Precise date unknown, in modern Euth territory

  All he could see was yellow.

  He could not understand the thing that made the golden rain that was eating his sanity away. His mind could abstract, simplify, and do anything until he could grasp the strange things before his eyes, but this thing, this golden substance, was beyond anything he had seen before. He was the best student of his master, having come all the way from the other side of the world to seek his wisdom, but even now, he felt like the things he learnt from his master did not help.

  Golden pellets showered down and flooded the place he once thought he could call home. Each of the golden pellets reflected his fearful eyes, his bleeding wounds, and his staggered stance, dragging himself forward, though he didn’t know where he was going. His legs sank in the amber, though they felt like spider webs rather than the fluid they seemed like. When his fingers touched it, the gold and amber felt like sharp corners despite their round look. Reflections in it started to distort as they bent on itself, though nothing stirred the golden flood.

  “Master!” he yelled in the language he hadn’t grasped yet.

  “Master! Where are you?”

  The golden waves emanated a thick mist as he moved forward, and through the mist, he saw a silhouette of a monolith. It looked like within reach, just a few steps before him, but when he dragged his hurt body forward, the monolith seemed further than before. He could feel his body at its limit, his heart beating with its last strength as his organs, his muscles, tearing apart by some force beyond his vision.

  His eyes closed as his broken heart was filled with spite. Spite for the gods beyond this plane and world. In the end, the young man realized that even before his last moment, he still didn’t change his master’s mind.

  If only I could dissect them…

  The young man died. His body was washed over by the gold. As his eyes slowly closed, he saw a crown.

  A crown shaped like flowers, made with white stones.

  …

  What is more beautiful, a star or a blooming flower?

  A star, because flowers wither.

  …Hm, I see it the other way, a flower is more beautiful.

  Then change my mind.

  Change my mind, Suiyin. Prove to me that a flower is indeed more beautiful than a star.

  …I will, master, just give me some time.

  We have plenty of time, but don’t drag it.

  …

  18th October, 1137

  Acryl didn’t sleep well.

  His back was hurting, his eyes were sore as he struggled to roll out of his bed. At this point, he couldn’t tell if it was the Starseeker’s corruption seeping deeper or it was Nameless’s words that made any sense of rest and comfort fade away. Neon was asleep in her bunk bed while Acryl noticed that Nameless’s coat was missing from the hanger.

  Inherit…the zenith of Yellian technology.

  Acryl didn’t know what the ancient civilization was capable of, nor did he know how long the glory of the Citadel shone. After all, everything he had read about it was extremely uninformative, since there were few studies done on the subject. Even the existence of the Citadel was a reconstruction done by historians from fleeting oral records. Compared to the urban legends, Acryl found Yel to be more academic than some kind of esoteric knowledge.

  “How did I get myself in this situation?” Acryl muttered. He made his bed while he was still stirred by Nameless’s offer and Fosfor’s words. Promote. But what if I couldn’t take this responsibility? The sky outside was murky, and the clouds dark.

  I only need to get over this…and I’ll just figure out the rest, right?

  As he thought of that, drops and drizzles of rain drummed on the window. Trails of water dragged down as they distorted the view of the city. Acryl looked out on the streets. Pavement painted grayer and grayer as pedestrians rushed to seek shelter from the shower. Strangely, it reminded him of the uncaring pouring in Euth and the unforgiving winter of Songhua. Acryl wished that he were back to simpler times, when in such days, he could just curl up in his room, turn up the radio, and draw for an entire day or spend the entire day with Neon, doing whatever they found fun at the time.

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  But there is no going back…once I’ve gotten the implant, there is no exit from the world of arcane and Realm-art.

  He was feeling uneasy when the door opened. It was Nameless.

  “I paid to extend our stay in the hotel,” she said as she closed the door.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Nameless…” Acryl said, feeling the urge to ask her more about the Barricades. Nameless was a painting. A painting that depicted a scene no mind or no critic could understand, carrying the will and memory of a time long forgotten.

  “…What was Yel really like?”

  Nameless glared past Acryl. Acryl hoped that he wasn’t being insensitive for asking such a question.

  “I didn’t like Yel the way it was. The Citadel was the centre of everything, and the Citadel was both arrogant and ignorant.”

  “Even without the Existences descending to punish mankind for grasping knowledge not meant for men…Yel would surely fall apart for other reasons. Whether it would have been peaceful…I don’t know.”

  “But objectively speaking, the average resident of Yel would live a life equivalent to a wealthy individual in today’s standard.”

  “How was the food?” Neon asked as she rubbed her eyes, still in her nightdress.

  “…Decent, most of them were mass-produced to keep up with the Citadel’s great demand. I prefer the food made after Yel’s collapse.”

  After some chit-chats, Neon and Acryl went to eat breakfast, though by the time they stepped out the door, it was already noon. The rain hadn’t stopped while they dined in a cheap restaurant nearby.

  Nevertheless, the day passed peacefully, and Acryl felt like the weight on his shoulder and the fear of the future eased after spending time with Neon. They walked down an avenue of fallen leaves and patches of orange and red trees. The warm colors paired with the crisp air, with the aftertaste of a rain gone by, made Acryl feel like he was back at home, and the gentle hues resonated well with Neon’s clothes of similar warm colors.

  “Where do you think we’ll go next?” Neon asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe Senhashi or back to Siyue?” Acryl responded.

  “…Hm, do you think it’s possible for us to visit Treisaules? Think about it, we would be its first visitors for a long time!”

  Acryl’s mind wandered off to the dream he had on the train. The lush ground, the faintly glimmering tree-like being. Thinking now, he remembered that the place he stood was surrounded by a veil of mist and dew.

  Perhaps I can finally see that again.

  Right as he was about to respond to Neon, Fosfor emerged from his shadow, standing between him and Neon.

  “Urgent meeting,” she said. Fosfor glanced at Neon.

  “Yeah, you look like you’ve seen enough. You are coming with me.”

  …

  Parsley

  He sat in a pure white space, a domain akin to the meeting place of the Brotherhood, as he sketched the patterns on Kaspar’s chest onto a clean sheet of paper. This place was much more colorful than the flower field. The walls were decorated with the master of this domain’s artworks, some depicting realistic scenes of nature, of the cities its maker had traveled to, some more abstract and stylized. And in some places, there were posters for classical Siyuenes Operas and other events stuck on the wall.

  After his arm felt a bit numb, Parsley stopped. He stood up and walked two steps further to see the pattern as a whole.

  It was similar to the pattern the First Mephisto carved into the strange stones, which had been destroyed at some point in history, but Parsley couldn’t recall. The patterns twist and bend in a way that was similar to the swaying tissues of jellyfish and sea lilies washed up on the shore, but also bearing a resemblance to intricate drawings of a sky globe. Despite being his recreation of the patterns, Parsley felt like he did not make them, but he discovered the patterns by accident, that this was an ancient secret that should have been forgotten and moved on.

  “How’re you doing?” Canvas asked. Parsley peeked at him.

  “Good.”

  “Where have you been?” Parsley said.

  “Oh, you know, the usual. Took a good look at the codex, the tea shop I used to go to, wandered around Baichuan’s building for a while.”

  “You’re drawing? I can give you a free masterclass if you want. You’ll be my first student.”

  “Don’t you already have one?”

  “…He doesn’t count.”

  “…Thanks, but I didn’t need to draw the day I left my teacher.”

  “Is this what I think it is?” Canvas said as he walked near the paper.

  “Ah…that is bad,” he said, scratching his head. His hair was unkept and messy, as his eyes were surrounded by dark eye bags.

  “No, that is very bad, Parsley, you must warn the others.”

  Parsley didn’t see it at first, but as he took a step back, he saw it. A familiar pattern that he wished he didn’t know. The pattern of sigils and circles, one interlocking another as they trace out the shape of a rising star. His eyes opened wide, and his mind returned to the bleeding sky of the war, the horror of the flame that he could not comprehend, the scorching fire that the Letter-Writer unleashed on the Siyuenese soldiers. Parsley didn’t dare to think about it again, but the pattern whispered the name he wished he didn’t know the meaning of.

  “Let me out, Canvas, I need to inform Fosfor.”

  Canvas nodded as he swung his hand across Parsley’s face. The pure white erased before him as the blazing sun’s rays blasted him. He silently said a profanity in the dialect of his hometown. Canvas did not drop him where he came, but in the centre of Rinstadt.

  Thankfully, he was in an alleyway with nobody but him. He sensed no caster and no other being present with him.

  “Fosfor Luce Oakside,” he whispered, hoping that he didn’t have to tear his invitation to get her attention.

  “Yes?” she said, climbing out of his shadow.

  “…Kaspar…is attempting to summon the Starseeker.”

  “How? Why haven’t I noticed it?” Fosfor asked, her hands in her hoodie’s pocket as she leaned onto the side of the alleyway.

  “…The centre of the ritual is etched into his body; he definitely scattered the rest of it across Auderheim,” Parsley answered.

  Fosfor didn’t say anything while her body burned into ashes.