The filling of the pie was both fishy and greasy, lacking any bite, tasting like an overcooked lump of fat…

  She struggled to keep her expression steady as she prepared to take a second bite but suddenly froze.

  Under the table, someone was stroking her calf.

  "This is real, honest-to-goodness food—simple and robust. Compared to this, those frivolous and flashy French dishes are barely edible," Yvette remarked smoothly, masking her surprise while observing the expressions of everyone at the table.

  In the countryside, there were only two meals a day—morning and evening—and with hard labor during the daytime, everyone was ravenous. They were all wolfing down their food, except for the girl named Daisy, who lifted her head slightly and asked, "Don’t they have this kind of pie in London? Valérie loves making it. I suppose it's because you can just throw it in the oven and forget about it."

  She referred to her parents by their first names, as did her siblings. While this wasn’t entirely unheard of elsewhere, it usually indicated either extreme closeness within the family or a lack of proper upbringing.

  Then again, if she had been properly raised, she wouldn’t be seducing a stranger she just met during dinner…

  The girl—whose demeanor was far from innocent—licked her oil-glossed lips, her gaze fixed on Yvette while her leg became increasingly bold.

  Just as her wandering foot was about to reach Yvette’s knee and attempt to climb higher, Yvette stepped on her foot, not too lightly but not too harshly either, then crossed her legs to cut off any further advances.

  Daisy’s pride wounded, she shot Yvette a glare—as if the woman were an absolute fool for not playing along—and then declared petulantly, "I’m full," before leaving the table.

  After dinner, Yvette gathered the children around the fireplace to tell them freshly published fairy tales. Hans Christian Andersen had only begun his literary career a few years prior, and the children of this remote corner of Albion had never heard anything so delightful. The firelight flickered in their wide, gleaming eyes, reflecting something strange and unnameable.

  Daisy was the only one missing. After the meal, she had seemingly left the house, her whereabouts unknown.

  The last sliver of twilight was fading beyond the horizon as Edwin stood motionless in the lakeside forest, draped in a waterproof cloak with his collar turned high. Outside, the sunset was warm and tranquil, but the forest was as dark and silent as night, stubbornly rejecting the sunlight. Only when the mountain wind brushed through did the trees sway, their rustling leaves whispering something hollow and meaningless.

  From within the woods, the gnarled trunks looked like the bars of a cage, giving one the illusion of being trapped forever. Edwin watched as the lake shimmered with golden ripples, the scene like a faded page of memory about to be turned.

  Lately, he had been dreaming night after night, always of the sunless forests of his childhood. Ever since then, he had found the endless layers of ashen trees oppressive and suffocating.

  Back then, he and Redbeard had been mere children. Hunted by the local lord and his men, he had been terrified. Even after awakening his abilities and becoming one of the Awakened, the nightmares spawned from those desperate days of flight still haunted him. It had taken him a long, long time to overcome his fear enough to sleep without waking in a cold sweat.

  Despite his terror, he had had to comfort and encourage his younger brother. So, during their escape, he had spun lies—beautiful fairy tales. He told Redbeard they were playing a game, that the lord chasing them was an evil demon, and that they were princes entrusted with a sacred mission: to escort a pearl imbued with mysterious power back to their radiant homeland.

  "I bowed in reverence to the glory of my Father, for He has sent it unto me. I have fulfilled His command, and He too has kept His promise. With joy, He welcomed me, and together we reside in His kingdom. All His servants sing His praises, for He has permitted my passage to the palace of kings. I who retrieved the pearl shall stand by His side."

  His lips moved silently, reciting the verses of this chant.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Somehow, the fairytale he had crafted for Redbeard aligned perfectly with this hymn—The Ode of the Pearl, an esoteric text believed to hold mystical symbolism. Its meaning seemed to suggest that the souls of the Awakened were lost in a world that did not belong to them, that they were wandering exiles, lamenting and grieving, adrift—like the wayward prince who, in his quest for the pearl, became distracted by pleasures and forgot his mission and noble lineage. Finally, a messenger—an allegory for the Messiah—brought a letter from the Father, awakening the prince’s soul, rescuing him from ignorance and indulgence.

  Just as the hymn foretold, he and Redbeard had ultimately been redeemed by their Benevolent Father.

  Edwin would never forget how the tale he spun had grown more vivid each day. Eventually, it was as if the monsters born from his imagination had manifested in reality—born of his fear, they had torn apart the lord and his lackeys at first breath, yet their hunger remained unsated.

  Many Awakened—especially those ignorant of the mysteries of the world—were consumed upon their first awakening by the terrifying truths beyond the Veil, truths incomprehensible to the uninitiated. Their stories, if they survived at all, were reduced to mere scraps of folklore. He had nearly been one of them. Fortunately, he and his brother had been found by their Benevolent Father, who had driven back the ravenous wraiths and taken them under his wing, instructing and nurturing them.

  Why was he thinking about this now? And why—when Redbeard had also been saved from ignorance, when he too had been guided by the Benevolent Father to understand the things that existed (or had once existed) beyond this world’s records, when they had both studied the grand mysteries of transcending into perfect spirit—had Redbeard died so inexplicably?

  "We are exiles—pure spirits of the highest order from the land of light. This decaying, corrupted world is not our home. Redbeard, we once walked this path together, but this time I will not wait for you. The Benevolent Father is right—everyone is hastening toward the other shore. Though loneliness makes us understand one another, none can truly interpret our souls but ourselves. I shall press onward, seeking new revelations. Lately, I have been dreaming much—perhaps inspiration is stirring within me. It urges me to set out soon.

  Redbeard, I had thought we would journey to the new world together. But alas… I miss you."

  As if bidding farewell to something intangible, he plucked a wildflower and let it drift away, carried by the wind to the center of the lake.

  "You’ve come—why hide?" Edwin spoke abruptly after a pause.

  From a distance in the woods, there was a rustling sound before a figure emerged slowly. Had Yvette been present, she would have recognized this woman as the impostor she had encountered on the stairs of the club.

  "I only saw that you might have been deep in thought, so I waited a moment."

  Edwin did not reply. After a dozen seconds, he handed her a small glass vial.

  "What you need."

  She took it skeptically, as if unconvinced of its efficacy. "This?"

  The vial was peculiar—its crystal walls unusually thick. Though the tube itself was roughly the width of a thumb, the inner chamber that held the crimson liquid was minuscule. Through the flawless clarity of the crystal, the substance appeared like a faint red needle suspended within.

  It was questionable whether there was even a single drop inside.

  "Don’t underestimate it. This is the Water of Herod—distilled from the blood of countless pure infants and powdered bone from the arm of St. John the Baptist. Its essence is forged from death and hatred, refined through the Reddening Process. Never mind the value of saintly relics—just the Reddening Process alone is said to be the final step in crafting the Philosopher’s Stone. In all of human history, there have been only a handful of alchemists capable of mastering it. This is the only one in existence, retrieved from the tombs of Byzantine kings by one of our associates. Lose it, and you’ll never find another." He paused. "But don’t worry—this vial is specially made. Ordinary weapons cannot break it."

  "How do I use it?" No wonder she clutched the life-or-death vial so tightly—what she was about to attempt was nothing less than the murder of a god yet to be born.

  "You mentioned before that you offer it nectar regularly? Mix this into it thoroughly. But remember—once the stopper is removed, do not hesitate. Pour it in immediately. The substance is highly volatile—it will vanish quickly if exposed too long."

  "Are you certain it will work? The target is… that. You swear it will have an effect? Will I be in danger?" She hesitated, repeating her questions.

  "Of course." Edwin’s face betrayed nothing, though inwardly, he scoffed.

  No wonder she was merely a peripheral member of their sect—so fearful of death, lacking even the most basic resolve in the pursuit of truth. She was only slightly better than the unawakened masses of the world.

  "...Besides, you don’t have another choice, do you? When the next sacrificial rite arrives, your sister will undoubtedly regain human form and play a central role. If the village discovers that you were the one who let her escape in the first place, your predicament will be far worse, Serena."

  His words struck a nerve. Serena bit her lip before finally answering, "I... I don’t know. Maybe I should just kill her. That’d be simpler than killing a god..."

  "She is your sister. And do you truly believe there would be no suspicion? As long as you cannot escape this village, everything you’ve done will come to light. Then you’ll regret your choices far more." Edwin frowned.

  "You refused to help me!" Serena shrieked. "Aren’t we comrades? What does that even mean if all the dangerous tasks fall on me? When I needed aid the most, the people who call themselves my allies shut the door on me! How am I supposed to trust you?!"

  This hysterical woman...

  Edwin grew impatient.