Rain trickled down the shattered plaza like slow-moving tears. The silence hung heavy, broken only by the rhythmic tap of droplets against stone and blood-soaked robes. Two bodies lay motionless beneath the fractured heavens, lifeless, cold and still.
Until one moved.
A twitch. A jolt. Then a scream.
Adrien lurched upright with a guttural cry, eyes wide and unfocused. His body convulsed as he spewed dark blood onto the ground, coughing, retching, collapsing forward onto shaking arms. Again and again it came, waves of thick, sickly fluid mixed with bile and pain.
It felt endless.
But eventually, it ebbed.
The spasms slowed. His limbs steadied.
His breath remained ragged, but now it came in rhythm. The pain began to retreat, slowly, reluctantly, like the tide.
Except for the one in his head.
A stabbing, throbbing, blinding migraine pulsed behind his skull, as though something massive and incomprehensible had been jammed into a brain not made to hold it. His vision blurred, his thoughts slipped from him like ink in water.
Where…? Who… am I?
The questions surfaced without answer, raw and panicked. Words drifted through the storm in fragmented pieces: "church," "traitor," "sealed artifact," "family."
Adrien Veil.
A name. A shape. A hunt. A woman's voice in the distance and children laughing in a memory that wasn't his. Pain surged again, and he groaned aloud.
Then, stillness befell the plaza.
A presence washed over him, like a warm tide lapping at frozen skin. Soothing. Gentle. Light without blinding. A single touch, not on the flesh, but on his soul and mind.
The pain receded. The pressure in his skull dulled. His thoughts began to align.
Before him, a figure took form in the mist, with a cloak hanging from her shoulders, covering her face.
Her voice followed.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't sense you until now… and I had to avoid the Church's clergy. They've overrun everything."
She knelt beside him, gaze soft, voice laced with guilt and calm command.
"I'm Lady Justice. I came as quickly as I could."
Her name rang through his clearing thoughts, Justice. Miss Justice.
That voice. That presence. That balance of warmth and power, unmistakable. The recognition struck him like sunlight through clouds.
Of course.
Of course I know where I am.
There's only one world where dreams speak and madness whispers. One where balance is a force and gods wear masks.
His lips parted in a breathless realization.
Lord of the Mysteries.
A heartbeat passed, and the man who was no longer just a stranger inside a corpse gave the faintest nod.
"I see," he murmured, throat raw. So I'm Adrien now…
The words felt foreign and familiar all at once.
His memories, the real ones, still danced at the edge of his reach. A fog not yet lifted. But the emotions… those had already taken root.
He blinked, steadying his voice.
"My family… Are they safe?"
Lady Justice's face dimmed with sorrow.
"No. The Church found them. They've sent a strike force. Your dog companion went to delay them. Or stop them, if he can."
Adrien's breath caught. Eyes wide.
Anya. The twins. Agent D.
Images, feelings and voices surged forward, tugged from the depths by grief and urgency.
They weren't his… but they were there.
Tears stung the edges of his eyes.
"I need to go," he said, forcing himself upright, every joint screaming in protest. "I need to get to them."
Lady Justice nodded once. "Then go. I'll mislead the remaining clergy, keep them off your trail."
He met her eyes with a grateful look and bowed his head once.
"Thank you."
She vanished without sound, like justice itself, silent, firm, vanishing into shadow.
Adrien turned. His legs moved before he fully realized it. His breath grew sharper, his steps faster. His bones ached, but they obeyed, faster than they should've.
Then he paused. His eyes darted back toward the fallen plaza, to the crumpled remains of the divine battlefield.
There, half-buried in broken stone, lay the artifact.
Still sealed and still faintly pulsing. Dormant now, contained by his own blood, flesh, and shadows.
He moved to it, knelt quickly, and picked it up. Its surface was cool again. Adrien slipped it into a hidden fold inside his coat, feeling its weight settle against his ribs like a sleeping god.
Just in case.
Then he ran. The rain blurred around him, but his thoughts were already catching up.
A Cognizer.
I am a Cognizer.
And still bound to the Hanged Man too…
The absurdity made his lips twitch, a dry smile threatening to rise.
"Gods," he muttered, breathless. "They gave me both keys I could ask for."
However, his smile faded.
The streets flew past. The corners blurred. His pace increased.
No more time. No more distance. He had to reach them.
…
The air stank of ash and charred wood.
Smoke coiled between the broken beams of the once-humble home, drifting skyward like the final prayers of those who hadn't been allowed to finish them. Rubble littered the ground, along with shattered furniture, cracked glass, splintered icons of the God of Knowledge trampled beneath armored boots. A pale-yellow children's toy lay overturned, soaked through with rain.
Clergy stood amid the wreckage. Hooded, armored, robed in silver and white, their expressions were solemn, or sneering.
"It is done," one said, adjusting the cinch on his glove.
Another let out a sharp laugh, muffled behind his mask. "So ends another nest of heresy."
A third raised a scorched censer and swung it slowly, letting its smoke mingle with the carnage. "By the Lord's word, by the Church, we cleanse…"
A younger priest stepped forward, blood staining the hem of his robe, and looked over the bodies sprawled beneath the collapsed roof. His voice was mockingly reverent.
"Let this be a warning to all who forsake the Light for the whispers of shadow. Let the True Creator's acolytes burn—"
He never finished the sentence.
He exploded.
A wet crack echoed through the rubble, followed by a gory spray of crimson mist and pulverized bone. One moment, he stood triumphant. The next, he was a pile of glistening entrails dripping down the side of a shattered wall.
Screams erupted, but it was too late.
A second figure was cleaved in half, straight down the middle, his body folding apart like a wet scroll under the force of a massive, black greatsword. The blade moved so quickly it tore the air apart behind it, leaving behind a sound like tearing silk and a ripple of raw malice.
The shadows surged.
A third cleric opened his mouth to scream, only for black tendrils to burst from beneath his feet and wrap around his throat, limbs, chest. He was dragged downward, suffocated mid-cry, swallowed by the writhing abyss at his feet.
The rest tried to run, but they didn't make it far.
One was caught mid-blink, shadow-wrought spikes piercing through both eye sockets and twisting as his scream was swallowed whole. Another tried to protect himself, muttering the name of the Lord, but before he could finish, the black sword returned, cleaving through his shoulder and out through his hip in a single, gruesome arc.
Within seconds, the screams became fewer.
Then none.
When it was over, the rain was the only sound left, washing over blood-slick stone, over intestines spilling from gaping wounds, over still faces frozen in fear. Steam hissed where blood met fire.
And from the heart of it, from the center of the massacre, Adrien stepped forward.
The massive broadsword hung low in his right hand, dripping viscera. Blood clung to his face and clothes, soaked into the seams of his coat, pooled in the cracks of his armor. Flesh clung to his boots. Something unrecognizable, maybe part of a lung, slid from the flat of his blade and landed with a sickening plop.
He stood motionless.
His eyes, dim, wide and distant, fell upon the scene ahead of him.
His wife. His children.
Strewn across the ruin like discarded objects. Skin grayed. Eyes half-open.
Adrien took a step forward, then another.
Then dropped to his knees.
No sound came from him at first. Just shallow, broken breathing. His chest heaved. His shoulders shook.
Then came the tears.
Not clear, not clean, but dark red.
Blood leaked from his eyes, staining his cheeks, streaking down his jaw as his hands clenched into trembling fists.
Why…?
He couldn't answer. The feelings were too sharp, too real, all belonging to him.
But… they weren't. Not truly. These people, this woman, those children, they had belonged to another Adrien, hadn't they?
He wasn't their father. Nor their husband.
And yet…
He couldn't breathe.
He tried to reason with himself. Tried to pull apart the logic.
But all he could do was feel.
Their laughter. Their warmth. Their names. Their tiny hands wrapped around his fingers.
His hands trembled. His jaw locked.
A scream built in his throat, but it never came. He swallowed it down like acid.
Rain fell harder now, washing blood into the dirt.
And all Adrien could do…
…was try to remember how to breathe.
Suddenly, Adrien's soul twisted.
A surge of spiritual intuition screamed through his nerves, sharp and impossible to ignore. The suffocating grief in his chest was replaced with a cold spike of instinctive dread.
His head snapped upward.
Above the wreckage, amidst the falling rain, a figure emerged, descending not like a meteor, but as a certainty.
A tall man cloaked in layered silver and dark robes, adorned with golden rings that shimmered faintly with shifting equations and symbols. "His" platinum-white hair was braided tightly, framing a face too sharp to be human, symmetrical, calm, and utterly removed from sorrow.
"His" eyes were closed at first. Yet even so, they saw.
Ardonia. One of the High Councillors of the Church. Angel of Wisdom. Patriarch of the Ardonia Family.
Adrien's breath caught in his throat.
He didn't need all his memories to know what stood before him, the pressure alone was enough. A Wisdom Angel. A being not just of knowledge, but of calculation, cold, measured fate given flesh.
And then the weight came.
A pressure like the air had turned solid, Adrien's limbs locked. The shadows recoiled. His heartbeat slowed.
He couldn't move.
Could barely breathe.
Above, Ardonia opened "His" eyes.
Their irises were fractals, countless bookshelves spiraling endlessly inward.
"…Even when you think the page has been written," Ardonia murmured, voice serene and echoing, "fate turns it anew."
"He" descended slightly, "His" gaze locking with Adrien's.
"I must commend you," "He" continued. "To defeat Halbrecht, and advance successfully. A rare feat, considering your... circumstances."
Then, a pause.
"His" brow furrowed. "His" eyes narrowed.
And suddenly, the Angel's presence sharpened, not with wrath, but with precision.
"…Ah," "He" said slowly, lips curling upward. "You didn't succeed in advancing. You died."
Adrien's breath seized.
"You're not Adrien Veil," Ardonia continued, almost musing. "Or rather… you are now. But not the one we knew."
"His" gaze deepened, and Adrien could feel invisible threads unraveling, the secrets of his soul examined, each strand pulled taut and studied. For a brief moment, he felt utterly naked, exposed not just in body, but in spirit.
Then Ardonia stopped.
"…Interesting," "He" said quietly. "Even to me, your fate is obscured. A fogged thread. A severed weave."
"His" eyes glimmered.
Visions danced behind them, muddled and shifting: scenes, both clear and fragmented, too chaotic to properly make the picture whole.
After a long silence, Ardonia exhaled softly.
"He" lowered his hand and the pressure broke.
Adrien gasped and nearly fell forward.
Ardonia descended fully now, feet gently touching the ground amid blood and ash. "He" looked at Adrien not with disgust, but with curiosity. One brow rose.
"…Whatever you are," "He" said, with a low chuckle, "your fate is promising."
Adrien blinked, still catching his breath. "Promising…?"
Ardonia smiled faintly.
"I'll be blunt." "His" voice returned to its smooth, diplomatic register. "I can offer you protection. The Church still hunts you, but I am the Church as much as it is me. Under my authority, I can silence the hounds, bury the reports and ignore accusations."
Adrien stiffened. "…And the price?"
The Angel didn't answer right away. Instead, "He" turned and, with a single effortless motion, waved aside a wall of rubble like fog parting under wind.
There, behind the collapsed timber and shattered stone.
Agent D.
His body lay crumpled and still. Blood soaked his fur. His limbs were bent at angles no creature should endure. One eye was swollen shut. The other... lifeless.
His black fedora rested beside him, torn and half-burned, as if someone had tried to preserve it, and failed.
Adrien's breath caught. His heart stopped and his hand trembled.
He stumbled forward a step, but his knees buckled before he could reach him.
He didn't need to check. He could feel it. There was nothing left.
Ardonia's voice was soft, not cruel, but flat.
"He fought well," the Angel said. "Longer than expected. Long enough to make sure they couldn't take him alive. You might even call that… loyalty."
Adrien said nothing. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding. His hands curled into fists so tight his nails cut into his palms.
"There was no other way," Ardonia continued. "But I still have use for you. Secrets cling to you like ink on scripture. Questions I cannot yet answer."
"He" turned back to Adrien, his tone firming.
"So, I will make it simple: serve under me. Act as my sword and my shadow. Operate beyond doctrine, where the Church cannot be seen."
Adrien slowly lifted his head. His eyes were raw, quiet and furious.
" "You" want me to be your hitman," he said. It wasn't a question.
Ardonia gave a dry chuckle. "A crude word. But not inaccurate."
"And "You" expect me to see this as mercy?"
"I expect you to understand that even I serve forces greater than myself," Ardonia replied. "This arrangement grants you time. Time to survive. Time to uncover the truth of what you are. And most importantly… it gives you a purpose."
Adrien looked again at D's body.
The rage swelled, but underneath it, something colder settled in.
Resolve.
He reached out with a shaking hand and gently picked up the ruined fedora.
Then he stood, eyes fixed on the Angel.
"…Fine," he said, voice hoarse.
The Angel smiled. A graceful thing. Cold, but satisfied.
"Good."
Then "His" gaze lowered, focused on Adrien's coat.
"You still have the artifact. That," "He" said, with a finger raised, "You must return it."
Adrien reached slowly into his coat, pulled the sealed Grade 0 Artifact from its hidden fold. It pulsed faintly against his fingers, still active and still dangerous.
He handed it over.
Ardonia took it with care, then turned.
As "He" began to walk away, "His" head tilted slightly, eyes glancing off toward a distant corner of the city.
"…Interesting," "He" murmured.
"He" looked back at Adrien with a smile, one not entirely kind.
"Enjoy the rain," "He" said, voice like silk and steel.
Then "He" vanished into light, into knowledge, into silence.
Leaving Adrien, alone again, in what remained.
After some minutes passed in stillness, another figure arrived. A cloak of deep black fluttered as she emerged from the mist, her footsteps silent on broken stone.
It was Miss Justice.
At her side padded a smaller golden shape, ears back, steps hesitant.
The moment Audrey's eyes landed on the fedora in Adrien's hands, she drew a breath, sharp and quiet.
But it was Susie who felt it deepest.
Her nose twitched once, then she froze.
Her eyes tracked the scent through the drifting smoke. Her gaze landed.
Agent D. Still, soaked and gone.
She didn't speak. Didn't cry. Just stood there, motionless, ears flat against her head, eyes wide and unblinking. Her tail didn't move.
Adrien didn't say anything either. He just held the hat a little tighter.
Audrey, sensing the sudden lurch in Susie's mental island, quietly extended her abilities. A gentle wave of Placate brushed against Susie's mind, barely present, just enough to keep the storm from overwhelming her.
But she didn't move.
And Audrey didn't press her.
The three of them remained like that, in silence, under the rain, in the middle of the smoke.
Eventually, Susie stepped back. She turned, slowly, returning to Audrey's side without a word.
Audrey nodded to her once, then stepped forward toward Adrien, her voice low, steady, soft with respect.
"…I'm sorry."
She extended another ripple of Placate, this one toward him. Calmer. Stronger.
Adrien didn't resist, but to let it in.
The soothing effect washed over him like warm water over cracked stone.
He looked up at her.
And for the first time since everything collapsed, there was warmth in his eyes.
"Thank you," he murmured. "For helping. For trying and for keeping your word."
He then turned to Susie. His voice dropped further, steadier.
"He didn't hesitate. Not for a moment."
Susie looked back at him. Her eyes shimmered, not quite crying, not quite dry. But something in her gaze shifted.
She understood.
And at that moment, Adrien knew it.
Then she turned her head away, gaze to the side, choosing to let silence speak for her.
Audrey stepped forward slightly, but with care.
"I'll give you time," she said gently. "Contact me if you need anything."
Adrien shook his head once, politely. "No. It's too dangerous. I'll manage. But…"
He glanced down at the fedora again. His voice softened.
"If your offer still stands, I'll find a way. Somehow."
Audrey gave a small, understanding nod. "Then I'll be waiting."
She turned, her fingers brushing Susie's shoulder as she shifted them both gently back into the dreamscape. With a shimmer of mist and folding dreamlight, they vanished into the Sea of Collective Subconscious.
Leaving Adrien alone once more.
He stood for a long time.
Rain flowed down his face. His coat stuck to his back. The world felt distant, yet painfully sharp.
He looked at D's body. Then to his wife and to his children.
His hand curled tighter around the hat.
And his eyes… did not waver.
He exhaled.
And then, like smoke vanishing in reverse, Adrien stepped into the surrounding shadows and disappeared with them.
The darkness welcomed him.