Chapter 7: Preparations for the Unnameable

In the high hall at the heart of the blue prison tower, a suspended lightning bolt pulses softly above the black and cobalt throne. Silhouettes of frozen lightning form columns of vertical light, and a deep silence reigns, charged with power. Saphira Noctielle, dressed in a black gothic gown bordered with blue arabesques, walks slowly. She has returned to her natural appearance: a gothic loli with impassive eyes, holding between her fingers a silver key that flashes to the rhythm of her heart. Before her, an empty throne, then, a red and black light twists, condensing.

"Mother," Arcanaa appears, the goddess of the tower, her body fused with the building, her face veiled by lightning, her eyes burning with lucidity. Saphira gently bows her head. "Arcaana, I've come to speak." "I'm listening." Saphira stops, her boots softly clacking on the lightning-struck marble. "The Temporal Police asked me a favor. Taar-Nel informed me that their central prison, the Infinite Tower, is no longer usable. He wants to place their most dangerous detainees here." A silence, then Arcanaa responds, her voice steady. "Beings of Vortex class? Multiverse breakers, outlaw anomalies?" "Exactly." Arcanaa doesn't react immediately, then, "And you, Mother, what do you want?" Saphira closes her eyes. "I want you to make room for them, so we aren't caught off guard. I want you to make space in our floors, and most of all, that you agree." The tower pulses softly, as if breathing. "Then I shall prepare myself."

"You accept?" Saphira whispers, her eyes suddenly bright with emotion. "If you wish it, I wish it. We are one." Saphira smiles slightly, wordlessly. "More rooms will be needed, more layers of security, and a dedicated access door for the Temporal Police guardians," Arcanaa adds. "I give you carte blanche." "I will generate eight new floors, some dedicated to unstable beings, others to eternal slumber."

Two hours later, in the great inner courtyard of the blue tower, a lightning bolt splits the sky. A golden silhouette in winged sandals appears, floating above the ground. Hermes, smiling, deposits a series of cases—seventeen, exactly. They are deep black, each adorned with a hand-stitched blue spark—Saphira Noctielle's personal mark. "Special delivery for the Blue Goddess. Dimensional transfer luggage, marked, secured, enchanted. They can only be opened inside the Tower." Saphira, still in gothic form, nods, her hands clasped behind her back. "Perfect. Each temporary guardian or partner will find what they need. Thank you, Hermes." "The pleasure is all mine," and he vanishes in a golden light. Saphira turns, observing the floors under construction, slowly taking shape in the heights of the tower. Arcanaa still watches her, her gaze fused with the heart of the structure. "Do you trust them?" Saphira murmurs, "No. But I trust us."

Then she disappears in a blue flash, leaving the tower to continue its divine work.

End of Chapter 7 - Preparations for the Unnameable