Chapter 63 - The Nest of Uncertainties

Far from the kingdom of Saint Zagra, atop a verdant hill near the kingdom of Ulmra, just past the river Psilnia, stood a small wooden cottage. In front of it rested a simple table and a chair, placed deliberately to take in the serene view the place offered.

On the table sat a cup engraved with the emblem of a coiled serpent, beside a parchment filled with reports from the kingdom of angels.

A man, dressed plainly in a light shirt and brown trousers, took his seat and poured tea from a glass kettle into the cup. But just as he raised it to his lips, his hand froze, the cup hovering inches away from his mouth.

Something wasn't right.

He quietly set the cup back onto the table, then rose abruptly and rushed inside the house, his movements sharp and alert, the instincts of someone who had just sensed danger.

Meanwhile, in Counselor Solas's office, a knock was heard at his door.

"Must be Mr. Magees. Come in," said Solas.

The door opened, revealing Stravna, who was the one entering the office. Solas looked surprised to see her there.

"The head of the Research and Information Center, Stravna Glenns. Well, this is a surprise to have you here," said Solas.

"Where's Tutor Magees?" asked Stravna.

"He's not in his office, so I assume he's returning from his individual lecture with Voidanos Friola," replied Solas.

"How long until he's back?" she asked.

"I'm not entirely sure. Do you have something to discuss with him, Ms. Glenns?" asked Solas.

"I scheduled a meeting with him (clearly lying) around this time," said Stravna.

"Well, that's strange, because I don't recall seeing any meeting with you on his schedule," said Solas as he opened the registry to check if the tutor indeed had any meeting planned with Stravna that afternoon.

Stravna watched his fingers nervously as they flipped through the pages, moving closer to revealing her lie, a lie she had stated just seconds earlier with complete confidence. But before Solas could reach the correct page, the office door opened without a knock. It was the tutor himself, Aodhan Magees. Stravna flinched at his sudden arrival.

"Mr. Magees, perfect timing," said Solas, his finger still resting on the registry.

"Solas... Hello, Ms. Glenns. I trust you haven't forgotten the meeting we scheduled for this hour, have you?" asked the tutor.

Stravna's eyes widened in disbelief at his words. She couldn't believe what she was hearing, the lie she had just told had somehow become true.

"Ah, n-no, of course not! Hehehe...," she stammered, still shaken.

"Seems Ms. Glenns was right after all. The meeting is recorded here," said Solas as Stravna turned her gaze toward the registry, where the meeting was indeed listed.

(What the hell is happening!? How did that bluff I just made turn out to be real!? Am I imagining things? This can't be possible!) she thought.

"Something wrong, Ms. Glenns?" asked Aodhan.

"N-no, don't worry. I just haven't eaten, and hunger makes me feel a bit weak," said Stravna.

"Understandable. I've got some sweets in my office if you'd like," said Aodhan, opening the door to his office.

"Thank you," said Stravna, stepping in and taking a seat across from his desk.

"On the top shelf, there are envivras. My sister makes them. Take as many as you like," said Aodhan, closing the door behind him and sitting down.

"They look delicious," said Stravna, taking two of the sweets.

"Your hands are trembling. Are you sure you're all right?" asked Aodhan, concern in his voice.

"Y-yes, I'm fine," she replied, beginning to eat the envivras, masking the real cause of her unease.

"The reason for today's meeting," Aodhan began, "is that you contacted me regarding a concern you had about my photo on my father's parchment, correct? Yesterday, in fact."

The envivra she was holding slipped from her hand and fell to the floor.

"What... what did you just say?" Stravna asked faintly, unable to believe it.

"You mentioned yesterday, yes, I have the recording, that on my father Eoran Magees' parchment, my illustrated likeness didn't match my physical appearance. Specifically, the eyes and hair. Am I correct?" said the tutor, watching her closely.

"That's impossible. I discovered that today, just today. There's no way I contacted you about it yesterday. And the fact that there's even a record of our meeting now... it's just, too many strange things are happening, I can't make sense of it," said Stravna, her voice trembling with anxiety and confusion.

Aodhan placed a thoughtful hand beneath his chin, studying her intently.

"I mentioned that I have the recording of your call. Listen," said Aodhan, taking a glowing sphere from his pocket.

"Greetings, Mr. Magees. This is Stravna Glenns, head of the Research and Information Center. You met me earlier before the royal palace courtyard, along with General Igorus Friola. I've been reviewing the record of the wars your father took part in as part of the Control Center's protocol, and I've noticed that your identification portrait doesn't match your current appearance. Specifically, your eyes and hair. I'd like to arrange a meeting this afternoon to discuss the matter further. Thank you..."

Stravna couldn't believe her ears, her own voice didn't even sound like her voice. Yet everything she heard matched perfectly with an event she was certain had never happened.

"I'm not sure if you've heard about the Liaros Syndrome, the one that affects Dominions and Angels," said the tutor.

"Yes, I've heard of it," replied Stravna.

"It isn't exactly an illness, after all, gods don't fall ill. It's more of a neurological disturbance that occurs only once in a lifetime. Its effects last for a short period, let's say, about a day at most. During that time, memories can be erased or scrambled at random. It's usually triggered by neural exhaustion, though the exact causes are still unknown... and, frankly, not that relevant. My belief, Ms. Glenns, is that you're currently experiencing this syndrome. I can't think of any other explanation, since, as you heard in the sphere, it was you who scheduled the meeting," said Aodhan calmly.

"How do you know it isn't someone else impersonating my voice? There could be plenty capable of such a thing," said Stravna, her tone sharp and analytical.

"The fact that the meeting is recorded in the registry, I believe, invalidates that theory," replied the tutor.

Stravna pondered what he said about the meeting being officially logged.

(The General was right. This man is extremely suspicious. There's no way that was my voice in the recording. And if I truly have the Liaros Syndrome, how come the only memory affected is this one? I haven't forgotten anything else. Too suspicious... That meeting record, it could've been planted. Maybe the tutor's setting me up. But how the hell did he know I was in the parchment chamber? I made sure no one was there...) she thought, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Well then, Ms. Glenns, regarding—"

(For now, I'll pretend to agree with him. I need to learn more about this, tutor...) she thought, as Aodhan continued speaking.

"As for the facial features you found questionable, it's actually quite simple. The person you saw in the parchment isn't me," said the tutor.

"What?" Stravna exclaimed, startled.

"It's my cousin. We share the same first and last name. To be precise, he's the son of my uncle, Eduart Magees," Aodhan explained.

"We never make mistakes in the parchments. How is that even possible?" asked Stravna.

"For some reason, our names have been getting mixed up in the system for years. It's caused me all sorts of trouble, at work, during purchases, anywhere identification is required. Here, let me show you," said the tutor, pulling out two small glass vials containing slips of paper.

Unlike angels, Dominions used five-centimeter glass vials with internal scrolls as a form of identification, analogous to human ID cards on Earth. Inside one vial was Aodhan's name and face, identical to the tutor's. Inside the other, another Aodhan Magees, the same face Stravna had seen in the parchment chamber. She froze in astonishment.

"T-this is truly... bizarre. We never make such errors in the system," said Stravna, rising abruptly from her chair.

"I'll go back and check again, this time, I'll look into Eduart Magees' parchment. What's your uncle's occupation?" she asked.

"He's a blacksmith. You'll find him listed under the military section," said Aodhan.

"Understood. I'll contact you via sphere if I find anything," said Stravna.

"Very well, Ms. Glenns," said Aodhan as Stravna left the room, closing the door slowly behind her, her mind clouded with confusion.

"Good day, Ms. Glenns," said Solas.

"Yes," Stravna replied distantly as she exited the counselor's office.

"If only I had a wife as gorgeous as her," murmured Solas, glancing down at the neatly stacked registries on his desk.

Meanwhile, the tutor twirled the quill he used as a pen over the table, lost in thought about the strange encounter he'd just had with Stravna. His eyes were fixed ahead, empty, detached from the current moment, as if his mind flowed like a river, stirred by a silent, burning desire to reach the edge of the sea.

"What a tiresome day. Thank the heavens I've got two days off," said Aodhan as he stopped spinning the quill.

At the far end of a dark, deserted corridor beneath the royal palace of Tamasi, sat Eliael, frail, his body wasting away a little more each day. His lips were dry and cracked, his flesh sagging from his bones, his breathing slow and shallow.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the silence,three soldiers approaching, tasked with feeding and inspecting the fallen angel.

"Still alive, huh?" one of them sneered.

"This bastard doesn't die easily," said another.

"He's lost some weight, even though we feed him every day," the third mocked, tossing a plate of food to the floor in front of Eliael with careless cruelty.

"Oh wait, I forgot to add a special ingredient," the first soldier said, lowering his trousers and urinating over the meal.

"Hahahaha!" the other two laughed loudly, their voices filling the corridor.

"Bet it tastes amazing now. I'm jealous," the soldier said as he pulled his trousers back up.

"Here you go, idiot," said another, kicking the plate toward Eliael so hard that most of the food spilled out.

Drool slipped from Eliael's mouth as hunger overtook him. His hands trembled as he reached for the filthy food, eating desperately, pitifully, a shadow of what he once was.

"Hahahaha! Look at him! What a joke. Let's get out of here," one of them said, and the three soldiers left, their laughter fading down the corridor.

"What have I done to deserve this? This food makes me sick, but it's all I have to keep existing. I could go without eating forever, but then... would that even be called living? I'm sustained by my enemy's mercy. Why? Because I sought justice for this world. Because I wanted to destroy the most dangerous being it will ever know. And yet, I am treated as the villain. There are no good gods or evil gods. There are only right actions and wrong ones. Perspective is everything... and I was right all along."

"We're paid well, but for what? To feed that bastard rotten food?" one of the soldiers grumbled as they walked back.

"There's no better feeling," said another with a smirk.

"Plus, we get a little extra to make sure no one ever hears about this corridor under the palace," the third added.

"By order of the king himself. Insane, isn't it?"

"What's this place even for? Gives me the creeps," one asked.

"Why do you care? We go in, feed him, leave. That's it. Stop overthinking," another replied.

"Hmm!?" one of the soldiers stopped suddenly, his tone alarmed.

"What is it, Battran?" asked his comrade.

"Look... ahead," said Battran.

Through the flickering torchlight stood a lone figure cloaked in darkness.

"W–Who are you?" one soldier stammered.

Eliael, having finished his wretched meal, heard the soldiers' sudden screams of agony echo through the stone halls. His weakened body barely responded, his ears catching only the fading echoes of their torment. Then, footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Growing louder.

The figure stopped in front of his cell.

"Ëharan Sandrun, gabana e brut," the stranger murmured.

At those words, the iron bars began to crumble and fall apart, dust scattering into the stale air.

"W–w–who... who... a–are... y–you...?" Eliael stammered, his voice faint and broken.

"It's time to fly again," said the figure, as his left eye glowed faintly in the suffocating dark, the torches dying one by one around them...