Moriarty, having thoroughly read the letter, began to search for a deeper meaning within its lines. Yet despite his suspicions, he could find none—at least none he could grasp. Who could blame him for doubting? Sharing both the name and the body of a famed Sherlock Holmes antagonist would naturally invite connections to countless secrets, each one his alone to keep.
Placing the letter aside, he let his gaze drift over the desk before him. Papers, files, and assorted documents lay scattered across its surface—nothing out of the ordinary. Slowly, his hand slid toward the drawer.
With a dry crack the wood yielded, revealing its contents: a stamp engraved with the academy's sigil, a spare pair of glasses, an extra pocket watch in case the one on his person failed, and a small opaque glass statuette. The figurine depicted a beautiful woman, arms outstretched, fingers pointing into some unseen distance.
He lifted it carefully, examining the fine details.
"Hmm… interesting. Is this one of the gods? The Church of the Evernight worships a goddess, yet I'm still perplexed. Do they venerate her with statues and totems—visualizing their deity—or do they hold a belief closer to Islam, prohibiting any physical depiction? Perhaps only a symbol at most. Hmm…"
As Moriarty mused, a sudden, disorienting sensation gripped his mind. He staggered back and sank into his chair.
Before he could steady himself, an unseen force seized him—a strange gravity pulling with impossible speed. His thoughts seemed to soar beyond the university campus, rising above a limitless grey fog.
When his senses cleared, he was no longer seated but standing.
A world of swirling mist stretched in every direction. Across from him, two other figures emerged: a man and a young woman. The fog cloaked their faces, leaving only vague silhouettes. Farther ahead stood another man, distinct from the rest. Unlike the others, he exuded a quiet confidence, his posture steady and unflustered.
Did he summon us here? Moriarty wondered. Isn't this supposed to be some Victorian-era world? What is going on?
"Your Excellency… where is this?" a soft, feminine voice asked, her innocence audible in the gentle cadence of her words.
"Who are you? What are you doing?" a masculine voice demanded, likely belonging to the other silhouette.
The lone, imposing figure spoke at last, his tone unnervingly calm.
"An attempt."
"Sir, if this… attempt is over, might you permit us to return?" the young lady ventured again, her voice steady but hopeful.
After a moment of silence, the man—the likely architect of this sudden summoning—stepped forward.
"Of course. If you make a formal request, I can send you back right now."
Moriarty merely observed, his mind racing to decipher the situation. So the others were summoned as well… but something about this feels different. What is it? Is this some kind of hallucination? I don't feel any discomfort. Even the tight collar of my shirt feels strangely lucid. Or… is this some form of astral projection?
"This is truly a wonderful experience! I have always hoped something like this would happen," the young lady spoke, her tone brimming with an almost childlike excitement. A faint light seemed to flicker in her voice, as if she had been waiting her entire life for such a moment.
"I mean to say… I have always admired mysteries, supernatural miracles, things beyond the ordinary. No—my true point is this: Sir, what must I do to become a Beyonder?"
Moriarty's brows twitched ever so slightly. Beyonder? he echoed inwardly. The word was alien to him, a term he had never once encountered before. Yet, hearing it spoken with such certainty, he could not dismiss it as chance. Could it be tied to this strange gathering? To the sudden fog, the conjured table, the figure presiding over them?
No. He was certain of it. Whatever a Beyonder was, it was at the very heart of this bewildering situation.