Klein was momentarily taken aback by the man's words yet not wholly surprised. That strange existence lurking beyond comprehension had long left him wary of all things, even those that seemed harmless. Ever since ascending to his current state, he found that suspicion had become as natural as breathing. A child's innocent smile could conceal a lurking disaster, while a pebble on the road might be a medium for some extraordinary ritual.
The boy stood before him, small hands curled nervously at his sides, eyes wide with anticipation. Klein studied him quietly for a heartbeat longer, then lifted his gloved hand. As his fingers slowly closed, a faint ripple spread across the air, like water disturbed by an invisible stone. When the distortion faded, a simple yet exquisite pocket watch rested in his palm. Its cover gleamed softly under the early morning light, carrying with it a subtle air of mystery, as if time itself lingered within.
"Here," Klein said gently, his tone calm and unreadable. "Take this. A gift."
The boy's eyes lit with pure delight. He accepted the watch reverently, bowing in gratitude, before darting toward the playground. His steps were filled with unrestrained joy, his voice carrying as he shouted to his companions about the treasure he had just received. Yet when he looked back—Gherman Sparrow was gone, leaving not even the faintest trace of his presence behind.
Klein had already reappeared within the quiet nave of the Church of the Fool. The building was modest compared to the grand cathedrals of the orthodox churches, but its solemnity was no less palpable. Pale sunlight streamed through narrow windows, casting patterns across the polished floor. Klein moved silently between the rows of pews before lowering himself into a seat, surveying the empty hall with the habitual caution of one who had seen far too much.
It was early morning.
Only a handful of the faithful lingered in the sanctuary, their whispered prayers rising like faint incense to the unseen deity they worshipped. Their heads remained bowed, unaware that the "crazy adventurer" in their midst was none other than the Fool Himself. Klein leaned back slightly, his sharp gaze sweeping over the chamber. His spirituality stretched outward like an invisible tide, brushing over every movement, every breath, ensuring that no hidden threat could escape his notice.
After a quiet interval, he rose. His footsteps carried him toward the rear of the cathedral, to the chambers where the Blessed of the Fool conducted their duties. The air grew heavier the deeper he went, filled with the faint fragrance of oil lamps and the hushed weight of expectation.
There, a deacon in ceremonial vestments emerged from a side passage. The man froze the moment his gaze landed on Klein. Recognition flared in his eyes, followed swiftly by fear. His shoulders stiffened, and his body gave an involuntary tremor. After all, who among the clergy did not know of the infamous adventurer Gherman Sparrow, the enigmatic figure who surfaced wherever turmoil brewed?
Klein's expression remained neutral. He ignored the deacon's unease, his voice even, almost detached.
"I am looking for Chief Derrick Berg."
The deacon swallowed hard, forcing composure into his voice.
"His Excellency… departed several days ago. He joined a mission, alongside others, to monitor the movements of certain secret cults that managed to survive the apocalypse.
The purpose is to ensure none dare stir further chaos in these fragile days. Surveillance is necessary—lest they exploit the wounds of this world."
The words carried weight, heavy with implication. Klein's brow lowered ever so slightly. He offered no immediate response, allowing silence to stretch between them. His gaze sank into shadow, reflecting an undercurrent of contemplation.
For Derrick to personally act… what has transpired? The other members of the tarot club should have gone instead of him .
Maybe it was necessary for him to follow, as a beyonder of the sun pathway he the only one capable of purifying corruption.
Does this mean that some outer dietie might be involved or is it just a precaution.
Klien thoughts were true what danger could force the Archbishop of the Fool to abandon his post, leaving the New City of Silver without its most steadfast guardian?
Klein adjusted the brim of his hat, hiding the faint gleam of thought flickering in his eyes. He gave the deacon a curt nod, nothing more, before turning away. His steps echoed through the hushed corridor, steady and deliberate, until they were swallowed by silence.
The mention of Derrick Berg unknown mission unsettled him more than he allowed to show. The young man had once been a fledgling warrior, struggling beneath the oppressive skies of the ancient City of Silver. Klein still remembered the youth's hesitant voice across the gray fog of the Tarot Club, his earnest devotion and unshakable loyalty. That boy had grown into a pillar of faith, an Archbishop bound to duties as vast as the city itself. His place was among the people, guiding them through the uncertain dawn of a remade world. For him to leave on a mission—something had to be wrong.
Khm, secret cults that survived the apocalypse… Klein mused, narrowing his eyes. The end of the old world should have crushed such groups into dust, leaving only scattered whispers and forgotten ruins. That remnants dared to persist meant either sheer luck… or something—someone—shielding them.
His spirituality twitched. A faint ripple brushed against him, not a strike of danger but a whisper of forewarning, as if a distant bell had tolled in a place no one else could hear. Klein paused mid-step, frowning slightly, then resumed his pace as though nothing had occurred.
Descending the concealed stairway that led to a discreet exit, Klein buried his hands into the pockets of his long coat. His thoughts ran swiftly, cold and analytical.
—A remnant of the True Creator's mad flock?
—A seed left behind by the Mother Tree of Desire, festering in the shadows?
—Or perhaps something new, something born in the ashes of the apocalypse, seeking to carve a dominion from the world's ruin?
Each possibility carried peril. Each demanded vigilance.
At last, he emerged into the open air. The rising sun bled across the horizon, its rays casting the city in shades of gold and gray. Mist coiled through the streets like unseen phantoms, clinging to rooftops and alleyways as though reluctant to depart. Klein's expression was unreadable, calm as ever, yet his gaze lingered on that horizon with unspoken weight.
A storm was brewing. Not of wind and rain, but of shadows and secrets, of factions clawing for dominion in a wounded world. Derrick's absence could no longer be dismissed as simple duty—something is going on . I'm sure it somehow connected to that strange existence, but there's no stir no ruckus does the other gods know of this matter .
Klien didn't know what to think the mere act of an being attacking him from the grey fog without any prior warning was baffling to him even with Amon that was once a dual God the the error and door pathway couldn't invade Sephira Castle without his knowledge.
"A storm is moving," Klein murmured, his words scattering into the morning air.
For an instant, it seemed the mist stirred in response, as though the city itself had heard and shivered.
Klien was going to the Hall Manor to find one of his most trusted member and also a major arcana
An angel of the spectator pathway
—Aundry hall.