Only after Yvette had walked away did Dr. Monis reveal an enigmatic smile. Immediately after, his old friend—also the abbot of this monastery—appeared quietly before him, dressed in the same coarse, brown robe as the other hermits, his broad hood concealing the upper half of his face.

  It’s been a long time, my friend in the Lord, the abbot signed in greeting.

  Dr. Monis replied with equally proficient sign language: My coming was inevitable. All is ordained by our Lord’s will.

  About the “Scaled One”? The abbot hesitated briefly before signing. But you didn’t attend the previous ceremonies, and after leaving here, you almost never returned.

  Because this time is different, my friend. Previous ceremonies were less about efforts to awaken the divine and more about stopgaps to delay His periodic slumber. Our Lord had other designs for me. Now, we may have a way to solve this problem—permanently.

  Permanently…

  It was a word brimming with temptation.

  Indeed. Our great work is near completion, and all that He has promised us shall come to pass. Dr. Monis’ trembling hands betrayed his excitement. For so long, I sought the reason why our Lord chose me—a mere medical graduate, when the world held countless others of greater intellect, of nobler blood. But now I understand. It was always about her. In His slumber, our Lord foresaw the connection that would form between me and that woman, even in my youth.

  Her? The Lord chose a woman? The abbot seemed surprised.

  She presents herself in men’s attire, but undoubtedly, she is a woman.

  Yet scripture says women are frail creatures, easily led astray.

  The Holy Mother, too, was a mortal woman, the only human born free of original sin. If scripture is divinely inspired, perhaps that flawless maiden was meant to foreshadow her coming.

  Dr. Monis’ silent argument soon persuaded the abbot.

  Then, what may I do for this sacred rite?

  Nothing. The Lord has given me all the instructions. Even her investigations on the island may continue unhindered. She need only remain here until Candlemas arrives.

  Not all share our readiness to accept the Lord’s presence. For safety’s sake, should we… take measures to ensure her compliance?

  Dr. Monis knew the abbot meant imprisonment—holding her until the rite, lest she flee or perish—but this would defy the will of his Lord.

  No. The rite must unfold in the proper way, in the proper order, with the proper deeds. Her consent is indispensable. No matter her thoughts now, she will accept our offer in time. My friend, you need only wait patiently and prepare the preliminary rites. Leave the rest to me.

  Yvette had decided to leave this eerie little island. She spoke to the captain about securing passage and returned to her room to pack. Among her belongings, the notebook left by the "Horned One" stood out—perhaps a vital clue, something her organization might decipher. But when she arrived at the dock with her small suitcase, she found the supply ship had already departed.

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  Why so soon? Based on what she’d heard aboard, unloading and loading usually lasted till dusk. She’d seen goods being carried into the monastery but none of the usual return shipments—beer, cheese, or other monastic products—that typically followed.

  Was she trapped on the island for another week?

  Her travel attire and suitcase drew attention as she walked back. Once again, she crossed paths with Dr. Monis, who, seemingly forgetting their earlier tension, greeted her with the same genial smile.

  “Mr. Fisher, I thought you’d departed by ship. Did you just miss it?”

  Yvette nodded tersely and moved past him, but his voice followed, smooth and deliberate:

  “Staying another week may not be so bad. You’ll witness our local ‘Candlemas’—most distinctive. As a devout Trinitarian, you surely know it as ‘The Purification of the Blessed Virgin’ or ‘The Presentation of Our Lord,’ commemorating the Virgin’s purification in Jerusalem six weeks after childbirth. But in truth, the festival is pagan at heart. ‘Candlemas’ is merely a Trinitarian rebranding. Its pagan name is Imbolc—‘in the belly.’ Long ago, heathens believed a mother’s womb held unseen wonders.”

  Yvette glanced back at him. Dr. Monis inclined his head, smiling, but her distrust only deepened.

  That night, in the dream chamber, she sought the hydra’s counsel.

  “He speaks true, my esteemed master. ‘Candlemas’ indeed stems from an ancient Celtic festival. The Trinitarian faith has absorbed many heathen deities and rites—this is but one small example. However…”

  “However?”

  “In my experience, one who shares such knowledge with you likely suspects you’re among the Awakened—testing if you’re kin. In regions stalked by Church spies, rogue mages sometimes encounter those they sense as kindred. To exchange arcane lore or seek aid, they drop hints: pagan allusions or veiled double meanings. If the listener is Awakened, they’ll respond accordingly.

  “Freelance mages hunger for Ascension’s path and defenses against mental decay. Rarely meeting peers, most seize such overtures eagerly.”

  “So he suspects I’m Awakened?” Yvette mused.

  “Almost certainly—but unaware of your Church ties. To expose himself otherwise would be suicidal. Mortals who gain power seldom resist acts that draw the Church’s ire. Before your purification, even I succumbed to such sins. Why would a criminal bare his deeds to a judge? Your true guise eludes him.”

  Logically, this made sense. Yet in this mad world, reason didn’t always hold.

  Since Dr. Monis had extended an olive branch—and might possess damning secrets—Yvette played along, responding as a fellow freelancer while fishing for evidence of his crimes.

  “……I awakened through bloodline. But Dr. Monis received his power directly from a being beyond? Remarkable. To face such grotesque madness and retain one’s humanity—you stand among the most exceptional talents I’ve met.”

  With Candlemas days away, the monastery bustled with candle-making preparations. Even open chatter during daylight violated no silence rules now.

  “That I touched the power behind the Veil was sheer providence. My background is mundane, my profession keeps me under public scrutiny. Were it not for fate’s design, I’d have lived and died ignorant of the supernatural.”

  “Fortune’s favor—or curse. Did a mentor guide you, or did chance plunge you into the arcane?” Oddly, Dr. Monis seemed unguarded—overly eager for fellowship, even by freelancer standards.

  “I’m a neurologist. During university, I interned at a Paris asylum. Back then, I was but a blind grub beneath the Veil. But gradually, the ravings of lunatics hinted at… something else. I transcribed every mad utterance, reread them endlessly. Falling asleep with their files, I dreamed—of alien worlds, of vast, inconceivable horrors. That’s when I first glimpsed the truth behind reality’s lies.

  “Thus began my pursuit of enlightenment—fraught with trials, yet here, on this island, I’ve achieved my life’s work.” Dr. Monis chuckled. “As for preserving sanity? I’ve never struggled. Unlike other Awakened, my mind has been inoculated with foreign thought. Despair and anguish cannot touch me now.”

  As if prearranged, he produced a worn journal and handed it to Yvette:

  “This details my Awakening. May it aid you, Mr. Fisher.”