he could make out only a vague silhouette, fighting futility against the inevitable.

“Do as you please,” was his indifferent reply. Klein closed his eyes, accepting, as a crimson wave swallowed him whole.

It’ll be fine.

────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

Standing by a cliffside, Klein stood overlooking the sunset, watching silently as it fell beneath the horizon line, as the azure waves shifted into gold and then black, as the noise of the city morphed into silence and as the stars began to shine from behind the veil of night, the salty breeze caressing his face all the while. He held up a black cane inlaid with gems, gently running a gloved thumb over the handle. After a moment, Klein turned his back to the sea, peering at the city behind him, quiet and serene in the embrace of the night.

He felt so small, so insignificant like this, gazing out into the world, a tiny boat in the rocking waves, a flickering flame in the dark. A thousand points of light could be seen from his seaside perch, each and every one of them a lantern, a hearth, a home.

A strong wind blew by, lifting his windbreaker. Klein held on to his half-top hat, anchoring it in place. He was—they all were—mere leaves in the wind, fated to be torn apart by the storm, lost in the unstoppable current that was Fate.

But I will persevere, he swore, holding the cane—the Staff of the Stars—close. Even if I’m shredded until not a piece of me remains, left all on my lonesome to drift in the wind, I will find a way back home.

With one last fleeting glance at the city, Klein lifted the Staff of the Stars, shifting his gaze to the vast cosmos overhead. In the next second, he Wandered into the endless comos, infinite and unknown, leaving behind his friends, his Anchors and all that he had once known, embarking on his journey home.

────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

The cosmos was beyond his imagination.

He Wandered through many worlds. Some were overrun with undead, caught in eternal warfare and unending misery. Others employed technology that wouldn’t be out of place in a sci-fi novel, and he made sure to pick up some fun souvenirs along the way for his family (though he made sure to divine their safety beforehand—it wouldn’t be very funny if his mother suddenly started speaking solely in binary after wearing one of ‘Autie Zowie’s’ mood rings a tad too long, after all, even if Amon disagreed). In one world, he befriended strange lizardmen that shot blood out of their eyes as an attack mechanism and existed in tribes that were stuck in constant, often violent, conflict. Surprisingly, they were gracious hosts and excellent chefs, so he didn’t mind their little quirks over much.

Exploring the sea of stars, Klein truly understood, for the first time, just how small his world had been. Some places, like his Earth—still beyond his reach, even now—were cut off from the mainstream beyonder systems and persisted on mundane technology. There were even places that used unique systems like boons and relied on bestowment of higher-level entities for power, which was utterly fascinating, though he restrained his curiosity and tried not to trend where he shouldn’t. One time, he visited a planet that was quite literally alive (a very unpleasant experience), and only escaped being devoured by the skin of his teeth (pun unintended). Amon never let him live it down.

(There was also a disturbing proliferation of pregnant males within the cosmos. Why?

…Some stones were better left unturned)

Though most realities he visited were flourishing, or at least inhabited with life, this was not always the case. There were planets that had decayed beyond the point of no return, withering away at a rate visible to the eye, and Klein took care to avoid those. Some places, though once documented by the Abarham family as mostly safe and benign many millennia ago, were now ticking time bombs and living land mines, not safe for even Angels, much less a puny little sequence 3 like him.

(...More than once or twice, Klein had been forced to rely on Amon’s “grace” in escaping sticky situations.

It still irked him to no end.)

Loitering in a major extraterrestrial hub for wanderers of the cosmos, he caught whispers of worlds that were stuck in perpetual loops and places so steeped in dreams it was impossible to tell truth from lies, and he shuddered, hoping to never have the misfortune of experiencing that. Once, he even heard tell of a reality that existed only in two dimensions—two! It was like something straight out of a disney film! Though he was consumed by curiosity, he reined himself in and redirected his attention by focusing on completing the ritual.

Overall, it was confusing, exciting, and very, very lonely.

The records of the Abraham family had emphasized the dangers of these wondrous, incomprehensible worlds. It was best, and safest, to keep any kind of contact with other entities to an absolute minimum, even to beings confirmed to be mostly harmless by senior Wanderers and Planeswalkers. Endure loneliness, the ancestor of the Abraham family—the elusive Mr. Door—had warned his descendants, and Klein was not about to question the wisdom of the Angel most experienced in traversing the cosmos, no matter how mad or wretched he had become in the present time. Still, it was hard to endure isolation, adrift so far from everything he knew.

Thankfully, he was a Scholar of Yore, and thus could quite literally summon his friends.

“—And so I told Bernadette, ‘It’s fine if the person you love isn’t perfect, or has questionable morals, or is kinda stupid, or is weaker than you, or has a shorter life span, or even if he’s—no, they’re, we’re an inclusive household here—very old physically, or maybe spiritually—Ah, but they have to be good-looking, of course!—or if they’re under an unbreakable curse of some sort. As long as they love you wholeheartedly, and you love them just as much—oh, and they have to be at least as handsome as me without my mustache, naturally—I will support and accept them no matter who they may be!’ Hm. Though maybe not if they’re a Seer. Pah! Those bastards always make me tick!”

Blowing on a dandelion-like plant, Klein gave the blabbing Roselle a nasty look.

“I’m. Right. Here.”

Seemingly genuinely confused, Roselle turned to his friend and said, “I know? Where else would you be?”

Klein took a moment to process this statement and then gave the newly-revived Emperor a dead-eyed stare. Sighing, he blew sadly on the weird not-dandelion plant, watching as the azure seeds followed an invisible wind, drifting out the open window and into the night. How beautiful they were, so free, so untethered. He wondered what that felt like.

Stretching and yawning, Klein began, “Did your oh-so precious Bernadette actually express any sort of interest in romance at all, or did come to the stunning conclusion that your 200 year old daughter—who, for all I know, has never even kissed someone—has suddenly decided to start dating all on your own? Besides, you’re not exactly the first, nor the second, nor the fiftieth person I would ask for love advice from—No offense, of course. Oh, and just so you know, I have exactly fifty-two acquaintances.”

“Who’s the fifty-second person you would ask for love advice from, then?” Roselle asked, morbidly curious despite himself.

Klein grinned. “Amon.”

For a second, Roselle pondered this, then nodded. It made sense. Still— “Of course my Bernadette asked about it! Admittedly, it might’ve been more of a throwaway statement—but regardless, my Bernadette must know that her Daddy will always be there for her!!”

The Emperor nodded fiercely to his own statement, tears in his eyes. “Ah, I can recall it even now, the respect in her eyes, the love burning in her soul—I truly am the best father, the wisest and the greatest of all!”

Klein sneezed. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘delusional’”

“Brother!” Roselle cried, outraged. “Why are you like this to me? I thought we were bond brothers, whose ties were forged not through mere blood, but through tears! The experiences we shared, our origin, our protagonist halos—! Zhou, my brother, my friend, you’ll stay with me until the end, won’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Klein replied, tuning the Emperor out. It was much more interesting to watch the tiny little pixies under his window, who were doing acrobatic tricks, than to listen to Roselle recount the story of when baby Queen Mystic had first called him “Daddy” again for the third time. Absently, he twirled what remained of the not-dandelion in his hand, gazing quietly out the window.

“You’re ignoring me,” The Black Emperor huffed, seating himself next to Klein. Leaning on the wall, he silently eyed Klein’s side profile, examining the dark circles under his friend’s eyes, the tired moue of his lips, the anxious fiddling, and the general aura of exhaustion he radiated…

“Ah!” Roselle exclaimed, so suddenly that Klein whirled around to face him, eyes wide, his hand outstretched, ready to pull out the Staff of the Stars from the Historical Void in anticipation of an enemy attack. Grinning broadly and utterly oblivious to Klein’s alarm, Roselle threw an arm over the latter’s shoulder, making Klein stiffen in—unpleasant—surprise. The Emperor laughed heartily. “Oh! I know why you’re so gloomy now!”

Struggling not to frown, Klein asked dryly, “Oh, do you now? Enlighten me, please,” while trying to, unsuccessfully, unhook the Emperor’s arm from his body.

Excited at having parsed out the mysterious riddle that was Klein Moretti, Roselle leaned closer to his friend and whispered low in his ear, as if afraid that they would be overheard.

“You're obviously pent-up,” Roselle Gustav, Son of Steam, Emperor of Intis, whispered conspiratorially, a look of understanding in his sky-blue eyes.

Speechless, Klein could only stare at his friend, mouth hanging open, convinced that the Black Emperor had finally gone mad—Or perhaps he had always been insane? Did reviving from the dead pull lose a screw in his fellow countryman? Or was the resurrection method of the Black Emperor not as safe as it seemed? Countless theories spun around in Klein’s brain like a flailing child caught in a whirlpool, and, after a few highly confusing seconds, all that he could say was, “What?”

Still smiling with that look in his eyes, Roselle winked—actually winked!—at Klein, like they were sharing some great secret, before his expression morphed into one of solemnity. “Worry not, brother,” the Black Emperor declared as if proclaiming war against the vast expanse of heaven and earth itself. “No matter what, I—no, we will find you a wife, regardless of the cost!!”

Thrusting a fist in the air, Roselle seemed very moved and used his other hand to wipe away a stray tear.

“A… wife,” Klein repeated blankly, as though he had never heard the word before.

“Exactly!” the Black Emperor announced, throwing his arms around his fellow countryman once again, utterly jubilant.

Slowly, silently, Klein unlatched Roselle’s arms from around him with an air of distaste and backed off, staring flatly at the Emperor from a—safe—distance away. “First of all,” Klein held up a finger, “you're insane.”

“Hey!” Roselle protested.

“Secondly,” Klein continued before he could be interrupted, holding up two fingers, “I just told you, not even three minutes ago, that you’re the second-to-last person I’d ever go to for love advice. I’d rather set up an appointment with Susie the talking dog than listen to you, Mr. The-taste-of-a-Demoness-ain’t-bad. Your track record doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

Roselle pouted, crossing his arms. In his regal attire and majestic black crown, such a combination seemed almost comical, like a clown wearing a suit or a thief giving away money. “At least I’m not the last person on that list,” he muttered darkly, more to himself than anything. Then louder, “And isn’t that joke growing a bit stale by now?”

Finally, a small smile found its way onto Klein’s face. “Not at all.”

Standing up, Klein blew on what was left of the not-dandelion and watched, almost forlornly, as it drifted out into the quiet night, then far beyond his sight. With a twist of his spirituality, the stem caught alight, burning to cinders in mere moments, its ashes following a winding path towards the trash. As impassive as ever, Klein reached out and pulled the window close, shutting out the world beyond.

Roselle watched this all silently, fiddling with his luxurious coat, running an absent hand through the thick fur. He sighed. “Still,” the man mused, staring out into the moonless night with a complicated look on his face, “Are you sure?”

With his hands still on the latch, brows furrowed, Klein reiterated, “Sure? About what?”

The Emperor summoned a smile. “About getting a wife, of course.”

Klein rolled his eyes and did not deign to respond. Walking across the rustic inn room, he set himself beside a small table, picked up a book, and started reading, completely ignoring the jabbering peacock—because that was what the idiot was: a stupid chatterbox of a peacock, too proud for its own good, and possessing of only good looks.

“Zhoooou,” Roselle whined pathetically, following close behind, his stupid peacock tail drooping down sadly. Klein’s eye twitched. “I’m being serious here,” Roselle complained, sprawling out inelegantly on the table. Klein’s twitching intensified.

“Mm,” was the Scholar of Yore’s dignified reply. Klein, more than a little vexed, lifted up his book, angling it so that it would block his view of the chil—Black Emperor. Predictably, Roselle stopped him, pushing down the book with a deceptively light hand, and Klein glared at him before remembering that he was trying to ignore the yapping nuisance, not encourage him.

“Y’know,” Roselle the Yapping Peacock started, impervious to Klein’s piercing glare, “life here was like a video game for me, at first. It didn’t feel real. I had plenty of fun, playing around, convinced that I was the protagonist of my era, the unstoppable Caesar. But now and then, I would recall my—our—homeland, the place where we homeless wretches came from. It got worse the older I grew. I felt like a discarded leaf, trying to return to its roots. This place—this mad, miserable world wasn’t where I belonged. But then…” he trailed away, staring into space, a hand reaching out to grasp some ethereal memory.

You’ve already gone on this monologue before, Klein thought sourly, turning away from Roselle, trying to reclaim his peace and quiet. Then he paused. When was that, again…?

“...And then my Bernadette was born,” Roselle continued, a tinge of awe entering his voice. He squinted his eyes against an invisible light, so bright it nearly brought him to tears. “The moment I first saw her, I thought: this is my child. This adorable, snot-faced, tear-stained, wailing baby is my daughter. And then I realized that I loved her—truly loved her, not like the detached possessiveness I held towards my wife, nor the superficial filial piety I presented to Roselle Gustav’s parents—no, I truly loved Bernadette, my princess, my world. I would happily die for this child, I knew then, and with a smile on my face, if I knew she would continue to live on well.”

He gave a wet chuckle. “Heh, is this what they call maternal instinct? Actually, don’t answer that. I think my brain was more screwed over by the centuries of isolation and corruption than I first thought…”

Klein, whose eyes were still glued to his book, said scathingly, “That was pretty obvious to me, and literally everyone else. Did you only just notice, Your Majesty?”

Roselle gaped at him, his mouth foolishly falling open. “Brother!” the grown man cried. “I poured my heart out to you, and this is what I get?! Ugh, I’m starting to regret leaving my beloved Benadette to you…”

Scowling, Klein flipped to a new page.

Seeing this, Roselle sighed, defeated. The Emperor finally propped himself up on the table, sitting in a significantly more proper posture, though with his legs aimlessly kicking the air, he still seemed like a child wearing the skin of an old man. An errant kick “accidentally” brushed against Klein’s book, nearly knocking it into Klein’s face. His scowl growing darker, Klein swiveled his chair away from Roselle.

Roselle sighed again, absently adjusting his fine coat. “Anyways, what I mean to say is that perhaps you should find a wife. Let loose. Have a bit of fun. Then, when you find some pretty lady you think you can love, settle down with her and have a child or two. Build a small army of babies, even. Bernadette should get a chance to meet her cousins, and I wouldn’t mind having a few cute nephews who’ll dote on their poor old Uncle myself.”

Klein snorted. An inelegant sound, one he would never let loose as “The Fool” or “The World”. “Don’t be ridiculous. Do you think anyone in their right mind would settle down with me? Even if I truly do find love, the most loving thing I could do is to stay away from them and give my blessings from afar.” Then, softer, he whispered to himself, “There is no happiness on the path of the divine, only madness and misery. How could I knowingly bring that madness into the life of someone I love?”

Roselle glanced at Klein. “And does that apply to your family—your real family, back on Earth?”

At that, Klein paused. With his back facing Roselle, he bit his lip, expression contorting, as if in great pain.

“...Of course not,” he said emotionlessly. He flipped another page, though his eyes no longer ran across the blurred text. “That’s different.”

“Different?” Roselle pressed, voice gaining urgency. “Different how? Because you’ll protect them from everything? Shoulder all their burdens and woes? Or is it because you know they’ll accept you, no matter what you’ve become?” From behind Klein, the sound of a pair of boots hitting the floor rang clear. “If that’s why—Then don’t you know it’s the same for—for us? Is it so hard to imagine that others would be willing to help you—to love you? Is this why—”

“If you want to say something, say it clearly,” Klein snapped, shutting his book. He whirled around, glaring hard. And if his eyes were just the slightest bit too crimson, then no one beyond this room would ever know.

Roselle breathed in a silent breath. He took one step forward, then another. “Stay. You could stay. Here, with us, I mean, in the Beyonder world. There’s still so much to do, so much we need you for. Please, Klein—Zhou—Brother, whatever—whoever you are. Please.”

The great Emperor’s voice broke. “Please stay. Don’t—” he paused, seeming unsure of himself. He looked around. “Don’t you think… that you could still build a life here in this world, no matter how mad and twisted it may be? There are people still waiting for you,” Roselle gestured towards the window, voice tight, “Praying for you. So please, don’t go.”

Coolly, Klein set his book down. With his head bowed, his hair fell down to hide his eyes, casting his face into shadow. “My family is waiting for me, too,” he answered. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded hollow.

“Oh, you—!” Roselle threw up his arms. “Do you honestly believe that!? Ugh, just, think about it logically—How many years has it been, huh? How many years did you hang there, in Sefirah Castle? it’s been three centuries, at least! Do you honestly believe they’re still—”

“Don’t.”

Roselle froze.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered gently. Calmly, Klein sat back down, hands clasped in his lap. His dark eyes gazed into the ether.

For a few minutes, silence reigned in the room, a suffocating miasma that threatened to consume both transmigrators whole. No sound, not even the hustle and bustle of the inn or the noise of nocturnal animals disturbed the quiet of the small room, as if it had been cut off from the rest of reality. A minute crawled by with the speed of a dying turtle, then another.

Then—

“Why don’t you tell me about that story again?” Klein said, slowly, testing the waters. “The one where Bernadette called you ‘Daddy’ for the first time?”

From the corner of his eyes, Klein studied his friend, his fellow countryman. For a moment, Roselle seemed almost inclined to argue. The Emperor’s eyes anxiously flitted about the room, as if searching for some sign, some grand revelation from fate, hidden in the cracks and walls. Then, he deflated, accepting the silent olive branch he had been offered.

Good, Klein thought, relaxing his own posture into something more casual. If you’d argued any further, I would’ve dismissed your projection. And maybe never summoned him again, though Klein made sure not to voice these thoughts aloud.

“Well,” Roselle began, pulling out a proper seat this time, “I was in the halls of White Maple Palace when…”

────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

(An hour before, in a lonely inn room.

A man wrapped in a dark traveler’s cloak sat on the bed, leaning on the headboard. The curtains were drawn shut, leaving the room dark and dim.

“Arrodes,” a soft voice called. Gazing silently at the ancient silver mirror in his lap, the man did not move. He did not speak. He merely waited, and waited, and waited.

Nothing happened.

The man brushed a hand against the mirror’s silver frame, as though petting it.

“Arrodes,” the voice called again, but just as before, there was no reply.

…

The mirror vanished silently, like a wisp of fog cowering before the bright daylight. Without a sound, the man stood up and walked to the window, pulling up the curtains, allowing a sliver of light to illuminate the rustic room. He pulled the window open and sat down, peering into the world outside through empty eyes.)

Chapter Text

It was during one of his first trips back to the Beyonder world that She visited him.

“Welcome back,” a gentle voice said, every syllable the start of a soft lullaby, putting his weary mind at ease.

Klein blinked, suddenly aware that he was dreaming. The soothing scent of night vanillas accompanied this revelation, quieting the instinctive alarm of his dream being invaded.

“Amanises?” Klein murmured, rubbing his eyes to fight against the overwhelming desire for sleep. Gazing around, he saw the scene of his prior dream—that of an unknown city, brimming with life—gradually falling into peaceful darkness, being lovingly embraced by the eternal night. A silver moon hung high in the sky, surrounded by stars.

Slowly, he turned to face the Evernight Goddess, who stood regally before the projection of a grand castle, wearing a many layered dress imbedded with specks of starlight. A dark veil hung over Her face. Only Her purple-painted lips, set in a soft smile, were visible to his eyes.

He blinked rapidly, any trace of slumber falling away. “What are you doing here? Did something happen while I was gone?” Though he tried to muster up an appropriate amount of anxiety at this abrupt meeting, Klein found that the peace was simply too overpowering.

Amaises sighed, though it seemed almost fond. “Don’t be silly,” She chided gently. “Everything is fine… for now. I simply wanted to visit a friend who had stayed away for far too long.” The projection of the castle faded away as She began walking towards him. A wreath of moonflowers followed the Evernight Goddess’ every step, paving a path of white through the dream.

Klein raised an eyebrow. With a bit of concentrated effort, he manifested an elegant table and a pair of chairs, both in the modern style they loved and longed for. With all the poise of a model gentleman, Klein bowed to the gently smiling lady, pulling out Her chair.

Gracefully seating Herself, Amanises inquired, “How were your travels? I admit, I was worried, since my gaze does not extend to the sea of stars. I hope you didn’t face too much danger… though with your luck, I doubt that was so.”

Pulling out his own chair, Klein sighed. “You're right. It was interesting, but also extremely dangerous. More than once, I had too…” Klein’s face contorted in distaste. Even in the Mistress of Repose and Silence’s presence, his disgruntlement at having to ask Amon for help was too much to bear.

Seeming to understand his thoughts, Amanises laughed, though She quickly composed Herself when Klein shot Her a wounded look. With a soft, lady-like cough, She swiftly said, “Well, please tell me about it. I’d love to hear all about your wanderings, both the good and bad.”

Smiling serenely, the Evernight Goddess pulled on the fabric of the dream. Two sets of tea appeared before the pair of transmigrators, emitting a soothing fragrance. Snacks in silver plates were set out, and Klein reached for a raven-shaped pastry, nonchalantly biting its right eye right off, a thoughtful look on his face as he chewed. Sweet, and a bit sour. Not too soft or too hard. It’s just right.

“Let’s see…” Klein began, washing the pastry down with a sip of tea. “Well, when I first landed on the planet Mercia, I nearly fell hopelessly in love with a minor cupid when I looked directly into her eyes. Thankfully, I had some prior experience with the abnormal, supernaturally induced feelings of infatuation of the Demoness pathway, and so I managed to extricate myself before I actually lost my heart…”

In that vein, his tales continued. On occasion, Amanises would chime in to inquire about this and that, refilling their tea and restocking their snacks with a wave of Her hand. Klein created projections of the sights he had seen, bringing out the gifts and souvenirs he had brought back, to the Goddess of Evernight’s great delight.

(“It’s wonderful,” Amanises said, Her lips curving upwards. She held the intricately embroidered veil to Her chest, studying the shifting lines. As the light bounced off the veil at different angles, the embroidered flowers morphed into a canvas of stars and then back, glowing a soft iridescent silver.

Klein hid his smile behind the rim of his cup. “I wasn’t sure if I’d find anything you’d like,” he admitted. “But then I saw a vendor selling this and thought of you immediately. Don’t worry, it’s not dangerous—I badgered Amon into letting me use Sefirah Castle to divine the danger levels of all my little trinkets before returning.”

Even through Her dark veil, Klein could see Amanises’ eyes curling into gentle crescents. “Thank you,” She whispered, delicately folding the gift as though it were priceless and placing it on Her lap.)

From there, the discussion moved on to the peculiar creatures and beings he had met.

(“Lizardmen that shoot blood out of their eyes?” Amanises mused, a sharp claw brushing absently over a soft biscuit. “Don’t we have such a species here? Yes, I believe so. It’s name was… was…”

Who’re you, Captain? Klein thought, amused at the Goddess’ forgetfulness, rather than alarmed, which he should’ve been. He washed his blasphemous thoughts away with a mouthful of tea. Aloud, he said, “Really?”

Amanises startled slightly. “Ahh—yes. Divine about it some time.” She bit into a biscuit, a thoughtful look on Her veiled face.

“I will,” Klein assured Her.)

As the conversation lulled, Klein fished out his pocket watch and checked the time. Though peaceful darkness still surrounded them in the world of dreams, it was already long past seven in reality.

“Waking up soon?” Amanises asked quietly.

He nodded, placing the pocket watch back where it belonged. “Yes. In a few minutes.” Klein gazed into the dark sky. “But for now, let me enjoy the peace, however fleeting it may be.”

The Evernight Goddess placed down her cup, producing a soft clink. “Though dreams are wonderful things,” She mused, oddly wistful, “we must wake up from them all the same, no matter if you’re a human, or even a God.”

Klein glanced briefly at his friend, before looking back up at the sky.

“How much longer will you delude yourself?”

For the first time, Amanises’ voice was not gentle or kind. The cold, unforgiving night was the melody of her song, the grasping darkness that defied the light, the harsh divinity of a god looking on from high above.

Calmly, Klein looked back at Her, eyebrows raised. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He picked up his teacup, though he did not drink from it. “We were having such a lovely time. Please don’t ruin it.”

From behind Her veil, the Goddess’ eyes narrowed. “Don’t play the fool. You’re smarter than that.” She reached out, holding his hand in place. “You must wake up.”

Utterly unruffled, Klein replied, “I will, in a few minutes. Why the rush? Now, kindly unhand me, Amanises.”

At those words, the air around the Evernight Goddess rippled visibly, and Her expression contorted ever so slightly. Klein looked on, serene as the silver moon above. With one of Her free hands, Amanises held tightly onto the veil Klein had gifted Her, laying oh-so innocently on Her lap, lips tightly pursed.

“It’s not too late,” She spoke, voice barely above a whisper, Her piercing stare boring into Klein’s calm eyes. “You can still win. Please. I know it's nice. I know you’ve had it hard. I was there from the start, watching it all unfold. You want to go home?—So do I! Then why do you think I haven’t? Why?” The world—the dream—shook. Cracks began to appear in the once imperturbable sky filled with countless stars, like an exquisite stained glass mural breaking apart.

Amanises gritted Her teeth, feeling the dream—The Fool’s Dream—rejecting her. A gaze landed on her, lacking that familiar warmth and sense of camaraderie. Instead, it was cold and merciless. Her limbs became stiff, and Her thoughts slowed. She tried to speak, but Her words came slower than normal, and She struggled to breathe, as though She were drowning in the deep sea.

“Klein… Moretti!” She pleaded, vision swaying, holding onto him tight, fighting against the dream—against Him. “Don’t… look away from… the truth… Please… You know it… in your heart” —Amanises hesitated, wavering for the first time. Her voice sounded almost… sad. Regretful, perhaps— “How… could you… ever… forget it…?!”

Her head hurt. Her heart bled. Still—She would not allow him to avert his eyes, to wallow in this dream, to be willingly consumed.

Drawing on the fabric of the dream, She wove a scene, the threads pulled from a bleeding memory. Not one of Her own, but that of Klein's, who, even now, was merely gazing at Her without a crack in his composure, a silent spectator to his own fate.

I’m sorry, She mouthed silently, slowly, as the dream churned, Her eyes never deviating once from Her friend’s. I’m so, so sorry. And She meant it. She truly did. For the first time in Epochs, tears burned at the corners of Her eyes, though they did not fall. They never would.

The scene around them changed, slowly. The first to appear was the vague outline of a man in a classical robe, His arms thrown to the side. A crystal monocle adorned His right eye, glinting maliciously. Next came the ruins, ancient relics of an age that could not be reached, jeering at them through time. The sky was dark, and there existed no sun. Lightning flashed, illuminating the man’s face, and he—She—they could clearly see as His lips moved, forming the word…

“...Chernobyl!”

For the first time, Klein’s expression changed. Hurt flashed through his face, followed by pain, then hopelessness. Like a lost child, he trembled. He held onto Her tightly, grasping, a shaking leaf in the storm hanging onto its branch, all that it has ever known, its faithful anchor amidst the unknown. But Amanises was not a branch. She, too, was a leaf, drifting aimlessly, hoping, dreaming of a salvation that would not come.

She could barely see now. Her eyes drifted shut. Her limbs were heavy, and Her thoughts became tangled, coming slower and slower every wasted second. A warm hand was all She could feel, and She latched on, desperate.

“...I’m sorry,” She heard him say, though it was faint. Still, it was gentle, sincere, and kind, and She hoped it would be enough. “I’m sorry that this is how I repay all the help you’ve given me.”

That warmth moved away from Her and She panicked, before feeling that warmth against Her lips, sealing Her next words.

“Please,” She heard him whisper softly, “don’t hurt yourself. It’ll be fine, alright? So please, stay safe. Protect them for me.”

Klein, She wanted to say, to shout, to scream, but that gentle pressure against Her lips held firm.

“Goodbye, my friend,” Klein said, smiling slightly from where Amanises could not see. It was a sad smile. It was a lonely smile. And it was the truth, the most honest thing he had ever shared. “Thank you for everything.”

Amanises’ breathing hitched one last time, then went still. Her entire body went slack, like a puppet cut from its strings, an unwanted doll thrown carelessly to the side once it had no more use. The Evernight Goddess’ dream avatar faded into wisps of fog, as beautiful and ethereal as the woman Herself had been, vanishing into the cracks of the dream.

Sighing, Klein took a sip of tea, his gaze wandering towards the cracking sky. It was all falling apart now. The dream was held together by a mere handful of threads, each taut and worn, fated to be torn apart.

Don’t worry, Klein mouthed silently, though he knew He would hear. Our agreement stands. He drew his gaze back down. I’ll forget that this all happened, anyway.

Klein placed his teacup back down. Reaching over, he picked up the veil he had offered Amanises, fallen to the wayside in the chaos of the collapsing dream. Laying it in his lap, he picked at the threads embedded within, gazing emptily at the illusory night.

Being consumed was much more gentle than he had first assumed. At least He had created a decent enough dream for Klein to sink into, to lose himself in as he was devoured whole. It could’ve been worse. At least he—the version of him outside of this dream within a dream—had hope, false though it may be. At least the pain, the madness, the loneliness would finally end, once and for all.

At least I’ll get to see you all again. Klein smiled at the thought, pulling loose a silver thread.

Looking listlessly at the cracking scenery, he gave one last sigh. “Looks like I won’t get to enjoy that peace I wished for after all.”

────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

Klein Moretti woke up with a pounding headache drilling into his squirming, worm-filled brain.

He rolled over, clutching his blanket in a white-knuckled grip, sweat rolling down his back. Still, he fought against the haze and sat up, laboriously pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher at his bedside.

After a few long minutes, finally feeling his headache subside, Klein let out a sigh. Standing up with a yawn, his brows suddenly furrowed and he looked back at his bed, eyeing the crumpled sheets and blankets with confusion. He felt like he had forgotten something, something in his dreams—something important.

(“Please,” a voice called, so familiar, and yet oh-so distant.)

Light poured in through the window, catching his eye, and he blinked, his half-formed thoughts scattering away like a flock of unsettleted doves.

Oh well. He could try to recall it later using dream divination anyways. Still yawning, Klein picked up the novel he had left unfinished yesterday, and, slumping down in a reclining chair, picked up where he left off. A dark veil embroidered with silver stars lay haphazardly on the table beside him, alongside a single empty teacup, a slight, almost invisible crack running down its porcelain handle.

────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

…Thus, I am missing only 2 more legends before I complete the ritual. Hopefully, everything will go smoothly, though by writing this, I have very likely jinxed myself. Have you ever had such an experience, Mr. Azik? You will have to tell me about it, when you wake up…

…Amon has been a nuisance, as always. I hear that He has successfully entrapped Pallez and is waiting for an opportunity to complete the sequence 0 ritual Himself. I’m not sure whose apotheosis ritual He plans to replace, however. Though I hate to say this, I’m thankful that His father will be keeping an eye on Him to make sure no disaster occurs. With any luck, I shall be far away in the sea of stars as this happens. Just to be safe…

…It has already been over a year since that fateful day. Even now, I wonder if I made the right choice. Still, there is no price that is too high, if it means reuniting with the ones you love most. I’m sure you can relate, Mr, Azik…

…Ah, I’m sorry. It seems that I got a little lost in memories and rambled. Ignore me, please. At any rate, word has it that the world war has completely died down, with Loen as the victor…

…Enclosed alongside this letter are a few souvenirs I picked up in my travels. I hope you like them. Last but not least, the frequency of my letters will likely decrease from now on. I may be going somewhere for a very long time. I may not return, though I hope it will be possible for us to maintain our correspondence. Just in case it is not, however, I want to say thank you for everything you’ve done. Without your assistance, my path would most definitely have been filled with more thorns than roses, and may have ended at a steep cliffside. I could not have asked the Evernight Goddess Herself for a better teacher and friend. As always, I wish for your happiness and recovery. Please, live a good life, Mr. Azik.

Thank you. Goodbye.

-Your eternal student and friend,

Klein Moretti

With quiet satisfaction, Klein finished off his letter, a subtle smile blooming at the corner of his lips. Farewells were a sad thing, but he was glad to have met Mr. Azik, his teacher and friend. Gently, he folded the letter, sealed it, then paused.

A stray thought struck him with the force of a rampaging Werewolf. His next trip to the cosmos to fulfill the requirements of the ritual would likely be his last. After that, he would advance to sequence 2 of the Door Pathway, becoming a Planeswalker, elevating his life’s natural order and gaining the ability to fulfill his dearest wish—going home. Although he had high confidence in his success and would still have another opportunity to do so…

…Maybe I should write letters to some other people too.

Though he tried to keep his distance, there were still those he would miss and owed at least a goodbye: Leonard, his friend and old colleague. Miss Audrey Hall, his ever reliable therapist. Little Sun and the other members of the tarot club. His fellow transmigrators, Roselle, Amanises, and even Adam, as annoying and irritating as he was. Then there was Bernadette, Sharron, Maric, Dantiz, Will, heck, even Frank…

The list went on. Thinking back now, in his brief time in the Beyonder world, he had amassed more friends and acquaintances than he had originally realized. It would be a lie to say that he wouldn’t be sad to say goodbye, but… Well, some things were necessary. Going home was the most important thing of all. Anything and everything else could come after, when he’d finally reunited with the ones he’d left behind on Earth.

Still… It might alarm people if I disappear out of nowhere… Maybe I really should write those letters…

Worrying his bottom lip, Klein hesitantly reached for his pen, twirling it briefly between his fingers before enfolding it in a closed fist. He drew up a sheet of paper. Slowly, he tightened his grip around the pen, mentally pumping himself up.

You can do this, Klein told himself, burning a hole into the blank page with his gaze. How much harder can this be than negotiating with the God of Deceit? Ha! It’s not even comparable.

Klein’s gaze alternated between the unmoving pen and paper. I have a pen, he thought, and a piece of paper. He just needed to put the pen to the paper. That was all. It was simple. Easier than stealing ice-cream from a defenseless baby, even.

…Move!!

Klein’s hand started to shake under the force of his (own) stare. It was only now—with every component one would ever need to write an A-grade letter set out before him—that he realized how woefully unaccustomed he was to exchanging correspondence on matters other than business. Klein sighed.

What would I even say? Hey, by the way XXX, for reasons I can’t disclose to you, I may be leaving for a long, long time, and might never return. But don’t worry! It’s nothing dangerous. Just wanted to give you a heads up, lest you misunderstand that I was killed, kidnapped, or had met with a fate worse than death. That’s all; goodbye forever! Signed, Klein Moretti, Gehrman Sparrow, The World or whichever of my hundred aliases you know me by.

As Klein lampooned, he doodled absently on the blank page before him, creating a series of overlapping, scrawling lines. Blinking, he stared at the nonsensical shapes he had made.

Though dark, chaotic lines littered the edges of the page, at the center, an almost door-like image presented itself to him. It seemed to lead into a world beyond, full of light, appearing dream-like with its half-finished strokes. And…

Klein drew back, a slight frown marring his face. If he looked a little closer, numerous bizarre eyes, hidden in the darkness, seemed to be gazing at him through the paper; ever present, ever watchful.

I wonder what that says about my mental state, Klein mused, distractedly trashing the ruined paper and drawing up a new one. Something good, I’m sure. Anyway…

Maybe he needed to go about this differently. Klein tried putting himself in the recipient’s shoes. If he were to receive such a letter, say…

He would immediately assume that the sender had either been killed, kidnapped, or had met with a fate worse than death. No, no—he wasn’t a very good baseline. Let’s try…

Danitz. If Danitz received such a letter, his poor, pitiful servant would…

Hmmmm.

He’d probably have a heart attack and assume that Gehrman had been silently replaced by a stranger, run around like a headless chicken, then alert everyone and their brother-in-law that Gehrman, Mr. Dark, deadly, dangerous, was gone, in that exact order.

Maybe the Tarot Club, then?

Well, that wasn’t very hard to imagine, either. The Tarot Club—especially Miss Magician—would probably faint from the shock and horror of it all, before running around like featherless chicks without their mother hen, and then alert every god and angel on this grace-forsaken planet that The World was gone, praying to the offline Mr. Fool all the while.

So very sorry, but Mr. Fool also doesn’t know what to do…

Klein sighed, rubbing his temples.

(How pathetic of him. Were all his relationships built upon only lies? Could he not manage to send even a simple letter? Even Leonard—who he'd known since Tingen, a member of the Tarot Club, his closest friend, hadn’t been spared from his deception.

What a vile, vile person he was.)

He stared listlessly at the paper. What should I say?

(“You’re very good at lying to those closest to you, aren’t you, Mr. Fool?”)

…Maybe he should confess to his lies. Come clean. Be honest for once. It would only be right, wouldn’t it? This twisted, mad world had changed him so much—But maybe it wasn’t too late. He still had a chance; his final chance to own up to his lies. It would be… embarrassing… A huge understatement, but they—The Tarot Club, most of all—deserved the truth, didn’t they?

A harsh and unwelcome truth is better than a comforting lie, isn’t it?

Just then, a familiar fog filled his vision. Seated comfortably on a high-backed chair, a man with curly black hair, a crystal monocle and an infuriating smirk—Amon—looked down at him.

“Sacrifice one of your Worms of Spirits to me,” the Angel of Time said, uncaring of what He was interrupting. “And try to acquire a Worm of Star, perhaps from the Abraham family. It’s fine if it’s long dead.”

And then He disappeared.

Worm of Spirit, Worm of Star…? Supplemental ingredients for the apotheosis ritual, perhaps? Klein, though initially surprised, quickly turned to analyzing Amon's motives, smoothly shifting gears.

I don’t quite feel safe handing that brat—I mean, Amon—one of my Worms of Spirit. Would someone else’s work? It just has to be a Worm of spirit, right? Maybe I should hunt down a demigod of the Secret Order…

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him, and Klein couldn’t help but widen his eyes.

Does this have something to do with the Abraham family’s ancestor, Mr. Door? The ritual to release Him requires a part of the Mythical Creature Form of the Seer, Marauder and Apprentice pathways…

Following that epiphany, Klein had one singular thought:

…I really don’t want to be near when this all blows up.

He gave a long sigh. Looking back down at his desk, Klein’s expression turned complicated. Pursing his lips, he tidied up. Later, he thought silently, placing the blank sheets of paper into a drawer and putting his pen back in his breast pocket. I’ll come back to this later.

He summoned Mr. Azik’s messenger, dropped off his original letter, and made himself more presentable. His head whirled with plans all the while, a tangled web of threads that he carefully arranged. Putting on his cloak, Klein dragged the Staff of the Stars out from the Historical Void. With a quick and quiet tap to the carpeted floor, Klein Moretti was gone, a few swirling stars and vibrant afterimages being all that he left behind.

Chapter Text

Somewhere in Backlund, the Capital of Capitals.

It was an unusually sunny day in Backlund, bereft of the great Capital’s infamous fog. Now, at the height of fall, orange and red leaves bloomed on the meticulously cared for trees, creating a bright and blazing atmosphere. Ladies and gentlemen from every walk of life went about their day, bustling about the square, filling the air with the sound of life. A few formally dressed people walked into the nearby cathedral from which joyous music drifted out, chatting and laughing, seemingly in high spirits. No one noticed as an unremarkable gentleman suddenly appeared, a bejeweled cane in hand.

Klein Moretti stood alone in the square as numerous people passed by, unmoving and unnoticed. For a few minutes, he simply took in the world around him—the crowd, the sounds, the cheer—silently immersing himself in this long-missed atmosphere. Gradually, a slight smile formed at the corners of his lips, both wonderfully beautiful, and yet extraordinarily sad.

Finally, he thought, an emotion that he couldn’t quite place blooming in his chest. I’ve finally completed the ritual.

I can finally go home.

Klein slowly swept his eyes across the square, greedily drinking in the scenes, the people, the life around him as though it would be his last chance to do so—perhaps it would. After taking that final step and advancing to Planeswalker, he didn’t know if he could ever—or would ever—return.

Today might be my final day in this world.

The thought should have made happy; after all, it meant that he would finally be going home. The fulfillment of his dearest wish, after three years of tireless labour and countless sacrifices, was at hand at last. And yet…

Something aching and burning, something ugly was crawling, squirming in his chest, making itself home in the empty cavern he called a heart, staining his long-awaited victory with bitterness and regret. He should’ve been rejoicing, screaming his triumph against fate to the heavens above, but instead, Klein stood alone in the massive Backlund square, feeling oddly… empty.

Perhaps he should take a rest? He had only just returned, after all. No matter how short, a journey through the cosmos would naturally be tiring. A good night’s rest on a fluffy bed and a nice cup of tea in the morning would do him much good before attempting to consume the potion, lest he be met with cruel failure at the final step. And this time, Sefirah Castle would not be there to revive him.

(A dream, a hope, a lie breaking apart, straining at the seams, bleeding at the edges. The dream collapsed like a stained glass mural being shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. Across from him, Amanises fell limp like a marionette cut free from its Spirit Body Threads, left for dead. Sitting now, alone, he played absently with a dark veil embroidered with silver stars and blooming flowers, gazing emptily into the false night sky)

…Or maybe he should take a walk. To clear his mind. It had been a long time since he’d done something as simple as strolling down the streets of Backlund, after all. Yes—it would be nice to see everything again, one last time, before going home.

Nodding to himself, Klein dismissed the Staff of the Stars. His traveler’s cloak disappeared, replaced by a familiar black windbreaker, drifting gently on a passing breeze. His outfit transformed into a formal suit, capped off with a half-top hat and cane. Manually putting on a pair of gloves, Klein was pondering on his first destination when the chiming of a bell abruptly rang in his ear.

Hmm?

Turning his head, Klein traced the source of the chime to the lone Evernight Cathedral.

There seemed to be some kind of ceremony going on within. Gentle music drifted out from the serene cathedral, and people, dressed uniformly, lined the pews. Vague silhouettes stood at the altar, as though in the process of conducting a ceremony. Klein’s expression became thoughtful. As far as he could recall, there was no special cause for celebration this month, other than the annual Moon Mass, which had already passed.

Oh well. I’m free anyway. Might as well check it out.

Mind made up, Klein drifted through the crowd unseen. Walking up the steps of the cathedral, his cane made quiet tapping sounds as it hit the stone. Reaching the grand, open doors, Klein peered in, a hint of idle curiosity in his eyes.

And then he froze.

At the altar, three figures stood. The first that Klein noticed was a man. In the garments of a husband-to-be, the man—who had familiar black hair and brown eyes—smiled stupidly, like some kind of curly-haired baboon. Opposite him, a lady in a white dress, his bride, smiled at him in turn. Together, they made a beautiful picture.

(A wedding. It was a wedding. His wedding. He hadn’t known. Why hadn’t he–)

Between them, the priest turned to the bride. “Do you, Lucy Brook, take Benson Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband, promising to love and cherish him, through joy and sorrow, sickness and health, and whatever challenges you may face, for as long as you both shall live?"

Gazing solemnly at the Evernight Sacred Emblem, the lady—Lucy, it seemed—nodded. “I do.”

The priest turned to the man. "Do you, Benson Moretti, take Lucy Brook to be your lawfully wedded wife, promising to love and cherish her, through joy and sorrow, sickness and health, and whatever challenges you may face, for as long as you both shall live?"

Without a moment’s hesitation, the man—Benson, it was Benson!—answered, “I do.” His smile grew. The husband and bride turned to face their beloved, staring lovingly into each other's eyes under the blessings of the Goddess.

Watching this scene, a girl—no, a woman—who resembled the man—who resembled Benson—smiled a teary smile. Her lips trembled, and her eyes shone with unshed tears.

Suddenly, she turned to look at the grand cathedral doors, brows furrowed.

There was no one there.

────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

Klein Moretti strode down the streets of Backlund. His pace was too fast to be called a walk, but too slow to be called a run. Utterly expressionless, his cane held in a grip that seemed just the slightest bit too tight, Klein strode on, seemingly blind to the sights around him. To those around him, he was just another face in the crowd, a tiny drop in the vast ocean, plain and unremarkable.

Beneath the mask, however…

He was so, so tired; he wanted to fall into a dreamless sleep from which he would never wake. He was unbearably lonely; he needed to get home, now more than ever. He was overflowing with spiraling thoughts he could not control; he longed for the deafening peace of oblivion, the quiet embrace of death. He was brimming with indescribable emotions; he yearned to feel not a thing at all. He—

“What has you in such a hurry?”

He was in a park. From afar, he heard the sounds of people talking, of children laughing, of birds chirping. And yet, around him, there was no one at all.

No. That wasn’t right. Him. He was here. Behind. From behind—

“It’s not like you to be so flustered, Mr. Fool.”

From behind him, Amon smiled, not the slightest bit bothered by the bejeweled cane hovering over His heart.

“...Amon!” Klein gritted out, suddenly brimming with the urge to snap the trickster's neck, to slice off His hands, to plunge the Staff of the Stars into Angel of Time’s stupid, stupid smile, which only widened further as He observed His Blessed’s surge of murderous intent.

“Aha, hahaha,” Amon laughed, fakely, throwing up His arms and backing up as though to show His harmlessness. It was about as effective as a tiger sticking out its tongue to show friendliness; that is, not at all. “Don’t go summoning a supernova on me, now. Let’s take a few deep breaths, hmm?”

Klein’s already bloodless grip on the Staff of the Stars tensed further.

“Calm down!” The ignoble thief’s smile suddenly seemed a little weak. “Do you truly distrust me that much—alright, stupid question. Just—check for yourself, won’t you?” Amon backed up a few more steps, chuckling, a touch of—was that nervousness he detected? No, no, it couldn’t be…

Still. Klein took in a deep breath, forcibly calming himself down. For all His pointless, meddlesome, unwanted babbling… Amon wasn’t completely wrong. His current state wasn’t good. His emotions were less controlled, more easily unsettled, volatile—a sign of him losing control. Klein grimaced.

In an instant, layers and layers of spherical lights overlaid his dimming vision. Using cognition, his roiling spirit gradually ebbed, and his torrential emotions gently cooled. It was merely a temporary solution—He would need to rest well, after this, to get rid of any lingering risk, but for the moment it would have to do. Klein took a deep breath, then another.

As the layers of spherical lights slowly faded away, Klein, after a brief panic, spotted Amon hiding behind a tree, looking like a particularly naughty, no-good, squirrel, His head swiveling from side to side as if looking for something. Amon the Ugly Squirrel’s stupid monocle poked out from behind the tree, peering at him suspiciously, gleaming with an uncharacteristic weariness.

Klein glared at Him.

For some unfathomable reason, that made the Angel of Time perk up, and His customary smirk returned, if a tad more lopsided than usual. In the next instant, He disappeared—nearly sending Klein into cardiac arrest—before He reappeared above, seated on a branch, munching merrily on an apple—which also gave Klein a minor heart attack, though for a different reason this time.

“Welcome back, Mshter Fool,” Amon said through a mouthful. He swallowed the bite down and shot the younger man a slight smile. Alarm bells started ringing in Klein’s head. “You’ve completed the ritual already? As talented as ever, I see.” He threw the apple up and caught the fruit on its way down.

With a scoff, Klein dismissed the projection of the Staff of the Stars. it would only needlessly drain his spirituality. “We both know that’s not a compliment, My Lord,” Klein whispered lowly, eyes downcast. His previously impassive expression twisted imperceptibly with disgust—though at Amon, or someone else, it was impossible to tell.

The Angel of Time’s smile seemed to dim. “You’re right,” He admitted. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

…

What.

Speechless, Klein head snapped up towards his “boss,” gaping openly and without an ounce of dignity, more shocked than he would’ve been if he’d seen a deepwater fish fly or a lofty bird swim. At least both those scenarios could be explained via the mystical, but this was—this was—!

“Are you losing control?” Klein wondered aloud. It seemed to be the only possible explanation. “Have you visited your brothe—I mean, your father? Or is this Adam’s fault?” Pausing, Klein tilted his head to the side and squinted at the monocled man. “Or are you Adam?”

“What are you talking about?” Amon asked, half-annoyed, half-exasperated—which only caused Klein’s disbelief to grow. Amon! Actually annoyed and exasperated, not to mention that he apologized—Did I get corrupted by the cosmos after all?

As if sensing Klein’s inner thoughts, the Angel shook His head, a hand on that familiar crystal monocle. “What—Is it really so unbelievable that I’d apologize?”

Without hesitation, Klein nodded. “Yes.”

Amon stared flatly at Klein—who had answered with complete sincerity—and then pouted.

…What the fuck. Whatthefuckfuckfuck—

Oblivious to—or more likely, ignoring—Klein’s quiet mental breakdown, The Angel of Time quickly recovered, expertly juggling the apple in his hands and lightly swinging His legs over the edge.

“That aside, I’m curious”—He began, before pausing to take another bite of the apple—wait, why does He have that anyways? This is so weird. Adam, HELP—“Wha dish you tw’ink of thee cosmos?” He finished with a full mouth, monocle twinkling, seeming oddly… earnest.

Amon. Earnest. There’s definitely something wrong here! Am I the one losing control…?

“The cosmos?” Klein reiterated, distracted. In his mind, he was silently, frantically chanting Adam’s honorific name over and over again. “It was weird.” Like you.

The son slash brother slash unpaid employee of the God Almighty rolled His eyes. “That’s all? It was weird? Did you even go to the cosmos, or did you walk into one of the Abraham family’s Sealed Artifacts and hallucinate for a year straight?” Amon mocked without reservation, expression eerily reminiscent of Medici, stroking His monocle and making a displeased tsk.

Ah, there it is. Klein felt oddly relieved. He hasn’t completely lost control after all!

“I can tell that you’re having rude thoughts about me, you know.”

An innocent smile instantly appeared on Klein’s distorted face, as if by magic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, My Lord,” he lied as easily as he breathed. His expression was so compassionate and sincere that even Adam’s shriveled black heart would pulsate with pride. “At any rate,” Klein smoothly changed the subject, waving around a black-gloved hand, which Amon’s dark eyes instantly locked onto, “is there something you need? Or did your bro—father simply not want to play with you anymore?”

“Is that any way to talk to your Lord, my dear Blessed?” the soon-to-be God drawled, eyebrows twitching. And that was the only warning Klein received. In the next instant, Amon chucked the apple in His hand at his darling, dear, diligent Blessed, who dodged the projectile agilely and with utter calmness—only to cry out as the apple stuck him straight in the temple, thanks to a well-placed Deceit. Whistling a happy tune, Amon plucked another ruby red apple from thin air and munched on it.

“You’re going to advance to sequence 2 soon,” the apple-eating, monocled-monster stated, leaning His weight on the tree. Amon flashed a crafty smile, seeming quite at ease. “There are some things that you should know, after you finally elevate your life’s natural order.”

Klein’s eyebrows claimed up his slightly red forehead, his skepticism clear. Amon merely looked down at Klein through His crystal monocle with that familiar, infuriating smirk. His gleaming eyes were narrowed into half-crescents, as if to ask: Do you want to know? I know you want to know. Ask me, ask me!

Klein scoffed. Sorry to disappoint. “I have no interest in any more trouble,” he replied sedately, bending down to pick up the discarded apple. With a twist of his spirituality, it burst into flames. He watched on, apathetic, as the ashes drifted on the wind, scattering and surrendering to the formless breeze, not bothering to lift his gaze. “I’m going home the moment I advance to Planeswalker. No more waiting. No more delays. Whatever you want to tell me—Save it.”

“I see, so the truth is—What?”

At that, Klein tilted his head up, intently studying the Angel of Time through dark eyes.

For the first time, Amon looked truly, genuinely shocked. His crystalline monocle was slightly askew, and the apple He’d been juggling nearly slipped from His hands. The Angel appeared uncharacteristically lost, as though the script He’d been reading had deviated from its original form. With a hint of panic, He glanced into Klein’s eyes—calm, cool, resolute and as utterly mad as ever—before continuing, still filled with disbelief, “You don’t believe that.”

His eyebrows crawling up behind his meager bangs, Klein replied dryly: “I do. Every word, in fact.”

Amon shook His head in denial, thin lips pressed into a grim line. “No you don’t. You’ve always been curious—too curious for your own good. You don’t mean that. Even before, when I… That day…”

Klein’s befuddlement only grew. If he thought Amon capable of human emotions (which He was not), he’d almost conclude that Amon was distressed.

Suddenly, without warning, Amon appeared before him, His dark eyes boring madly, unblinkingly, into Klein’s own.

—!

Klein backed up instinctively, tensing in alarm. His eyes were wide, and his fingers twitched, as though trying to grab hold of a cane-like object.

“Why?” Amon questioned, looming over Klein. “Why? Are you so blinded by false hopes that you’d willingly shut your eyes? Is that beautiful lie so enticing you’d abandon everything? Hah! In the end, were those words you spoke to me truly so empty, so hollow?” The Angel started to laugh—maniacally, in fact, to Klein’s ever growing concern.

“Oh, Mr. Fool, I thought you were better than this! Madder than this—madder than Him.” Amon’s grin seemed more insane than ever, appearing nigh-hysterical with His wide, wide eyes and face-splitting grin. “How sad Evernight must be. How pitiful your foolish believers are! If this was all it took to beat you, you never should’ve woken up. You should’ve stayed asleep in Sefirah Castle for all eternity.”

A shadow fell over the pair. Drawing close, Amon whispered wretchedly, “Truly, your humanity is the most fascinating thing of all. It’s too bad that it’ll also lead you to your downfall. I—”

Amon reached out a hand, intending to grasp that irritating, incomprehensible individual’s hand—Only to be met with a crumbling sensation. Klein’s figure, seemingly frozen in fear, rapidly thinned, turning into a paper figurine. Within seconds, even that faded away, as insubstantial as mere projection—A projection of the Historical Void.

Amon’s pupils dilated. He involuntarily took a step back, exercising His meagre authority over the Dream, searching, feeling—

“He’s gone.”

The Angel of Redemption spun around to face the newcomer—A priest dressed in the purest white robes with hair like spun gold and the innocent gaze of a child—

—Adam. Zealot. Father.

As ever, a slight smile graced Father’s lips, as gentle as a spring’s breeze. His golden gaze appeared calm and untroubled. A black book was held to His chest, resting beside a simple silver cross.

“...Father,” Amon finally answered after a long silence, though it was soft and muted. He swiftly turned His back to the priest, reaching up to fiddle with His monocle. “It was as we guessed. The Fool—ugh, that is—Mr. Fool seems to have no intention of fighting back anymore. Hah! Not that it would’ve made much of a difference, anyways. In fact, his late resistance would only have pointlessly delayed the fusion process—nay, the devouring process.”

The Angel scoffed, the veins on His right hand standing out against the bloodless white of His knuckles. “Hmph, all those grand words, and he couldn’t even fight off a measly reviving Great Old One? How very boring, how very foolish.”

The priest did not interrupt. He merely gazed placidly at his son’s back, waiting, ever patient.

“All is lost. We were too late,” Amon concluded, voice flat and indifferent. “This is the end for him, all because of that stupid humanity of his, combined with his foolishly sentimental heart. This’ll most likely be the last time we meet, even. I… ”

A dull crack resounded. Expressionless, Amon pulled off his monocle, raising it high, detachedly inspecting the thin line running through the oh-so familiar lens.

“I…” The Angel attempted to continue, only to swallow His words. It was as though something was blocking His throat, clogging His airways, making His tongue feel immeasurably heavy and His breathing grow uneven.

“I… I don’t understand,” He said finally, sounding like a small child looking upon the world for the first time. Like this, without His beloved monocle, the Angel of Time seemed almost… vulnerable. Incomplete.

His arm fell limply to His side, as if stripped of all its strength. Amon blinked rapidly, gazing at nothing. “I… I’ve finally gained ‘humanity,’ and yet, I still don’t understand it at all. How could you be so insane as to bet your very soul against a Pillar of the universe? You fool—didn’t you realize you were walking towards your demise, smiling all the while? How could you hold up, alone, for so long, against a terror that even those beings beyond the barrier fear?”

Though His Father was present with Him, Amon seemed to be speaking to another person entirely. Unseen, slowly, Adam reached up and clasped the cross hanging from His neck with both hands and bowed His head, as if in prayer.

Amon laughed like a broken record, doomed to play its final, screeching melody until the end of existence. “How very ironic that your humanity—the thing that let you banish me to begin with—is what will cast you down. Mr. Fool, Klein Moretti, Zhou Mingrui, whatever your name is—I still don’t understand you at all.

“And now…” He whispered, clutching His crystal monocle close. “And now I’ve lost the chance to ask you at all.”

Amon hung His head, eyes unseeing. From behind, Adam slowly walked towards His son, placing a comforting hand on His shoulder. Amon tensed imperceptibly.

“Mysteries can’t be saved,” Adam stated calmly, staring serenely at dreamscape’s sky through half-lidded eyes. The sun was reflected in His irises, making them burn a bright, molten gold. “But his will shall live on. You can still look over his believers and serve as the light of the apocalypse, protecting humanity into the future in his place.” The priest raised the rosary to His lips and closed His eyes. “His sacrifice shall be remembered.”

Amon scoffed. “Who says that I’ll do it for him? It was my intention regardless, whether that ridiculous fool won or lost. It merely means that the path ahead will be harder, is all.” The Angel of Time pointedly distanced Himself from the genially smiling Adam, dusting off his monocle all the while.

“Well, then,” Amon said coolly, casting His gaze to the skies, fixing that familiar smile into place. He put His monocle on His right eye, still cracked and broken. “Let’s get going. There’s still much to do.”

Chapter Text

The place he had chosen wasn’t special.

To attempt the advancement ritual, no particular environment was needed. This place, an uninhabited island in the Sonia Sea, chosen randomly from a couple hundred options with the help of divination, held no special significance or meaning to Klein personally. The only requirement he’d had was that it needed to be far away from any human settlements, in case something went wrong and he lost control. All in all, it was isolated and impossible to predict, making it so that no one could possibly know that Klein would attempt to advance here at this very random, very arbitrarily chosen island in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

So naturally, Adam was there, standing peacefully amidst the salty breeze like a beacon of purity and smiling serenely at him.

“We meet again, Mysteries,” said the interloper, limpid eyes warm with that oh-so familiar all-encompassing compassion. His hands were spread wide in a welcoming gesture.

“Scram, you despicable priest,” Klein said, rudely, making a shoo-ing motion with his hands, his polite smile of disinterest practically screaming: you’re not welcome, go away. “I'm busy here, as you can see”—Klein took out his potion ingredients, shaking them noisily—“so please go bother someone else for the time being.” Or for eternity.

“Mysteries,” the pinnacle of the Spectator pathway said again as if He could not see the big, bold letters hovering over Klein’s head, saying: STOP BOTHERING ME. “I simply desired a small, insignificant chat with you before you attempted the ritual. Don’t worry, it won’t take long. You will be going home right away, I hear?”

Klein hadn’t known that Amon was a gossip, but of course he was. “And if I say no?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“You won’t,” Adam stated simply, smiling.

Hah—The audacity! How infuriating. Do you think that world will bend over backwards to dance to your tune?

…The worst part was that He was right. Klein was—only slightly!—curious about what this senior transmigrator had to say, here and now, on the dawn of his homecoming. Indeed, at this very moment, he was brimming with the heartfelt urge to sit down and have a nice, calming chat with Adam, not a single malicious thought floating around in his head.

Damn this despicable priest! Sigh, the powers of the Visionary pathway are just too scary. This is abuse of power, I say; abuse!

He was, naturally, already walking over towards the eternally genial Adam. His eyes were locked steadfastly forward, not wanting to see the smug smile on Adam’s stupid, ugly face.

“Are you thinking something rude?”

“Stop reading my mind, you paranoid priest.”

Adam said nothing, that familiar, infuriating, knowing smile still fixed in place. Klein huffed.

Together, they walked.

“Homesick?” Klein asked, intently looking at anything but Adam, his familiar cane tapping rhythmically against the tall, tickling grass. He had taken it out in case a certain priest required a good whacking. “If you want to hitch a ride, I don’t mind.”

Beside him, Adam chuckled, running a hand through His golden beard. “No, Mysteries. My reply is the same as Roselle’s and Evernight’s. I have found a place and purpose here, as you know. I’m afraid that I can entertain no such thoughts until my work is done.” As if by instinct, the hand that had been carding through His beard reached down to tenderly grasp the ancient rosary by His neck, swinging lightly back and forth with His every step. Adam spoke thoughtfully, as though only to himself, “It is a pity you won’t be here to witness the fruits of our sacrifices and labours, Mysteries.”

Klein frowned, feeling a spike of discontent that swiftly ebbed under Adam’s infinitely gentle gaze. Still—

“‘Mysteries?’” he repeated, an unexpected note of exhaustion hidden within his tone. Then, Klein laughed. It was not a nice sound, nor a happy one. “That nonsense again? How uninspired, how unimaginative, my dear Author. Even Medici could come up with a better nickname.”

“Is that so? I, for one, believe that it is fitting,” the priest argued, His voice soft and soothing. It grated on Klein’s nerves more than nails on a chalkboard.

Klein laughed again, more bitter than the blackest coffee. “What mysteries do I hold? Am I not an open book to you, oh great Creator? Or is it supposed to be a joke? If so, perhaps you should develop some better taste.” Irritated, Klein overturned a small rock in his path.

This time, Adam offered no rebuttals. Above head, a passing cloud blocked the sun, leaving them in its shadow, and for a split second, the great God’s golden gaze seemed to dim.

“What would you prefer to be called, then?” Adam inquired gently as the grace of the sun shone upon them once more. As always, His benevolent gaze burned a soulless gold. “What about Mr. Fool? Klein? Zhou Mingrui, mayhaps?”

Though it was not cold, Klein shivered. The first address reminded him too much of Amon. Truly, these two rascals were father and son—even the way they made people unsettled down to their bone marrows was the same!

Meanwhile, the second address—simply “Klein”—though less chilling, felt too… intimate. Personal. From the same hometown they may have been, and from the same roots they had once grown, but all the same, their paths had diverged long ago. Even now, walking side-by-side, they were out of step, out of sync, their hearts forever unaligned.

As for the last one…

“Less said about that, the better,” Klein decided. He didn’t care if Adam had followed his silent line of thought or not and, with a sigh like his very soul was escaping his body, quickly backtracked, “You know what? Nevermind. Call me whatever you like. The better question here is what should I call you?”

Adam looked at him indulgently, like a parent that had caught their child hastily trying to hide evidence of their wrongdoings, but, endeared by their actions, decided to remain silent. Klein bristled.

They were walking up a small hill, now. Klein buried his cane in the dirt to help himself up, holding up a single finger on his unoccupied hand. “Let's see... ‘Ancient Sun God’ is a little fanciful, isn’t it? So let's cross that one off the list,” he said, though by fanciful, he had meant pompous. Klein drew up a second finger. “As for ‘The Lord who created everything, the omnipotent and omniscient God’… it’s quite the mouthful. What if I needed to dramatically shout out your name at an inopportune moment? Not practical at all. My enemies wouldn’t wait for me to say all that.”

Walking calmly and unhurriedly by his side, Adam shot Klein an amused look.

“‘True Creator’... now that one simply sucks,” Klein declared flippantly, picking up speed now. The wind passed them by. “As for ‘Adam’... Well, it’s your son's name. At least originally. Isn’t that awkward?”

A strong, tickling breeze ran through Klein’s hair, and he squinted his eyes, gazing up at the indifferent blue sky. “You know, I just realized how many names you have. Who even needs this many names, anyways?” asked Klein Moretti, who was also known as Sherlock Moriarty, and by some as Gehrman Sparrow…

At least my names are good, Klein thought, self-righteously. I mean, "True Creator"? "The Lord who created everything, the omnipotent and omniscient God"? How more blatant and shameless about your god complex can you get? Mr. Fool is so much more elegant, classy, and…

“—Grisha.”

Klein blinked. For the first time, he turned to look—really look—at the man who had been walking beside him.

Had.

At some point in time, unbeknownst to him, Klein had overtaken the priest. Now, he stood meters away, looking down at the man—the man who had called Himself Grisha.

“That,” Ada—Grisha continued, His warm gaze boring into Klein’s own, “is my name. Back on our Earth, in that bygone era.”

Klein lips parted, but no words came out. He could only stare down at Adam—down at Grisha, confused and transfixed, sorrowful and overjoyed.

“Aren't you worried about the people you’ll be leaving behind?” Grisha asked as He gazed up at Klein, always calm, forever unwavering. “What if grave danger were to befall the world in your absence? What if you were needed to protect this place? What if no number of well-laid plans and devious plots could save us, unless you were there, scheming beside us all?”

Klein’s reverie broke. For a wordless moment, he merely stared ahead, uncomprehending. Then, he scoffed. “Me? An ordinary Sequence 3 with no special traits? You should work on your writing skills, Grisha—That wasn’t a very good speech.” The word Grisha still felt odd, still seemed foreign on his tongue. And yet, it somehow fit the man before him perfectly. “This place will be fine, even without me,” Klein added quietly, gaze difting towards the sky.

Grisha’s smile widened ever so slightly. “Because you know we’ll be here to look after everything?”

Klein’s dark eyes narrowed. “I never said that,” he corrected. Huffing, Klein decisively spun around, turning his back to Grisha, walking onwards with his chin held high.

“You didn’t need to,” Grisha said simply. Placid as the surface of a frozen lake, the priest followed.

The corners of Klein’s eye twitched uncontrollably. “Stop reading my mind, you dishonest priest,” he snapped. Klein struck the ground with his cane using more force than was strictly needed, but who was keeping tabs? He certainly wasn’t.

Grisha offered no reply.

They reached the end of the incline. For a moment, Klein simply savoured the cool breeze on his skin, the scent of grass in the air, the taste of freedom on his lips. He took a deep breath. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be undertaking the ritual, now,” he calmly called back down, eyes fixed firmly ahead.

Hearing no answer, Klein assumed he had been left alone. He took a few more steps forward—Wouldn’t it be embarrassing if he failed the ritual because he’d slipped, rolled down the hill, and snapped his neck? Why, he’d certainly win the Guinness World Record for “Most Ignominious Death” then!

“Can you accept such an outcome?”

Klein blinked.

He glanced back.

Grisha, standing still, smile never wavering, seemed so distant, somehow, despite being only a few meters away. It was as though they were separated by a hazy dream—one approaching its end, in that fragile interval between slumber and reality. On opposite shores, they could never reach out to the other, no matter how hard they tried. Klein shook those superfluous thoughts away. What an odd thing to think.

He gathered his thoughts and pondered his answer. “Yes,” he said, though there was a note of hesitance, of uncertainty in voice. Klein frowned. Why? Then, “Yes. Yes, I can,” he said again, more firmly, more sure of himself. What was there to doubt?

Grisha closed His eyes.

“I see,” He stated simply, sounding distant, as though passing through a thick veil, or perhaps a deep fog. His smile seemed almost sorrowful.

“I see,” He repeated, as Klein turned away.

────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

It began in Tingen.

He woke up, bathed in crimson, his skull writhing with pain. In his hand, he held a revolver.

Revolver? Why? What was I doing? Why does it hurt? Who am I?

Blood dripped, dripped, dripped down from his temple, pooling on the ground. Crimson, he remembered. The scene had been bathed in crimson.

Crimson. Hatred. Madness. Silver; that’s the colour it should’ve been. A cold, familiar silver.

But it was crimson. Why?

A notebook sat open on the desk before him, eerie words in an unfamiliar language scrawled through the page. And yet—and yet “he” could read it all the same.

Ah. That’s right.

Everyone will die, including me, “he” had written. But wait—that wasn’t right.

“He” lifted “his” head, catching “his” own eye in the cracked, dusty mirror. It had been—

I remember, now. It wasn’t me but—

—Klein Moretti, the unfortunate victim of the Antigonus Notebook, whose death had wretched “him,” Zhou Mingrui, away from home.

Home.

That singular word rang in Klein’s ear, and he grasped onto it, like a leaf in the tempestuous storm, clinging to its sole branch.

Home, home, home.

A measure of clarity came to him. With a twist of his will, he tried to pull his splitting self back together. Detached from his true body, the Worms of Spirits—some now glimmering with the secrets of the stars—refused to heed his call, drifting further away from him with every precious, wasted moment.

Just then, his true body seemed to glow with a bluish-black lustre. Like a door of light leading towards a different world, or perhaps a window into another realm, illusory images and impressions of Klein’s journey through both the Beyonder world and cosmos appeared, captivating his wayward Worms of Spirits, who had stopped drifting away to watch their true body, seemingly unable to glance away no matter how hard they tried.

They looked on, eager, as Klein Moretti drank the first Seer potion. They watched, drifting closer, as Klein Moretti the Tingen Nighthawk’s journey ended at the will of a quill. As he was reborn as Sherlock Moriarty, Backlund’s Greatest Detective, a handful of Worms returned willingly and fused with their main body. Then, across the seas, Gehrman Sparrow he became, donning a mask of madness and apathy, spreading countless legends in his wake. The clearest of all was The Fool. Surrounded by a grayish white fog, that enigmatic figure, that mortal playing at divinity, shone brightest of all, and the Worm of Spirits, utterly enchanted, did not resist as the true body gradually reined them in.

Slowly, one by one, Klein retrieved each and every stray Worm of Spirit—now Worms of Stars—holding them tight in his formless embrace. Soon, as the 9 legends he had left in the cosmos came to a close, his limbs had been reformed once more. The bluish-black light disappeared, fusing entirely with his body, and a black windbreaker gently wrapped around his unmoving figure, holding him tight. Klein Moretti closed his eyes, his lips slowly blooming into a brilliant smile that could shame the light of the stars.

He was now a Planeswalker, a true Angel, a divine being that had forever left behind the mortal coil.

But he couldn't care less.

In his mind’s eye, there was a door. Wreathed in that oddly familiar bluish-black light and bathed in a grayish-white fog, he was separated from the other side by only a thin layer of overlapping spherical lights.

Home. It was the door leading home, he knew in his heart, and he did not question why. He needed only to step beyond that thin layer of light, reach out with his trembling fingers, and he would be home.

Ah, he thought, vision blurry with tears and lips stretched in a hauntingly beautiful smile, It’s finally over.

At last, he crossed through the threshold, his faceless face fixed forever in a smile, greeting the brilliant light with open arms. For the last time, Klein Moretti—Zhou Mingrui—closed his eyes.

────── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──────

Within Sefirah Castle, behind the door of bluish-black light, the Lord of Mysteries opened “His” eyes.