Nuriel turned toward the source of the footsteps, a man in weathered pastoral robes, the fabric faded from decades of wear. His face bore the calm wisdom of age, softened by a flicker of youth still lingering in the way his eyes moved. Before Nuriel could say a word, the pastor greeted him first.
"Aren't you interested?" the old man asked with a wry smile. "This is a once-in-a-century experience."
Caught off guard by the sudden approach, Nuriel took a moment to compose himself. He placed a hand over his chest and offered a slight bow. "Reverend Father, I'm not much of a fanatic" he replied carefully, ensuring his tone didn't belittle the supposed holiness of the artifact.
"Even if it's a piece of God?" the pastor replied with a sigh, glancing toward the commotion. "That preacher up there is my apprentice. I suppose he couldn't resist announcing it early. looks like I'll be in deep trouble" Rubbing his chin, the old man chuckled, seemingly amused despite the chaotic fervor around them.
Then, with a sideways glance, he posed another question. "Do you believe in gods, young man?"
Nuriel hesitated. "Gods? Aren't you supposed to be devoted solely to the Witch?" His tone carried genuine curiosity, not mockery.
The pastor's eyes twinkled. "That's what they tell you, to keep the faithful loyal. But the Witch, she's a symbol of knowledge and humanity itself. Why do you think Bose is the most industrialized nation in the central continent?"
Nuriel furrowed his brow. "Innovation, of course," he answered.
The pastor nodded. "Exactly. The Testament says the Witch descended at the beginning of time and planted her gaze in the very soil of this world, it describes that all knowledge stems from her. They also say she's the source of all forms of witchcraft"
Nuriel leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. "What about the beliefs of other sects?"
The old man laughed warmly. "I believe in them too," he said, smiling. "We're not the only ones with prophets. Those mortal messengers of the divine can sort out who's right. Or maybe," he said with a shrug, "they all are."
Nuriel stood frozen for a moment. Was this man a charlatan disguised in clerical robes? Should he be saying such heretical things within the house of his own god?
The old pastor cleared his throat. "Anyways, you should really go see it before it's too late"
"How come?" Nuriel replied.
"The church will hand it over to Owhen University soon, for study," the pastor said—calmly, almost casually—despite the blasphemy in his words.
Nuriel stood stunned. The notion of a church willingly surrendering a fragment of their god to be dissected like a museum rattled him. Yet amidst his disbelief, one name echoed louder than the rest, Owhen University. If he could find his way into its inner circles, there was a chance he might uncover something about his current predicament. But with his position as a mere librarian, there was no way he'd be granted access to such a sacred artifact. For now, he buried that plan deep.
Sensing his expression twist, the pastor chuckled softly, as though he hadn't just shattered the pillars of dogma.
"The representation of knowledge and humanity, remember? It's not as heretical as you'd think. Frankly, I'm just as curious as the scholars. When I first laid eyes on it, it looked no different than a piece of weathered stone slab."
A slab? Nuriel wasn't surprised. If a god wished to take form as a whisper in the mind or a flicker in the nerves, why not a stone slab? He'd already felt its power massaging his mind.
"Thank you for telling me," Nuriel said, offering a solemn nod before bowing in respect. "May the Witch bless you."
The pastor mirrored his gesture. "May she bless your mind and soul."
Leaving the premises, the cathedral's roaring cries faded into the distance. On the walk home, Nuriel was jostled more than once by people rushing in the opposite direction, their eyes lit with zealous fire. Some bumped into him outright, without so much as a glance. He wasn't surprised, religious fervor always did tend to trample over the mundane.
Back at his apartment, he cleaned himself up and joined the communal dining hall for dinner.
I should learn how to cook, he thought, staring at the glistening cut of meat balanced on his spoon before taking a bite. As he chewed, his thoughts wandered, did the university provide meals for its staff?
. . .
. . .
. . .
After a few more mouthfuls, he dismissed the idea. Optimism didn't suit his reality. Though cast aside by his step-family, he still held a respectable status in society. But he knew better than to take comfort in that. Sooner or later, they'd find a quiet way to sever him entirely.
He let out a tired sigh, scented faintly with tomato and beef. I should depart tomorrow. If the railways aren't delayed, I'll reach Owhen City by the day after.
After allowing his meal to settle, Nuriel looked down at his plate one final time. Streaks of tomato sauce and tiny scraps of meat clung to the ceramic. Had he been alone, he might've licked it clean like some starved mutt. Why am I thinking like this? He scoffed inwardly, brushing off such thoughts. I might slowly be turning into ahobo.
***
Nuriel adjusted his collar, eyes glancing left and right as he stood at the station. His left arm sore from gripping his briefcase for so long. After that heavy lunch, his body screamed for a chair.
He endured it in silence, he massaged his shoulder, coaxing the stiffness away. A minute later, a steam train appeared at the horizon chugging forward. Its thick black smoke clouded the air above, and a deafening hiss erupted from its brakes.
Boarding the train, Nuriel settled into his seat by the window, adjusting himself for comfort. He placed his briefcase upright between his legs and after a subtle glance around, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Quietly and carefully, he opened it just enough to peek inside.
Three golden eagles, five allied silvers, and sixteen union copper paper notes, accompanied by a handful of piso coins. It wasn't an impressive hoard in size, but the value his savings carried could support a modest life for a full year just for himself.
Finding everything intact, he shut the wallet. Yet something bothered him. He took one more look. Then another. Only when he was completely sure did he bury it deep back into his pocket, tapping his leg through the fabric repeatedly to confirm its presence.
The trip had cost him seven and a half Allied Silver and that came with meals and drinks. Nuriel stared out the window, silently taking in the view outside. Perhaps I should've gone for first class… he entertained the thought briefly, but quickly shut it down. With a clenched fist pressed to his forehead, he silently muttered, "Be more frugal. You're no longer the rich noble you used to be, Nuriel!"
Tired, Nuriel pressed his forehead against the window, its cool surface soothing the faint ache building behind his eyes. He squeezed his briefcase between his legs and shoved his hand deep into the pocket where his wallet sat. Shuffling closer to the cabin wall, he wedged himself into the corner.
He dozed off for hours, until a sudden jolt stirred him awake. Without thinking, his hand clenched. Still there. He slipped his wallet out and flipped it open under the dim ceiling lamp. Three golden eagles, five allied silvers, and sixteen union copper paper notes, accompanied by a handful of piso coins. He double-checked, then tucked it back into the depths of his pocket, stroking the fabric of it once more.
The night was young. The stars were barely visible, drowned out by the electric brilliance of the city. He could see it from the window, towers lit like torches, streets webbed in golden trails of gaslight and engine lamps.
Grabbing his briefcase, he made his way toward the dining car, navigating through the thinning cabins. Most passengers had already drifted into sleep, some cars entirely empty save for the low hum of overhead bulbs.
When he opened the last door, a warm, fragrant breeze greeted him. The food car was styled like a high-end restaurant, with polished wood trims, velvet-cushioned seats, and wide windows offering panoramic views. For second class, it was almost decadent.
Scanning the room, his eyes caught two figures seated near the far window, both bearing the insignia of Owhen University: a silver dragon etched in silver. One wore a modest suit, but the other drew attention—a woman with a pointed witch's hat and an ornate dress that shimmered faintly under the dining lamps. They shared the same blonde hair color and blue eyes.
They must be professors. Without hesitation, Nuriel made his way across the car.
"May the Witch bless you." Nuriel addressed them both with a slight bow.
"May she bless your mind and soul," the woman replied, her tone brisk but not unkind, clearly startled by his sudden intrusion. "May I ask who you are?"
"Nuriel Malachi," he answered smoothly. "I'm one of the mewly appointed librarians. I couldn't help but notice your insignias." His voice dripped with practiced charm.
The man beside her let out a hearty laugh. "A newbie! Thank the Witch, I've finally got someone to share my worries with!" He rose to his feet and gave an exaggerated bow. "Name's Edward Mass, and this is my older sister, Sayla Mass. Please, take a seat."
Nuriel obliged, gently setting down his briefcase as he joined them.
Edward wasted no time launching into conversation. His voice was resonant, the kind of tone that turned heads in a classroom. "I'll be teaching magic engineering. It's my first time working at a university, honestly. I was half-certain I blew the interviews, but thankfully—"
He paused, clearing his throat.
"Thankfully, I've got my sister here as a backer." He flashed a playful grin.
Sayla let out a tired sigh. "Why would my own brother rat me out as a corrupt educator?" Her words were dry, but her expression betrayed amusement. "I teach witchcraft, as you can likely tell. Unlike my dear brother, I can watch what comes out of my mouth."
"As expected of my sister!" Edward replied, oblivious to her sarcasm.
What a duo... Nuriel thought, quietly taking in their dynamic. Their banter continued, clearly something shared for years. Eventually, they turned their attention back to him.
"It'll also be my first time working as a librarian, ever," Nuriel admitted, offering a smile that masked his tension. "Honestly, I feel a bit pressured."
Edward studied him. Owhen University didn't just hire random novices, something about this young man must have stood out. Regardless of whether he had connections, talent, or just luck, Edward decided to throw him a bone. "How about this," he said, leaning in. "I'll make my students use the shelf closest to your station for required reading. Should help you rack up some merit points."
Nuriel gave a polite chuckle, patting his chest. "I won't forget this arrangement."
Their conversation continued, winding through small anecdotes and professional expectations. In that moment, Nuriel even forgot he'd come for dinner.
Then, mid-conversation—
"!!!", "!!!", "!!!". The three froze as the dining car shuddered beneath them, glasses clinking, silverware rattling faintly in their trays.