Pain.
A splitting, searing agony carved through Klein Moretti's skull. He gasped, breath hitching, as the sensation of raw flesh and blood pulsed at the back of his head. His hands trembled as he reached up, fingers tracing the jagged wound—no, the absence of flesh, the hole in his skull.
Any normal person shouldn't be alive after sustaining such an injury. But he was not a normal person.
The gunshot. The pain. The darkness. The terrifying silence that came after.
It took time before he realized he was here. Alive. Again.
His eyes darted around, familiar surroundings meeting his gaze—the dilapidated apartment, the red glow of the eerie moonlight filtering through dirty windows, the oppressive humidity of Tingen City.
The same place. The same beginning.
But he was not the same Klein Moretti.
Memories that should not exist flooded his mind. Not just the fragmented recollections of Zhou Mingrui, the Earth-born young man who had occupied this body before, but something far worse.
Years spent as a beyonder, leader of the tarot club, and a legit mighty existence.
Then, a war. A war so great, so vast, that the very fabric of existence had collapsed.
A twisted, chaotic apocalypse.
They had fought. No, they had struggled. Against the impossible, against things that should not exist.
And in the end, they had lost.
Not just lost, the reality itself had to be erased. Not reset, not fixed, destroyed.
And he had been the one to do it. They were left with no other choice. The apocalypse was not what they all thought it'd be. Neither the Celestial Worthy or the Primordial God Almighty.
The thought was brief before the grey fog swallowed it. 'This body is too weak to bear the weight of most of the knowledge'.
After searching his own memories amidst the crippling headache, he realized that any memory that involved higher level beings was sealed away, with only a bit perfunctory knowledge, what with his soul and body lacking the qualitative effects necessary to bear the weight of knowledge involving godhood. This meant anything angel level and above was sealed away behind grey fog as well as most knowledge concerning demigods.
But why did I come back in time? What use is fighting against the inevitable end? Deep in his bones, he could feel the despair and futility reverberating through time before it too was gone.
His head throbbed as a 'message' was delivered to him, or more like a directive left by his future self imprinted into his mind body.
The first being; He must still become the Fool, and Lord of Mysteries. However, first he must gain the key to access to sephirah castle and then immediately seek a sequence 9 seer related boon via Sephirah castle and Antigonus notebook.
Klein frowned at this unusual order, why a boon? Why not a beyonder characteristics? Concerning being lord of the mysteries, he had no qualms, and even knew his trip would be easier this time around. And the Antigonus notebook? It carried a great risk as the notebook was directly connected to the Seer angel. A means to escape Evernight's control.
'The notebook has formulas and random memories Antigonus had during 'His' life. Its risky for someone who doesn't know what it is and may just stumble of a memory of Flegrea's fatherly instincts.' Ray bieber had used the notebook to absorb beyonder characteristic from it, probably from antigonus. This might have been the way 'He' devised to free himself by slowly possessing the one who dared seek 'His' legacy.
'But Sephirah castle could cut off and filter the corruption, and with my knowledge of rituals and experience with sephirah castle and seer pathway, it won't be hard to find a way out of this.' His advanced expertise in rituals, instinct in sniffing out loopholes and experience with door pathway sealing might be sealed away, but deep a 'muscle' memory still remained. It was not unfamiliar to him.
The 2nd directive made him question the legitimacy of whoever sent him back in time: Consume a Secrets Supplicant beyonder characteristic of the Hanged man pathway after praying for the seer boon.
'Did i really need such an elaborate way to commit suicide' Klein gawked in disbelief as he held his blood covered forehead.
The hanged man was currently the most corruptive pathway among all standard pathways, he'd rather become a devil and go against The father of devils than face the True Creator and God Almighty. All that pales in comparison to the simple fact that the God Almighty pathway was not connected in any way to the Lord of Mysteries, both pathways belonging at opposite spectrums with their wills clashing since time immemorial.
Did someone powerful tamper with these instructions while I was getting here?
And finally a third directive revealed itself; Never change to adjacent pathways, except at sequence 9 and 8, all subsequent advancement will involve him advancing through beyonder characteristic first followed by the same sequence boon of the fool pathway. Once reached Sequence 3, the reason for this would reveal itself.
Klein drew long measured breaths to steady himself, he did not have his clown characteristics but even that would've been useless on this particular occasion.
He knew these directives weren't just restrictions; they were safeguards. He—the past, future, or alternate version of himself—had set them.
Why?
Something that had necessitated the destruction of an entire universe.
And Klein, this time, had to prevent it.
A wry, almost hysterical chuckle escaped his lips. He barely had a footing in this world, and yet he was already burdened with a purpose beyond human comprehension. Again. The phrase 'Hello madness my old friend.' Briefly passed in his head with dry humor attached to it.
"Fantastic," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "At least I don't have to figure everything out from scratch."
It was true. Unlike in his past life, he knew the layout of this world, its dangers, and—most importantly—the hidden pathways to power.
However, he was not ignorant to the first law about time travel. Every action would always bear a reaction. A single pebble out of place would either change the course of history, or reality would force it to the same path it once trod upon.
'If it's the latter, I wouldn't have bothered.' he nodded to himself.
The church of evernight wouldn't bother raising Secrets supplicants who would naturally turn mad, meaning, I cant join the church this time around. The moment she or anyone else caught a whiff of any of this, it would all be over.
I also need to lay low, and find a way to deal with Melissa and Benson. I cant have them implicated in my actions.
As he kept tapping the gun to the table, Klein startled as he remembered the pool of blood he needed to clean, and Melissa waking up in just a few hours.
Klein let out a breath as he plopped into his seat, the stiffness of the wooden chair pressing against his back. His gaze fell to the bucket of water beside him, a damp rag draped over its edge.
The sight made him chuckle softly, a trace of mirth surfacing despite the heavy burden in his mind. How nostalgic.
Just like before, the previous Klein Moretti had to erase the evidence, unwilling to let his siblings see the bloodstains of his suicide.
'How strange…' Even though he had done this before, it felt different. He had knowledge, experience—fragments of a life erased by his own hand. He wouldn't be stumbling in the dark anymore. Well, not entirely.
There are some things that would need to be handled delicately, otherwise, changing things too much will result in unfathomable and unpredictable consequences.
Not to mention, any abnormal actions he did, would be registered to Ince Zangwill. His best course of action was to use the Tarot club to deal with these things.
A smile stretched as he recalled the Tarot club. Unlike before, he would need to make them more… like members of an actual secret organization. They needed the experience and exposure and he was not as inexperienced as he was before or hesitant.
It had been his greatest creation, a source of power, knowledge, and allies. If he formed it sooner, he could guide its members with more foresight than he previously did.
Audrey, Alger, Derrick, Fors, Emlyn, Leonard, Xio and Cattleya—they had been vital pieces in the grand game. With a head start, he could prepare them better, ensuring that they each reached their full potential.
'Plus, I need young Derrik for my Hanged Man potions.' He had read the complete Blasphemy slate, both two blasphemy slates, the issue of the formula was no problem to him.
However, he was very poor.
'A poor Mr. Fool.' Klein sighed.
And he did not want to invoke suspicion of Evernight or Aurora order. The city of silver will not be lacking in Beyonder characteristics of Hanged man pathway's low to mid sequences.
What he needed to do now was get the antigonus notebook from Ray Bieber before he loses control.
Taking a deep breath, he felt the scent of iron still clung to the air, but at least the floor was spotless.
He let out a breath, rubbing his temples. The familiarity of it all was almost amusing—waking up after death, scrubbing away the evidence, and waiting for the next moment to arrive.
Just as expected, light footsteps approached the door.
Before the knock could come, Klein reached out and pulled the door open.
Melissa stood there, hand raised mid-motion, her eyes widening slightly in surprise.
"You—" She blinked. "How did you know I was here?"
Klein put on an easy smile. "I heard your footsteps. Who else would come check on me this early?"
Melissa narrowed her eyes at him, scanning him like she was trying to find something amiss.
'At least she's not looking at me like I'm retarded like last time.' Klein chuckled before almost groaning as she gave him exactly THAT look. One that she used when she suspects him of being mentally touched.
"You should be resting," she said at last, crossing her arms. "I made breakfast."
Klein stepped aside, letting her in. "That's very kind of you, dear sister."
Melissa shot him another suspicious look at the unusually formal tone but didn't comment on it. Instead, she walked into the apartment, her presence bringing a warmth that contrasted against the cold reality of his situation.
Just like before, she chided him about their finances, reminded him that Benson would be upset, and told him he needed to take better care of himself.
This time, Klein listened a little more closely.
She was alive. She was still here.
And he had every intention of keeping it that way.
After Melissa left, Klein grabbed his cane and coat and stepped out into the familiar streets of Tingen City.
Before anything else, he needed food. A simple task, but one that allowed him to think.
He needed to perform the Luck Enhancement Ritual soon.
As he passed a street corner, something caught his eye—a makeshift tent, with a girl sitting outside.
The beast tamer disguised as a fortune teller.
Klein paused, curious if he should bother again. 'I never got to know what was in the other cards.'
The girl shuffled her tarot cards, looking up at him with an eager expression. "Sir, what would you like for your reading? A glimpse into your past, present, and future?"
Klein hesitated before nodding and the girl brightened, before gesturing for him to draw a card.
He reached forward, fingers brushing against the aged paper to his right, the card about the future.
His breath caught.
The Fool.
A colorfully dressed figure stood on the card, walking forward with a bindle over his shoulder. A small dog followed behind, and the bright sun shone above him.
The girl frowned. "That's strange…"
Klein didn't answer. His mind was spinning.
Last time, the present card had been Fool, what would it be now?
Why was it different now?
Were all the cards Fool cards?
Before he could dwell on it further, the tent's entrance flung open.
"Why are you impersonating me again!?" A sharp voice rang out.
A taller woman in similar attire stomped toward them, face painted red and yellow in the fashion of a circus performer. "Get back to work! You're just an animal trainer, not a fortune teller!"
The girl flinched, hurriedly gathering her cards before scurrying away.
Klein watched her go, then glanced down at the card still in his hand.
The Fool.
He turned, walking away before the taller woman could say anything to him.
As he strode down the street, an ease settled into him as all tension left.
The gray fog churned endlessly, stretching beyond sight, a vast and unknowable existence.
Within its depths stood an ancient, towering castle, grand yet shrouded in mystery. The great hall within was vast, a long bronze table resting at its heart, its surface reflecting the dim crimson glow of unseen stars.
At the head of the table, seated in the grandest, most imposing high-backed chair, was The Fool.
His figure was veiled in shifting mist, his presence both tangible and illusory, as though he existed between reality and a dream.
Two figures sat frozen at the table, their breaths shallow, eyes flickering with unease and wonder.
Audrey Hall, daughter of Duke Hall, sat with her back straight, golden-blond hair cascading over her shoulders. Her emerald eyes, filled with a rare mixture of fear and exhilaration, darted around the magnificent, impossible place.
Her heart pounded against her ribs. A secret gathering? A mysterious higher being? This was… this was exactly the kind of adventure she had always dreamed of!
Opposite her sat Alger Wilson, his sharp blue eyes narrowed, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap. He had spent years navigating treacherous waters, both literal and metaphorical. He had encountered things most men couldn't imagine, but this?
This was beyond him.
An unknown being had just plucked him out of his ship, out of reality—effortlessly.
Cold sweat formed at his back. Was this some hidden god? A powerful Beyonder?
He couldn't tell.
What he did know was that defiance wasn't an option. Gods hated defiance.
Then, the silence shattered.
A voice echoed through the hall, deep and steady, layered with something indescribable.
"I am The Fool."
The words were simple, yet they carried a weight that pressed against the very air, reverberating through the castle, the gray fog, the unseen beyond.
Audrey's breath hitched, a chill running down her spine. She felt something shift, an unseen force linking this place to the very fabric of reality.
Alger's fingers twitched, his pulse hammering. He did not recognize this name, was this a new god, or an old ancient one slowly awakening?
"The Fool that doesn't belong to this era…"
The words seeped into the very essence of the place, carving themselves into the fog, into the halls, into them.
"The mysterious ruler above the gray fog…"
"The King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck."
Audrey shuddered, not in fear, but in awe.
It was a divine declaration, a statement of existence that demanded reality to acknowledge it.
Alger clenched his fists beneath the table, forcing himself to remain still. This was no ordinary Beyonder. This was something far older, something capable of weaving itself into the world's fabric.
Three line honorific name was something reserved only to gods.
What had he gotten himself into?
The Fool leaned forward slightly, his posture unchanged, but the air shifted again, pressing down on them in a way neither could explain.
"And I am The Fool who believes in an equal and fair exchange," he said, voice calm, yet carrying the weight of an unseen force.
Audrey swallowed, excitement warring with wariness. Equal and fair?
Alger didn't move, but his mind churned and inwardly lamented. 'Fair? How is dragging me here without warning fair?'
The Fool continued.
"I have chosen you both… to help me save the world from the apocalypse."
The words struck like a hammer.
Audrey's breath caught in her throat. Save the world?
She had always loved tales of heroic adventures, stories of noble figures fighting against hidden evils, protecting those in need. And now—now she was being invited to do just that?
Alger's expression remained unreadable, but inside, his thoughts were a storm. The Apocalypse? Its actually true? Was this prophecy or means to manipulate them? And why them?
"In exchange for your loyalty," The Fool continued, "I will give you the means and strength to protect those you love… and the power to survive the apocalypse that is to come."
Audrey's hands curled into fists in her lap, her heart pounding. 'This… this was it. The beginning of something greater than herself.'
A hidden organization, secret missions, an ancient force fighting against disaster and saving the world.
She had longed for something like this—a cause worth devoting herself to.
Alger, however, was calculating. An offer wrapped in grand words. Strength? Survival? Loyalty? What price was hidden beneath the surface?
"This gathering," The Fool continued, "this Tarot Club, will serve as a way for you and others to come—to exchange knowledge, information, and resources across different parts of the world. A place where secrets will be unveiled, power will be traded, and the future will be decided."
"Do you choose to accept this offer?" The ruler asked before falling silent.
Waiting.
Audrey's mind spun, her emotions a chaotic mix of fear and excitement.
She wanted to hesitate, to consider. But why?
Wasn't this exactly the kind of thing she had always dreamed of?
To be part of something grand, something hidden and powerful.
To stand at the edge of the extraordinary and step forward without hesitation.
She placed a hand over her chest, her emerald-green eyes shining with a rare mix of conviction and delight.
"I accept, honorable Mr. Fool."
The words left her lips before doubt could take root.
Then, all eyes turned to Alger.
The man remained still, but his mind was a battlefield.
Everything in his life had taught him that powerful beings did not give without cost.
That gods, demons, and entities lurking in the dark always had hidden motives.
And yet…
Could he refuse?
Did he dare refuse?
This being had plucked him out of reality effortlessly. The air itself trembled when he spoke. If he rejected the offer, would he even be allowed to leave?
More importantly—what if this Fool was right?
If an apocalypse was truly coming, could he afford to be on the wrong side of it?
His fingers twitched. He had seen gods strike down men for lesser offenses.
There was only one safe path.
With measured control, he lowered his head slightly.
"I accept," he said, voice steady, but mind unsettled.
For better or worse, he had become part of this.
The Fool remained silent for a moment.
Then, as if satisfied, the unseen weight in the air softened.
The first two members of the Tarot Club had accepted their fate and roles.
Klein—The Fool—watched as Audrey and Alger sat across from him, one eager, the other cautious.
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned back slightly, tapping his fingers lightly against the surface of the bronze table.
"In that case," he said, his voice carrying the same steady, absolute weight as before, "your initiation ceremony is now complete."
Before either of them could respond, two decks of cards materialized before them, resting upon the table as if they had always been there. The backs of the cards shimmered faintly in the dim, misty light, their designs intricate and ancient.
"Pick one," The Fool said, his tone amused.
Audrey's emerald-green eyes sparkled with curiosity. She reached out, fingers gliding over the cards before selecting one. With deliberate care, she flipped it over.
Justice.
Her lips parted slightly in surprise. The image on the card depicted a regal figure holding scales and a sword, embodying fairness, wisdom, and judgment.
Justice…
It fits.
A noble cause, the pursuit of balance—wasn't that exactlKlein pulled out a silver vein-leafed pocket watch, its smooth metal cool against his palm. He flipped it open with a practiced motion, watching as the delicate hands moved steadily forward.
The police wouldn't arrive for a while yet, giving him plenty of time.
Snapping the watch shut, he slid it back into his pocket.
'I should be the one cooking today as well.' A soft chuckle escaped him as he shook his head. The memory of his little sister scuffling food into her mouth gracelessly when she couldn't help herself from the culinary skills of a professional.
With that thought, he grabbed his coat and cane, casting a final glance around the apartment before stepping outside.
The morning air was cool, carrying the scent of damp stone, coal fires, and fresh-baked bread from distant bakeries. The city was waking—workers hurried toward factories, newspaper boys shouted the latest headlines, and horse-drawn carriages clattered over uneven cobblestone streets.
Klein stepped onto the street and raised a hand, flagging down a private carriage.
A middle-aged driver with a thick mustache and tired eyes tugged on the reins, slowing the black-wood carriage to a stop beside him. He gave Klein a once-over, assessing him with the sharpness of someone who had long learned to read people.
"Where to?"
"Griffon Street," Klein answered smoothly.
"That'll be 6 pence."
Klein almost winced.
'6 pence. Melissa would murder me if she found out I was wasting money like this…' A sigh escaped him.
There was no helping it.
With a reluctant heart, he handed over the payment. The driver gave a satisfied nod, the way all men did when money exchanged hands, and gestured toward the waiting carriage.
"Hop in."
"Wake me up when we arrive please." Klein said after giving explicit directions to Ray Bieber's place.
Klein climbed inside, settling against the worn leather seats as the door clicked shut.
The space was dim, the only light filtering in through the curtained window. The scent of aged wood and faint cigar smoke lingered in the air, blending with the rhythmic creak of the wheels as the carriage began to move.
He let out a slow breath, adjusting his posture.
Two hours. That was about how long it would take to reach Ray Bieber's residence.
Plenty of time to rest and regain some strength after the Luck enhancement.
Klein tipped his hat down over his eyes, as he leaned into the leather back, letting the motion of the carriage lull him into a moment of quiet.
The rhythmic clatter of hooves against cobblestone, the soft sway of the carriage—it was almost… soothing.
He allowed his body to relax, thoughts drifting.
A knock echoed against the wooden door.
Klein straightened his coat, and put on an embarrassed expression. Ray Bieber wasn't dangerous—yet—but that didn't mean he'd part with the notebook easily.
A few seconds later, the door creaked open, revealing a young man with messy black hair and deep blue eyes—Ray Bieber.
His expression flickered between surprise and suspicion, his gaze darting from Klein's face to something behind him, as if checking to see if this was some kind of joke.
"You again?" Ray muttered.
Klein smiled. "Me again."
Behind him, an older woman's voice rasped from inside the house. "Who is it?"
Ray turned his head slightly. "Just a friend."
Klein nearly choked on his amusement.
Friend? I give you a cursed book, and suddenly, we're best pals?
But he played along, offering an easy-going chuckle. "Thanks for holding onto the book for me," he said, as if his words were enough to explain everything by not saying much of anything.
Ray's grip tightened around the door knob, his fingers twitching slightly. His expression was torn—curiosity warring with hesitation. He probably wanted to shut the door to Klein's face.
"Why did you even give it to me in the first place? Is this a prank?" he asked, voice raised as his face scrunched in displeasure.
"No… I was with my friends last night, and wasn't myself after I left them." Klein answered sincerely, making it seem like he had been drunk or on drugs, "The notebook is something I use for my history course." He added while scratching the back of his head.
"Your history courses teach about rituals and living sacrifices?"
Klein resisted the urge to sigh. Of course, the cursed book wasn't content with being unread.
He nodded sagely, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "Ah, yes. It's a historical text from the Fourth Epoch—a time when rituals and mysticism were widely recorded."
Ray hesitated, his deep blue eyes scanning Klein's face as if trying to decide whether to believe him or throw him out.
Klein kept his expression earnest and slightly regretful, as if he were a scholar who had made a terrible mistake.
"I'll come another time to pay you back for the trouble of looking after it," he offered smoothly.
Ray visibly tensed.
He didn't want to give it back.
Klein saw it instantly— the almost possessive glance he shot backward, like a man considering whether to hand over gold or a winning lottery ticket.
'Ah. So we're at that stage already.'
Klein's brain shifted gears. If Ray thought he was losing something valuable, then Klein had to redirect that loss elsewhere.
He sighed dramatically. "That notebook has a few things I noted down for my test," He even rubbed his forehead, like a man suffering the consequences of poor life decisions. "If you like them so much, I can bring you the actual text book of the 4th epoch to indulge on."
Ray's brows furrowed.
Klein could practically see the mental battle happening in real-time.
On one side: Suspicion, greed, and the lingering whispers of eldritch knowledge.
On the other: The very human fear of dealing with someone else's academic disaster.
After a long pause, Ray exhaled. "I… guess you can have it back."
Victory.
Klein remained perfectly still, letting Ray make the next move. If he pushed too hard, Ray might suddenly decide he was a great lover of ancient history and refuse to return the book altogether.
Finally, Ray turned and disappeared into the house.
Klein waited, hands in his pockets, posture casual—but internally, he was already celebrating.
A moment later, Ray reappeared, the black notebook firmly in his grasp.
His fingers curled tightly around the cover, hesitation clear in his posture, his grip, his soul.
Klein did not reach out.
Instead, he simply extended a hand, palm up, fingers slightly curled, as if he had all the time in the world.
A silent invitation and not a demand.
Ray's jaw tensed. His fingers tightened—then, finally, with the air of a man handing over his last gold coin, he reluctantly placed the book in Klein's waiting hand.
The weight of it—cold, ancient, slightly menacing—settled into Klein's palm.
Ray took a step back, crossing his arms. "Don't come back again, I don't want any more pranks from you lot." he muttered.
Then, before Klein could even blink, the door shut with finality.
'Well.'
Klein stared at the closed door for a second before shrugging.
'That went better than expected.'
Tucking the forbidden book of eldritch horrors safely into his coat, he turned on his heel and strolled back toward his waiting carriage. Seemed like Ray wasn't entirely seduced by the book yet.
One step of his plan was now completed, a problematic artifact— almost secured.
Back again to the gentle rocking of the carriage Klein sighed, leaning against the seat, his fingers absently brushing against the fabric of his coat.
The weight of the notebook pressed against his chest, radiating a cold and ancient feeling— enticing, a reminder of the dangerous artifact he had just recovered.
His gaze flickered toward the carriage window, where the streets of Tingen rolled past in a blur of grays and browns.
Klein reached into his coat and pulled out a thick candle. Its surface was smooth, untouched.
Not for long.
He withdrew a small pocket knife and, with precise movements, began carving complicated symbols into the wax.
A pupil-less eye with contorted lines, surrounded by overlapping runes—a mixture of secrecy, summoning, and spiritual resonance.
Even without his previous high-ranked Seer abilities, he still retained his knowledge of rituals and their core aspects.
This particular ritual was crucial.
The Antigonus notebook, as cursed as it was, still contained a deep spiritual connection to its original owner.
It was rich in power, enough to offer boons and abilities to anyone who knew how to use it correctly.
By borrowing from its connection, he could manifest the Door of Summoning without using up his own currently almost nonexistent spirituality—a shortcut to enable sacrificial offerings without exhausting himself.
A simple loophole.
Klein finished the inscriptions, running his fingers over the grooves to ensure everything was correctly placed.
Then, pulling out a match, he struck it against the box of the carriage, lighting the candle's wick.
The flame flickered for a moment before steadily burning, casting shadows across the leather interior.
He secured the candle between the cushions of his seat, ensuring it wouldn't tip over.
Pulling out the Antigonus notebook, he thought for a moment before pulling out a revolver, the yellow remains of a used bullet and his own notebook scribbled with the infamous chilling line of 'Everyone will die, including me.'
"What a literal man you are."
After a bit of thought, he decided to keep his own notebook on him. Just in case they investigated why he went to Ray Bieber's house.
If the driver saw this right now, what would he think?
Klein couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image—himself, hunched over in a moving carriage, muttering in a dead language while a candle dripped wax onto the expensive leather upholstery. Some old notebook and a loaded gun in front of him to be offered as sacrifice to some evil god.
"Right. I need to finish and clear this up fast… unless I wish to explain why I was performing ritualistic magic in a moving vehicle."
Shaking his head, he focused.
Taking a breath, he began to chant softly:
"The Fool that doesn't belong to this era,"
"You are the mysterious ruler above the gray fog;"
"You are the King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck."
"Your devoted servant prays for your attention,"
"I pray for you to take his offerings."
"I pray for you to open the gates to your Kingdom."
The candle's flame flickered violently, casting eerie shadows.
Then he stood… or tried to.
The ceiling of the carriage restricted his movement, forcing him to hunch slightly. He took four awkward steps, carefully maneuvering in the cramped space. While internally reciting the celestial worthy's title.
And the world around him blurred.
Klein felt a pull, his consciousness yanked beyond reality as fog engulfed him.
The gray mist churned endlessly, stretching across the void. The ancient bronze table stood before him, its long surface reflecting faint crimson constellations.
And waiting there—
A manifested door of summoning, flickering into reality.
Klein exhaled, his presence settling into the space.
He reached out, channeling the Sephirah Castle's power, and accepted the offering.
In a blink, the two notebooks, a gun and the bullet remains appeared before him, floating just above the table's surface.
He set aside the antigonus notebook, the most problematic one, and dumped the rest into the new junk pile.
As for the Antigonus notebook, the connection it once had with its creator was now severed, or at least, mostly severed.
Klein frowned slightly, his mind working.
There's a reason I need to take boons from this instead of directly from the Castle.
The Sephirah Castle was capable of offering boons on its own—he knew this. But something told him that taking them from the notebook first held some significance.
Was it a way to limit outside interference? A method to hide his growth from prying eyes?
Or was there something more?
Klein shook his head.
I shouldn't think too deeply about this yet.
He turned his attention back to the notebook, with his cautious nature, he wouldn't just leave it as is. Even with its connection to Antigonus weakened, it was still an artifact of unknown risks.
Which meant it needed to be properly contained.
Using the sephirah castle to enhance his memory, he summoned all his knowledge of the Door pathway, and willed a box into existence.
It appeared before him—a sturdy, black container, inscribed with complicated sigils and symbols belonging to the door domain.
The inscriptions glowed faintly, forming a barrier designed to seal, isolate, and suppress.
He carefully placed the notebook inside and shut the box, locking it within layers of containment.
Even if Antigonus still had a connection here, this box would ensure that nothing else could slip through. Well, not without alerting him, and even then, it would take a considerable amount of time and effort to break it free.
Satisfied, Klein took a final glance at the sealed object.
One less unpredictable factor to worry about.
With that, he allowed his consciousness to fade from the space above the gray fog. There was still one more thing to do.
As soon as he left the space, he didn't waste any time chanting again before the lit candle that had only melted a quarter.
"The Fool that doesn't belong to this era,"
"You are the mysterious ruler above the gray fog,"
"You are the King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck."
"Your devoted servant prays for your attention,"
"I pray for you to open the gates to your Kingdom."
"I pray for you to give me the power of a Seer."
Feeling the air steer again, Klein again, awkwardly entered sephirah castle to answer his prayer.
'These really aren't suitable conditions for a deity to work in.' he sighed as gray fog greeted him again.
The boundless gray fog surrounded him, stretching endlessly in all directions. The ancient bronze table stood before him, its surface gleaming under the phantom glow of unseen crimson constellations.
Klein felt the weight of the Antigonus notebook in his left hand, as he summoned it from the seal it was in. Its black hardcover, cold and dense, thrumming with a spirituality that hadn't completely faded.
A live connection to the memories of the 2nd epoch Angel, son of the Ancient God Flegrea— Antigonus.
He inhaled and mobilized the power of the Sephirah Castle, letting it shroud the notebook in layers. He wanted to borrow the power of the notebook to answer the prayer, using himself and the gray fog as the conduit and means to facilitate this.
The moment he did, dense spirituality flowed out of the book in his left hand, rippling across through his being like an invisible current to his right hand pointed at the small, incorporeal door of summoning he had just manifested from the excess spirituality he had just borrowed, the faint outline flickering before him like a mirage.
It wasn't fully stable yet.
But it would be.
A pulse of spirituality surged from him, drawn not from his own reserves, but from the notebook's.
The gray fog quivered. The door trembled.
Then—
A minute gap cracked open in its center.
The moment it did, every ounce of accumulated power from his right hand exploded outward, rushing to where his physical body was like a river breaking through a dam.
Klein didn't waste anymore time as he canceled his connection as soon as the Antigonus book was secured in its sealing box.
And he awoke.
A sharp rush of clarity filled his mind.
It wasn't overwhelming. It wasn't painful.
It was… natural.
Like a puzzle piece clicking back into place, a missing instinct returning home.
He exhaled, feeling the shift within himself. The murmurs that came with it, and the knowledge of what his sequence entailed.
He… was a Seer again.
And yet— His body lacked a Beyonder characteristic of a seer.
When praying for boons, mid to low sequence boons often carried inadequate spirituality to significantly affect the recipient beyonder. This was why boons were dangerous at high sequence with the risk of completely overriding the recipient.
There was never a need to digest boons because they contain the digestion and spirituality of the one who gave the boon, and to some degree, because they lacked beyonder characteristics. Boons were a constant stream of spirituality from the source for replenishment.
By isolating the notebook in sephirah castle, and using it as the conduit, Klein didn't need to worry about Antigonus' influence.
It had stripped away any lingering consciousness attached to the power. It was, in a way… pure.
This was a method not unlike what the people of the West Continent used after countless years of trial and error. A bit modified to suit his needs.
A smirk tugged at Klein's lips, as he felt his spirituality churn, and the maxim he summarized as a seer resurfaced again one after another. His own experience as a seer tainting the spirituality with his own signature.
"A Seer possesses reverence toward fate."
"Help others interpret revelations and guide them in a better direction; yet constantly maintain one's fear and respect towards fate. One cannot be too egoistical, too proud, or blindly believe one's interpretations."
"Divination isn't all-powerful."
Taking a deep breath, he felt his spirituality stabilized and expanded. In the same manner one would feel after fully digesting a potion.
Klein blinked, his senses adjusting as he found himself back in the carriage.
The candle had melted halfway, wax pooling onto the leather seat.
…Right.
Cleaning.
He sighed, rubbing his temples.
"At least the driver didn't decide to stop and walk in on this mess."
With practiced efficiency, he grabbed a handkerchief and began scrubbing away the evidence before the carriage reached its destination.
After all—
The last thing he needed was to be known as "that weird guy who does creepy rituals in private carriages."
He now knew he had enough spirituality to add one more person to the tarot club as well as necessary requirements to start creating charms. He would need to get a Secret Suppliant characteristics as soon as possible, and he knew exactly where to get it. Sirius Arapis on 19 Howes street.
Both he and Hanass Vincent were members of Aurore Order responsible for the Antigonus notebook fiasco as well as Lanevus'. He would need to deal with them one after the other.
If he could create a traveller charm, and divine the location of Sirius, he would be able to secure the Beyonder Characteristics. Sirius was a 50 year old man who would offer the least amount of resistance.
'I still need something to throw off any investigations, and I don't have Mr. Azik's copper whistle at the moment. Hmm…' Suddenly he remember the second copper whistle he used to have, one currently in the hands of Mr. Kapusky Reid, North Borough.
Guess that's my first stop followed by one to Sirius' house. First I need to wait till all this has blown off and the Nighthawks don't suspect me enough to constantly monitor me.
The carriage rolled to a stop, its wheels creaking against the damp cobblestone street, having reached its destination.
Klein sighed internally before reaching into his pocket. He pulled out 6 pence, staring at them as if it were a beloved children he had to give away in a cruel twist of fate.
With a bleeding heart, he handed the money over.
The driver grunted in appreciation, tipping his hat before flicking the reins and steering the carriage away.
Klein stood there for a moment, watching his hard-earned savings disappear into the distance, before rubbing his temples and heading upstairs.
His lips twitched into a self-deprecating smile.
"How am I supposed to explain a missing soli note to Melissa?" All that much money used on a private carriage was practically an act of financial treason in the Moretti household.
'Maybe I should tell her I accidentally lost it in a tragic, unforeseen event… like a Maybe I should tell her I accidentally lost it in a tragic, unforeseen event… like a robbery… or spontaneous combustion…'
The thought amused him, but he knew Melissa wouldn't buy it.
'I'll have to find a way to earn it back… preferably before she starts suspecting I've developed an addiction to gambling.'
About thirty minutes after his return, a sharp knock echoed through the door.
Klein barely had time to brace himself before opening it to reveal four policemen in black and white checkered uniform standing in the hallway.
"Mr. Moretti?" one of them asked, his voice professional but indifferent.
Klein put on a confused expression, as if he wasn't expecting them. "Yes? Can I help you?"
The officer's gaze lingered on him for a moment, likely checking for any signs of guilt or nervousness. "We're here to ask a few questions regarding the incident last night at Mr. Welch's residence."
Klein's heart remained steady, his mind already working through the scenario. He invited them in, as a show of hospitality with nothing to hide.
No gun. No diary. No immediate evidence to incriminate him.
"Incident?" he repeated, feigning uncertainty.
The officer's eyes narrowed slightly. "Mr. Welch and Miss Naya were found dead in his home this morning."
Klein's eyes widened, his face a picture of genuine shock—or at least, a very convincing imitation.
The second officer, who had remained silent until now, spoke. "We were told you visited them last night. Can you recall what happened?"
Klein furrowed his brows, as if struggling to piece together vague, drunken memories. "I… I don't really remember much. I know I went to Welch's place. We were deciphering a book from the Fourth Epoch, and I left them still at it when night arrived. Nothing seemed wrong with any of them when I left."
A harmless answer. Previously, no one had been able to realize Ray Bieber was the one who had it, or that he was the one who took it there.
"Did you find any suspect for who murdered them?" He asked passionately.
The first officer scribbled something in his notebook, likely noting Klein's lack of clear memory.
Klein answered all their questions until they reached a point of repeating themselves.
After a moment of silence, the first officer cleared his throat. "Right. Well… given the circumstances, we're advising you not to leave town for the time being. You'll be considered a suspect and hunted down if you do."
"Understood," Klein said with a weak nod.
The officers lingered for a second longer before stepping away.
Klein watched them go, his face carefully neutral.
Then, once the door clicked shut, he shrugged and turned back inside.
"Well, that went well."
The dining table was quiet, save for the soft clinking of utensils against porcelain. The meal had been simple—mutton, peas, and potatoes—but satisfying. The comforting aroma of the dish still lingered in the air, wrapping the small apartment in warmth.
Melissa finished the last bite of her portion, setting her fork down with perfectly practiced etiquette. But just as she opened her mouth to speak—
Burp.
A faint, barely audible hiccup escaped her lips.
Melissa froze, her eyes widening in horror, cheeks flushing crimson.
Klein, who had been about to take another bite, paused, watching his sister with barely contained amusement.
The proper, ever-serious Melissa Moretti—reduced to an embarrassed silence by a simple burp.
He couldn't help it—a chuckle slipped past his lips.
Melissa snapped her head toward him, looking as if she had been personally betrayed.
"I-It was the mutton!" she defended immediately, folding her arms and looking away.
Klein grinned, leaning back slightly. "Of course," he said magnanimously, "I believe you."
She huffed, clearly unconvinced.
For a moment, the atmosphere remained lighthearted, a rare instance of normalcy in Klein's increasingly abnormal life.
But then, as his gaze rested on his sister, his thoughts drifted.
In another life, she had been dragged into the world of Beyonders far too late. She and Benson needed to have the strength to defend themselves at the very least, in line with their jobs and personalities.
Benson would still become an accountant via Ms. Justice's implied regime and Melissa tinkering in her own workshop.
This time…
This time, they would have mysticism on their side.
He took a breath, then, seemingly casual, he asked, "Melissa, what do you think about mysticism?"
Melissa blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic.
She frowned slightly, considering his words before answering with her usual pragmatic certainty.
"I don't think there's anything that can't be explained in this world," she said seriously. "Anything that seems unexplainable is due to the fact that the knowledge we have grasped is insufficient."
Klein tilted his head, watching her with amusement.
Ah, exactly as expected.
"Interesting answer," he mused. "Hold on a moment. Bring me a ruler and a piece of paper."
Melissa, though confused, obliged, getting up to fetch the items. She returned shortly, placing them in front of him with a questioning look.
Klein picked up the ruler and ran it over his hair, the motion smooth and deliberate. After a few strokes, he carefully brought the ruler close to the paper.
Slowly—almost mystically—the paper lifted toward it.
Melissa's eyebrows raised.
Klein smiled. "See? Mysticism is real."
Melissa gave him a flat stare. "Klein, that's a very common trick, everyone in middle school knows about it."
"Exactly!" Klein snapped his fingers, looking positively delighted. "And this, my dear sister, is a magic trick written by Emperor Roselle himself!"
Melissa's expression remained unchanged.
"A magic trick called 'Static electricity', perfectly explainable and talked about." She deadpanned, unamused.
"Alright, alright," he said, setting the ruler down. "Then let's talk about why it works."
Melissa crossed her arms but didn't object.
Klein smiled as he asked why it works only for some materials but not others. Why can magnets spinning on a copper coil generate more of it and what ways could be used to generate more.
Melissa, despite her earlier reluctance, slowly became engrossed in the conversation, her natural curiosity taking over, as she answered them as much as she could.
Electricity was still a budding concept, not as widespread as Steam because it lacked means and equipments to fully manifest it.
And also, mystical related symbolisms playing a major role in slowing down its development.
However, he could nurture Melissa with one of his gold coin and his knowledge of pre-epoch to speed it up alongside her paragon abilities.
This was also a way to make the Moretti household reach an adequate level to sustain themselves.
Klein watched her carefully.
He would introduce her to the world of Beyonders sooner than before—properly, carefully, and with all the knowledge she needed.
By the time the night had deepened, both Moretti sibling were tired, one seeming excited but also frowning in disbelief whenever she looked at her brother and Klein happy with himself. Their talk had reached a point of how to create a wet battery.
Both worked to clear the table and plates before they bid each other good night.
Klein blinked.
The room was silent, the soft glow of the gas lamp flickering faintly against the walls.
Yet—something felt off.
A feeling of detachment, like watching reality through a distorted lens.
Then—knocking.
A rhythmic, deliberate rap against the door.
Klein turned his head sharply, the movement feeling unnaturally slow, as if the very air had thickened around him.
He knew this scene.
And in that moment, he realized—
"I'm in a dream."
His feet moved forward on their own, drawn to the door as if by an unseen force.
His fingers curled around the handle, as the door swung open.
Standing before him was a tall man dressed in black, his sharp features partially shadowed beneath the brim of a wide hat. His receding hairline was mostly concealed, but Klein knew exactly who he was.
Dunn Smith.
His gray eyes held the same deep calmness as always, but in this dreamscape, they seemed heavier, weighed down by something unseen.
Klein swallowed, forcing an easy smile onto his lips, and for a brief moment, he had almost called out "Captain"
"Inspector," he greeted, his voice carrying a dreamlike lilt. "What is it this time? Didn't you already leave?"
"I just have more questions." Dunn's gaze remained steady, studying him. "Are you aware that you visited Mr. Welch's place last night?"
Klein's smile didn't waver. "I do recall that," he said, tilting his head slightly. "We were studying a notebook about the Fourth Epoch. I left before we finished deciphering it. I wasn't feeling well."
Silence stretched between them.
Dunn's expression didn't change, but Klein knew—he was being observed, evaluated for every hint of deception or omission.
"Do you have Welch's revolver?" Dunn asked. "Or the notebook?"
Klein frowned and shook his head. "I don't have either of those."
His expression turned curious, his tone still carrying the hazy detachment of a dreamer.
"But… why are you looking for the revolver?" he mused aloud. "The police said Mr. Welch and Ms. Naya died by hanging and drowning, didn't they? A gun isn't really relevant to that."
His gaze sharpened slightly. "And why the notebook? Could it have something to do with their deaths?"
Dunn remained unreadable, standing tall in the dim light of the hallway.
"I don't know yet," he said simply.
Klein let the silence linger before signing as he shook his head, his expression shifting into something somber—as if he were only half in control of himself, as if the dream itself was shaping his words. "I feel so bad for them, they were both good people. They even chose to include me in their project. Are you sure they killed themselves and the preparator didn't just force them to seem like they committed suicide."
He asked despite knowing they had likely performed divination for confirmation.
"No, they weren't murdered. Its like we said earlier, they did commit suicide."
After a few more brief, measured questions about the contents of the notebook, Dunn finally gave a small nod.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his figure fading into the gray mist that had begun seeping into the edges of the dream.
Klein remained standing in the doorway, before closing the door, and the dream-like state vanished.
Then—he woke up.
Lying in his bed, he stared up at the ceiling, his mind clicking into place immediately.
He had deviated from his past life's script—this time, he had not claimed to lose his memory.
Which meant—
There was no need for Dunn to ask him to revisit Mr. Welch's house in his dream. No reason to pay Madam Daly a visit to perform a deeper investigation.
And more importantly—their attempts to divine the whereabouts of the gun and the notebook would fail.
The gray fog would render their results useless, blocking all traces of his involvement.
A dead wall.
A small, satisfied smile tugged at his lips.
With this, the entire scenario involving Ray Bieber and the Antigonus Notebook was almost entirely dealt with.
'Will the Secret Order member still come to search for it?' He remembered the mysterious bugglar who visited his house searching for someone, as well as the suited clown.
'I need to increase my sequence fast, and I also need to find an excuse to have Melissa and Benson move to Backlund. But first, he needs to find a way to connect Dunn or Daly with the Fool and Tarot club. Since he couldnt be a member of the Nighthawk, he would need to find a way to warn Captain about Old Neil and Lavenus' plans as well as Ince Zangwill.
No, it would be better to deal with Ince Zangwill much sooner. Maybe he could ask Mr. Azik's help this time.
"There are consequences to this, changing everything so much. But I can't let things pan out as they did before or it will all be for nothing." The previous future/past ended up in utter failure, and following it for safety reasons seemed foolish and naive.
They needed to win this time.
Notes: