Newport was an up-and-coming city in Albion, brimming with ambition. It was a thriving port city filled with trade, crime, and, of course, the mysterious anomalies that lurked beneath the surface.
The waterfront district was the heart of the city's maritime trade. It was filled with ships, warehouses, and sailors from across the Empire.
Amidst the bustling of merchants and smugglers alike, two men—one old and the other young—walked through the crowded cobblestone streets, conversing with one another.
They dressed in a refined and conservative manner. They wore dark, long overcoats made of fine wool. Underneath, they wore dark tailcoats and double-breasted waistcoats.
Furthermore, they sported a white shirt along with cravats, well-fitted trousers, and polished leather boots.
Of course, they also wore top hats, as was customary for any gentleman in Albion society.
"Listen well, Henry," said the old man as he lit the tobacco in his pipe. "Once you join the organization after graduating, patrols such as these would become a regular occurrence. You must learn to be vigilant at all times."
The young man, Henry Mercer, listened attentively to the old man, nodding from time to time.
"That being said," the old man continued. "I would advise you to refrain from wearing such… ostentatious attire. You must wear something practical and easy to move around in."
"…Yes, Grandfather." Henry glanced at his clothes and then at his grandfather's, thinking to himself, But you were the one who told me to dress like a gentleman. Besides, I can move around just fine.
Cane in hand, the pair walked through the cobblestone streets and turned a corner, heading deeper into the heart of the city.
"How is your energy regulation coming along?" Asked the old man as he smoked from the pipe.
Henry answered truthfully, "It has improved significantly since last week."
"Hmm, good." The old man nodded. "Learning to control and regulate one's spirit energy is the first step to becoming an Occultist."
He took a long drag from his smoking pipe before adding, "Now apply spirit energy to your eyes like I taught you. Look around you and tell me what you see."
Henry nodded. He took a deep breath and then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his pupils appeared much darker than before.
Despite it being nighttime, his vision remained clear. He looked around at all the people walking past him and said, "The spirit energy is slowly leaking away from all these people."
He squinted his eyes and added, "It's very miniscule, but I can perceive it."
"Like I've told you before, every person is born with spirit energy," the old man patiently explained. "Ordinary people are unaware of its existence. Small amounts of it leak from them from birth to death without any harmful effects. They are simply unable to control it."
Henry nodded from time to time, looking around at all the people who were completely unaware of the fact that such a mystical energy was slowly leaking away from them.
Suddenly, his eyes narrowed when he glanced at a young man in the near distance. Unlike all the other people around him, however, the amount of spirit energy leaking out from him was exponentially larger.
If other people's spirit energy was a pebble, his was akin to a boulder!
Henry's eyes widened when he saw such a bizarre scene in front of him. He had never witnessed something like this before. It had only been a couple of months since he had stepped foot into the supernatural world, after all.
He completely ignored his grandfather's words and continued to stare at the strange young man who was struggling to even walk straight. He wore simple trousers and a wool coat, except they were smeared in dirt and… blood!
The old man, oblivious to Henry's findings, continued to lecture away, "Anomalous entities, on the other hand, their spirit energy is very—"
"Grandfather!" Henry interrupted him. He pointed at the young man in the distance and spoke in disbelief, "The spirit energy from that man… Why is it leaking so much? What's with that enormous quantity?!"
The old man looked in the direction his grandson was pointing towards. What he saw caused him to be taken aback.
"Good Lord!" He exclaimed. "Such dense spirit energy! It would appear that his pineal gland has just been activated. Quick, boy, we must hurry!"
With that said, the pair rushed toward the young man.
…
"Fuck!" Luke cursed in exasperation. Forget walking, he couldn't even stand straight. He wasn't used to it, after all.
Besides the excruciating pain in his head and the immense fatigue washing over him, foreign memories were slowly flooding inside his mind.
It was painful. Very painful.
Damn it… Am I going to die again?! These memories… what is happening to me? Who… is Abel?
Someone… please! Help me! It… hurts!
As if answering his prayers, two men rushed toward him from the distance. Luke tried his best to observe them through his hazy vision.
One was an old man, the other was young. They were both dressed like proper gentlemen.
What the hell? Cosplay? What in the world is happening? The more he observed, the more he thought someone was playing a prank on him.
"Young man, are you alright?" The refined, old gentleman held his arm, helping him stand straight.
"Grandfather, he's bleeding profusely!" Henry exclaimed. "His head… my goodness!"
A small group of people had gathered around the three, wondering just what was going on. While the rest of the passersby paid no heed to them and continued their way.
The old man ignored them and carefully observed the young and bloodied man before him.
A near-death experience, he thought in shock. This is what must have triggered his pineal gland! Good heavens! Never in all my days have I seen such a thing!
He then scrutinized the large wound to his forehead, and then at the wound at the back of his head that seemed to be even more ghastly.
"It's a blessed miracle that you're alive, lad. A miracle, I say!" The old man couldn't help but exclaim.
Such critical wounds to the head would have no doubt killed a person. The fact that the young man not only survived, but also managed to walk in that state spoke volumes about his sheer will to live.
"Grandfather, should we take him to the hospital?" Henry asked in a slightly anxious tone.
The old man shook his head. "No, I doubt they'll be able to save him in time. Quick, my boy, call a carriage! Hurry!"
While Henry rushed to call for a hackney carriage, the old man gently made Luke sit on the ground with his back against the wall.
He then took out a small crystal vial containing a strange purple liquid from his inner coat pocket and emptied its contents on Luke's wounds. "This will sting a little, lad."
"Acckk!!" Luke grimaced in intense pain as the liquid covered his wounds. "Stop… Stop it!"
The old man frowned. He couldn't understand the language the youth was speaking in. It was English, after all.
However, the old man simply thought that he was muttering incomprehensible words because of the brutal injuries to his head.
"That should help you with the blood loss," said the old man. "Can you tell me where you live? My grandson and I will take you there…"
Luke slowly started to lose consciousness. The sudden influx of strange memories as well as the deep wounds to his head were simply too overwhelming for him.
However, thanks to those foreign memories, he was now faintly able to understand what the old man was saying.
Home… right… I think I know where I live, he thought.
On his way here, he had searched everything on him. It was strange that he, or rather this body he was in, didn't carry a wallet or any identification card.
He did, however, find a letter inside his pocket. Luke speculated that this body was on his way to drop the letter at the post office before he was attacked by those thugs.
With trembling hands, he reached out for the letter in his coat's inner pocket. He then handed it to the old man and mumbled in English, "Sender's… address…"
The old man, of course, didn't understand a word Luke said, but he was smart enough to understand the intent behind Luke handing him the letter.
The envelope had the recipient's address and the post stamp outside, while the sender's address was written in the letter inside. The old man quickly opened the envelope, promising him that he wouldn't read the contents, and finally learned where he lived.
Right at that moment, Henry had returned in a carriage. At the same time, Luke finally lost all the strength to stay awake. He could only pray that the gentlemen before him were decent people and would look after him.
Please God! Please, help me out just one more time, he desperately prayed.
Luke had very little memory of what transpired next. He remembered seeing the inside of a carriage. Then, he remembered fragmented scenes of Henry and the old man carrying him inside a small terraced house that felt foreign yet oddly familiar.
From time to time, clarity returned to him as he slipped in and out of consciousness repeatedly. As more memories started to flood his mind, he started to question the reality he found himself in.
These were the memories of a stranger, yet they felt extremely personal to him.
It felt like a dream. It felt like it wasn't.
He suddenly found himself floating in a strange dark space with mirrors all around him. One mirror reflected Luke on a wheelchair. Another reflected a healthy young man with dark blond hair and blue eyes.
How strange… Is this a dream?
I'm sure I died. I recall it vividly… The pain, the suffering.
So why then do I feel alive?
Who… am I?
Luke? Or…
The mirrors around him shattered and a voice suddenly called out to him, jolting him out of his sleep.
"Abel! Are you alright?"