Chapter 105: After the Dissolution of the Assembly
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Upon her return from the Tomb of the Nameless King, Vanna carried only a small piece of parchment inscribed with the cryptic words: “Anomaly 099 – Doll.” As she read this enigmatic phrase aloud, her face mirrored the confusion that was evident on the faces of those around her, including Bishop Valentine and several shadowy phantoms resembling saints.
After a tense silence, one saint finally spoke. “It appears that an anomaly we were already aware of has undergone a significant change, and this has occurred outside the bounds of what we consider the civilized world.”
Another saint, nodding gravely, added, “This must be the work of the Vanished. The Ghost Captain may be involved as well.”
The first saint, still visibly distressed, continued, “The transformation from ‘Doll Coffin’ to simply ‘Doll’ is no trivial matter. It’s not just a minor change in wording. This alteration has directly impacted the Tomb of the Nameless King, prompting the guardian to urgently summon Vanna, our Listener, to deliver this message.”
As the saints conversed in low, solemn voices, the atmosphere grew heavy with concern. All eyes eventually turned back to Vanna. With Bishop Valentine beside her, she regained her composure, stood up, and gazed at the small piece of parchment still in her hand. “I can’t recall what transpired inside the tomb chamber. All I remember is walking through the entrance passage.”
Bishop Valentine spoke softly, “Forgetting what happens within the chamber is not unusual. It’s your mind’s way of shielding itself from potentially dangerous knowledge. That’s why the tomb guardian provides a parchment and a feather pen for visitors to note any crucial information. However, the fact that you only recorded these cryptic few words is very concerning.”
Lost in thought, Vanna looked at her hands as if expecting them to provide an answer. Finally, she hesitantly asked, “Is it possible that I tore up the parchment myself?”
Bishop Valentine regarded her cautiously before replying, “In theory, it could only have been you. No one else is allowed inside the tomb. The tomb guardian doesn’t interfere with the Listener’s role or tasks, focusing solely on relaying messages from the tomb’s master, who generally remains inactive.”
As Vanna grappled with her rising confusion, a commanding female voice echoed from the edge of the square, halting their discussion. “Our time for this gathering is nearly over.”
All the saints stood erect in unison, turning towards the source of the voice. Vanna, too, collected herself and looked in that direction, spotting a regal woman whose eyes swept majestically over the assembly of saints.
Standing alone, without any attendants, the woman exuded an aura so formidable it was almost tangible. Unlike the other shadowy phantoms of saints, her silhouette was much more clearly defined, as if her outline was made of a thicker darkness, allowing one to almost discern her facial features. Her features suggested a woman of elegant bearing and dignified countenance.
Vanna couldn’t help but bow her head slightly, a sense of awe and deep reverence flooding over her.
This commanding figure was the leader of the Storm Church, the human representative of the Storm Goddess Gomona, and the reigning Pope of the Grand Storm Cathedral. Her divine grace and spiritual authority were so immense that even her soul had undergone a unique transformation, allowing her full human form to be faintly perceived even in this psychic assembly space. In this place, even the powerful “saints,” whose spiritual might far exceeds that of average beings, could only manage to maintain vague, human-like outlines.
Vanna felt the Pope’s penetrating gaze fall upon her.
“Saint Vanna, you have done well,” the Pope said, her voice carrying both authority and a comforting warmth that eased Vanna’s anxious spirit. “The amount and nature of information a Listener can extract from a tomb chamber are variables we can’t control. And the information you bring back isn’t confined to the words you jot down on a piece of parchment.”
“You’re saying…” Vanna looked up, a newfound boldness allowing her to seek clarification.
“The sparser the parchment, the more perilous the message likely is from the master of the tomb. Your spiritual intuition must have guided you to destroy additional details, thereby preventing a hazardous truth from becoming widely known. Even this scant piece of information is enough for the Grand Storm Cathedral to recalibrate its future actions and seek specific divine guidance through prayers to our Goddess,” the Pope elaborated with meticulous detail.
As she listened, Vanna felt her mind settling. She knew the Pope’s words were not mere platitudes for comfort; if the Pope said it, then it had the tacit approval of the Goddess. Vanna had indeed returned with information invaluable to the Storm Church from the Tomb of the Nameless King.
The elegant Pope then softly announced, “This gathering is now concluded. Disperse. The Grand Storm Cathedral will thoroughly assess the implications of Vision 004. If the situation demands, I will either issue a new decree or call another assembly of the saints.”
Quickly gathering her thoughts and emotions, Vanna bowed respectfully toward the Pope. Her silhouette, along with those of the other saints, began to fade, dissolving into the psychic space until the square was empty and silent once again.
Alone in the now-deserted expanse, surrounded by ancient, cracked stone bricks and pillars that seemed to uphold the very heavens, Pope Helena stood motionless. Her eyes remained intently focused on the empty space at the center of the plaza, contemplating the profound implications of what had just transpired.
After an undetermined period of quiet contemplation, Helena’s eyes shifted, focusing on a spot not far from where she stood. The air at that particular location seemed to ripple as if a stone had been thrown into a still pond. In the blink of an eye, a tall, slender figure materialized out of the distortion.
Like Helena, the man was cloaked in robes that hinted at his high spiritual status. Surprisingly, his features were also sufficiently distinct to make out—unlike the vague outlines commonly seen in this psychic space. He was an elderly man, his visage etched with stern lines that spoke of years weighed down by grave responsibilities.
Almost immediately after, another figure took form beside the tall, stern man. This second presence was a short, rotund old man whose features were also visible enough to distinguish. His face bore a kind, warm smile that stood in stark contrast to his stern companion.
Acknowledging their presence, Helena first nodded respectfully to the tall and serious man, “Banster,” then turned to address the shorter, smiling figure, “Lune. What has brought you both here? Shouldn’t you be safeguarding the frontiers with the Death Church and Truth Academy’s fleet?”
“The frontiers are secure, overseen by capable surveillance,” Banster replied tersely, maintaining his stoic demeanor.
“We’ve entrusted the border duties to competent hands for the time being,” Lune chimed in, his head bobbing in agreement. “We were more concerned with how events are unfolding on your end. The civilized world appears to be unsettled, to say the least.”
“During the last incident like this in the tomb, it was under the Storm Church’s watch, wasn’t it?” Banster inquired, his expression still unreadable. “A hundred years ago, if my memory serves me right?”
Helena responded with a note of icy composure, “You remember correctly. It was precisely a century ago. I was the Listener who ventured into the tomb at that time, long before I assumed the leadership of the Grand Storm Cathedral. My memory of that incident remains vivid.”
Lune, stroking his beard thoughtfully, added, “Yes, I recall that episode quite well too. Like the young woman today, you were expelled from the tomb in a state of disorientation. It took you a considerable amount of time to regain your composure. The parchment you took with you inside the chamber was whittled down to a small piece, containing only a few inscrutable letters. Helena, do you still remember what message you managed to bring back from the tomb that day?”
After a momentary pause, Helena softly responded, “It is etched in my memory—’Vision 005-Vanished.'”
“Ah, indeed,” Lune nodded sagely, “you were the first to report that the entity known as the Vanished had transmuted into a vision. Within a month, your information was corroborated. A spectral manifestation of the Vanished was observed skirting the periphery of the Death Church’s grand cemetery. It was an event so catastrophic that Banster’s newly constructed escort ship, which hadn’t even undergone its inaugural ribbon-cutting ceremony, was devoured whole. Ironically, the only thing left was the ribbon intended for the ceremony itself.”
Banster, the enigmatic leader of the Death Church, listened to Lune’s recounting with an unfathomably impassive expression, betraying no emotion.
Helena seemed momentarily adrift as if she hadn’t caught Lune’s last few remarks. Deep in contemplation, her eyes bore the look of someone turning over a complex puzzle in their mind. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she broke her silence. “The entities referred to as the ‘Doll’ or the ‘Doll Coffin’ are simply anomalies whose rankings hover near the one-hundred mark. They aren’t even remotely on the same scale as the fifth-ranked vision.”
Lune’s usually cheerful expression morphed into one of uncharacteristic gravity. “You’re absolutely right, Helena. The core of the problem isn’t what the parchment scrap contained—it’s what was too unsettling to write down. The ‘truth’ so disturbing that even a saint would feel compelled to tear it apart, destroying evidence of it within the tomb’s chamber.”
Helena continued, “At this juncture, we can only speculate that the change from ‘Doll Coffin’ to ‘Doll’ as Anomaly 099 is somehow connected to the mysterious ghost ship.” She paused, her eyes momentarily clouded with uncertainty. “However, just a few days ago, when I was seeking divine guidance from the Lord…”
Abruptly, she stopped talking. Shaking her head as if dismissing some troubling thought, she appeared to make a conscious choice not to pursue that line of discussion.
Switching gears, she looked squarely at the two venerable figures in front of her. “Why hasn’t Frem joined us? He usually revels in such grand spectacles, doesn’t he?”
Lune’s smile returned, albeit more cautiously. “Frem and his Church of the Flame Bearers are currently preoccupied with matters of significant importance. As you well know, it’s not feasible for the leaders of all Four Orthodox Churches to gather here for every ominous event.”
Helena’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “Important matters? What could he possibly be doing that’s so crucial?”
Banster, true to his brief nature, replied with a single word, “Patrolling the borders.”
Helena: “…”
Haha. They ditched the last pope.