Jaune set Mocha's scrawled notebook down with a small sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Between her doodles, the half-serious footnotes, and the surprisingly earnest analysis of the three runes he'd asked about earlier in the week, his head was starting to hurt. It was too much nonsense mixed with just enough substance to make him uneasy.
Beside him, Pyrrha leaned a little closer to skim a line or two more, her hair brushing his shoulder again. Blake had already wandered toward the neat little tower of books Mocha had collected on the corner table, flipping through them with a quiet focus that was very much her.
"Maybe... she's taking this a little too seriously." Jaune muttered, lowering his voice as he shut the notebook,
As if summoned by his words, Mocha materialized at Pyrrha's side. She practically bounced on her heels, clasping her hands behind her back and tilting her head up at the taller redhead with wide, eager eyes.
"So!" Mocha said brightly while waggling her finger dramatically. "Are you two going to stay and watch us conduct the ritual too? It's going to be amazing — nothing like anything else on campus, I promise!"
Jaune stiffened, waiting for Pyrrha to brush her off politely, the way he would've. Instead, Pyrrha blinked, tilted her head, and smiled that serene little smile of hers.
"Well," she said, her tone calm but curious, "I suppose I don't mind. It could be interesting."
Jaune almost choked. "What?"
But it made sense the moment he thought about it. Pyrrha was rank one — awakened, trained and someone who had seen the Dream Realm firsthand. Things like fake rituals, candlelight circles, and overwrought chanting weren't going to bother her. Compared to fighting actual nightmare constructs, this was almost tame.
Mocha beamed like she'd just scored a celebrity endorsement.
"And you?" she said, swiveling toward Blake. "You'll stay too, right?"
Blake didn't answer immediately. She was still leafing through one of the older tomes, her eyes narrowing as they lingered on an illustrated diagram of an intricate rune circle. The light caught against her dark hair, highlighting the faint curve of an amused smile tugging at her lips.
"I wouldn't mind," she said at last, her voice smooth, a little distracted. "This is… fascinating, in its own way."
Jaune's eyebrows shot up. "Fascinating? Really?"
Blake hummed, noncommittal, but her eyes flicked toward him with the faintest glimmer of humor. Jaune frowned. He supposed, given her whole quiet, gothic edge, that this sort of thing probably did hold a kind of appeal. Dark rooms, whispered incantations, a dramatic leader with way too much eyeliner — yeah, he could see how it lined up with her vibe.
Except… Jaune noticed the way she kept flipping through the pages with steady precision, scanning not just the pretty pictures but the actual wording of the paragraphs. He recognized that look. She wasn't here for the atmosphere. She was analyzing, cataloguing and evaluating.
Keeping an eye on things.
Mocha, of course, missed all of that. She was too busy clapping her hands together with uncontained joy. "Perfect! This is perfect! Pyrrha Nikos, the Invincible, herself, and mysterious, cool Blake — the stars are aligning! You two are exactly the kind of members we need! Smart, strong and beautiful—"
Pyrrha's polite smile twitched into something faintly strained.
Blake, on the other hand, shut her book softly and turned her gaze on Mocha. Her amber eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, sharp and steady.
"Maybe," Blake said coolly, "I'll consider it."
Mocha's jaw practically hit the floor. "Really?!"
A flicker of amusement ghosted across Blake's lips. "Like I said, maybe."
Jaune pinched the bridge of his nose again. Of course. Leave it to Blake to toy with her just enough to keep her happy while also keeping her at arm's length. He could already tell what she was thinking — if the club had books worth flipping through, if it was a convenient place to observe, then she'd keep herself welcome here.
And that meant he'd have to keep on guard.
Because as much as Jaune trusted Pyrrha and Blake, he also knew he was treading dangerous ground. Asking Mocha to research runes in the first place had already been risky. He'd played it off with that dumb excuse about video games, but he knew full well that even sniffing too close to the Dream Realm without clearance was flirting with a breach of LUCID's policy.
True, Jaune hadn't known at the time, that the information was censored. But now that he was a part of LUCID, responsibility naturally fell onto his shoulders.
Blake was sharp enough to catch that, even if she hadn't said it out loud.
Jaune's gaze flicked between the three of them — Mocha practically glowing with excitement, Pyrrha smiling with that unshakable calm, Blake watching with unreadable amusement — and he felt a familiar knot of tension in his chest.
This was going to spiral. He just knew it.
Mocha, oblivious, pressed her advantage. "I mean, think about it! With Pyrrha's skills and Blake's... uh... sharp mind, our society could be unstoppable! We'd have credibility, we'd have passion, we'd have—"
"Mocha," Jaune cut in, sharper than he'd meant to.
She froze, blinking at him.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, alright?" he said, forcing his tone back toward casual. "Pyrrha and Blake are just… curious, that's all. They might not want to be roped into this, long term."
Pyrrha gave him a sidelong glance, the faintest curve of humor tugging her lips. She knew what he was doing — running interference.
Blake simply tilted her head, closing the book in her hands with quiet finality.
Mocha pouted for all of two seconds before bouncing right back. "Maybe! But hey, a girl can dream, right?" She winked at Pyrrha, then at Blake, like she'd already decided they were secretly interested whether they admitted it or not.
Jaune resisted the urge to sigh.
He could already imagine how this would play out. Mocha wasn't going to let go of the idea easily. And knowing Blake, she might even encourage it just to keep the door open. Pyrrha… well, Pyrrha would probably just smile and shrug, perfectly at ease no matter what nonsense she was dragged into.
Which meant, the burden of responsibility fell squarely on him. Perhaps it was a bad idea to invite them after all?
Jaune rubbed the back of his neck, the weight of LUCID's cautions echoing in his mind. Mocha's books were harmless — so long as they stayed surface level. But if she kept sniffing closer to real concepts…
Well... thankfully it was just occultism stuff.
Jaune tapped the edge of Mocha's notebook with his finger, lips quirking into a small half-smile. "Alright, you've been hyping this up for a while now. What's this ritual actually supposed to do? Don't keep us in suspense."
Mocha's eyes lit up like he'd just asked her to unveil the secrets of the universe. She clapped her hands together, practically vibrating where she stood.
"I'm so glad you asked," she said dramatically, lowering her voice like she was about to reveal state secrets.
Jaune leaned back in his chair, letting his expression fall somewhere between curious and amused. He knew this routine: Mocha winding herself up, her audience indulging her, and him stuck playing the straight man. He could almost hear Nora's voice in his head going, 'Just smile and nod, Jaune. Smile and nod.'
Mocha stepped closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "This wasn't easy to find. Most rituals are just… fluff. Copy-pasted nonsense. But then—" she jabbed a finger skyward, "—I found something. Odd scraps of writing in rune language. Actual rune language... scanned online."
Jaune tilted his head, raising a brow but letting a crooked smile tug his lips. "Rune language? That's… convenient."
Her grin widened. "I knew you'd get it! Most people can't even recognize the symbols. But me?" She pointed proudly at herself. "I could."
"Of course you could."
Mocha, missing any hint of irony, pulled out her phone with a magician's flourish. "See, there's this dictionary—an old one, compiled by a girl years ago. She put it online, mapped out a bunch of the symbols, guessed their meanings. Nobody took it seriously, but…" she tapped her screen and turned it toward him, "I did."
On the screen was a barebones webpage, black text on white, with rune-like scrawls listed alongside clumsy English guesses.
Jaune hummed softly. "Wow. Someone really went all in, huh?"
Mocha puffed up like he'd just validated her entire life's work. "Exactly! So I cross-referenced the scraps I found with the dictionary and with some of the books over there. It took days, but eventually I pieced together a theme. And you'll never believe what it was pointing to."
Jaune rested his chin on his palm, lips twitching upward. "Try me."
"The Eye of Insight," Mocha declared, eyes glittering. "A ritual that awakens perception beyond the mundane. To see what's hidden. To know the truth behind the curtain."
"Uh-huh," Jaune said, nodding solemnly, like a man being told the plot of a new fantasy anime. "And all it takes is…?"
"Imploring the aid of a deity."
That actually drew a short laugh out of him, though he smothered it quickly. "A deity? You mean like… pick one, any one?"
Mocha wagged her finger. "The text wasn't exactly specific. But I think I found the honorific name of a deity that could help us in that book over there" Mocha went to where Blake was a grabbed one of the smaller faded books and turned to a page filled with... you guessed it, Rune language.
"A special circle, an offering, and the courage to ask."
Across the room, Blake finally set down the she was looking at and sauntered over, her steps as casual as a cat's. She slipped into a chair in the corner, crossed one long leg over the other, and regarded Mocha with that aloof amber gaze of hers.
"A deity huh," Blake echoed smoothly. "That's a bold claim. Will... imploring the help of this deity really give you the... Eye of Insight?"
Mocha shrugged as though the detail was beneath her notice. "Eh... probably not. None of our rituals have worked so far, but it doesn't hurt to try. After all, what matters is the intent. Our occult research society was built to prove that the occult is real, after all!"
Blake arched a brow, faint amusement flickering in her eyes.
Jaune glanced between them, lips quirking again. It was like watching a seasoned chess player size up a kid who thought the knight moved like a rook. Mocha with boundless naïve enthusiasm, Blake with razor-edged curiosity.
Meanwhile, Pyrrha leaned lightly against the table beside Jaune, arms folded, expression calm but intrigued. She didn't laugh or tease; she simply listened, as though the entire situation were a lecture worth attending.
"Insight," Pyrrha murmured. "It certainly sounds ambitious."
Mocha beamed. "Exactly! Ambition is what drives discovery."
"Or trouble," Jaune muttered, though the smile still played at his lips.
Mocha gave him a playful scowl, hands on her hips. "Oh, ye of little faith."
He lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm here, aren't I? That counts for something."
Her pout lasted all of two seconds before she spun back toward the others, practically glowing. By now, her club members had nearly finished transforming the room. The curtains were all drawn tight, choking out the light. Chalk lines sprawled across the floor in a rough circle, symbols copied from Mocha's notes etched unevenly along its border.
Jaune's gaze flicked to the side, where a pile of oddities had been stacked in plastic tubs: feathers, coins, jars of colored liquid that he was fairly certain was soda and a handful of dried flowers. He couldn't tell if they were meant as offerings or props.
One member, excused herself to fetch special candles from her locker, while another crouched to carefully retrace a crooked line of chalk.
The atmosphere shifted with each passing second. The excited chatter dulled to murmurs. The heavy curtains and chalk circle gave the room a stage-like quality—half playful, half ominous.
Jaune glanced at Pyrrha. She was quite unphased and her relaxed posture radiated calm. Compared to the Dream, this was probably fun to her. Akin to children playing with things that didn't work.
Blake, was looked a little sharper. She sat with her chin propped in her hand, her amber eyes intent on Mocha's every word. There was a glint there—curiosity.
And Jaune?
Well, he was mostly just annoyed.
LUCID wasn't just some fringe organization—it was an militaristic organization that went above and beyond to protect the world. Their reach spanned the entire globe and their influence ran deeper than all forms of government. And they did all this while staying as a secret. If something even remotely "Occult" truly existed, LUCID would have dissected it, catalogued it, and scrubbed every trace from the public net long ago.
Which made this whole thing feel like a waste of time to him. A glorified LARP session, dressing up with solemn oaths and dramatic rituals. Maybe Ruby would have found it exciting, maybe even charming in that wide-eyed way of hers. But Jaune?
To him, it just felt… off. Weird, in a way that settled under the skin rather than thrilled the imagination.
However, this was just Mocha being Mocha.
If he didn't play along, who knew what nonsense she'd try next. He just hoped they wouldn't have to tie up Maurice for a fake ritualistic sacrifice this time.
He watched as Mocha snapped her notebook open again, the pages crackling faintly as she flipped through them with the precision of a scholar—or at least, someone very eager to look like one. She crouched at the edge of the chalk circle that Maurice was still completing. Her eyes darted between her scrawled notes and the patterns drawn on the floor.
Maurice, had more enthusiasm than coordination and kept dragging chalk in slightly crooked arcs. Mocha had to lean over him and bark little corrections until the curves finally looked symmetrical.
When Maurice leaned back, she took over. Mocha crouched down, tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth in concentration as she sketched intricate smaller symbols inside the circle, careful flourishes which dotted the outer rim. Jaune squinted at them—they seemed closer to messy approximations of runes than actual glyphs. Still, the care she put into each one made it look almost… convincing.
Finally, she rocked back on her heels with a proud little flourish. "There," she announced, brushing chalk dust from her fingers. "Perfect."
Jaune tilted his head, lips quirking faintly. "It looks pretty good. Let me guess, the chalk is also special?"
Mocha lit up, eager for the question. "Ah, I'm glad you asked! This isn't just any random chalk. It's ritual chalk. Made from compressed lamb bone dust."
Pyrrha was visibly surprised, while Blake arched a brow with quiet intrigue.
Jaune, on the other hand, let out a low whistle. "Compressed lamb bone dust, huh. That's… a little creepier than I expected." He leaned forward, examining the pale lines across the hardwood floor with new appreciation.
"Of course it is," Mocha said proudly, puffing up like a peacock. "Rituals are all about intent. You can't just scrawl any random circle with sidewalk chalk and expect anything real to happen. The preparation matters. And that means using the right materials"
Jaune tapped his chin. "So you put all this together in, what, two days?"
Mocha giggled, the sound bright and airy, completely at odds with the heavy, dark atmosphere she was trying to create. "Silly. No, no. I've had many of these material already prepared from previous rituals! It was the span of weeks... months, even! I've been preparing things on and off. Testing ideas, gathering supplies… but now—" she spun toward the finished circle, arms outstretched dramatically, "—this is my best preparation yet."
She pointed at him dramatically, her other hand covering her face in a splayed out manner.
"You, were the spark that lit the fuse for my passion of runes, Jaune Arc!"
Jaune fought the urge to cringe. "Guess I should've known better."
While she basked in her own grandeur, the other club members began changing into robes. Black fabric whispered as they shrugged them over their heads, the room filling with the faint smell of dust and mothballs. It still looked more like a discount stage production than anything sinister, but the solemnity with which the students carried themselves made Jaune bite back another amused chuckle.
Then Mocha turned, holding up three folded bundles of fabric like sacred offerings. "Here," she said, pressing them into Jaune's hands. "For you, Pyrrha, and Blake."
Jaune unfolded his. Black, like the rest—except his had his name stitched neatly along the hem in looping red thread.
He stared. Slowly dragged a hand down his face. And sighed.
Of course.
Pyrrha's robe was plain. Blake's too. They both hesitated, sharing a faintly uncomfortable glance, but neither of them voiced protest. Pyrrha offered her practiced smile—the one she used whenever she'd rather not offend someone—and slipped it on with quiet grace. Blake followed suit more reluctantly, tugging the fabric over her shoulders like it was a mild inconvenience rather than a costume.
Jaune, meanwhile, caught the awkward stiffness in their postures and felt a petty little flicker of triumph.
'Good. Now they know how it feels. Laugh at my expense, will you?'
He tugged his own robe on last, muttering under his breath, "Great. My very own uniform."
The ritual atmosphere deepened. The last of the curtains were drawn tight, plunging the room into shadow. At that moment, the missing member returned, arms laden with thick, black candles that glistened faintly in the dim light. The sharp tang of wax filled the air as they were distributed and placed carefully at marked points along the chalk circle.
Mocha clapped her hands sharply, commanding attention. "Offerings!"
Her members moved like actors hitting their cues. At the cardinal points of the circle, they set down four objects:
To the north, a single gold coin, gleaming faintly under the weak overhead lights. "Divinity," Mocha said proudly.
To the east, a small bouquet of dried spider lilies, crimson petals shriveled and brittle. "Decay."
To the south, a thick black candle, its unlit wick curling like a charred twist of rope. "Death."
And finally, to the west, a freshly cut white lotus, its petals still dewy and fragrant. "Spiritual Awakening."
Was that lotus taken from the small decorated pond which Beacon had out in the front?
Regardless of where it came from, each item was placed with deliberate care, their significance explained with Mocha's unwavering conviction. She circled them like a conductor, ensuring everything was aligned precisely.
Jaune stood a little apart, arms folded beneath his robe, his expression caught between bemusement and reluctant admiration.
"I'll give you this," he said finally, voice low but audible to the others. "That's… more thorough than I expected. You've certainly got the symbolism down."
Mocha spun toward him, her eyes shining. "Right?! Finally someone appreciates the artistry! Rituals are about balance, Jaune. Light and dark, life and death, the divine and the decayed. Without balance, nothing works. Well, in any case, these offerings are what is supposed to summon that deity's attention. Hopefully it works?"
Pyrrha's lips curved slightly, her posture calm as ever. "You've clearly thought this through," she said gently.
Blake, on the other hand, leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed, amber eyes flicking from offering to offering. "It's impressive," she admitted, though her tone was cool. "But… a little dramatic."
"Dramatic is the point!" Mocha said with an emphatic nod.
Jaune smothered a sigh. Of course it was.
The circle glowed faintly as the black candles were lit one by one, shadows leaping along the walls. Mocha stood tall in the center, notebook clutched to her chest like scripture. Her club members gathered around the edge, robes pooling around them, their faces solemn.
Jaune tugged at his robe's hem and shook his head. Did the robe have to be so itchy?
Mocha handed her notebook to Maurice for him to put away, then they got started.
Their robes rustled faintly as the students shuffled into place. Mocha raised her hands, motioning for quiet. The faint crackle of the candles filled the silence and for the first time since the whole evening began, Jaune realized he couldn't hear the muffled sounds of the campus outside anymore. No footsteps, chatter or even the distant hum of the air conditioning.
Just silence.
Perhaps it was the silence of anticipation?
One of the members cleared her throat, her hand twitching upward nervously. "Um, Mocha? About the chant… we only do it once, right? Or…?"
Mocha's head snapped toward her, sharp as a whip, but she softened immediately, nodding like a teacher humoring a student. "Good question. It's a three-part chant," she explained, her voice adopting a measured cadence. "I'll lead it, but all of you repeat after me. Only the first two parts. The last part, I'll do alone. But first—" she clasped her hands together dramatically, "—we must become a closed system. Unity matters."
She gestured, and her members moved automatically, linking hands to form a circle around her. Their robes swayed with the motion, the black fabric making them look more like shadows than students.
The three, Jaune, Pyrrha and Blake joined in the circle. Jaune interlocked hands with Pyrrha and an occult club member on his left. To Pyrrha's right was Blake, holding hands with Maurice who was on her right.
The circle was complete.
Mocha's eyes gleamed in the dim candlelight. "And remember," she said, her tone playful but with an edge that didn't quite match the words. "Don't break the circle. And for the love of all that is holy… don't scuff the chalk. I don't want to have to redraw it!"
Jaune's lips twitched faintly, something in the way she said it made him have the urge to scuff it anyway. Just to see her reaction. He wasn't sure why. Intrusive thoughts...
Mocha stepped into the center of the chalk circle, notebook clutched to her chest. She raised her voice. "First: the offerings."
Her gaze swept over the four cardinal directions, and she began to recite.
"For the coin of gold, gleaming bright," she intoned, "symbol of divinity and covenant."
The circle of students repeated the line, their voices uneven, uncertain.
"For the lilies red, withered and dry, symbol of decay and forgotten time."
The words repeated again, trembling a little.
"For the candle black, bound in wax, symbol of death and the shadows that consume."
Their voices grew steadier now, a strange resonance creeping in as the chant echoed around the room.
"For the lotus white, living and pure, symbol of awakening, of sight beyond flesh."
The words rippled outward, rising and falling as though the circle itself breathed.
Jaune felt his throat tighten as the hairs on the back of his neck rose. The candles flickered, shadows stretching unnaturally long along the walls. He glanced around with an odd look. The windows were closed. There shouldn't have been a draft stirring anything.
This last part now was to be said by her, alone.
Mocha lifted her hands high. Her voice shifted, taking on a weight that pressed against the ears.
The Sleeper Beyond the Grave.
Matron of Slumbering Nightmares.
The Horror Who Denies the Sun.
The words rolled like thunder, low and heavy. Jaune's stomach knotted and his sixth sense blared.
Something didn't feel right.
By the time the students heard Mocha echo this line, Jaune was gripping the arms of the two people beside him in a deathly grip. His amusement long gone. The air itself felt thick, as if saturated by unseen currents pressing down on them.
Mocha however, didn't seem to notice, like she was possessed with by an unnatural zeal. Her face flushed with fervor. She leaned back, almost trembling as she shouted:
"I implore you,"
"I beseech you,"
"Grant me the sight to see the true world!"
The reply shook Jaune's bones.
The moment the words left her lips, the atmosphere collapsed in on itself.
It wasn't sound that struck Jaune—it was silence. A silence so total it became suffocating, like the world itself had been muffled. His breath caught in his throat, refusing to move. His chest locked as if invisible fingers pressed into his ribs.
And then he felt it.
At first, Jaune didn't even understand what he was feeling. His brain tried to reason it away—maybe claustrophobia, maybe the sudden seriousness of the ritual finally getting under his skin. But no. This was different.
Something vast had turned its gaze on them.
Not like a person staring from across a room. Not like a predator watching prey. This was heavier. Immense.
Impossible.
It was as if the world's axis had shifted and some ancient eye had swiveled toward their tiny circle. Something older than cities, older than names, older than history itself. It was patient and endless, stretching backward beyond time and forward beyond imagining.
It was not a presence that belonged to the world of flesh or stone or sky. It was not a god, nor a demon, nor anything his mind could wrap around. It was endless. Timeless. Something that existed before language, before memory, before anything could be named.
It was not a gaze that came from above, or from any one direction, but from everywhere. From within the silence itself. From the floor beneath their feet. From the void behind his own eyes.
And it had noticed them.
Jaune's vision swam and blurred at the edges. The flickering candlelight smeared into afterimages, like dark stains burned into his retinas. His knees locked, refusing to bend, every muscle frozen as though bound in invisible ice. The shadows warped, twisting across the walls like coiling limbs that reached too far. Shapes crawled at the corners of his sight, vanishing whenever he tried to look directly at them.
He'd never believed in the whole "sixth sense" thing before. Never felt anything close to it. But now? Now every fiber of his being screamed with a new awareness. A primal certainty.
They were not alone.
The circle of students quivered like puppets on strings. Some gasped, others whimpered faintly, but none of them moved—not even when tears welled in their eyes.
A faint whimper cut through the silence—the girl beside him, knuckles white as she clung to his hand. Jaune wanted to comfort her, to say something, but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. His body was not his own.
Jaune's pulse hammered against his temples. He tried to force his head to turn, to look at Pyrrha, at Blake—but his body refused. The best he managed was the faintest flick of his eyes.
Pyrrha's expression, normally so unshakably calm, was tight with something he had never seen on her face before. Fear. Her arms were stiff, her lips drawn thin, her gaze locked on Mocha with wide, unblinking intensity.
Blake sat rigid as stone, amber eyes luminous in the candlelight. Her usual composure had cracked; her pupils were dilated, her breathing shallow, her lips parted as though she couldn't draw in enough air. She looked less like a predator and more like a cornered animal.
And Mocha—
Jaune's gut plummeted.
Mocha stood in the center of the circle, her arms still raised toward the ceiling. But her face…
Her face was wrong.
That manic gleam that had carried her through the whole night was gone. Not replaced by fear, not replaced by awe—simply gone. Her eyes stared straight ahead, but the light in them had faded, dimming like a candle guttering out.
It was as though something had plucked her soul free, leaving her body frozen upright.
Her lips still moved, faintly and silently forming the words of the final plea. But no sound came out.
And Jaune, heart pounding in his throat, knew without knowing why—
She was gone.
Mocha had died standing.
.
.
AN: Were you ready?
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