And in his place, hours later, a man was reborn into physical existence and claimed his new mantle as a Porter Seraphist of Mist Domain.
Even before his mind fully cleared, Manziholet Claisara Sylvektor could already feel the immense metaphysical presence of the Circuit inside him, a device that formed a two-way connection between a seraph with authority over Mist and his own Porter ArchSoul.
When his eyes opened, Manziholet found himself lying inside the cage chair. Its bronze circles were spinning and projecting their glyphs into the air, while Nat'Seax scurried around to tap and adjust those golden glowing symbols with precision.
"Lie still," Nat'Seax said. "I'm linking your Oculon to the Circuit."
At any other time, Manziholet might have focused on deciphering what arcane art his After-Deather was practicing, but the world around him right now felt so weightless and small, as if a single breath from him could rearrange its entire structure.
By instinct, he immediately pulled vaepor through the Circuit to manifest his Miracle, but it was in vain. His seraph, after all, was merely a Zero Sphere with neither vaepor nor a Miracle. The Guild could not have their customers wreck the pyramid as soon as they woke up, especially when the self-imposed murder might do strange things to one's head.
[Name: Manziholet Claisara Sylvektor
Sigil: 78-86-Jano-23462100
Circuit: Ribbas-pattern (made in Mortavia)
Seraph: Mist, Zero Sphere (0υ of vaepor)
ArchSoul: Porter (0υ of draeg)
Miracles: None
Ruin Scars: <
Haven: Valorborne District, Sui-Jen Ring]
Once the technical information on his Oculon had been updated and Nat'Seax gave him the all-clear on not being crazy, the circles retracted away, allowing him to stand up. Glancing at a nearby mirror, Manziholet found his appearance remain largely the same, except for the tiny edits by his Circuit during the revival.
He had inherited his mother's black eyes and pale skin, paired with the sharp cheekbones and straight nose that every Sylvektor seemed to have, all of which had been further elevated to perfect symmetry and radiance. His broadened shoulders and chiseled torso, along with meticulously enhanced musculature, had become the ultimate union of aesthetics and function. This was the idealized form of humanity, developed by the Defiant Path to draw a bold line between the exceptional specimen and the common rabble.
Supposedly, society had considered him handsome before the encasement, and now they would readily accept their role as background characters, but Manziholet could hardly bear the sight of it. The engineered changes were too eye-catching and the thought that another person on Zaicaster, Gothlow Sylvektor, was sharing the exact same face disturbed him. His brother had probably received his seraph by now and assumed the role of a Breaker Seraphist.
[Furder 14, 1920, 17:22]
"Nat'Seax," he said after checking the time, "it's late afternoon. I thought it would only take one or two hours at most."
"There was a complication."
"What complication?"
The After-Deather grunted. "You don't watch an artist paint and ask about every brushstroke, do you? The only thing you need to know is that it all turned out fine in the end because I've spent my life doing this. Now, let's raise you to the First Sphere."
Sphere referred to the vaepor capacity of one's seraph, conventionally measured in neat, escalating benchmarks. A First Sphere had a minimum capacity of 100 units of vaepor, while a Second Sphere could hold at least 10,000 units, with subsequent Spheres increasing exponentially as such (in other words, a candle, a bonfire, then beyond that were wildfires and volcanic eruptions).
To increase vaepor capacity, the seraph must absorb Genesis Shards, a rare material that were supposedly created when the universe was still figuring out how to universe.
In this galaxy, after centuries of being harvested by the Outsiders and humanity both, they only existed in laughably small quantities. The latest one, a 109υ Shard, was auctioned at the starting price of ten billion forisma and ended up being sold for sixteen times as much to an independent Seraphist, who walked away very much poorer but a lot more smug.
As someone who had a contract with the government, Manziholet was entitled to a free encasement along with a seraph and Circuit of his choosing, all taken care of by the invisible hand of public funding. The package came with a Genesis Shard as well, just enough to bring him to the next Sphere, which was stored in a metal case that Nat'Seax took out from one of his leather coat's many pockets.
Manziholet received the case and opened it. Resting within the plush velvet interior was a piece of diamond-like material with rough and jagged edges. He held the Shard in his bare palm, feeling a sort of pulsing warmth tapping on his skin as well as a metaphysical gravitational pull towards his Circuit. Inside its crystalline depths, motes of iridescent light flickered and bounced like fireflies.
[Genesis Shard registered.
Vaepor capacity: 102 units.
Initiate absorption?]
On his acceptance, the Shard crumbled into fine dust and dissolved into the fabric of reality, the correct terms of which, as he had been taught, should be "eaten by his seraph". It was a process that he had little control or awareness over, the same way one breathed during sleep, but the end result was very apparent.
Manziholet sensed the seraph stir up within the confines of his Circuit. Like a hatchling growing too vast for the confines of its egg, the Outsider shattered the shell, only to discover another, grander barrier forming over it.
It was alright because, during that brief moment, the seraph had managed to establish a nascent authority over its Domain and unlock a Miracle. Its metaphysical mass was now filled with new vaepor.
And, as if to announce the seraph's breakthrough, reality was momentarily infected with its influence. The air around Manziholet thickened with clinging droplets that made his clothes wet and cold, as soft wisps of white mist manifested and curled in spirals before fading away.
[Seraph: Mist, First Sphere (102υ of vaepor)
ArchSoul: Porter (0υ of draeg)
Miracles: <
Ruin Scars: <
He immediately channeled the vaepor from the seraph to the ArchSoul. In the process, vaepor was depleted into draeg, releasing the energy potential that the Circuit's mechanism organized into a coherent Miracle.
On his right palm, to the direction of his thumb, from a point of nothingness, a jet of mist bursted out. When it dissipated, what had materialized was a gleaming white longsword. The design was nothing special (a straight and double-edged blade about one meter long, a simple horizontal bar crossguard that slightly curved downward, a hilt comfortable enough for two-handed hold, along with a generic rounded pommel), but the Wispstrike Cutter's elemental material was anything but.
Manziholet's fingers closed firmly around the cold mist-forged Armament, paradoxically solid and virtually weightless both. It was as if a dense expanse of mist had been frozen solid in time, from which an artist carved out a chunk and sculpted into a sword. A chill ran up his spine, mostly out of exhilaration. This was the power promised.
[Seraph: Mist, First Sphere (94υ of vaepor)
ArchSoul: Porter (8υ of draeg)]
Manifesting the Miracle costed eight units of vaepor each time, followed by one for every six minutes of existence, which was quite cheap compared to its true capability. At his will, the Circuit took more vaepor from his seraph and switched on the Arnament's second state.
Every part from the hilt up evaporated into its gas form, a curling mass of mist lingering in reality as less a weather phenomenon and more a determined presence that refused to dissolve like its average counterpart.
Manziholet swung the sword in the air, leaving behind faint white trails, before crashing it into his After-Deather. The Wispstrike Cutter passed through the man harmlessly, though he was not amused. "By all means, use me as a test subject," Nat'Seax said. "I'm sure it will end wonderfully for you."
Under another mental command, the blade reverted back to its normal sharp-edged state, one that was indestructible so long as the Seraphist had enough vaepor. He could slip this through the toughest defenses and solidify it at the precise moment to exploit weaknesses. Most ordinary opponents stood no chance of blocking or parrying the Armament, unless they happened to be seasoned experts in cloud wrestling.
Like with most Armament, the esoteric concept of Sharpness and Force was also etched into its very being, allowing it to chop through mortal armors with ease. The Wispstrike Cutter could make iron and steel reconsider their career as metal, although it did have flaws – A contest with an opposite Miracle from a higher Sphere might break the indestructibility and, if reverted back inside a matter with more mass, it would incur heavy backlash capable of damaging his Circuit.
[Seraph: Mist, First Sphere (81υ of vaepor)
ArchSoul: Porter (21υ of draeg)]
13υ were also consumed for each activation of the second state, a huge drain pit even when his Ribbas-pattern Circuit had been designed to minimize the conversion of priceless vaepor into junk draeg. He could re-energized the vaepor back by releasing his Ruin Scar, but that was a messy ordeal. As much as he would like to try out <
"I think I've had enough," Manziholet said and dispersed his Miracle. "Is there anything else?"
There was, as the After-Deather went on to explain, obvious and basic facts that every Seraphist should know, including that revival required an intact Circuit and brain, that the Guild would not guarantee a perfect one, how frequent the Circuit should be maintained,–
"I'm acquainted with all of that information," Manziholet interrupted.
Nat'Seax crossed his arms, with his deep black eyes staring into the Seraphist. "You all are, but somehow we always have a novice paradoxing themselves the next day or delusional enough to declare themselves God over everything that is. And every damn time, guess who gets the blame?" He jabbed his thumb into his chest. "Us, the Guild, so shut up and listen."
–how to properly avoid paradoxes and dilemmas, a set of unwritten rules for manifesting Miracles or unleashing Ruin Scars, documented symptoms of Miracle-induced psychosis, how to report them and to whom, emergency protocols when personal After-Deather was unavailable,... all of which Manziholet was expected to remember by heart. It was a waste of half an hour, really, since he had already done so before the encasement.
"By the way," Nat'Seax asked before Manziholet stepped out of the room, "are you by any chance still affiliated with the Twicebornes' Mistress?"
"Nothing except for the name and the blood, and I couldn't care less about her political views. Why?"
Nat'Seax had returned to the desk and continued his work. On one of its corners, Manziholet noticed only now, was a globe made of swirling golden glyphs, the same type that the cage chair had produced. "Some families still feel bitter about Ashia's coup and two of their descendants will be joining the next Studium's Proving. I imagine they can afford a little extra enthusiasm for a Sylvektor."
Manziholet knew them, both of whom were Breakers. They probably had finished the encasement by now. One had studied at Quillmaster Academy, and her public record was not terribly impressive. The other belonged to Manziholet's Vixtrian Class of 1920, and there was only one Paragon.
"Thank you for the concern, but–" Manziholet pat the Rapier on his hip "–grudges make pretty poor weapons, though I'll gladly sharpen mine on theirs."
Nat'Seax paused before glancing back behind at him. "Did you seriously just quote Orin Draymir?"
"I believe that's one of your favorite authors, and my mother's, as it happens. She once made me write five thousand words on his works because I sneaked into the Langer's bathhouse." The punishment was pale in comparison to the impressiveness of the feat. "I remember his best lines."
"You've got two things wrong here," Nat'Seax replied with a frown. "First, I don't have time to waste on romance novels. Second, and more importantly, I'm not worried about you. I'm worried about the Circuit. Do you spoiled brats have any clue how much work it takes to repair one of those?"
"Oh well,–" Manziholet strolled out of the room "–you should get some rest then. It's going to get a lot busier from now on."
Time, after all, for the real work to begin.