Nysa pondered Yaen's words, thanking the gods that her mission didn't involve dealing with Eidolons.
"I wish you luck on that particular problem," she said. "My aid ends the day of the assault, per our contract. I am not equipped nor bound to fight Nightmare-class Eidolons."
"It's fortunate that no one is asking you to do such a thing, then," Yaen replied. "The matter of Archangels is to be handled by the Mekkubal Order. Luckily, hunting them happens to be our specialty."
He grinned. "You've helped more than enough by providing us with the location of their transitional base. Trap or not, we've learned a lot, and this will allow our subsequent assault to proceed smoothly—on the agreed date, of course. Still, there are a few details we need to clarify beforehand."
"Details?" Nysa stiffened. "What more is there to discuss?"
"I believe Master Yannai has asked you whether you belonged to the Court of Shadows. Your answer was a negative one. Falsehoods will never deceive an Alchemist, so I shall trust my Teacher on that account."
"Nonetheless, I'm curious about the identity of your employer. Practitioners of the Night Sorceries are a rare enough sight outside the gloomy castles of Noxatra, let alone beyond the frontiers of Sethia."
"That information shouldn't be necessary for your goal," Nysa coldly replied.
"That's where you're mistaken," Nave intervened. "The presence of letters written in Zuhor indicates a certain level of cooperation between Qeharmenod and the Henosis Seekers. The problem is—"
"—that Qeharmenod is supposed to be our ally," Ilana cut him off mid-sentence. "We only established bases in Hierapetra because they had informed us of the Henosis Seekers' activities here. We know that the Goddess of Secrets is shifty at best, but it's not in our nature to ignore the existence of those rabid zealots."
"The initial plan was to establish ourselves carefully before taking out the Henosis Seekers so as to not fall into one of her devious plots," Yaen added.
"But your arrival, Lady Quinctillia, shook things up quite a bit. Yesterday's incident has the Temple of Stars on edge, and they won't hesitate to respond violently to any further disturbance. If the Goddess of Secrets is responsible for sparking this stir, I'd rather not be puppeteered under Her whims."
Nysa smiled for the first time, though it was lifeless. "I do not work for the Queen of the Mallacht."
"A counter-example would be more convincing," Yaen said, his blue eye sizing Nysa with an increased frigidness.
Nysa sighed. She undid her wraps, lowering her tunic down to her left breast, which she partially hid with her hand.
Under Ilana's delighted gaze and the confused stare of the rest, she revealed a peculiar tattoo beneath her bosom—three solemn eyes drawn in a triangular formation.
"Mayhaps you understand my hesitancy in revealing my patron's name, now?"
Yaen nodded, seemingly deep in thought. "Quite well. The Veiled Matriach rarely appreciates the echo of her name between closed walls."
Nysa's eyes widened while she was fastening her clothes. "You do not seem to fear death, Yaen Beracha. Few would dare utter her name so openly."
It didn't matter whether they were Occultists, Thaumaturges, high-ranking officials, or members of the Nobilitas—all feared the shadow of the Veiled Matriarch in Sethia, and this infamy extended well beyond the Empire's borders.
"Frequent clashes with death often invite familiarity," Yaen chuckled. "Anyhow, the involvement of the Veiled Matriarch proves one thing."
He looked at the leaders of the various branches in Hierapetra. "I'm afraid we've been caught in a fickle play. As disheartening as it is, we're but mere pawns and the masterminds are already preparing for the grand finale."
"What's the plan, then?" Nave asked.
"Nothing," Yaen declared, visibly unbothered. "All here are aware of our nature. We do not elude self-destruction in our hunt for the Henosis Seekers. Sadly, we were entangled in this ploy the moment we were informed about their presence in Hierapetra. Hence, all that remains is to obliterate them without regard for anything else."
Ilana clapped her hands. "That sounds fun, as always~"
"Now, if there's one consistent thing about the Goddess of Secrets, it's that the rules of her games are fair. When she sets the board, she ensures that each side has equal opportunities. The real problem is finding them through the clues she scatters."
Yaen glanced at Jonam. "Segment XV Jonam. I do hope your rebirth hasn't damaged the memories of your core."
"That won't be an issue, Master Beracha. Is there a memory, in particular, that you wish to revisit?"
"When you reached the upper floor in the Henosis Seekers' headquarters, you told me that a row of Automatons started playing a melody, right? I'd like you to share that specific sequence with everyone here."
Jonam respectfully bowed his head before he spread his arms. Mana coursed through his limbs and gathered atop his palms in bluish strands, dancing like flickering lines of smoke driven by the wind.
Nysa's sight suddenly shifted, and she found herself back at the transitional base, inspecting a pile of unreadable parchments and papyri.
This time, however, she was looking through the eyes of Jonam, and she could neither move nor speak—only listen and observe.
That was probably the result of Jonam's spell. He had shown a similar feat against the Temple of Stars' magi by overloading their minds with knowledge.
She could barely imagine what else such ability might allow him to do. The fact that her wits had been swept away by his magecraft so easily frightened her, especially knowing how deadly it could be if used to nefarious ends.
Dispelling her worries, Nysa focused on the echoing melody within the memory. The longer she listened to it, the more it felt familiar—a disjointed tune at first, it coalesced into a mournful composition that comprised three or four pieces, each particularly distinct.
The sequence stopped after the collapse of the upper floor when the Temple of Stars' magi attacked.
As she came back to her senses, Nysa looked across the table. Nave Shevach was already scribbling something on a piece of papyrus.
"It seems like you found something, Nave," Yaen said.
"Threnody of Departure," Nysa muttered to herself, though everyone else heard.
"Yes, that's it," Nave declared. "It's one of the oldest surviving compositions, dating back to the Year 640 of the Hallowed Calendar."
"Year 640... That's when the War of the Drowned Hopes started. Lichtenhimmel fought Hierapetra over a Celestial Offering born in contested territory," Yaen added. "The composition itself doesn't seem tied to any event in particular."
Geffen finally moved from his corner, speaking in a raspy voice, "This particular piece is oddly popular amongst travelers and merchants. They often pay a lot of coins to minstrels and balladeers who know of it."
"Geffen is right," Nave interjected. "And myths about the Threnody's origins do exist, though they're rarely talked about in these parts of the world."
He stared at his papyrus for a few seconds before resuming, "There are many versions, but the most known one tells the following tale."
Nave loudly cleared his throat. "It is said that a gifted composer once sailed from Lichtenhimmel to the Boreal Continent in search of inspiration for his work."
"It is said that he was charmed by these lands and settled in a lonesome village near a crossing of the three nations."
"It is said that when war broke out between his homeland and Hierapetra, he was ordered to return to Lichtenhimmel."
"It is said that sorrow blinded his thoughts and that he climbed atop the Nameless Sierra to look upon the land one last time."
"It is said that inspiration overtook him and that he composed his last masterpiece amidst the peaks."
"It is said that he wrote the first piece when gazing north, at Valsgarde—the second piece when gazing east, at Sethia, and the third piece when gazing west, at Hierapetra."
"It is said that he glanced south, beyond the Flickering Sea where his homeland lay, and felt his heart throb with sadness."
"It is said that grief gripped his mind and that he took out his own life above the summit as a result."
"It is said that the frozen winds spread his life's greatest works to the three nations—a last gift from the Gods, so that through them, he may still live in his cherished lands."