Raoul had always loved observing the stars.

The sky of Kosmonymia was not one single truth; its nature changed according to the region and frame with which one examined it. In some frames, the stars were celestial bodies that orbited the human world, a vast and fine-tuned engine that ensured seasonal harmony like a clockwork machine. In others, they were unimaginably huge clusters of fire that hung in a vast and endless void, so distant that it would take millions of years for their light to reach human eyes. In others still, they were watchful spirits whose rise and fall in the night sky were tied to the well-being of their followers on the earth below.

But no matter what they were, people would always tell stories about them.

To understand the stars, he studied people. And to understand people, he studied the stars.

His pursuit of those stories led him to the man he accepted as his master and to his fellow disciples. It led him across kingdoms and continents, and to the woman he thought he would love until the end of his days.

Now, his master was executed, his fellow disciples dead. That woman still loved him, but she would always be his jailer first. The Sattari name weighed on him heavier than any chain, and Katsouli’s legacy marked him like an iron brand.

He was all but imprisoned in Iyiria, finding refuge only in the Academy, and he would never again have the freedom to wander the world to gaze at the stars above.

But even so, Raoul had found a way to see them.

And now, they answered his call.

Tiziri threw all eight needles out. They darted through the air like minnows, trailing gossamer silk threads. Five aimed for his head, his arms, and his legs. One flew forward towards Luka, and the final two towards the barely-conscious Acacius.

Raoul held out his World Proof, and the astrolabe spun.

[Observer of All Hidden Skies].

The horizon line etched on the astrolabe’s plate shifted. The rete rotated around the pin, its pointers shifting to indicate a new configuration of stars, and the metal rule on the other side of the plate spun to match.

Saivanad Empire, November, 11pm.

Aquarius’s constellation appeared in the sky above, and the star of Sadalsuud, the luck of all luck, winked down.

[Storyteller of the Starry Stage].

“Sadalsuud, may all fortune turn in my favor.”

A mysterious wind blew, and Tiziri’s needles all missed.

Tiziri, ever quick in her judgments, severed the threads connecting her to the needles. Her puppet limbs detached and held onto each other in a circle, as if forming a seamless knot. They rotated mid-air, and the space between the arms transformed into a dark opening, an inviting door.

Yet somehow, though the door was only a few steps away, she tripped and missed the entrance. A strong gale shifted the direction of her fall downhill, further away from the door.

It was precisely the time that he needed to use his next skill. Raoul exhaled and pointed.

[Lotus of the Betrayed].

By sealing off one skill of his that his betrayer knew, he could seal off a similarly powerful skill of theirs.

“[First Seal: Summons.]”

Twin black swords appeared and fell. His own summoning abilities were sealed away. The puppet arms, the knot of a door, all dissipated into the air. Tiziri screamed.

If Raoul looked at the lotus tattoo on his arm, he knew that a new bud would be growing from its roots.

“Senior brother! Has living under the Sattaris’ thumb caused you to lose your mind?” Tiziri pulled herself upright, eyes flaring in true anger. “I am the last free disciple of Katsouli! If you betray me and betray our master, all your suffering will have been for nothing!”

It made sense, of course. The words of the Secret-Keeper’s followers often did. That was why, when opposing them, one could not depend on reason.

Because he still loved her, [Broken Faith, Unbroken Love] let him feel that she was misleading him. But knowing alone would not let him escape the effects of her words.

“[Second Seal: Reason’s Domain.]”

A second lotus budded, and the second set of swords fell. His mastery over weather rituals was sealed away with her abilities in the Secret-Keeper’s domain.

Tiziri raised her hands. An ornately carved puppet’s control bar appeared in her hands, then split in five. From each segment, puppet strings shot out.

“[Third Seal: Puppeteering.]”

The third lotus budded, and the third set of swords fell. His mastery over formations was sealed.

Tiziri’s World Proof did not disappear. A World Proof could not be dismissed by any other person so long as its owner was alive. However, the puppet strings froze, then lost their power, drifting down to the ground as lightly as a spider’s web.

[Observer]’s rete spun, and the stars above rotated again. Sadalsuud drifted across the sky. The moon shifted in its path.

Saivanad Empire, February 29, 2:29 a.m.

Between the hind legs of the Lion and the claws of the Scorpion, three faint stars shone.

The Concealment.

Ordinarily, the ritual conductor would need to wait for the right year and day, preparing all materials and the environment ahead of time.

But Raoul needed no such thing.

“Al-Ghafr, may the promise begin.”

[Storyteller]’s power flowed forth, and a gauzy illusion overlaid the surroundings like a dream: a stone archway atop a red desert mountain, a hanging incense burner, candles lit along the path. A silk ribbon appeared in the hands of everyone he recognized as a participant — everyone except Acacius. The power of the ritual flowed forth to press everyone into their assigned roles.

He spoke, low and melodious, though the rhythm of the ritual was somewhat lost when translated into Iyirian.

“Who is the most fortunate of all lunar stations? The Concealment.
“Who will veil us for all time? The Concealment.
“What does it veil us from? The claws of the Lion and the Scorpion.
“By what virtue does it conceal us? Our promise to hide what must be hidden. “What is that which must be hidden?”

Raoul lifted up the ribbon.

“All secrets which were revealed by Acacius Duval on this day.”

He tied the knot and wove in the ends, blending in the seams. It was one of the simplest knots taught by the Secret-Keeper’s temples, and one his students should all be capable of tying.

“May the Concealment protect those who bind the knot.”

Or else, whenever the night sky appeared, the Lion and Scorpion would hunt without end.

One by one, his quick-witted students tied the ribbons before them.

Raoul met eyes with Tiziri.

Make the promise if you don’t want to die.

She glared at him, but with no other recourse, she tied the knot, too.

Raoul declared, “So it has been stated, so it shall be veiled.”

With the story complete, the illusion faded. And Raoul named another constellation, already visible in this night sky.

“The Hunter, may your aim be true.”

Starlight fell down and gathered in Raoul’s hands, taking the shape of a giant silver bow. He wasn’t an archer, but it didn’t matter. When he raised the bow and pulled back the string, the arrow materialized and nocked itself, pointing unerringly at Tiziri.

She laughed.

“I never thought I would see the day you were willing to kill me. Do you truly resent me so much?”

There were many answers he could have given to her.

What he said was, “I do not believe this will kill you.”

But it would hurt her for a long time.

He let go of the bowstring.

The Hunter’s arrow pierced its prey; it was a foregone conclusion. A story, once begun, would surely end.

Tiziri fell to the ground, and she smiled.

“I always did like you best.”

Her body collapsed.

As he watched, the blood that pooled out began to flake away in scraps of white paper. Then the body began disintegrating, too.

“We were fighting a double the whole time?” Verica said with a look of distress.

“It isn’t so simple to invoke one’s titles or World Proof from a puppet,” Raoul replied. “More likely, she used a death substitution technique.”

Tiziri was wanted by far too many people. It would be stranger if she didn’t have a few last tricks up her sleeve.

For years, Tiziri had been like his personal Sword of Damocles. He didn’t know where she was, or when she would choose to return, or how she would overturn his life if she did. He made plans and precautions, of course, but he was limited in scope. The contract he’d made with her in his youth prevented him from hurting her, and with her at a higher realm than him, it meant he could not effectively oppose her.

But now, the reason he could…

Raoul’s eyes fell on Acacius Duval.

All his students were worn and blood-stained, but none looked as visibly exhausted as him. He was slumped against Verica’s shoulder, and every breath seemed to be a struggle. His eyes, when he lifted his head towards Raoul, were unfocused. The wings stretching from his back wavered in the night breeze.

Raoul called forth [Observer]’s power once more.

Southern Iyiria, July, 12 a.m.

“Ophiuchus, serpent-bearer, may your medicine heal all ailments.”

Starlight shook and fell down to wrap around his arm in the shape of a serpent. He touched Acacius’ forehead.

Acacius’ breathing eased, and he sighed in relief. A moment later, he gathered the strength to stand up on his own. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest, hiding a good portion of title tattoos from view, but not all. Even now, Raoul could still see a thorny flower wrapped around one wrist and a burning tree peeking out from under his hands. Even for a Nithemoore student, the number of titles he bore was astonishing.

“You’ve worked hard, all of you,” said Raoul. “Thank you.”

Luka nodded.

“We’re glad to have you with us, Professor,” Roxana said.

“If you’re so thankful, lend me your robe,” Acacius said.

“Acacius,” said Veric in exasperation, making a movement like she wanted to elbow him, but thought better of it.

Raoul held back a laugh. He took off his outer robe and helped Acacius put it on in reverse. Veric, past Acacius’ muttered complaints, helped tie the sash under the base of his wings so that it wouldn’t fall off when he moved.

Raoul lifted his astrolabe and released its power. The illusory sky above disappeared as the horizon lines etched on the base plate shifted, and the rete’s pointers arranged themselves in a configuration unique to the KP system’s skies.

Reading the time, it was clear that too much time had passed since Tiziri sealed him. There were about twelve hours until the visual catastrophe hit this island. Raoul had to take what measures he could before then.

“What happened after we rendezvoused at the Cagzol Institute?” he asked.

His students gave him a stumbling account of everything that had transpired. Roxana was the smoothest and most cohesive, giving a lively storyteller’s account; however, she was missing part of the story, which had to be filled in by the others.

In summary, the situation was thus: during free exploration time, Acacius had realized something was amiss and gathered information. He’d given warning to the guided tour, likely forcing the Order’s hand into launching an early attack. During battle, the waters flooded, and the caverns collapsed. After that, Acacius had gathered the others to investigate the Order and their purpose. In the process, they’d discovered that Ozias was a member of the Order, and that Tiziri had made a deal to cooperate with him. Through a truly perilous process, they retrieved his contract card from her hands.

With the Broken Kaleidoscope gutted and the pre-built ritual exits to the Fantasm destroyed, Raoul was perhaps the only remaining leadership they had.

Bright as the students of Nithemoore were, they had been forced to bear far too great a burden.

And Raoul would have to ask them to bear more.

“It will take time to construct an exit,” he said.

Acacius immediately stiffened.

“Don’t tell me it won’t be finished before the disaster arrives.”

Raoul smiled sadly. His students were too smart.

The other students exchanged glances while Acacius grimaced and ran his hands through his hair, squeezing his eyes closed. He took a deep breath.

“How much longer after the disaster arrives do you need? One hour? Two?”

“It depends on how fast the doorframe can be constructed,” said Raoul. “However, the ritual to establish the exit alone typically takes around twelve hours.”

“And Nastaran didn’t think to mention this?” Acacius muttered.

“She’d already given up on obtaining an early exit,” Luka said.

“I should’ve guessed. What about the ritual to turn back the clock? Can we just go back to day one somehow?”

“Even with professionals, that ritual takes approximately one day to set up, I’m afraid,” said Raoul.

So many things had gone wrong while he was sealed away.

Verica cleared her throat.

“Actually, Acacius, about the disaster… Do you know something about it?”

“What do you mean.”

Verica looked awkward. “While we were planning to get you, we thought you might have left hints in your will, so we took a look inside it first.”

Without inflection, Acacius said, “You bastards.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Whatever. It’s theoretically covered by the Concealment’s promise, anyways.” He scrubbed at his face. “Can you all handle the exit ritual for now? I need to think.”

“It won’t be a problem,” said Luka.

They began discussing how to arrange for the exit to be built: where to go, how to source materials, and how to find all the students that had been scattered across the caverns.

During the group assignments, Raoul had been hopeful that it would foster a connection between Acacius and his peers. Although the circumstances were regrettable, it was heartening that his hopes had come to pass.

The plan was finalized as such: they would regroup with Jules, a student from another class who had established a safe zone in the caverns, and use that as a base. Luka and Verica, the more physically capable among them, cut down bundles of thin branches to bring down as initial material. Acacius cut his finger and wrote on a golden compass, and their group headed into the caverns.

According to Acacius, the Eye of Misfortune had triggered a massive wave that flooded the caverns. He could see the evidence of it now. Drowned butterflies and broken blue flowers glimmered in the water splashing around their feet.

In the worldview of the KP system, everything that existed had a soul, and the Eye of Misfortune could corrupt and distort the relations between them. If Raoul had to guess, Tiziri had originally intended to kill Acacius with the Eye of Misfortune, perhaps by directly passing one of her curses down through the connection formed by looking at him. However, after it was broken by the Eye of the Kaleidoscope, the Eye of Misfortune’s effects had instead spread in diminished form across the entire area. The world’s spring rains had already caused instability in the mountains and made the watershed swell, so with a nudge from the Eye of Misfortune, the caverns had collapsed and the mountain waters had flooded in. An improbable sequence of events, but one made possible by the Eye.

And this was merely the power of a single Eye in isolation. It was no surprise that Tiziri had wanted the full power of the Kaleidoscope.

Raoul deliberately fell back to where Luka was accompanying Acacius, leading him by the arm. They were walking in total silence.

“Luka, why don’t you walk ahead with the others?” he said. “I’ll take over as Acacius’ eyes.”

Luka’s gaze flicked between him and Acacius.

“Call me if you need anything.”

He went ahead. Raoul offered his arm to Acacius, who accepted it wordlessly after a moment of silence.

“You seem to be getting along well.”

“You must be joking,” said Acacius. “What did you want to talk about?”

Straightforward.

“Regarding the title you gave me…”

Acacius’ expression become a little more wary, and Raoul understood, because the things Acacius had revealed today were far too dangerous.

Although he didn’t mean to pry, he couldn’t help but recall the title tattoos he’d glimpsed earlier. The Secret-Keeper had four primary symbols, and Acacius already had two: the seamless knot over his heart and the ominous black key on his ribcage. He was only missing the dark lantern and the door.

The Secret-Keeper was clearly not the only member of the Tripartite who had marked him, though. After all, Acacius had that black knife. The power to bestow titles belonged to the Scribe, and the Scribe rarely granted authority in its domain; even their most powerful artifacts and devout followers could not give titles to others. That knife must have been a manifested title or a World Proof touched by the Scribe themself. Yet its power was so transgressive that to use it, Acacius had still needed to invoke the Scribe through all three of their symbols: the serpent, the circle, and the knife.

It was a good thing that he hadn’t seen any mask or arrow symbolism in Acacius’ title tattoos, or he would truly be worried about Acacius walking perilously close to the divine.

“The power to grant titles is a dangerous one,” he said. “Although I’ve done my best to protect your secrets, it won’t prevent Tiziri from acting on what she knows.”

Tiziri had been confident up until the moment he grasped the contract card and she felt the threat to the contract itself.

“Though she may have seen the knife, she should not have been able to hear you through the barrier. Even so, with your connection to the Kaleidoscope, she may target you in the future.”

Raoul had changed the active and passive skills available to her through the contract, but somehow, she’d turned it to her advantage anyways. He recalled the sensation from when she had used [Lotus of the Betrayed]. Unlike him, she had chosen to bloom her lotuses right away, and the skills she had stolen from Ozias painted a troubling picture.

One to steal reality from illusion. One to reproduce the known history of an object. One to use a door wherever there was once a doorway.

“The ritual she wished to perform on you was one that would symbolically affix your power to certain body parts. In this case, most likely your eyes and wings,” he said. “Then she had a method to bring them out of the Fantasm World, even without solving it. The Eye of the Kaleidoscope should have been her goal from the beginning. You must be careful.”

Of course, with their contract dissolved, the [Lotus] would no longer bloom for her, and she wouldn’t have those skills anymore. But even knowing that Acacius had access to the power of the Kaleidoscope was enough to put a target on his back.

“I’ll be careful,” said Acacius.

Raoul nodded.

“Because you were not part of the Concealment’s Promise, you won’t be able to sense it if someone breaks the knot. I recommend that you stay on good terms with your fellow students if you can.” He cracked a smile. “Or, if you can still trust me after gaining [Contract Breaker], you can rely on me to keep you informed.”

It was a title that would cause him trouble for the rest of his life, but even so, he didn’t regret it. Freedom always had consequences.

Acacius lowered his eyes.

“Professor, why did you protect me?”

Raoul blinked.

“It sounds to me like you’ve been betrayed multiple times over,” Acacius continued. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t get a skill title like [Lotus of the Betrayed] over it. Tiziri fucked you over—”

“Language.”

“—so bad it would make sense if you never trusted anyone again. And you heard from the others how many secrets I kept hidden this whole time. Are you that confident in protecting someone who can make anyone into a [Contract Breaker] whenever he pleases?”

Raoul quirked a smile.

Acacius truly had a thorny way of speaking, but one glance and he knew what it was Acacius truly wanted to ask.

“Acacius, you aren’t a very trusting person.”

Acacius scoffed.

“You must have lived a difficult life where such mistrust was necessary,” Raoul continued. “It is a skill that has protected you, and now it has protected the people around you as well. For that, I am grateful. However, I hope you will keep in mind: if mistrust is a skill, then trust is too.”

Acacius’ deep skepticism showed itself in the wrinkle between his eyebrows. “A skill?”

“I believe you yourself saw the limits of where mistrust could take you, during this trip. So you decided to trust others to help you investigate and to fight. In the end, you even chose to trust that they would save you.”

“…That was just pragmatism. If I didn’t do something, all of us would die. It was better to make a final gamble.”

“But even so, it must not have been easy for you.”

Acacius fell silent, and Raoul smiled faintly.

“It is true that I was hurt by others in the past. I thought that the world was a cruel place. For a while, I couldn’t see the beauty in it.”

For a while, he didn’t even have the heart to look at the stars.

But giving up would have hurt more than moving on.

“I didn’t want to live in such a world, though, so I lived as if I didn’t.”

“…What?”

“I didn’t conduct myself as naively as before. But I chose to act as if I was in a world where the people around me were trustworthy, good, and kind.”

Acacius looked at him like he was crazy. He hadn’t been nearly this expressive in the classroom. Well, they were in an extraordinary situation, after all.

“I’m sure this sounds foolish to you. But if one always acts as if they live in a cruel and ugly world, then the world will never stop being ugly and cruel.”

“The people closest to you betrayed you.”

“They did. So, I should do my best and ensure the same does not befall my students, don’t you think?”

For a while, Acacius didn’t respond. He mulled over his words silently as they followed after the others, and Raoul was happy to give him room to think.

As far as he was concerned, what Acacius really wanted to know was “how to trust others.”

But Acacius was already capable of it.

He’d just done it.

What he needed now was to emotionally reconcile with the fact that trust had been just as important as the mistrust that was so familiar to him.

Finally, Acacius spoke.

“You remind me… of some people I knew.”

“Oh?”

“They’re all dead.”

Raoul blinked.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Acacius ignored him.

“They were foolish,” he said. “But… they weren’t wrong.”

He was quiet for moment before he continued on, speaking with a deliberate and heavy resolve.

“That’s how I’ve chosen to live. So, I’ll keep living like that.”

Raoul gazed down at his expression and found himself at a loss for words.

The tunnels widened up to reveal a cavern full of students, and a glowing white boundary line.

Acacius pulled his arm away.

“I need to talk to Luka,” he said. “And… thanks for everything, Professor.”

Before Raoul could respond, he turned away and departed.

Raoul made a habit of trusting his students’ capabilities. Acacius must have his reasons. He watched him go before striding forward to meet with the student leader in red.

His students were doing their best, so he would, too.

He would eliminate all the remnants of the Order of the Black Sun in this world.

Then, he would complete the ritual and ensure that as many of his students made it home as he could.

Chapter 33 Chapter 35