"I am... a Celestial Offering."
With that realization, Laemno immediately started pacing around in hurried steps.
What do I do? Am I destined to suffer an early death no matter the world I end up in? Did the real Laemno kill himself because he knew he was going to be sacrificed anyway? No, wait.
Laemno stopped for a moment, his slender fingers reaching for his chin as he pondered about his situation.
Most likely, his suicide is related to something else. According to his memories, he was educated—no, brainwashed since his early childhood. He was ready to offer himself for the Kingdom if it meant salvation for humankind. Hence, the matters of the Sacrificial Ceremony and his untimely demise are entirely separate.
Laemno glanced at the piece of papyrus caught between knots of his white tunic, frowning deeper and deeper the more he read the two sentences it contained.
Everything is meaningless.
It ends at twenty.
On second thought... they might not be disconnected. Laemno approached the floor-to-ceiling window, casting his silvery gaze at the seven-pointed star shining next to the pitch-black moon.
The Sacrificial Ceremony has very specific conditions. The Celestial Offering must be killed the day the seven-pointed star reaches its zenith. Why is it the case, I wonder? Tradition, perhaps? Anyway, the ritual won't work if the Celestial Offering is killed before or after that particular date.
His dark gray hand touched the cold glass, its triangular stigmata reflecting the chandelier's starry lights.
Maybe someone tried to obstruct the Sacrificial Ceremony by killing Laemno ahead of time, thus ensuring that it wouldn't be held. If that's true, then I am already in danger.
He looked down on the Divine Capital, seeing gray lights swirl across the white-and-silver spires. Judging by the height, the building he was in was located on top of a hill, making it visible from any part of the city.
Due to their cultural importance, I can assume that Celestial Offerings are heavily protected. The city is sure to respond aggressively if someone kills them before the due date, meaning the would-be "killer" used a method that wasn't easily detectable and didn't put him in danger.
Laemno briefly glanced at the tray of hemlock fruits before lowering his gaze toward the triangular mirror.
The actual weapon of the crime would be this, not the hemlock. Someone from Laemno's entourage discreetly gave him this mirror, then somehow led him to ask a particular question—one whose answer would mentally destabilize the eleven-year-old boy enough to commit suicide. If that's the case, he must have known him very well... A friend?
He sighed, putting the triangular mirror on the silvery marble table. "This is troublesome."
Since his first attempt failed, the "killer" will surely be more proactive next time. The Sacrificial Ceremony is supposed to take place in the year 1911 of the Hallowed Calendar, effectively meaning this year if that silver tablet is correct. From the real Laemno's memories, I know that this world, or at least this Kingdom, uses the same twelve-month system as the one back on Earth.
Laemno found an ornate writing set on a small white table beside his bed, took the stylus from the pen holder, and dipped it into an inkwell. He then began scribbling his thoughts on the back page of his book, using it as a way to garner his full focus.
It has been roughly a week since the Thilykos Rites. If Laemno's memories are correct, it's a secret festival held by women to worship the Hallowed Sovereign of Hierapetra, which takes place on the first day of December. It means we're the 8th—no, the 9th if we count tonight. Only 22 days remain before the new year, so the exact date of the Sacrificial Ceremony will be announced very soon.
At most, I'll have three weeks before I'm officially sacrificed. Until then, I'll have to come up with a way to save myself but also evade the assassination attempts of this would-be "killer." I don't care that much about returning to Earth, and I still barely know anything about this world, but there's one thing I'm sure of—I don't want to die anytime soon.
Laemno scurried to the bookcase, grabbing a relatively thin tome from an isolated corner. It was dark brown with a golden title that read Records of Sacrificial Ceremonies. He walked back to the silvery table, opened the booklet to his left, and skimmed through its content while jotting down his thoughts.
It's interesting that two Celestial Offerings never appeared at the same time in the seven nations' history. There seems to be one Sacrificial Ceremony per century, with only the nation that got ahold of a Celestial Offering having the right to hold the ritual. In two thousand years of history, Hierapetra only successfully accomplished three Sacrificial Ceremonies, with me supposedly being the fourth.
If I follow these records, most Celestial Offerings are sacrificed between fourteen and sixteen years old. Am I supposed to be the exception, about to be sacrificed only at eleven years old? Furthermore, the seven-pointed star always appears ten-to-fourteen days before the due date of the ritual. It's consistent across the nineteen recorded cases of Sacrificial Ceremonies throughout the seven nations.
The seven-pointed star appeared two days ago, meaning I have between eight and twelve days to devise a plan. I'll have less than two weeks to completely recover the real Laemno's fragmented memories, dodge the murder attempts of an unknown assassin, and find a way out of this ceremony without dying.
Laemno massaged his temples, already feeling the strain of his problems piling up. He dipped his stylus in the inkwell again before resuming his scribbling.
As far as I'm concerned, there are three silver linings. First, everyone still thinks of me as an innocent, brainwashed eleven-year-old. I'm under the wing of Hierapetra's religious instances—the Temple of Stars. They're confident in their brainwashing, allowing me significant freedom of movement so long as I don't break specific rules. This will greatly help me explore viable escape routes.
Second, the real Laemno has had no contact with the public. Or, to be more precise, no one knows what I look like. In Hierapetra, in particular, it's viewed as a sign of ill-omen to see the Celestial Offering before the day of the Sacrificial Ceremony. Assuming I manage to flee before my public appearance, subsequent searches for me will be very difficult. That's very good if I choose to hide.
Third, I only hold some importance up-to-the day of the Sacrificial Ceremony. Passed that dreadful period, the ritual won't be viable anymore, so there'll be no point in searching for me. Surviving that date basically means freedom, though I'll have to leave the country just in case. It's a religious practice; hence zealous retaliation due to its unfulfillment is very likely, and I'd rather not get lynched.
Laemno briefly cast his gaze to the triangular mirror, where streaks of pitch-black ink still formed the same sentences in Heriperan.
Of course, I also have the option of using this mirror. If it's the kind of object I'm thinking of, it will answer any question with truth in exchange for a blood payment. Should I ask it for a way to escape my situation, it's very likely to give me some helpful info, however...
He recalled that monstrous eye and the shadowy hand slamming its way out of the cracked table mirror. Shivers spread across his back and limbs.
I'm not sure of the danger it holds. An object that powerful must have some form of equivalent negative effect, right? The real Laemno's memories have almost no information about magecraft other than his vague awareness of its existence. Moreover, the Temple of Stars seems to be constantly suppressing any signs of it from the public, hinting that it's either dangerous or a jealously-guarded secret that would only bring problems.
What's frustrating is that I'm utterly unable to grasp any recollection of what happened right before the suicide attempt. Even matters directly related to it, like who gave the mirror to the real Laemno or led him to ask the "question" that would drive him to despair, are completely blurred. My only clues are two vague sentences, and that's not enough for me to reach a conclusion.
Laemno released another heavy sigh, rapping the marble table with his finger.
Passively waiting for answers is a big no-no. Until I'm sure I won't be targeted for simply existing, I'll keep learning about this world and stimulating more of my fragmented memory. Fortunately, the assassin seemed somewhat confident in his attempt if he parted with that triangular mirror. Seeing me alive should elicit some sort of reaction from him or at least placate him for a few days—the bare minimum for me to amass enough knowledge.
After nodding to himself, Laemno put away his writing set, tore out the scribbled pages of papyrus, and found an alight candle to burn them. Then, he threw the hemlock fruits through the windows and hid the cracked table mirror underneath his bed.
He couldn't leave a single trace that would make people suspect him, much less know that he wasn't the same naïve eleven-year-old boy. To ensure his survival, he would play his act and wait for the most opportune moment.
He still didn't know what to really think about his transmigration to another world and his new life, but one thing was sure:
He wasn't going to waste it!