The city of Veilcroft was far from Arcanum Academy, nestled between rivers and ruins. It was a place of mystery, of old gods and hidden doors, where merchants sold memory-threaded silk and whisperwine to passing nobles. But beneath the glittering lanterns and illusions, something darker thrived.
In the catacombs beneath Veilcroft's Grand Cathedral, cloaked figures gathered around a circle of melted wax and black rose petals. Candles burned upside-down. Mirrors faced mirrors. Incense wafted with the scent of wet parchment and copper.
Their leader knelt, face hidden by a gold-trimmed porcelain mask. The voice that escaped was neither male nor female—it echoed like thought.
"He has returned. The Herald of Contradiction walks the land."
Murmurs filled the circle. Some wept. Others chanted softly:
"He who is False, becomes the Truth." "He who wears no crown, commands kings." "In jest, divinity. In lies, revelation."
The cult had many names: the Gilded Mask, the Church of the Paradox Flame, the Holy Order of Untruth.
But their god had no name.
Only a smile.
---
The acolytes had been receiving visions for months—blurred images of a boy with mismatched eyes, casting spells that rewrote memory and reality alike. They saw false gods kneel, stars rearranged, and cities bow to illusions.
One vision returned again and again:
A broken mirror. A laughing fool. A coin that bled gold.
And then the name arrived.
Rowan Edevane.
The masked leader stood.
"Prepare the altar. We must send a Seeker. If he is who we believe, we must offer him worship… or be erased by his contradictions."
---
Meanwhile, back at Arcanum Academy, Rowan awoke to a notification.
[SYSTEM ALERT – Prank Points +50]
> Reason: Dream Intrusion – Darian Voss has suffered a narrative breakdown.
Rowan smirked. "Poor guy."
He dressed slowly. His cloak now carried faint patterns that shimmered in the corner of one's eye—a gift from Faye's enchantment team.
In the hall, Lilith met him with a scroll and a scowl.
"Someone's watching you," she said. "Multiple scrying attempts last night. Unusual glyph signatures."
"Enemies?"
She tilted her head. "Worshippers, maybe. The kind that pray too hard."
Faye arrived moments later, holding a sealed envelope.
"Special delivery," she said. "Black Mirror courier."
Rowan opened it carefully. Inside was a parchment written in shifting ink:
To the One Who Lies With Grace,
We see your shadow even when you cast none. Come to Veilcroft. A sanctuary awaits.
No signature.
Only a drawing—a broken crown inside a mask.
Lilith leaned over.
"The Gilded Mask."
Faye frowned. "They're not supposed to exist anymore."
Rowan shrugged. "Let's go see how much they believe.
Veilcroft was nothing like Arcanum. The air shimmered with enchantment dust, and every street corner had illusion-wards disguised as lanterns. Rowan, cloaked and hooded, moved with Faye and Lilith through the dusk-lit markets.
They followed the path drawn by the invitation rune. It twisted through the city like a riddle.
Eventually, they arrived at the Grand Cathedral. The outside was pristine—white stone, golden trim, stained glass depicting ancient battles.
But the moment they passed through the front doors, Rowan felt it: belief, raw and wild.
They descended through side corridors, then hidden stairs, until they entered a vast, candlelit chamber.
There, the cult waited.
Dozens of masked figures stood in silent reverence.
And before them, on an altar of mirrored obsidian, was a throne—empty.
Until Rowan stepped forward.
Instantly, the crowd fell to their knees.
"Hail the Contradiction," they whispered in unison.
Faye stiffened. "They actually believe you're a god."
Lilith muttered, "Well. You do have the aura for it."
The leader of the cult approached—still masked. They held out a ceremonial blade.
"Cut your palm, oh Herald. Let your blood mark the covenant."
Rowan took the blade, then paused. Smiled.
Instead of cutting himself, he triggered Pantom Logic.
To all watching, he slashed his palm and bled golden light.
Cries of rapture followed.
Lilith whispered, "You didn't really—?"
"Of course not," he replied. "But they believed it."
The masked leader knelt. "Command us. We exist to serve your paradox."
Rowan raised his hand.
"You will spread belief. But not just any belief. You will spread doubt wrapped in faith. A god who lies, a truth that misleads. Make the world question what's real."
The cultists began chanting:
"In illusion, salvation. In the Fool, truth."
Lilith chuckled. "You're starting a religious war."
Faye sighed. "And enjoying it."
Rowan turned to them both. "I'm not trying to rule. I just want the world to stop making sense."
And the mirrors behind him cracked—one by one.
The veil between belief and reality thinned.
Outside the cathedral, lightning struck without clouds.
And far away, Darian Voss woke to find his reflection missing.