Noir stood frozen, the heavy silence of the Castle of Fabrications pressing in around him. The swirling grey mist that had briefly been his domain now belonged entirely to the figure at the far end of the table. The Host. He was back, and Noir was alone with him. The magnificent suit, which moments ago had made him feel like a lord, now felt like a costume for a play he hadn't rehearsed.
The Host remained utterly motionless, a silhouette against the impossible crimson moon. His form was a perfect, chilling replica of the last time Noir had seen him – the dark grey suit, the long coat, the cascading black hair. Most terrifyingly, his eyes, though perfectly formed, were utterly devoid of life, fixed directly on Noir, radiating an ancient, unblinking awareness. The silence stretched, becoming unbearable, thick with unspoken purpose.
Noir swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He fought to regain his composure, to recall the pragmatic stoicism that usually anchored him. He was a survivor, a man who had faced unimaginable loss and found a way to smile. But this… this defied all logic, all experience.
"You've returned," Noir finally managed, his voice, even to his own ears, sounded more a statement of bewildered fact than a question. He realized with a jolt that he hadn't even thought to leave. Was he simply trapped here?
The Host's lips remained unnervingly still, yet a deep, resonant voice, the same one that had welcomed Noir to this 'Castle of Fabrications' before, echoed through the vast space. "The Fool's journey often requires... further guidance."
Noir's mind raced. Guidance? Or manipulation? He remembered the card, the absurd freedom, the new beginning. He was a part of it, whether he wanted to be or not.
"What guidance?" Noir demanded, trying to project a semblance of control. "And why haven't I returned like others?"
The Host's lifeless eyes seemed to bore into him. "The threads, Mr. Kagenou, are more intricate than you comprehend. You are connected. Your existence here, your role, is woven into the very fabric of this new reality. And the game, as I said, has only just begun."
He paused, and the air seemed to hum with unseen energy. "You have taken on a mantle, Mr. Kagenou. The Fool. A name laden with both innocence and profound potential. And now, your path requires its first true step."
The crimson moon behind the Host pulsed, casting deeper, more ominous shadows. Noir felt a strange pull, a sense of an invisible current drawing him deeper into this impossible encounter.
Noir's mind spun with the Host's enigmatic declaration. His first true step. The words hung in the air, heavy with implied destiny. He stared at the motionless figure, unable to discern any expression from the lifeless eyes.
"Who are you, actually?" Noir demanded, the question escaping him before he could censor it. His pragmatism, his need for clear answers, surfaced despite the overwhelming strangeness. "And why was I chosen for this? Why me?"
The Host's lips remained still, yet the deep, resonant voice filled the vast space. "Me? I'm just a vagabond, seeking absurdness to its finest. It isn't me who has chosen you. It is you yourself, Mr. Kagenou, who has fooled you."
A chill snaked up Noir's spine. His own internal moniker, "The Fool," now echoed back at him from this impossible entity. He, Noir Kagenou, who had always prided himself on his keen intellect and unwavering control, had been 'fooled' by himself? The thought was jarring, deeply unsettling.
The Host continued, his voice a low, insistent hum that seemed to resonate within Noir's very bones. "Tell me, Mr. Kagenou. What does a liar do after death?"
The question struck Noir with the force of a physical blow. He paused, his mind reeling, pulled back to the deepest, most concealed parts of his past. The silence in the Castle stretched, amplifying the unspoken weight of the query. The crimson moon above seemed to pulsate, its eerie light illuminating the Host's unmoving form. Noir, for all his composure, felt a tremor run through him. This was not a casual question; it was a probe into the very core of his being, a challenge to his self-perception.
"It lies still," Noir replied, his voice barely a whisper, yet firm with a profound, stark realization. "The liar keeps lying, even in the hands of his demise." The words, his own, resonated with a chilling, self-inflicted truth.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched the Host's lips, a terrifyingly human expression on that otherwise inanimate face. "Indeed," the voice boomed, resonating with a chilling finality.
"You seek the truth, Mr. Kagenou, the mysteries hidden in past of this world?"
...
"The unknown is where we go to find what we do not know, and our explorations often lead us to creations that were never meant to be there."
As the Host finished speaking, the crimson moon above them flickered, its light dimming rapidly. The grand table, the ornate pillars, the very fabric of the Castle of Fabrications began to shimmer, to lose their solidity, dissolving into the swirling grey mist. The air grew thin, the metallic tang fading, replaced by the faint, familiar scent of old paper. The oppressive silence shattered, replaced by the mundane sounds of a quiet house.
In an instant, the grey mists vanished. Noir found himself back in Alder's room, sitting at the desk, the gas lamp casting its steady, familiar glow. The books and papers were undisturbed, the ancient ritual parchment still clutched in his hand. The magnificent dark grey suit was gone, replaced by the linen shirt he had been wearing before the latest, terrifying transition. It was as if no time had passed, as if the entire encounter had been nothing more than a vivid, disturbing dream.
He was back. But something fundamental had shifted within him. The great lie had truly begun, and he, Noir Kagenou, the self-proclaimed master of control, was now face-to-face with the deepest, most unsettling truths about himself. And he was utterly, irrevocably, alone in this new reality.
With a weary sigh, Noir placed the parchment back on the desk. His mind was a tempest of questions and unsettling truths. He walked to the bed, its heavy frame a silent sentinel in the dim room, and lay down, pulling the covers over himself. Sleep, however, was a distant, elusive dream. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Host's lifeless gaze, felt the chilling resonance of his voice, heard the whispered words of the ritual. The fragmented memories of Alder, the new details of this world, the looming specter of a university class tomorrow – it all swirled together in a chaotic maelstrom.
He tossed and turned, the soft mattress offering no comfort against the turmoil in his mind. The subtle creaks of the old house, the distant sounds of the city, all contributed to his restless state. He yearned for the profound, dreamless sleep that had once been his escape. But tonight, there would be no such escape. Every shadow in the room seemed to hold a secret, every silence a lingering echo of the Host's words.
Eventually, hours later, as the deep indigo of the night sky began to soften with the first hint of dawn, exhaustion finally claimed him. Noir fell into a fitful, shallow sleep, plagued by fleeting, confusing images.
...
A gentle rapping on the door pulled him from the edge of sleep. Then, a familiar, cheerful voice, muffled but clear, called out.
"Alder? Are you awake? It's almost time for university! You don't want to be late for Professor Armitage's lecture, do you?"
It was Grace. Her voice, bright and insistent, cut through the last vestiges of his uneasy slumber. Noir groaned, pushing himself up, his mind still groggy and heavy with the weight of the previous night's revelations. Tomorrow had arrived. Saturday. University. His first true test in this absurd new reality, he had to be Alder. And the game, it seemed, was truly afoot.
He stumbled out of bed, the plush carpet feeling oddly soft beneath his feet. The room, still dim, slowly gained definition as his eyes adjusted. He made his way to the small, attached bathroom, the familiar motions of drawing a bath and getting dressed offering a fleeting sense of normalcy. He chose a simple, dark trousers and a crisp, light-colored shirt, the mundane act a stark contrast to the existential dread simmering beneath his calm exterior.
Just as he finished buttoning his cuffs, Grace's voice called again, closer this time. "Breakfast is ready, Alder! Don't dawdle!"
He took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare himself for the day. Act natural. Be Alder. He descended the stairs, the scent of fresh bread and brewing tea guiding him to the small, cozy dining area. Grace was already seated, pouring tea into two cups.
"Morning, sleepyhead," she greeted, a teasing smile on her face. "Almost thought you'd sleep through your first Saturday class."
Noir managed a small, somewhat stiff smile. "Rough night, I suppose." He sat down, accepting the plate of buttered toast and eggs she offered. The food, simple as it was, tasted good.
"You've been a bit quiet lately," Grace observed, her tone softening with a touch of sisterly concern. "Everything alright with your studies?"
He nodded, taking a bite of toast. "Just… absorbing a lot of new material. History can be quite dense, you know." It was a convenient excuse.
Grace chuckled. "Tell me about it. Machinery diagrams aren't exactly light reading either. Remember to finish that essay for Professor Thompson. He's a stickler for deadlines."
Noir simply hummed in agreement, his mind already drifting to the challenge ahead. He finished his breakfast quickly, the conversation simple, mundane, and utterly disconnected from the parallel reality of castles and cryptic hosts.
"Well, I'm off then," Grace said, rising from the table. "Don't forget your books!"
"Right," Noir replied, making sure to grab Alder's satchel from the coat rack by the door.
With a final nod to Grace, Noir stepped out of the house. The cool morning air of the Croele Kingdom brushed against his face, a tangible reminder of his new reality. He looked up at the sky, the familiar sun of his old world replaced by a new, strange luminescence. The street was already bustling with early morning activity. He took a deep breath, adjusted the satchel on his shoulder, and began the walk to the University of the Church of God of Knowledge, his first day as Alder Wilson truly beginning.
...
As Noir walked, his thoughts drifted to the world around him, piecing together the information he'd gathered from Alder's books and his own fragmented memories. The concept of the seven-day week, each day dedicated to a separate deity, felt particularly pervasive.
He mentally recited the calendar he'd learned: Monday for Earth Mother, Tuesday for the God of Combat, Wednesday for God of Knowledge and Wisdom, Thursday for the Lord of Storms, Friday for Goddess of Fortune, Saturday for God of Advancements, Sunday for Eternal Blazing Sun. Today was Saturday, the day of the God of Advancements. A fitting day, perhaps, for a world entering the Era of Machinery, and for him to begin navigating this strange new path.
He also recalled the distribution of power among the four major kingdoms, each intertwined with their dominant churches, scattered across this singular landmass. The Croele Kingdom, his current home, was located in the south-east, proudly hosting the Church of God of Knowledge and Wisdom (which ran his university) and the Church of God of Advancements (where Grace studied). To the south-west, the Sylvan Kingdom was the heartland of the Church of Earth Mother, a place of nature and ancient reverence. Further to the north-east, the Habsburg Kingdom held dominion over the Church of Eternal Blazing Sun and the Church of the Lord of Storms. And finally, in the north-west, the Aural Kingdom was home to the Church of the God of Combat and the Church of Goddess of Fortune.
He considered the implications of this religiously organized world. His own experience had taught him that power, wherever it resided, demanded respect. These churches weren't just spiritual bodies; they were institutions of immense influence, shaping education, technology, and perhaps even the very course of destiny. The thought of the "luck increasing ritual" from Alder's desk, tied to such powerful, seemingly real deities, sent a shiver through him.
He was Noir Kagenou, a man of logic and reason from a world where gods were myths. Yet, here he was, in a body named Alder Wilson, walking through a city powered by steam, on a day dedicated to a God of Advancements, on his way to a church-run university. The absurdity was palpable, but so was the reality. He was truly a "Fool," stepping into a world where everything he knew, or thought he knew, was challenged. The task ahead wasn't just about passing a class; it was about understanding, surviving, and perhaps, somehow, finding his place in this grand, strange fabrication.