[North Precinct. . .]
Charles Vaughan stood by his doorway, the wind's rustles piercing his body. For days, he had not been able to go inside. He had not been able to eat much. He hadn't been able to bathe. Not even to relax. His life slowly turned for the worst.
And this was all because his son, Emory, vanished. Gone without a trace.
The day Emory disappeared, when the military folk came to perform a psycho-analysis on him, Charles felt an urge throttling him to go back inside.
He excused himself from the party and ran to his master-bedroom. There, he dug into one of the drawers and dazed at a picture of his wife, Isabelle.
Trickles of unfamiliar scenes seeped into his mind. There was a time before Isabelle's death, where he and she sat in her hospital room. Charles kept hearing her voice shout, "Don't let him know!"
But he never knew who she talked about and what they shouldn't know. What left was to disregard it.
Afterwhile, an inexplicable drowsiness took over. Charles couldn't hold in it anymore and slept. He now knows it was the worst decision of his life. He woke up to the blonde-haired military man at his front door bearing horrible news.
Emory had been kidnapped!
The same feeling as when Isabelle died revisited Charles. He almost didn't believe it.
". . ."
That was six days ago.
As he stood watching the view, a voice dwindled in his ear. It told him that maybe Emory wouldn't come back. Charles rubbed his eyes which were dark at the edges.
"Emory. . . Come back to me, my son. Please."
. . . .
[Silvester School. . .]
Simonis Rebane sat alone in a bustling classroom. Usually, the one next to her would be Emory, the boy she liked. They would either talk, play a small game, or just stare into the distance together. She never cared which it was as long as he was with her.
But he hadn't shown up in days. Simonis wondered if it was maybe time to visit him at home.
"Emory. . ."
. . . .
[Saint Precinct. . .]
General Alanus and General Lluvia paced around the former's office. "Six days, Lluvia. It's been six days." Alanus started to worry that Aulus Caesar wasn't placing too much precedence on the matter.
Lluvia sighed and said, "I don't know what to do anymore. None of the commanders have power over Sir Aulus. It's out of our control." She recalled how shocked Commander Alvaron was after hearing that Aulus appeared. He told them to listen to whatever Aulus says.
Alanus massaged his forehead. "Abolition Mandate. . ." He stood up. "I know they said not to interfere, but I can't leave the boy like that."
Alanus put on his yellow cape and fixed his hair. "I promised him I'd save him. And that look on his face when the woman closed in on him. Fear, fatigue, utter hopelessness. I have to save him."
Lluvia immediately understood what was going on and connected her sheathed sword onto her hip. "Roger."
General Diogenes rummaged through some papers. "The attackers were from the Abolition Mandate, which from my experience, has control over illusions and the dead."
He narrowed his eyes. "We'll find a member and interrogate them to no end. If they refuse, we'll kill them and start over. We'll go through as many users if need be."
Lluvia nodded and asked, "Where are we going to find an Abolition user?"
"That's simple," Alanus said, "to a place with more dead people than we can count."
". . ."
"The cemetery."
. . . .
[The Phantom and his Mourner's castle, first floor. . .]
Fifth Mourner Elocien floated on his throne and exhaled. He couldn't shake off the terror he experienced when Second Servant of Contrivance Sylphossia Telantes appeared.
Her gaze compressed everything in the room so much that even Behedet couldn't utter his usual attitude in her presence. "I haven't even met First Servant or Contrivance yet. . ."
He then recalled a young boy, the Hierarch-in-coming, Emory Vaughan.
"That child. . . He's much too special. No wonder Almighty Contrivance has his eye on him." Elocien summoned his deathly looking scythe and left the room.
"I'll go see how the Phantom, Tyrant Lucius, feels about this."
Off he went to the Latent World, homeplace of the Tyrants and looming Entities.
. . . .
[Siole, Emory, and Francine's dormitory. . .]
"Ugh. . ." Francine yawned and stretched her arms in reflex. Her nights sleep had been peaceful, for the most part. Though halfway through the slumber, she made out a thud and footsteps. She assumed it was Siole who had to relieve himself.
Brushing her pale gray hair out of the way, the young lady fixed her long gown and stood up. It was time to wake her roommates.
With half-sleepy eyes, Francine advanced to Siole's bed and shook the boy. "Day has come, young Siole!" she whisper-yelled, her voice not yet adjusted to the morning.
The white-eyed boy groaned and turned the other way, but shivered once Francine pulled his blanket. "I told you to stop doing that. . ." he cursed. "Everytime. . ."
Francine giggled and smacked his chest. "Wake up, my prince!" She blew him a heart-kiss.
Siole shooed it away with his hand and reluctantly got up.
The pair shifted their gazes to their final roommate. "Wake up, E–" Francine paused. Siole woke his eyes and stared at Emory's bed.
It was vacant.
The blanket was neatly folded and a letter was put on the pillow. Francine slowly walked toward it and gasped.
"I can't really say much, but something happened, and so I had to leave. Don't worry, the Mourners know about this. Thanks for the bearable nights we spent together.
"Your roommate: Emory Vaughan."
. . . .
[Unknown. . .]
Standing alone on a small hill outside, seventeen year old Emory Vaughan scanned the vicinity with his blood-colored eyes.
His body grew to six feet, bits of muscle appearing on his arms, legs, and chest. Emory's hair curled slightly, covering some of his forehead.
His face went colder, his eyes narrower, his cheeks set higher. He was handsome, but alone. He wore a black turtleneck sweater covered by a black suit.
Emory held a pocket watch in his hand and checked it ever so slightly.
Sylphossia Telantes, before she left the dream-like landscape, conjured for him a replica of the bone-key.
Emory nicknamed it Visionary's Key.
He used it to imagine his clothing and piles of cash. The only caveat was, if Emory were to imagine something grand, there was a high chance the key would backfire and bring forth immense disaster.
Most of its uniqueness had been expended due to the aging wish.
He had to tread lightly.
Walking through an open field solemnly, Emory took out a beige paper from within his pocket and thought to himself, It should appear soon, but reciting this will make it come faster.
He opened his mouth and said with a deep voice,
"He who bears witness to the Mourner's glory pledges allegiance to the Phantom, and to the greater power, Contrivance. He who acts under the precept of the Mourners, and the Phantom, must do so using the abilities gifted.
"He who succumbs to the Crown shall be stripped from his abilities and killed without mercy! He who wishes for power from the Phantom, but does not repay them with Authority in abundance shall face a punishment worse than death!
"He shall garner unearthly abilities subsequent to the first recitation.
"Those departed from existence who sense his power shall follow with him certainty. The mask of skin shall be warped to his will entirely. Illusions and actuality know no differences to him, and he shall bend them to his behest. Barriers become fallacy, and he convalesces with reservations.
"Verily, he will understand: The Phantom is ruler, but Contrivance is Almighty."
The world around Emory shook violently. He took many steps back, reeling in the pain and agony streaking across his head.
Then, through flood of all screams, a voice called out, 'You have finally awoken me.'
The male voice rang between his ear canals. Emory channeled all his energy and calmed himself. He thought, Are you. . .
'Yes,' the voice said.
'I am your Specter. Welcome to the Hierarchy World, Emory Vaughan.'