"Why is the moon in this painting white?"
As Audrey utters the question, others notice the painting's oddity, curiosity sparking among the guests. In the Loen Kingdom, the "Crimson Moon" symbolizes the Evernight Goddess, so a pure white moon feels jarringly out of place.
Some devotees of the Evernight Goddess bristle with faint displeasure, though they restrain themselves—no other evil gods are tied to the moon, after all.
"Ahem, I suppose this artist isn't a follower of the Evernight Goddess," a minor noble jests, "but they're certainly brimming with artistic flair."
"You're too kind," a gentle voice interjects. The crowd turns to see me, Adrian, approaching with a monocle and a warm smile. "While I'm not a devotee of the Evernight Goddess, I deeply respect Her. In creating this piece, I chose a white moon to evoke a serene atmosphere. The color lends a tranquil, gentle quality, aligning with the impression the Goddess imparts to Her faithful. This was my inspiration while painting in Desi Bay."
Viscount Glaint chimes in to vouch for my identity. "This painting is a gift from this esteemed artist. I assure you, Mr. Abraham's artistry ranks among Backlund's finest."
Before the gathered onlookers, I adjust my monocle, my lips curving upward. "Indeed, it's merely a stylistic choice…"
Something's off. Audrey's instincts flare. My spirit body and demeanor are flawless, yet as an "Audience," she senses a subtle discord. It's like a drop of oil in water—I'm deliberately projecting this unease.
But where does it stem from?
No—wait! It's too perfect. My spirit body is unnaturally calm, unlike my outward persona. Even the most composed person would show some spiritual fluctuation when sharing creative insights with a crowd. Mine hasn't budged—I'm purely "performing." This is a flaw meant for Beyonder to notice. I've detected Beyonder at this banquet and am signaling my pathway.
But… which pathway grants such flawless "performance"?
Maybe...I'll ask Mr. Fool at the next Tarot Club gathering. Audrey rubs her smooth chin, lost in thought. As the waltz's melody swells and the crowd disperses, she realizes she's lingered too long. With her maid's help, she steadies herself, slipping into her "Audience" state to mingle with the salon's guests.
Introduced by Viscount Glaint, Audrey exchanges brief pleasantries with Fors, keeping their conversation superficial in public.
Watching Fors head toward the dessert table, zeroing in on a cream-slathered cake, Audrey shifts her focus, following Glaint to the drawing room.
She recalls details from her exchange with Fors, analyzing her intentions to gain the upper hand in future interactions.
Taking a step, poised as a detached Audience, Audrey catches her trailing gown, stumbling. Before her maid Annie can catch her, a strong hand steadies her.
"Careful, miss," a cool male voice says. Audrey's ears twitch, detecting a faint, discordant malice beneath the stern tone. Brushing it off, she straightens, a delicate flush coloring her cheeks.
She sees a handsome man dressed as a musician, offering a flawless smile before stepping back with gentlemanly grace. Glancing at him, she senses the distinct aura of an Beyonder.
"He came with Mr. Abraham, didn't he? His companion—both Beyonders. Are they targeting me or Viscount Glaint? No, if that were the case, Glaint would've warned me. Still, this unnamed gentleman seems well-bred…"
Lost in speculation, Audrey drifts into the crowd, unaware of Mr. A's turbulent inner struggle.
Mr. A admits he needs to repent.
As the Lord's shepherd, he hasn't fully aligned his thoughts with the True Creator's current scriptures and doctrines. His earlier smile was a blood-flesh spell, barely maintained. As an Aurora Order envoy, spotting Audrey as an Beyonder nearly triggered a reflexive barrage of blood-flesh erosion. Only his strong self-control averted a brutal murder.
Repenting to the Lord in his heart, he diligently continues the task I assigned.
I sigh silently, having glimpsed Mr. A's chaotic thoughts through my true form's peculiar angles. I nearly unleashed my Ranger abilities to stop his outburst. Mingling with nobles and writers requesting portraits, I weave through the banquet, raiding the dessert table.
Mr. A's devotion to the True Creator is fervent, or he'd have succumbed to his killing urge. Can't let him take out Miss Justice—if the Tarot Club's financier dies, Klein's in trouble. This cake's good… maybe I'll send one to my dear ally to boost His humanity. In the Forsaken Land, my avatar's tendril pokes the True Creator.
No response—His extra meal's off the table.
With my main goal at the banquet achieved, I relax. Audrey's noticed the painting, and with a nudge, she'll mention it to Mr. Fool as an amusing anecdote. Forking a piece of steak, I savor its flavor, strolling leisurely through the banquet, soaking in the guests' performances. This is a flawless aristocratic drama—everyone chases their desires, seizing benefits. They're free, flaunting their talents, radiating unique light and heat. Yet, bound by rules, they're soulless marionettes.
I watch coldly, a surge of delight washing over me. Slicing my steak, I imagine carving the Author characteristic I've secured but can't yet consume. Following my lingering pollution, I manipulate the tainted Ince Zangwill, lulling him into a stupor. Controlling his body, I wield the listless 0-08, writing in its notebook:
After seeing the white moon in the painting, Audrey Hall, unable to quell her curiosity, plans to ask the omniscient "Fool" about it at the next Tarot Club.
Eyes closed, Ince Zangwill moves like a rigid puppet, tearing out the page. Muttering my honorific name, he offers the paper to me. I smile, my bizarrely shaped limb tapping it.
The text flows off the page, floating in the air, aligning before me. With a gentle nudge to the surrounding space, the words collapse into a one-dimensional data stream, a long thread piercing a flaw in the astral barrier, re-entering its interior. Reforming as text, they flicker onto an inconspicuous corner of Audrey's sleeve.
Audrey falters briefly, then continues forward, unruffled.
I watch her composed stride, swirling my wine glass. Mr. A works the crowd, leveraging his striking looks and the book's social tips to befriend artists and minor nobles seeking fresh connections. At a few artists' requests, he sings praises to the Ancient Sun God, moving an Intisian musician to tears, earning high praise.
Humans are fascinating. A reviled Aurora Order envoy, with slight disguise, garners such adoration. Sipping my wine, I sit, bored, playfully analyzing each guest's motives. An outer god's mind is vast—soon, I've pierced their desires, only to grow bored again. I knead the Hidden Sage in my true form's grasp, shaping it to my will, while watching lives on this fate-bound planet end in dramatic tragedy.
Thus, I pass the time, waiting for Fors and Audrey to finish their talk and emerge.
As Viscount Glaint exits the room, guests depart in cheerful clusters, their faces beaming with gains. I spot a few Eternal Blazing Sun devotees bonding with Mr. A, arranging to host him next time.
I muse that these Sun worshippers are out of their minds. I can already picture their next meeting—Mr. A, a True Creator devotee, dimensionally crushing them, converting them to Ancient Sun God followers. Intrigued, I have my true form cast a glance at Mr. A.
"I've always wanted to see devotees betrayed by their faith," one of my thoughts says to another on a different "timeline." "What would they think, learning their 'just Sun' stems from betrayal?"
"Human minds shift in an instant," my future self replies. "If Mr. A delivers, they'll swing from fervent faith to fervent hatred. It'll be a sight."
The lively banquet cools, leaving only Mr. A and me. Viscount Glaint frowns, puzzled by our lingering. Audrey, unsurprised, thinks to herself: Viscount Glaint… I hate to say it, but you're the only non-Extraordinary here.
"Apologies, Viscount Glaint. I have business with Miss Fors Wall. May I borrow a room?" I ask. Glaint hesitates—do we know each other? He glances at Fors, who nods faintly.
Since Miss Fors, a Beyonder, agrees… Glaint ponders, then has a servant lead us to a room off the drawing room. As he sits to chat with Audrey, Mr. A says lightly, "I heard a rumor—Viscount Glaint wishes to become an Beyonder. Is it true?"
Glaint's pupils contract. Dismissing his servant to the room's edge, he engages Mr. A eagerly. Audrey rubs her forehead, slipping into her Audience state to observe. She notes Mr. A's gaze sweep over her, offering a courteous smile.
Ince Zangwill stares at the starry sky, his face dark. Clutching the quill entwined with ominous black threads, he seems ready to smash it. Scattered paper scraps litter the table before him, ink splattered chaotically. A piercing pain throbs at his brow, as if his spirituality is gravely wounded.
Clenching his left fist, he slams it onto the newly repaired desk. Bloodshot veins creep into his clouded eyes.
(End of Chapter)