Buried Memories

As Vanessa walked in to the mythical archives, the air felt strangely familiar. Like a lullaby she had heard in a dream.

The room beyond was breathtaking, a cathedral of knowledge.

The walls were lined with bookshelves that spiraled upward into darkness, accessible only by floating ladders ascending into infinity. Orbs of white light drifted lazily through the air like fireflies, illuminating the archives in place of shabby torches as the area was to remain lit at all times. The floor was made of polished obsidian, reflecting the magic above so perfectly that it felt like walking on a body of crystal clear water without a single ripple or stepping through a field of stars in the night sky, evincing a visage of the universe.

"Don't you think Silver should lead?" Aureli asked, leaning against a shelf filled with grimoires that whispered as he passed. "Since it's related to Vanessa? Hm, Crimson?"

Arachna didn't even look at him. "There is no room for error. We are in a rush, Lord Valentino. Do not test me."

"Do you perhaps think Silver is incompetent?" Aureli teased.

"Right now? Yes," Arachna said bluntly. "His eyes won't leave Ms. Vanessa and if anything inside that box is threatening, he won't see it coming because he's too busy watching the competition. What about you, Lord Valentino? Shouldn't you take charge?"

Aureli crossed his arms, feigning deep thought. "I could. But I prefer you to take charge, Crimson. It suits you beautifully."

Arachna ignored him and pushed deeper into the room.

The shelves soon turned into mirrors engraved directly into the stone walls, each a gateway into a different realm of knowledge. It felt as if they were being watched by a thousand eyes and the further they went, the more disturbing the images became.

These were not reflections. They were windows into history, pathways to different realities or prisons for entities beyond imagination.

Some mirrors showed wars; animated massacres splattered across the glass in magical pigment that seemed to flow as the group passed. Others showed people screaming, dying, bleeding in silence, their anguish audible the closer you got.

And then, the final mirror.

It wasn't engraved on the wall. It hung on a rusted nail, solitary and strange, hanging in the archives like a hair out of place.

The painting wasn't of war. It was of a Jester.

A literal, crying Jester. The red tears in his eyes glistened as if they were wet, following the group as they arrived within reach. His arms were stretched out, disappearing off the sides of the oval frame as if begging for an embrace from the audience or as if he were grasping for something, or someone, he had lost. His jaded and crimson motley contrasted sharply with his star shaped hat and depressed expression.

Ezekiel stopped dead upon sight of it.

His throat tightened. His shoulders tensed. He stared at the Jester shocked, and for reasons he couldn't explain, a sharp pain spiked in his chest. It wasn't just sadness; it was recognition. A soul-deep memory clawing its way to the surface.

Hot tears brimmed in Ezekiel’s eyes and spilled over as he subconsciously imprinted on the painting.

He hadn't cried when he saw Meline's corpse. He hadn't cried when Noah collapsed in his arms. But this… this painted sadness broke him. He felt the Jester's grief as if it were his own. He felt a camaraderie with the Jester, the visage burrowing into his soul as if it were a painted image of him alone. He felt an energy reverberate through the air towards him from the painting, pulling him inwards. He wanted to take a step back, but instead took a few paces forward, slowly raising his arm towards the painting as if he were trying to become one with it.

"Ezekiel, are you alright?" Vanessa asked, lightly brushing his arm causing a knee jerk reaction as he swiped her hand away. Silver lunged at Ezekiel on sight of this but was stopped by Vanessa mid flight.

"You need rest, Sapphire," Aureli said, his voice laced with concern. "You just witnessed a tragedy."

Ezekiel took a shuddering breath, forcing the tears back and rubbing his left hand with his right, calming his anxiety through a physical touch of comfort. "I'm alright. I apologize, Vanessa. Let us continue. The reveal of my lady’s identity is just as important to me as it is to her."

It is the truth, he told himself. She is a suspect. I need to know.

Silver frowned, his displeasure visible, but he remained silent as Arachna approached a pedestal beneath the mirror.

A box of dark oak sat there, held aloft by carved wooden claws that looked all too real. Arachna took the key Chernobog had given her and unlocked it, causing the box to yawn open, the old wood moaning as it parted for the first time in centuries.

Inside lay a single scroll, tied with a red ribbon and immediately the air grew heavy, charged with the static of destiny as Arachna unfurled the scroll. The paper was old, water-stained, and burnt at the edges.

"Tears?" Arachna murmured, tracing a stain as she cleared her throat and began to read.

"Dear Reader… whoever you are. If you are reading this, then she has returned."

Arachna paused as Vanessa stepped closer to Silver, lightly grasping his forearm as her heart hammered against her ribs.

"She is the last remnant of the Goddess Solace. The Goddess herself has given up on humanity to come and rescue it... Alas, humanity cannot be saved. She is the last pure-blooded Witch, born from worshippers who have long since hidden themselves."

"A Witch?" Vanessa whispered, the blood draining from her face. She looked at her hands. "Me?"

Silver moved closer, his shadow falling over her, shielding her from the others' gazes.

Arachna continued, her voice echoing in the stone chamber.

"If she has come, know that it means there is no one left who knows of Goddess Solace anymore. And she is the only one with a flicker of power to save us from the Serpent God… Malevolent."

A shudder ran through the room at the name. Even Silver shifted uncomfortably, his hand tightening.

"He is the one who promised to destroy Solace and failed. Thus, he has sworn to swallow the world she adored. Only her daughter can defeat him… Listen to her every word. Keep her pleased. Treat her with utmost respect and love, for she is the only savior the Goddess will ever give you."

Arachna took a breath, her eyes widening as she read the next part.

"Know this with absolute certainty… the Goddess is kind. But the Jester is not."

Ezekiel, who was busy staring at the floor, snapped up. His eyes locked onto the scroll, pupils dilated.

"The Goddess left him as she witnessed his disdain for humanity… As for the Jester? He loves only the Goddess who left him. You must be careful of him. You may be able to defeat the Serpent Malevolent, but the Jester? No. He cannot be defeated, for he is human. And none is a bigger monster than a human."

"Delusional," Silver scoffed, folding his arms. "There is no human that cannot be defeated."

But Ezekiel didn't hear him. He was trembling, a phantom laughter echoing in his mind, lost in his racing thoughts, witnessing the playback of a buried memory; a woman being consumed by raging flames, smiling as she was taken away.

It was not a memory of his own, but one he felt as if he had lived a thousand times.

"The Jester is humanity’s karma," Arachna read, her voice shaking slightly. "He will come to you and you will not even know. The Goddess may forgive you someday, but the Jester will never forgive humanity, for it took away the only thing he lived for… his Goddess."

Arachna lowered the scroll. Her eyes scanned the signature at the bottom.

"I wish you good luck. As I write this, I cry tears of fear for you and joy for myself as I return to my mother. Do not hurt my Goddess again."

She looked up, staring directly at Aureli.

"Your well wisher… Roman Valentino."

Silence crashed into the room.

There were a thousand questions. Who was Malevolent? Was Vanessa really a demigod? Why did Ezekiel cry at the painting?

But Aureli stood frozen. His usually relaxed posture was rigid. The playful, flirtatious smile was completely gone.

Roman Valentino... The Mad Duke? I thought he was a myth...

He thought internally, agnoising over why the signature feel like an accusation.