Acryl

  And so the wind brushed the flowers, the table before him again as he scanned the blurry faces of the others. The shadow sun and the emptiness beyond the flower field stayed unchanging as before. He walked on the soft flowers as the stems bent with each step. Acryl sat down on his seat, making himself feel comfortable as he was surprised by how many members of the Brotherhood he had already met outside this strange dreamscape.

  Lily, Iris, Yarrow, Forget-me-not, Parsley, Sage, and Rosemary sat in their assigned seats while the other seats were left empty. Lily and Rosemary sat together as Parsley rested his legs on the table, though Lily did not seem to mind that.

  “Let’s begin, shall we?” Lily said. She left out an exhausted sigh, her back slouched over.

  “…This is the first time in many years when most of the Brotherhood’s members know each other beyond my domain.”

  “And it is also the first time so many of us are on the same boat. We, the Lily’s Brotherhood, started out with five members; many of us have come and passed, laughing and chatting until our seats were taken by the next ones. But this year, one thousand one hundred thirty-seven years after the descent of the Starseeker…all of us are facing one issue, that is the scheme of Kaspar, the head of the School of Faust and the potential danger of the Yellowcoat Troupe.”

  “…The threat of the Existences still looms over us, according to our allies in Siyue. The Burnt Codex is reaching its limit, while the Tree of Sunrise, whose being still perplexes many, but without a doubt, they are on mankind’s side, is sealed away in Treisaules,” Fosfor continued, glancing at Forget-me-not.

  “Forget-me-not, the floor is yours.”

  Suiming stayed in his seat while he fiddled with a pen in his hand. It was bone-white, though Acryl couldn’t make out any features. Although it looked like a stylus or a ballpoint pen to him, nevertheless, it looked somewhat high-quality, while the light seemed to bend gently as it reflected from the surface..

  “They are seeking the Crowns…so far, I know that the Crown of the Sinner is still under the control of the Mephisto…but for the Crown of the Sage and Crown of the Fool…I have no idea.”

  “…Lily…you mind?” he asked as he tilted his head.

  “No, go ahead.”

  “So, long story short, there are more beings similar to Lily. Right now, there are four, including her, if we could get at least one of them on our side…it would be an amazing addition.”

  “…And if we can find the others, our chances would be pretty good.”

  “Does anyone have anything to add? Any questions?” Lily declared, hands on the table while she stood.

  “…Forget-me-not, is there a possibility that Kaspar is trying to summon the Starseeker? It would explain his actions in Euth and what he said,” Acryl said, he felt like this idea needed to be out there acutely, though he did feel a sourness in him that he didn’t credit Neon for it.

  “Yeah, I’ve thought about this, but the thing is that calling for an Existence to descend used a lot of resources, sacrifices, and the rituals are even more complicated. If he really is preparing something like that, we’d notice it,” Forget-me-not answered, spinning the pen in his hand as he rested his chin on the other.

  “Is anyone familiar with the working of the Broadcast Tower?” Rosemary interrupted. It seemed that Forget-me-not, Parsley, and Lily were surprised by the question. So was Acryl, after all. Rosemary was the one who kept all sorts of obscure knowledge. Just like that time she mentioned the title of a being Acryl had never heard before, though even thinking about the strand of words felt like drowning in an invisible substance. His breath won’t come out of his lungs, his heart strangled while foul, meaningless whispers spoke almost silently. At this point, Acryl didn’t understand if it was the Starseeker corroding him or the knowledge beyond his comprehension straining his psyche.

  Sage, who sat next to Acryl, raised her hand. Acryl felt Rosemary’s look toward their direction as the sense of a strangled heart and a helpless suffocation disappeared.

  “…I am not sure about how trustworthy this piece of information is…but I’ve heard that the Tower used a different approach to channel its energy. Instead of using the runes to command the Tower…it is more like restraining the ability of the Tower. There are also rumors that the source of its energy is an ancient relic found in the Remnant tide, but there is no proof of that.”

  Rosemary nodded along to Sage’s answer while Forget-me-not wrote something down. The atmosphere was dense as the relaxed, nowhere-to-rush attitudes of some members were gone. Acryl could feel that Yarrow and Iris were particularly stressed about the situation, whether it was Iris’s constant arhythmic tapping on the table or Yarrow’s impatience, pacing around her seat while saying something to herself.

  “Is there a way to climb the Broadcast Tower?” Rosemary asked.

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  “Only on rare occasions…like foreign visits, maintenance, and visits made by universities, I’d have to ask around how much of the Tower is accessible during those occasions.”

  “Thank you, Sage.”

  The rest of the meeting became a free discussion with Sage speaking to Yarrow, Parsley dozing off, and Forget-me-not, Lily, Iris, and Rosemary arguing about something. Their voices were muffled and distorted, Acryl guessed it was the power Lily had over this dreamscape. He walked around the table, hoping to find a chance to speak to Lily or Rosemary in private.

  Acryl wanted to see if there was anything he could do as he looked outside the flower field. The void spoke.

  In a tongue unable to be uttered, in a manner he couldn’t reproduce with the organs and muscles in his body, evolved to produce all sorts of sounds. The void must have been immensely ignorant of Acryl’s insignificance; the void must have been utterly uncaring to his human mind, taking in such language. His breath shortened, his head hurting, no, it was something more essential and deeper than his body parts, and this vessel Fosfor created so they could meet in this dream shared by those who would never cross paths in their life. It was his consciousness that was feeling the agony. His memories were scorching hot as Acryl tried to remember what he had done to make this happen.

  Acryl couldn’t take it anymore. As he closed his eyes, he felt a tap. A cold touch on his back as the cold fluttered through his spine, into the things that weaved his essence and being. The touch was what held his being in this dreamscape, this blended and smudged contour between reality and delusion together.

  And he woke up.

  In cold sweats, in the bunk bed of his cheap hotel.

  Nameless was standing by his bed when he bolted up.

  “…What Suiming did not say is that two of the six places of beings similar to Fosfor are vacant,” Nameless said, her face illuminated by the full moon. Acryl felt like he was hospitalized, and the Nameless was the doctor to tell him that they were naming the thing he suffered from after him.

  “They are called the Barricades, the zenith of Yellian technology. And to harness it, one must be blessed with Realm-art hypersensitivity.”

  “Acryl, if we find the core of a Barricade, will you bear it?”

  “…Would my connection with the Starseeker affect it?”

  “I don’t know,” her words shot out.

  “Is this the only way?”

  “…There is another way, which Suiming did not agree on,” Nameelss answered.

  “Kill the Starseeker, and teach the gods how to fear bugs,” she continued. Without any emphasis on any word, no change in pitch or tempo, like she were just reading off an advertisement from the corner of the newspaper.

  …

  Parsley

  He opened his eyes. Parsley had just arrived here today, following a group of Faustus. Canvas was off doing his own thing again, perhaps on a visit to an art gallery or painting some landscapes. The nocturnal winds of this town, once swallowed by the remnant tide, did not sing the way they sang in his homeland. Its song carried no true sorrow or regret, the way sleeping on the tiles of the tower of Baichuan Association, while he hid from both the Codex and the Court of Silu. This place was quiet, no rambling crowds of Havel, no sleepless lights of Changan, just the whispers of the night and the occasional flushing of leaves in the wind.

  The moon was full as his eyes were golden. Golden like the papers he made talismans from, the same hue of the lavish life he lived long ago…though he would agree that his eyes were now the colors of worn-out brass instruments. Once delicate and praised by its maker and nature, its perfections and temper, now it had become a tool of disgust, a blemish.

  “It’s a shame you have to spend the night alone,” a voice said from his back.

  “I enjoy the solitude and quietness.”

  “But we can’t always be alone,” the person said as they sat next to Parsley. Parsley saw the violet short hair and that pair of brown eyes.

  “Kaspar,” Parsley said as he cast. The misty porcelain figures started to materialize, condensing into concrete form as burning violet threads weaved through them. Waves of casting echoed through the air while Parley was ready to pull out his talismans.

  Realm-art: The Judges of Fate

  His side-effect kicked in, coldness emerged from the inside of his bones, and he felt his breath shortening. The emptiness of life, leaving him loom once again as he felt his body becoming powerless, his mind separated from his body, and memories chaotically distracting him.

  As one of the Judge’s fists was landing on Kaspar, a black crown appeared on his head. Parsley startled, and during the brief second, Kaspar dodged the punch.

  “You aren’t hiding anything, why?”

  “‘Cause there’s no meaning in hiding if you already know it,” Kaspar said, his hand reaching for Parsley’s head, fingers curled like a desperate beggar. For the first time in many years, Parsley felt afraid. Cold sweat rolled down his forehead as he distanced himself from Kaspar’s greedy reach.

  How does he know? …Why does he know? No, it can’t be…he must be testing me.

  Parsley pulled out a talisman and stuck it on Kaspar’s hand as soon as he leaped away. He almost slipped off the roof when he distanced himself. His breath became chaotic. After balancing himself, Parsley realized he was so stressed that he wasn’t sure which talisman he used. Though he quickly realized that his worry was naught as Kaspar groaned in agony. The talisman would hold him in place if Kaspar didn’t use the power of the Crown or any other tricks.

  “I thought I could get my hand on another crown.”

  “…Mephisto…”

  “They haven’t called me that for a long time.”

  “Everyone is avoiding that title for a good reason,” Parsley said. Kaspar’s hand was deformed from the talisman, fingers tangled with each other, while Kaspar curled in pain. Parsley knew that if he let go of Kaspar, he’d vanish with the help of the Crown. With a swift charge forward, he knocked Kaspar out. So the bearer of the Crown of Sinner, the Mephisto, head of the School of Faust, fell down. The Crown was still intact. Still in its horrifying, unwelcoming, sharp form, refusing to step down its pride. Moonshine didn’t reflect on it, perhaps in disgust, and Parsly reckoned that such a beautiful thing as the moon and its illumination must not be tainted with the Crown. But right as he tried taking off the Crown, Parsley realized that he couldn’t move it. Even with all his might, the Crown did not come off Kaspar’s head. Then he noticed it, the growing, climbing wild sigils and extensions on Kaspar’s neck that slithered into his hair. Parsley quickly tore Kaspar’s clothes, his motions mechanical as his body did everything without thought. The patterns and sigils covered his back and chest, spread on his distinct muscles like wildly growing grass swaying to the vernal wind.

  While he contemplated whether to tie Kaspar up and interrogate him, the sigils on Kaspar’s body roared as a ripple of casting hit Parsley. Before he could do anything, Kaspar vanished, but Parsley managed to get a good look at the patterns.