[Hidden away. . .]
"Do you think he's dead?"
"Shh! He's alive. . . even though he doesn't look like it."
"Let me speak, damnit!"
"Francine, you always do this! Act grown, for once."
"Shut up, Siole, I can say what I want. With the Phantom as my witness you won't do anything."
Ugh. So loud. So many voices.
Blink!
A dim light eased Emory Vaughan's eyelids as they opened. He was on a bed. Or at least, he thought it was a bed. Mild straw lay beneath him, a hard slab of stone engrained in the ceiling above. He groaned as he got used to the air here.
It reeked of death.
"He's awake!" a boy said.
"Stay quiet!" a girl replied.
Two kids stood before Emory and eyed the sleepy child. When they saw his body move around, a girl smiled and reached out her hand. "You're finally awake! I'm Francine Erimro, ten years old. Nice to meet you, Emory."
They shook hands; her palms were soft. She reminded Emory of Simonis, without the awkward shyness.
The boy did the same. "Siole Iare, glad to meet ya."
"Where am I. . ?"
Francine propped herself next to Emory. On closer inspection, she had long gray hair and pale eyes. Her cheeks freckled and had slight chub to them. Unusual combinations.
She wore a long gown that covered her shoulders. "You just arrived at the Abolition Mandate, where all Hierarchs—and Hierarchs in coming—stay."
"Abolition. . . Mandate. . .?"
Siole remained standing. "If you didn't already guess, you're a Hierarch. Well, not at the moment. If you recited Abolition Chronicle Passage 1 before you're seventeen, your powers wait until you reach that age."
He had short gray hair and snow-white eyes. Small bits of muscle attached to his shoulders and arms, and he donned the same gown as Francine, except a version made for boys.
"Oh. . . What is this place?"
"This. . . is our room!" Francine replied. She gestured to two more straw beds under stone slabs that were embedded in the dirt ceiling. "You, me, and Siole will stay here until we hear our Specter."
"Specter?" Emory inquired. He had never heard the term before, even though Francine used it so normally.
Siole answered, "You'll find out soon enough. We needa take you to the Fifth Mourner for introductions."
Emory rubbed his eyes and stood. "I can't. I need to go home, Papa is waiting for me. So are the military people. I need to leave–"
Siole placed a hand out. "Not so fast. You can't leave the Mandate's location without approval from one of the Mourners."
"But–" Emory protested.
"No buts!" Francine pursed her lips. "Don't worry, though. The Abolition Mandate is a really fun place to stay! There's a lake, forest, buildings. Even a castle where the Mourners stay!"
"Aren't we underground though?" Emory stared at the roof. It was quite a height away but still completely brown. Above each of their beds lay a thick piece of stone. He pointed to it.
"What is that?"
"It's a tombstone," Siole said. "We're under a cemetery. The largest in the Western Cradle."
We're under a cemetery? No wonder this place smells so much like death. . . There are people above us, people who are dead!
Emory tried to hide his fascination.
Francine noticed his wide-eyed expression and giggled. "It's like we're all the same, heh heh. No one who realizes that the Mandate was built under a cemetery gets disgusted."
"Maybe because we're all Abolition Hierarchs?" Siole muttered, sarcasm riddling his tone.
"Thanks for that," Francine tsked.
The two continued bickering.
Emory's mind disoriented. He remembered everything now. The meeting with the Firio who transformed into the seductive lady. His constant hallucinations about dead people laughing. The dream sequence in the dune.
He paused. Sylphossia Telantes. . . I still can't figure out anything about her. My guardian and protector, huh?
He remembered the Usurped and Lapsed Emperors that were after his head for some explicit reason.
Then it went blank.
Emory had woken up beside a frenzied Mirielis. His father gone, the military folk spending their time trying to calm the cloaked woman.
Everything happened so fast. The three shadows appearing and taking him away.
Was the blonde-haired soldier alright? Were the other ladies alright, too? Where was Charles? Was he dead? Why didn't his protector, Sylphossia, help him? He vividly remembered calling out to her!
Was she just lying?
"Emory!" Francine held on to his shoulders, her face centimeters away from his. Too close!
It seemed like she paid no mind to it. "Time's awaiting! We need to start your tour around the Mandate."
Siole leaned on the dirt walls and bobbed his head. "Yep."
Realizing there was no point but to leave with them, Emory complied. "Alright. Lead the way. ."
Exiting the small room, they came across dozens of hallways. To perfectly describe it, the Abolition Mandate mimicked an ants' underground colony.
Dirt rooms were in every corner, making this specific section appear to be a dormitory.
Papers were stamped with what looked like job openings on the walls. Emory didn't pay too much attention to their components. Rather, he followed Francine's lead as she maneuvered through the crowd.
Siole slowed to Emory's pace. "It might look confusing at first, but you'll easily understand where everything is."
"I wasn't worried about that, but thanks."
They passed a larger-than-average dirt door. "This is the lake I told you about!" Francine cued at the large and dark body of water inside.
The Mandate relied heavily on blue flames for illumination, stationed high on the edges of the walls.
She took Emory's hand. "Want to take a little detour? I'm sure the Fifth Mourner is busy enough that he won't notice it."
"Uh. . ." Frankly, Emory had no interest in detouring with this girl. He'd rather do it with Simonis. Why is she trying so hard to be my friend. . ?
Albeit he wasn't going to outright ask her that. Too heartless. Much too heartless.
Siole stamped his foot. "No, we have to head to the Fifth Mourner right away. Francine, your bad habits are starting to show." He covered the left side of his mouth away from Francine and leaned to Emory. "She can be quite forgetful and lackadaisical."
"Oh, really. ."
"Just keep that in mind anytime she tries to go off plan."
Emory put a 'thumbs up' and wryly smiled. "Can we get going?"
The faster he could see this Mourner person, the faster he could go home. They did say that the Mourner's approval was required to leave the Mandate's location.
But how do I convince them? I don't have a good excuse. . . 'I want to see my Papa.' They'll think I'm a child! Well, I am. But that's not the point. Argh.
"Hey. . . The lake is closed. Leave," someone sluggishly called out to them. When the trio fearfully turned their heads, not a body was in sight.
The dirt above them darkened significantly and a shape existed. It formed into a human—a man. "You heard me. . . go. Scurry."
"Hierarch III. . ." Siole uttered fearfully. They waited not long and bundled off, holding breaths the entire time.
What's a Hierarch III? Emory wondered. He felt like he had expended all available questions today and would ask another time. If he really was going to stay here, it was best not to have these two super annoyed at him.
Making friends with them was a different story.
As they progressed through the dark and wide tunnels, the Abolition Mandate continued to grow in size.
Just how big was the cemetery above them?
Bakeries, training fields, and prayer stations all took form on either side of the hallways. Dormitories, especially for people like Francine, Siole, and Emory—the future Hierarchs—were much further back.
What Emory noted was under each major and minor room, there were multiple tombstones in the roofs. Especially above the beds.
Is it some sort of ritual? 'Must sleep under a dead person'? That's kind of cool, not going to lie. I want to tell Papa about it when I come home. Ooh, I can tell Simonis too. She probably won't like it. Eh, who cares.
People became more frequent in this section of the colony-like structure. They wore full robes of gray and black color, with grave symbols embedded everywhere.
Emory brushed his black hair out of the way. It had gotten quite long, reaching almost his ears. I want to get it cut, it's blocking my eyes.
Francine spontaneously decided to look back and gaped her mouth. "You have red eyes?" It seemed she hadn't seen his crimson-colored eyes yet. Siole probably had, as his reaction was neutral.
She stepped in front of him and went on her tiptoes. "Can I stare at them? Can I?"
Emory wanted to say no but couldn't. "S-Sure. . ."
Francine's snowy eyes stared into Emory's red ones. They remained like this for a good two seconds before Siole pulled her away. "That's enough, we need to go."
Thanks, Siole. He smiled inwardly.
After more walking, the group finally made it to the epicenter of the Mandate. Far ahead was a massive black and regal castle that loomed over the plaza.
There was a fountain of blood in the middle, and Emory saw people bathe in it. Some even dared to drink the liquid. Were they cannibals?
A woman stepped out of the blood and slurped every drop stuck onto her skin.
"Mourn the Phantom!" she cried.
Many reciprocated.
It seemed no one in this Mandate had any respect for public decency. Emory covered his eyes.
Francine smiled and silently guided his shoulders past the fountain. She tapped his back once to let him know it was safe.
"Thanks for that," he mumbled.
"My pleasure. You'll get used to seeing a lot of that as you grow up here. Plus, no one does anything bad to each other. Especially under the eyes of the Phantom and his Mourners."
"Do we have to do it too?" Emory shuddered.
"Yes," Siole answered. "The fountain for future Hierarchs is next to the dormitory. It's mandatory to bathe after a prayer or a meeting with a Mourner."
Let's hope I can leave before we have to do that. . .
They climbed a large set of stairs and stood before the colossal gates of the citadel. "Knock twice, then say what you're here for. . ." Siole murmured to himself.
He reached to knock.
The door opened on its own, and a woman wearing a full black suit and tied hair said monotonously, "Fifth Mourner Elocien awaits you."
She spotted Emory and bowed. "Additionally, the Fourth Mourner will be present. He's developed a keen interest in you, boy."
"Fourth Mourner?" Emory echoed.
Francine lowered her tone. "Even though he's the Fourth Mourner by name, he has abilities that rival the Second Mourner." She shuddered.
"His name: Behedet."