Chapter Text
On a night like this, sleep was a distant thought. The wind howled outside, and the rain lashed against the windows, relentless. Lightning split the sky in jagged streaks of yellow, illuminating the world in flashes of agonizing brilliance. Thunder rumbled ominously in its wake, shaking the very foundations of the building.
Copia knew it was foolish, at his age, to fear the storm. Yet, despite the thought, a knot of unease twisted in his stomach as he lay beneath the covers, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Another flash of lightning cracked the sky, and with a frustrated sigh, he sat up, shaking his head.
“This will not do,” he muttered to himself, the words barely more than a breath. Rising from the bed, he shrugged his robe over his shoulders. It was, perhaps, improper for the Frater Imperator to wander the ministry in his nightclothes, but at this hour, he doubted anyone would notice.
He made his way down the corridor, guided only by the faint glow of dim candle sconces flickering along the walls. The library doors groaned in protest as he pushed them open, revealing the room—black and cavernous, as if it had been waiting for him. He paused, taking a moment to light the lanterns scattered about the room and close the heavy curtains of the tall window, shutting out the storm’s furious display.
A strange calm settled over the room, and with it, some of the tension that had been gnawing at Copia’s shoulders seemed to dissipate. He lifted a lantern from its sconce and let its soft glow illuminate the rows of bookshelves, though his gaze drifted aimlessly among the tomes, searching for nothing in particular.
As his feet carried him, he found himself drawn to the small alcove nestled up a flight of stairs. The books stored here were rarely touched—magical in nature, dealing with rituals, herbs, and other esoteric topics. He scanned their spines, hoping something might catch his eye. He seldom ventured into this part of the library, nor did anyone else. The chairs here still gleamed with freshness, their plush cushions untouched, while the shelves were coated with a thick layer of dust, as if the space had been forgotten by time.
Then, in the farthest corner, a curious red tome caught his eye. He squinted, trying to make out the faded title, but it seemed as though the words had been deliberately obscured, worn away by years of neglect. Drawn to it, he reached for the book, pulling it from the shelf with a soft tug. There was a faint click as the shelf beneath it moved outward, revealing a hidden nook—an unexpected secret within the depths of the library.
The secret compartment was thick with dust, cobwebs stretching across the dark corners like forgotten memories. The only item within was a red satchel, tightly bound with a crimson cord. Copia hesitated for a moment before reaching in, pulling it free from the shadows. He blew the dust off the surface, watching as it swirled in the lantern’s flickering light.
With a strange sense of foreboding twisting in his stomach, he slowly began to unwrap the satchel, the air around him growing heavier with each motion. Inside, nestled within the folds of the fabric, were several red envelopes, each sealed with the same crimson hue. They were addressed, in elegant script: “To Mother and Father, From P.”
Copia moved to one of the chairs, setting the satchel with the letters down on the side table. The weight of the moment pressed down on him as he stared at the unopened envelopes, an unsettling tension in the air.
Opening the letters felt… invasive. It wasn’t his place, nor his right. They had been left behind for someone else to discover, and if that someone never came, then so be it. He glared at the satchel, the letters inside seeming to call to him, their presence a silent, persistent whisper.
His hand hovered over the top envelope, the urge to unravel the mystery almost unbearable.
“No!” The word came out sharp, his resolve breaking through the mounting temptation. He stood abruptly, wrapping the letters back into the satchel with more force than necessary. Without another thought, he shoved the satchel back into the hidden compartment. The shelf clicked shut with a finality that seemed to echo in the room.
He nodded to himself, the decision made. He would forget about them.
The storm had begun to subside, its fury now waning. Copia felt the weight of the night lift just enough to allow him the peace of returning to his room. He moved slowly, dimming the lanterns one by one, suppressing a yawn that seemed to linger, threatening to pull him under.
The ministry was eerily quiet now, its inhabitants tucked away in sleep, blissfully unaware of the tempest that had raged above them.
When he entered his chambers, he stopped short, his gaze catching his reflection in the mirror. For a moment, he barely recognized himself. The face that stared back was no longer adorned with the Papa skull paint. The stark black circles around his eyes still clung to him, remnants of his past as a Cardinal, but his features had shifted, aged with time and responsibility.
He remembered when he was just a boy—too young to bear the weight he had been given. Back then, he had trailed Nihil like a faithful puppy, soaking up any scrap of knowledge the old man was willing to toss his way, unaware of the heavy mantle he would one day inherit.
With Nihil and the Sister Imperator gone, the weight of choosing a Papal successor fell squarely on his shoulders. The clergy boasted many ambitious young cardinals eager to prove themselves, yet none stood out to him. He knew it wasn’t fair—after all, he had been given a chance above the rest, courtesy of the Imperator’s insistence. Nihil hadn’t wanted him, either. And now, having been away from the clergy for so long, fulfilling his papal duties, the cardinals were strangers to him. How could he choose one above the others to bear the mantle of Papa?
He lay in bed, crossing his arm over his eyes, willing sleep to come. But instead, a memory rose unbidden.
The hall smelled strongly of incense and ritual, the air thick with the weight of tradition. Nihil and Sister Imperator were deep in conversation, their heads bent together, when he approached them. He tried to keep his hands from fisting in his robes, his heart racing with the anxious anticipation of why he’d been summoned. He couldn’t think of a single reason, but he assumed it had to be trouble.
Maybe they knew he was responsible for the snowball that had flown through Nihil’s window—a window that was meant to be closed—during an unauthorized snowball fight with the ghouls. Maybe they knew he had taken the dining trays, along with some of the other cardinals, to sled down the hill. Honestly, there were numerous incidents he could be in trouble for. Nihil was constantly chastising him.
He stopped in front of them, bowing awkwardly. “Hello, Papa. Sister.”
Nihil shook his head, his voice heavy with finality. “He cannot be Papa. He’s not a part of the bloodline.”
“You’re out of sons, Papa,” Sister reminded him gently.
Copia stared at them, his mouth falling open in shock. Out of all the reasons they could have summoned him, this was the last thing he’d expected to hear.
The clergy had long been aware of Nihil’s failing health, the oxygen tank that trailed behind him a constant, silent reminder of the toll it had taken. Yet, despite the obvious signs, there had been no open discussions about the search for the next Papa.
“I don’t like this idea,” Nihil pouted, his voice thick with reluctance.
“He can do it,” Sister Imperator replied, eyeing Copia carefully. “He’ll need to shape up, but I know he’s capable.”
Nihil narrowed his eyes. “What’s your fascination with this cardinal, anyway?”
“Papa,” she sighed, her voice gentle but firm. “I simply want to help you find the best man for the job.”
Copia could only bow again, feeling the weight of the moment press down on him. “I… I won’t let you down, Papa.”
Nihil huffed, shaking his head, clearly unconvinced, but the air in the room felt charged with an unspoken understanding—a shifting of power that had already begun.
Copia had hoped that, with the tour finally over, he might have the chance to ask Sister Imperator some of the questions that had been gnawing at him—like why she had insisted on him for the position in the first place. But he had been so consumed by his own worries that he hadn’t noticed the decline in her health until it was too late. She passed suddenly, the evening of the final show, leaving him with more questions than ever.
Now, with a new title, a new role, and an overwhelming sense of uncertainty, Copia found himself adrift. The questions swirled in his mind, drifting like smoke, until they finally carried him off into sleep, a restless slumber filled with fragments of things left unsaid.
Copia tried to carry out his duties as usual, attempting to keep thoughts of the letters at bay, but they gnawed at the edges of his mind, refusing to grant him any peace. For days, he avoided the library, fearful that if he entered, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Yet no matter what task he threw himself into, the thought lingered, constant and insistent.
Eventually, the pull became too strong. Late one evening, after everyone had gone to bed, he found himself back in the library, his hand trembling as he grasped the lantern once more. The dim glow illuminated the familiar space, now filled with the weight of his decision.
He opened the hidden compartment, withdrew the satchel, and settled into one of the armchairs, its worn upholstery offering no comfort. The first envelope slid open effortlessly, as if it had been waiting for him all along. Copia took a slow, steadying breath, knowing that whatever he discovered within these pages, there would be no turning back. His eyes scanned the text, the words on the page pulling him deeper into the mystery.
Finally, he read.