16:50
Fort and Ignis boarded a horse-drawn carriage that trundled slowly along the cobblestone streets, still bustling with life despite the encroaching evening. A cool breeze began to sweep through the narrow alleys between the old, weathered buildings, while the sky above shifted from the soft hues of dusk to deeper shades of purple and amber. The city seemed unaware of the approaching darkness, its pulse steady and unrelenting.
Peering out the window, Fort observed clusters of people gathered on the sidewalks, speaking in hushed tones, as if concealing secrets from the world around them. Not far from them, an elderly woman moved slowly, her steps heavy with the weight of time, barely noticeable in the fading light.
Fort rested his chin on his hand, his thoughts swirling like the shadows outside. He began to reflect on the dangers he had faced since arriving in this world, each one more harrowing than the last.
His first thought was of Madam Mourch—an elusive figure who had vanished without a trace. She had escaped capture from the very first day, slipping through their fingers like smoke. Fort doubted she would ever dare show herself again, but the thought of her still gnawed at him. A knot of unease tightened in his chest.
Next, his mind wandered to Mr. Aries, a man who had transformed before his very eyes into something grotesque—a creature with eight legs, neither man nor beast, a sight that had haunted his nights with nightmares he couldn't escape.
And then there was the illusion—a fearsome attack, one that blurred the lines between reality and nightmare. It wasn't just mental; it could wound the body, make the unimaginable painfully real.
As these thoughts churned within him, Fort raised his head and muttered under his breath, "Can I survive?"
The weight of his situation bore down on him. Every danger he had encountered seemed insurmountable, and yet, the thought of leaving the Pioneers carried its own set of risks. Leaving now would mean venturing into an unknown world without support, where supernatural threats lurked in every shadow. The physical dangers alone were daunting, but the unseen ones were worse.
Within the Pioneers, he had some measure of protection—others to stand by his side, to share the burden. But if he left, who would be there to help him when the inevitable dangers came? Who could he rely on when the world turned its back?
His thoughts drifted to the Void—a shadowy, ancient organization, older than he could imagine, with power that ran deep through the city's underbelly. How could he ever hope to stop them? They were an invisible force, lurking in the cracks of the world, manipulating from behind the scenes. The more Fort thought about them, the more impossible the task felt.
His mind was still spinning when the carriage finally slowed to a stop.
Ignis, silent and composed as ever, was the first to step out. Fort followed, his boots making a soft thud on the cobblestones as he disembarked. Ignis paid the driver three silver coins with a nod, the clink of the coins seeming unusually loud in the growing quiet of the evening.
Fort walking behind Ignis to hide from the creepy doll he doesn't like, they made their way toward the North Gate, the air growing cooler, and the shadows lengthening as the last light of day slipped beneath the horizon.
Fort stared at the empty guard post, his face marked by confusion. The post stood eerily vacant, with no sign of life.
(Where is the doll?) he wondered, his eyes scanning the silent space.
He cautiously approached the post, his boots making muted thuds against the stone floor. A cold draft swept through the room, carrying a faint, unsettling scent. Just beyond the post, a worn wooden door stood, barely noticeable in the dim light. Fort glanced back at Ignis, who gave a silent nod, urging him forward.
With a creak that echoed through the stillness, Fort pushed open the door. Beyond it, a narrow, spiraling staircase wound downward into darkness. The air grew heavier as they descended, and Fort furrowed his brows, tension knotting his gut. He could hear each step they took echo endlessly below them.
Ignis led the way, his eyes fixed ahead, his steps steady. Fort followed, his hand brushing against the cold stone wall for balance. The deeper they went, the more the air changed—it became thick with moisture, and the faint odor of decay grew stronger.
---
After what felt like an eternity, they reached the base of the stairs, stepping into a long, dark tunnel. The walls, coated in grime and moss, glistened faintly in the low light filtering through cracks above. It didn't take long for Fort to realize where they were—the city's sewer system.
A slow, murky current flowed along the path, and the faint echo of dripping water created a rhythm in the eerie silence. Fort and Ignis moved carefully, their footsteps cautious over the slick stones.
"We need to find the key," Ignis muttered, his eyes sweeping the wall beside them.
They both started searching, their fingers brushing over the cold, mossy surface, feeling for anything that stood out. The damp air clung to them, making each breath heavier. The stench of sewage was overwhelming, and Fort found himself breathing shallowly, eager to find the key and move on.
Suddenly, Ignis's hand stilled. "Got it," he whispered, pulling a key from the stone, its surface slick with moss and grime.
He inserted the key into a barely-visible lock, turning it with a grinding click. As soon as the lock disengaged, the tunnel trembled. Dust and small stones rained down from the ceiling, and Fort's muscles tensed, ready for whatever came next.
Without warning, the ground ahead of them began to shift. Rocks broke away from the walls and ceiling, yet instead of collapsing, they began to assemble in the air. The mist thickened around them, swirling, as the rocks formed into a strange door hovering above the rushing water.
Ignis moved forward first, as though the current posed no threat. The water parted, a solid stone path forming under his feet with each step. Fort, more hesitant, followed, his eyes darting between the turbulent water and the mysterious door.
When they both stood before it, Ignis reached into his cloak and withdrew the permit given to him by Alaric. He held it up to the door, its surface covered in strange, unreadable symbols.
For a moment, nothing happened. The silence stretched thin.
Fort felt a wave of doubt rise in him. He shrugged, ready to turn back, when the permit suddenly ignited in Ignis's hand, burning to ash in a flash of blue flame. The ashes swirled in the air before being swept away by the water beneath them.
And with that, the door groaned as it slowly opened.
Without a word, they stepped inside.
---
The room they entered was unlike anything Fort had expected. It was a complete contrast to the dank sewer. The walls and ceiling were made of polished brown wood, the scent of old cedar and something sweet hanging in the air. Soft, golden light filled the space, casting long shadows across the floor, which creaked faintly under their weight.
The air was calm, almost serene, yet something about the room felt off—a sense of being watched, of secrets hidden within the very wood itself. Fort's eyes scanned the room, searching for any clue as to what lay ahead.
The room was lined with shelves, each packed tightly with papers, scrolls, and dusty books, all neatly arranged as if no one had touched them in years. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment, and the silence was heavy, almost oppressive. The vastness of the room seemed unnatural—its farthest edges shrouded in shadow, stretching so wide it felt endless.
Fort raised an eyebrow, mirroring Ignis, who had already taken a step forward. The soft echo of their footsteps bounced off the distant walls as they ventured further inside. The light from the hanging lanterns flickered weakly, casting long, distorted shadows across the floor. They walked cautiously, each step more uncertain than the last.
Then, out of nowhere—
"Ah!" Fort jumped back, his heart racing, as something tumbled from above. He instinctively reached for the hilt of his blade but stopped when he realized it was just a doll. It had fallen from a high shelf, landing with an eerie thud.
Fort bent down, examining the doll closely. Its eyes were glassy, almost lifelike, and its joints moved in a way that was unsettling. This wasn't an ordinary doll. His breath caught when he recognized it—it was a doll used only by high-level Pioneers. These dolls were said to carry knowledge, a rare tool reserved for the most elite.
The doll's head slowly creaked as it turned towards Ignis, its expression unreadable, its movements mechanical yet unnervingly fluid. A tense silence filled the room, stretching on until Ignis broke it.
"We need the records about the Followers of the Void."
The doll tilted its head downward in acknowledgment. Its movements were deliberate as it shuffled over to a pile of ancient, dust-coated papers that lay in a corner. After a moment of searching, it returned, carrying a single piece of paper—old, brittle, and yellowed with age. It handed the document to Ignis before returning to its spot, where it stood still as stone.
Ignis and Fort exchanged a glance before making their way to a table in the corner of the room, the only piece of furniture that seemed less touched by time. They sat down, the old wooden chairs creaking beneath their weight. Ignis placed the delicate paper on the table and gently smoothed it out. Dust puffed into the air as Fort leaned in to read.
"Void… This madman's god wields an extraordinary influence," the first line of the document declared in faded ink.
"They announce their presence through acts of terror," the next line read, the words stark and unsettling against the fragile paper.
Fort's brow furrowed as he continued reading. "Their members are spread across the world but are centered in the Valley of Silence, located in the northern reaches of Voss."
(That place hides more secrets than I ever imagined…) Fort thought, his eyes narrowing as the words began to paint a clearer picture.
The text continued. "Though they are oriented towards terror, their followers are elusive, dangerous, and deeply devoted. They are difficult to capture, slipping through the fingers of law and order as if guided by something beyond this world."
"They revere a god, one tied to the shadow of the world—an entity mentioned in the Book of Austerlitz by Revalus."
Fort's pulse quickened. He had heard whispers of this god, the God of the Void—an ancient entity, mysterious and feared. "This god cannot intervene directly… but its influence is far-reaching. The power of this entity is too great to be ignored."
Ignis exhaled slowly as he read the next line. "Many victims have claimed to see a giant figure within the ancient gate. The figure pulls them through—dragging their bodies into a realm unknown."
"Unfortunately, most of them died not long after having that dream."
The word "death" had been underlined repeatedly, the strokes heavy and uneven, as though the writer had hesitated, questioning the truth of those deaths.
Handing the note to Ignis, Fort rubbed his face in frustration, his breath escaping in a slow, heavy sigh. His thoughts circled back to the Followers of the Void, a shadowy group shrouded in obscurity, whose presence in the archives seemed almost like a ghost—there, yet impossible to grasp.
"How..." Fort muttered, pacing slowly as his eyes skimmed the shelves of dusty records. "Even the records here don't have anything on those people."
He lowered his head in disappointment, feeling the weight of another dead end, when Ignis's voice cut through the stillness.
"There is one..." Ignis said, his tone quiet, but charged with significance.
Fort froze mid-step, his heart skipping a beat as he turned to face Ignis, a flicker of hope battling his wariness. "What did you say?"
Ignis held his gaze steadily. "There is one person... who's still alive."
A silence hung between them, thick with unspoken questions. Fort's eyes widened, a mixture of disbelief and anticipation bubbling within him. "Who?" His voice dropped to a whisper, as if afraid speaking too loudly would break the fragile moment.
Ignis took a slow breath, his eyes narrowing in thought. " His name was Cyrus Valerde "
Fort stared at him, his mind racing. If one person had survived, what did he know? Could he explain the strange connection between the dream and the deaths? And more importantly, why were he still alive when the others had perished?
A chill crawled down Fort's spine as he felt the darkness closing in around him, the mystery deepening with every passing second.
Finding this person would prove to be even more challenging than uncovering the whereabouts of the Void Cult followers. The weight of the task hung heavy in the air, an unspoken tension filling the dimly lit room.
"The problem is, he cut ties with our intelligence network several years ago," Ignis said, his voice tinged with frustration. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a weary sigh escaping him as though the weight of years of unresolved mysteries bore down on his shoulders.
"As for the Void followers... their existence remains a top priority for us pioneers," he continued, his tone sharpening. "Sects like these don't just vanish—they linger in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to sow terror in the cities."
He rose from his chair with a purposeful motion, his long coat brushing against the wooden floor. His fingers lingered on the edges of a weathered notebook before he carefully placed it back on the cluttered desk.
Fort, leaning against the far wall, watched him intently. The flickering light of the oil lamp illuminated the edges of his furrowed brow as he muttered something under his breath, his thoughts clearly racing.
Ignis crossed the room, his boots thudding softly on the worn floorboards, and addressed Fort directly. "I'll speak with Mr. Alaric. Someone needs to be assigned here—someone who can dig deeper into the whispers surrounding the so-called God of Void. There's more to this than what we see."
Fort straightened, his posture tense. "Do you think the sect and this... figure are connected?" he asked, his voice low, almost cautious.
Ignis paused by the door, his hand resting on the worn brass handle. "Perhaps," he said, turning back to meet Fort's gaze. "But for now, we should focus on the sect. They've left traces—more than this phantom ever did."
Without another word, he pushed the door open, the cold night air rushing in. The faint scent of damp earth and distant smoke filled the corridor as Ignis stepped outside. Fort hesitated for a moment before following, his mind heavy with questions.
Outside
Fort followed behind Ignis, his footsteps quiet under the gray sky, which seemed to be hiding something. Thoughts of the Void Sect swirled in his mind. Why not just arrest them? Wouldn't that be easier? Yet, he held back from asking. He knew Ignis wasn't the type to explain more than necessary.
As the silence grew heavier, Fort finally broke it. "So… how?"
Ignis let out a long sigh before answering without turning around. "We need to go there. More precisely… infiltrate."
Those words echoed in Fort's mind, making his chest feel heavy. He could only nod quietly. There was no point in asking further; Ignis always had his own ways. Finally, Ignis handed Fort a slip of paper with an address on it before vanishing into the shadows of the night.
Fort looked up at the misty sky. Something felt off in the air tonight, something he couldn't quite put into words. He walked toward the waiting horse-drawn carriage at the end of the road, its form illuminated faintly under the dim gaslight.
Inside the carriage, Fort sat in silence, staring out the window. The dark trees swayed gently along the road, like the shadows of living beings lurking in the distance. The night felt still—too still—as if the world itself was holding its breath.
He let his mind wander. The Void Sect... Just the name sent a chill down his spine. They weren't just an ordinary sect. Rumors said they were involved in ancient rituals, the worship of dark powers, and things far worse. Fort wasn't sure how much of it was true, but one thing was certain: this wasn't an ordinary mission.
He sighed, leaning his head back against the plush seat. "Here we are, dealing with the supernatural while everyone else sleeps peacefully," he muttered to himself, his voice drowned out by the rattling wheels of the moving carriage.
---
By the time he got home, exhaustion felt like too weak a word to describe his condition. Fort opened the door sluggishly and collapsed onto the sofa. The cushioned seat welcomed him like an old friend—soft and comforting, the perfect escape from a grim reality.
But his thoughts wouldn't rest. He knew tomorrow would mark the beginning of something big. Plans had to be drawn, infiltration strategies prepared, and dangers faced.
He closed his eyes, trying to banish all the negative thoughts. But the shadows of the Void Sect continued to haunt him, as though they were already inside his mind. Eventually, after what felt like hours, his body surrendered to the weight of exhaustion, pulling him into a restless sleep.
---
Morning arrived with a sky still shrouded in gray, thick fog enveloping the streets. Fort woke earlier than usual, his eyes still heavy. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, noting the tiredness etched into his face.
Breakfast was nothing more than a cold cup of coffee. There was no time for a proper meal, not with so much to do. Ignis had already given him the location of their next meeting to discuss the plan.
As he stepped outside, the fog thickened, like a curtain concealing something beyond. Fort quickened his pace, feeling a strange sense of being watched, even though the streets were empty.
---
Ignis was already waiting in a small room on the edge of town. The space looked more like a hideout than a meeting place. A large map was spread across the wooden table, red marks indicating several locations.
"You're late," Ignis said without looking up.
"Sorry, the fog was too thick," Fort replied, taking a seat across the table.
Ignis pointed to one of the marks on the map. "This is their base. The Void Sect rarely leaves clear traces, but I have reliable sources."
Fort nodded, his eyes scanning every detail of the map. The location was on the old mansion, in a place almost forgotten by time.
"We can't attack them head-on," Ignis continued. "They're too strong for a frontal assault especially their mystic power. We need to get inside, find their weaknesses, of course our power is not weak either but.. Throwing a full power supernatural army into a mansion full of sect would not be good cause of the place.. It's still inside misthaven"
"And if they find out we've infiltrated?" Fort asked, even though he already knew the answer.
Ignis gave him a sharp look. "Then we won't make it out alive."
---
The rest of the day was spent preparing. Fort and Ignis delved into everything they could find about the Void Sect—their rituals, organizational structure, and even the grim history that tied them to the disappearances of several people in the city.
"Why aren't we involving anyone else?" Fort asked as they examined the map again.
"Because this isn't something most people can understand," Ignis replied. "If too many people know, the forces we're dealing with will become even harder to contain. This isn't just about the physical, Fort. This is a world beyond logic."
Fort felt a tension unlike anything he'd experienced before, even though dangerous missions were nothing new to him. There was something different this time—something darker and far more foreboding.
"Use this in battle if necessary," Ignis said, his voice calm but firm, carrying an undertone of urgency.
The room was dimly lit by a single oil lamp flickering on a wooden table, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone walls. Ignis reached into the folds of his dark coat, the movement deliberate, as if he were pulling out something that carried weight beyond its size.
From his coat, he withdrew seven cards, each one marked with intricate, almost arcane illustrations. Strange symbols intertwined with imagery that seemed to shift subtly in the low light, making the cards look alive.
"Since you don't have an Act Card, you'll have to rely on these Mantras," Ignis explained, holding the cards out toward Fort.
Fort stepped closer, his boots scraping softly against the worn stone floor. The air in the room felt heavy, laced with an unexplainable tension. He reached out and took the cards, their surfaces cool and smooth to the touch. As he examined them briefly, the designs seemed to whisper secrets he couldn't quite grasp.
"Remember," Ignis said, his gaze sharp and unyielding, "only use these cards when you're truly desperate. They're not meant for casual use."
The weight of Ignis's words lingered in the air, pressing down on Fort like an invisible force. He gave a firm nod and carefully slid the cards into his coat pocket, securing them where he could reach them quickly if needed.
Fort then turned his attention to his weapon, drawing it from its holster with practiced ease. The metallic gleam of the revolver caught the faint light, reflecting patterns on the walls like ghostly runes. He began inspecting the firearm methodically, checking every part with the precision of someone who had faced life-and-death situations too many times. The soft click of metal on metal echoed in the room as he loaded fresh bullets into the chamber, each one a silent promise of survival.
For a moment, his thoughts drifted to the Mourch Mansion—its labyrinthine halls, the chilling silence broken only by distant creaks, and the lurking danger that had nearly claimed him. The memory of that harrowing infiltration sent a shiver down his spine. Back then, he had underestimated the importance of preparation. He wouldn't make that mistake again.
Looking around, Fort grabbed a small leather pouch from the table and filled it with extra ammunition. He tied it securely to his belt, the familiar weight reassuring him. He glanced toward the window—a narrow, grimy pane of glass that offered a view of the street outside. The world beyond was cloaked in fog, the gas lamps casting weak halos of light that barely penetrated the swirling mist.
A cold draft seeped into the room, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and something else—something metallic, almost like blood. Fort stiffened, his senses sharpening. The Void Sect's presence felt closer now, like a shadow that lurked just beyond sight.
Ignis, seemingly unaffected by the oppressive atmosphere, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with a determination that mirrored Fort's own.
"We move at afternoon," Ignis said, his voice low and steady, breaking the silence. "Get some rest while you can. You'll need it."
Fort gave a short nod before casting one last glance at the cards in his pocket. As he slipped his revolver back into its holster, he couldn't shake the feeling that these Mantras—and the dark power they represented—would soon become more than just tools.
Turning away from the table, Fort left the room, stepping into the fog-drenched streets.
Illuminated by the morning sun, Fort sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the sky, which seemed to stretch endlessly above him—a quiet guide through the passing hours.
He remained there, unmoving, as if waiting for time itself to shift, his thoughts adrift while the day slowly inched toward afternoon.