≪ Luminous Country Capital, Chanda ≫
Chanda was a city that did not look like it belonged to war.
By day, it gleamed beneath the sun like polished marble. Its wide streets curved around blue canals, arched bridges, and towers of white stone crowned with golden roofs. Airships drifted lazily above the harbor district. Steam carriages rolled across the avenues. Merchants from distant countries filled the market squares with silks, spices, relics, enchanted tools, mechanical devices, and rare monster materials sealed in glass containers.
The city had many names.
The Capital of Peace.
The Jewel of Luminous Country.
The White Harbor.
The City of Seven Bells.
To pilgrims, Chanda was sacred because it housed one of the oldest branches of the Church of Sacred Wisdom. To historians, it was priceless because half the city had been built on ruins dating back to the God's Apocalypse Era. To nobles, it was the political heart of Luminous Country. To common people, it was simply home.
But to Pathwalkers, Chanda had another name.
The Lock.
Not because it imprisoned people.
Because it sealed things beneath it.
Old things.
Hungry things.
Things that had once been human enough to scream.
Beneath the clean streets, beneath the canals and noble districts, beneath the monuments and shrines, there existed an ancient network of underground chambers known as the Sanctum of Code.
It was older than the current kingdom.
Older than the Church's influence over the region.
Some claimed it had been built during the Third Era of Revolution by early Pathwalkers who feared the madness caused by Authority Cores. Others believed it was even older, created by the first human organizations that studied Divine Pathways after the Twelve Gods vanished from the world.
Whatever its origin, the Sanctum still functioned.
And Midnight Lore used it.
Officially, Midnight Lore was an independent organization allied with the Church of Sacred Wisdom and several royal houses across the Astral Continent. Its public purpose was simple: investigate supernatural incidents, preserve forbidden history, suppress dangerous relics, and defend humanity from threats ordinary soldiers could not fight.
Unofficially, Midnight Lore was a blade wrapped in paper.
A library with teeth.
A military force disguised as scholars, priests, hunters, archivists, and investigators.
Its members included Pathwalkers from Divine Pathways, Beast Pathways, and rare bloodline branches that most governments preferred not to mention in polite conversation. Some were former criminals. Some were royal agents. Some were scholars who had read one cursed book too many and decided that if they were already ruined, they might as well become useful.
Xion Trinity had been recruited into that organization.
Recruitment, however, was a generous word.
Dragged was probably more accurate.
Threatened sounded honest.
Politically kidnapped had a certain charm.
After arriving in Chanda, Xion had expected questions. He had expected suspicion. He had expected whispers about the Trinity Family, the False God Pathway, and the Characters of Fate claiming he should not have awakened for another six years.
He had not expected trials.
Midnight Lore called them the Sanctum of Code.
Seven trials.
Seven locks.
Seven mirrors held up to the soul.
Each trial was modeled after one of humanity's natural sins.
Wrath.
Greed.
Lust.
Sloth.
Gluttony.
Envy.
Pride.
They were not religious punishments, despite the Church's influence. They were psychological, spiritual, and metaphysical tests designed to force a Pathwalker to confront the madness most likely to consume them.
Every Pathway carried danger.
The Solar Pathway could twist purity into fanaticism.
The Fateweaver Pathway could turn foresight into obsession.
The Conqueror Pathway could turn courage into bloodlust.
The Abyss Pathway could make death feel more honest than life.
The Verdant Pathway could dissolve individuality into the collective pulse of nature.
The False God Pathway was worse because no one fully understood which madness belonged to it.
Identity erosion.
Authority hunger.
Contradiction addiction.
Imitation sickness.
Belief distortion.
The risk of becoming whatever others feared, worshiped, or misunderstood.
That was the polite version.
The impolite version was simple:
A False God Pathwalker could lose themselves and become a walking disaster wearing their own face.
The Sanctum existed to prevent that.
Or at least expose those who could not resist it.
Those who failed the trials did not always die.
Sometimes death would have been kinder.
When an Authority Core collapsed under excessive desire, contradiction, ritual failure, or Pathway madness, the result was often a Lost Soul.
A human ruin.
A creature born from a failed relationship between mortal identity and supernatural authority.
Lost Souls were not ordinary monsters.
They were not beasts.
They were not demons.
They were what remained when a person's humanity fractured beneath the pressure of power and sin.
A failed Solar Pathwalker might become a creature of burning judgment that purified anything it touched, even children.
A failed Conqueror might become a war-hungry brute incapable of recognizing surrender.
A failed Fateweaver might become a whispering thing trapped in possible futures, trying to force the world into the one outcome where it still had a name.
A failed False God…
No one wanted to finish that thought.
Tonight, Chanda did not shine.
The peaceful capital slept beneath a moonless sky, its white towers turned gray by darkness. Lamps glowed along empty streets, their light trembling inside glass cages. The canals reflected thin strips of gold from distant windows. Somewhere far away, one of the Seven Bells rang once, deep and lonely.
Xion walked alone through the darker district near Midnight Lore's lower entrance.
He wore the organization's formal attire.
At first glance, it resembled a noble uniform: fitted black coat, high collar, reinforced cuffs, dark trousers, polished boots, and a long mantle cut short enough not to interfere with movement. But the fabric was not ordinary. It had been woven with treated spirit-thread and flexible protection arrays, allowing it to resist minor curses, heat, cold, and weak spiritual erosion.
The color scheme was almost invisible in darkness.
Night-sky black.
Crimson red.
Only when he passed beneath lamplight did the red accents reveal themselves, thin lines along the seams like blood under glass.
His crimson eyes gleamed faintly from within the shadows.
To anyone watching from a window, he would have looked like a child playing dress-up in clothes too serious for him.
To anyone with real senses, he looked like a question the world had not decided whether to answer.
Xion turned down a narrow street.
The stone beneath his boots was damp from earlier rain.
Ahead, leaning against the side of a closed tea shop, stood his captain.
Audrey Shea Livingston.
Most people in Midnight Lore called her Shea.
Some called her Captain Livingston.
A few brave fools called her Audrey.
No one called her old twice.
She stood with one boot against the wall, arms folded, purple hair tied loosely behind her head. Her magenta eyes were half-lidded, giving her the relaxed air of someone waiting for a slow appointment rather than a supernatural patrol through a city famous for hiding nightmares under polished stone.
She wore a long dark coat over fitted combat attire, formal enough to pass as upper-class clothing but built for violence. At her side rested a folded lance, collapsed into a compact metal baton etched with red-gold symbols.
Xion stopped several steps away.
Audrey smiled.
It was a pleasant smile.
The kind that made small children behave and grown men remember urgent appointments elsewhere.
"You're late," she said.
Xion stared at her.
"I'm ten."
"That is not a defense."
"It should be."
"It is not."
Xion sighed.
"Good evening to you too, Captain Hag."
Audrey's smile did not change.
A vein pulsed near her forehead.
Several seconds passed.
The night became very quiet.
Xion's eyes narrowed slightly.
Clock stirred inside his chest.
Tick.
His perception sharpened.
Tick.
The world divided into intervals.
Audrey's posture shifted by less than a finger's width.
Danger.
Xion stepped back at the same moment her hand blurred.
The punch did not land.
Not because she missed.
Because it stopped.
A translucent distortion appeared an inch from Xion's face, invisible unless caught beneath lamplight. Audrey's fist pressed against it, frozen in place as if the air had become a wall.
The ground beneath them cracked.
A shockwave rolled through the street.
Several lanterns flickered.
A stray cat launched itself from a trash pile with the expression of a beast that had just discovered religion.
Audrey looked at her fist.
Then at Xion.
"You used it faster this time."
Xion kept his expression calm.
"You attacked faster this time."
"I was being gentle."
"That is a terrifying sentence coming from you."
Audrey pulled her fist back.
The barrier vanished.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Audrey chuckled.
"You've improved."
Xion lowered his guard slightly.
"I've survived."
"Same thing, if you squint."
"No, it really isn't."
Her smile widened.
"Still disrespectful."
"Still violent."
"Good. You remember our first meeting."
Xion's gaze drifted past her toward the distant central district, where the great library tower of Midnight Lore rose above the rooftops.
He did remember.
Unfortunately.
Very clearly.
Their first meeting had taken place inside a library.
At least, it looked like a library.
That was how Midnight Lore preferred things.
The public building was called Livingston Archives, a respectable establishment located near Chanda's scholar district. On paper, it specialized in rare texts, historical collections, restricted manuscripts, and restoration of damaged records. Nobles visited to buy family genealogies. Scholars visited to argue with footnotes. Priests visited to pretend they were not searching for forbidden books.
Beneath the library, however, was one of Midnight Lore's hidden bases.
Sean had brought Xion there after arriving in Chanda with Venus.
The building smelled of old paper, polished wood, candle wax, and the faint metallic scent of hidden security mechanisms. Tall shelves stretched toward the ceiling. Ladders rolled quietly along brass rails. Stained-glass windows filtered sunlight into soft violet and gold.
Xion had liked the place immediately.
That made him suspicious.
Places that suited him rarely stayed peaceful.
"Oh, Sean. It's been a while."
The voice came from the back of the library.
Feminine.
Mature.
Amused.
Dangerous in the way sweet tea could hide poison if someone got creative enough.
Sean stopped.
Venus looked mildly uncomfortable.
That alone warned Xion.
A woman stepped out from between two towering shelves, carrying a stack of books under one arm. She had purple hair, magenta eyes, and a relaxed expression that made it impossible to tell whether she was happy to see them or considering how much paperwork would be required if they disappeared.
Sean bowed his head slightly.
"Yes, it has been a while."
The woman smiled.
"I thought you were too busy playing holy guard dog to visit your dear sister."
Xion blinked.
Sister?
He looked at Sean.
Then at her.
Then back at Sean.
No.
Impossible.
Sean was stiff, polite, owl-eyed, and allergic to emotional convenience.
This woman looked like she would drink wine during an apocalypse and critique the soundtrack.
Sean adjusted his glasses.
"I thought you were visiting our family."
"I was supposed to."
She set the books on a nearby table.
"But rumors of Lost Souls have been increasing. Too many sightings. Too many disappearances. Too many bodies with their Authority Cores cracked open like rotten fruit."
Her smile thinned.
"So now I'm staying undercover while hunting them."
Venus placed a hand on Xion's shoulder.
"Where are my manners?" she said. "Xion, this purple-haired tyrant is Audrey Shea Livingston. She is Sean's older sister, captain of one of Midnight Lore's field divisions, and one of the most troublesome women alive."
Audrey placed a hand over her chest.
"Such praise."
"It wasn't praise," Sean said.
"I will accept it anyway."
Venus continued, "She works closely with the Church of Sacred Wisdom, though she pretends she doesn't, and she has ties to the Readers of Destiny family."
Xion tilted his head.
"Older sister?"
Audrey smiled.
"Yes."
He studied her.
Then Sean.
Then her again.
His imagination, unfortunately, betrayed him.
He could not see the resemblance.
Not in personality.
Not in aura.
Not in anything except perhaps the shape of their eyes, and even that felt like nature trying to apologize for a joke.
Xion's mouth moved before survival instinct could stop it.
"That means she's an old hag."
Silence.
Venus froze.
Sean's face went pale.
Somewhere in the library, a book fell from a shelf all by itself, perhaps wishing to escape the blast radius.
Audrey kept smiling.
Her eyes closed.
A tiny tick mark appeared on her forehead.
"Old," she repeated softly.
Xion realized something.
He had made a tactical error.
Not a small one either.
This was not stepping on a landmine.
This was insulting the landmine's mother and asking why it looked dusty.
Audrey moved.
Her fist shot toward him with such speed and force that the air cracked.
Xion's 10th Array Authority reacted before his body did.
Clock.
The first Authority of the False God Pathway.
At its current level, Clock did not give him absolute control over time. It did not allow grand reversals, frozen worlds, or majestic declarations about destiny. It was far more subtle.
And more irritating.
Clock let him perceive intervals.
The gap between intent and action.
The hesitation between motion and impact.
The brief space where the world had not yet decided whether something would happen.
Xion's Authority Core seized that interval and stretched it.
A thin invisible barrier formed before him.
Audrey's fist struck it.
Boom.
The entire library shook.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
Outside, the street trembled violently. People screamed. A carriage horse panicked. Several nearby windows rattled hard enough to threaten resignation from reality.
Surprisingly, the only thing inside the library that broke was a sheet of translucent protective glass mounted near the front desk.
Audrey's fist remained stopped in midair.
The barrier held.
Barely.
Xion stood behind it, expression calm.
His body, however, had already decided that calm was stupid and was busy sweating under his collar.
Audrey opened her eyes.
For the first time, genuine interest appeared in them.
"Hm."
Xion stared up at her.
"Kids like you need to respect your elders!" she snapped.
"I respect plenty of elders."
"Apparently not breathing ones."
Sean slowly lowered his hand from his face.
Venus looked as if she was trying very hard not to laugh and failing with her soul.
Audrey examined the distortion around her fist.
"This is not ordinary Spatial Magic."
Xion's eyes sharpened.
The fact that she identified that so quickly was unpleasant.
"No," Audrey said, thinking aloud. "Spatial Magic would displace the point of contact. This is different. It feels like my fist reached the destination, but the moment of impact was delayed."
Her gaze slid toward him.
"You're a Pathwalker with a Spiritual Authority Core."
Xion said nothing.
He had not yet fully understood that term.
A Spiritual Authority Core was different from a spell core or mana organ. Ordinary mages shaped mana through circuits, chants, formulas, or natural affinity. Pathwalkers drew power through the Authority Core, the metaphysical organ awakened by contact with a Pathway.
For Divine Pathways, that Core resonated with a Portfolio.
For Beast Pathways, it resonated with an Origin.
For the False God Pathway, apparently, it resonated with everyone's collective desire to be annoyingly vague.
Audrey continued studying him.
"Your barrier absorbs time from the space immediately around you, effectively stretching the duration between an attack and your contact with it. This creates an automatic defensive interval, allowing you to react more effectively. Physical strikes against the barrier are halted, stopping their momentum entirely. Non-physical attacks, such as psychic or energy-based assaults, may experience hesitation or delay as they encounter this defensive field. The stronger an attack—whether physical, energetic, or otherwise—the greater the pressure it exerts on your Core, challenging your defenses and resilience."
Xion's expression did not change.
Inside, he was deeply offended.
She had taken one glance and started reading his ability like a book with pictures.
Audrey's eyes narrowed.
"But it isn't perfect. If I hit you enough times, the interval collapses. If I attack from multiple directions, you may not process every threat. If I use an attack that ignores contact, you might still die."
Xion smiled faintly.
"And I see you must belong to a Beast Pathway under the Conqueror pillar."
Audrey's eyebrow rose.
"Oh?"
"Your examination, brute strength, speed, and pressure all point toward battle-based instinct rather than spellcasting. You didn't chant. You didn't shape mana in the normal way. Your body moved first, and your authority followed."
His eyes moved to her stance.
"You're not a Divine Conqueror Candidate. You don't carry the War God's direct Portfolio. But you are tied to one of the beast branches beneath it."
Audrey's smile widened.
Sean looked mildly impressed despite himself.
Venus's expression softened with pride.
Xion continued.
"Ninth Array."
The room quieted.
Audrey's eyes gleamed.
"Go on."
"Gladiator."
For a heartbeat, Audrey said nothing.
Then she laughed.
A real laugh.
Deep, bright, and a little terrifying.
"Well, look at that. The little brat has claws."
Xion folded his arms.
"I'm surprised you tried moving faster than someone who can perceive movement faster than lightning."
Audrey leaned closer.
"I did not try."
Xion's smile vanished slightly.
Audrey's grin sharpened.
"That was me tapping you on the forehead with manners."
The room became very quiet again.
Xion processed that.
Then silently chose emotional denial.
Audrey Shea Livingston was a 9th Array Pathwalker of the War Lion Pathway, a Beast Pathway under the Conqueror pillar.
The Conqueror pillar itself belonged to the War God's Divine Portfolio. It governed battle, victory, courage, struggle, weapons, and the indomitable will to overcome opposition. Beneath that pillar existed countless Beast Pathways born from mythic creatures associated with warfare.
War Lion.
Iron Bull.
Blood Ram.
Thunder Boar.
Ashen Wolf.
Spear-Tail Wyvern.
Hundred-Scarred Bear.
Each Beast Pathway did not lead toward the War God's throne, but toward the perfection of its own Beast Origin. A Divine Conqueror inherited the War God's concept of victory. A War Lion Pathwalker inherited the Origin of a mythic predator that thrived in battlefields, devoured fear, and grew stronger when challenged.
Audrey's ninth Array was Gladiator.
It granted her several terrifying traits.
Battlefield Appraisal, allowing her to read an opponent's physical habits, combat intent, and authority pressure after only a few exchanges.
Predator Tempo, allowing her body to accelerate in response to danger and resistance.
Arena Pressure, an invisible force that made weaker enemies feel as if they had been dragged into a colosseum with no exit.
And most importantly, War Lion Instinct, a beast-born combat intuition that made hesitation nearly impossible in battle.
Audrey did not fight like someone who used power.
She fought like violence had raised her politely and taught her table manners.
She turned toward Sean.
"So this is the brat I'm supposed to take care of?"
Sean nodded gently.
"Indeed. The Archbishop wants him trained quickly enough to join controlled field operations."
Xion's head snapped toward Sean.
"Controlled what?"
Sean did not look at him.
"The frontlines will come eventually."
"Excuse me?"
Audrey smiled.
"Roger."
That single word silenced the room.
Xion had seen that expression before.
Not from Audrey.
From mothers.
Teachers.
Women who discovered report cards hidden under beds.
The face of a person preparing punishment while calling it character development.
Sean smiled nervously.
"Well, good luck, Xion."
Then he grabbed Venus by the wrist and started pulling her toward the exit.
Venus blinked.
"Sean?"
"We are leaving."
"But—"
"We are leaving now."
Xion stared at them.
"Wait."
Sean did not stop.
"This feels like betrayal," Xion said.
"It is training," Sean replied.
"That sounds like betrayal wearing a uniform."
Venus looked back apologetically.
"Try not to die."
Xion's expression went blank.
"That is not comforting!"
The library door closed behind them.
Xion slowly turned back toward Audrey.
Audrey cracked her knuckles.
"Huh," Xion said.
His face became mortified as the full shape of his future appeared before him like an executioner with purple hair.
Audrey grabbed him by the back of his collar.
"Come along."
Xion's boots dragged across the wooden floor.
"Where are you taking me?"
"To meet your comrades."
"That sounds suspicious."
"It is."
"At least you're honest."
Audrey hauled him toward the back of the library, where a narrow door stood beneath a carved symbol. The symbol resembled an open book wrapped in chains, with a lantern burning above it.
The insignia of Midnight Lore.
She pressed her palm against the door.
The symbol glowed red-gold.
Locks clicked open from inside the wall.
The door opened, revealing a staircase descending into darkness.
Xion stared down.
The air below smelled of old stone, coffee, metal, and faint traces of blood.
"I'm being kidnapped," he announced.
Audrey began walking down the stairs, dragging him behind her.
"Shut up."
Xion's backside hit the first stair.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
His expression did not change.
Only his soul screamed.
If she has children, I'll pray for them when they get bad grades.
The staircase spiraled downward far longer than it should have. The walls were carved from black stone and lined with small lanterns burning blue flame. Symbols had been etched between each lantern, some written in languages Xion recognized, others in scripts that hurt to look at for too long.
Halfway down, Xion noticed something.
The air changed.
The library above had felt old.
This place felt buried.
Not abandoned.
Buried.
Like something had been deliberately placed beneath the city and told to stay asleep.
Audrey finally reached the bottom of the stairs and pushed open another door.
Warm light spilled out.
Xion found himself in a large underground hall.
It did not look like a military base.
Not exactly.
It looked like a tavern, archive, training hall, and war room had all been stuffed into one basement and told to cooperate.
Bookshelves lined the walls. A bar counter stood near the left side, stocked not with alcohol alone but with tea tins, coffee jars, potion bottles, and labeled vials of strange liquid. A large map of the Astral Continent covered one wall, marked with red pins, black thread, and handwritten notes. Several tables occupied the center of the room, each cluttered with documents, weapons, relic fragments, and half-eaten pastries.
A training area stood farther back, its floor reinforced with silver plates.
At the far end, an enormous sealed door sat embedded in the stone wall.
Seven symbols circled it.
Wrath.
Greed.
Lust.
Sloth.
Gluttony.
Envy.
Pride.
The entrance to the Sanctum of Code.
Xion felt Clock stir inside him the moment he saw it.
Not danger.
Recognition.
A warning shaped like curiosity.
At the bar counter sat a young woman reading a book.
She had blunt bangs covering her right eye and light brown hair arranged in soft three-layered waves that framed her warm ivory skin. She wore an ash-white western-style dress with delicate black embroidery along the sleeves. A pair of round spectacles rested low on her nose.
She looked peaceful.
Too peaceful.
In Midnight Lore, peaceful people were suspicious.
Audrey called out, "Yo, Celina. We have a new member."
Then she lightly tossed Xion forward.
He landed on his feet, stumbled once, then rubbed his sore backside with a dead-eyed expression.
"That's not how you handle a kid, hag."
Celina turned her head.
Audrey cocked her fist back.
Xion immediately raised his guard.
His stance was defensive but calm, one foot sliding back, shoulders relaxed, eyes locked on Audrey's wrist rather than her face.
Audrey paused.
Then smirked and lowered her arm.
"Not only do you have an irritating ability, but you also have combat skill hiding in that frail little body."
"Frail?"
"You look like a rude twig."
"I hope your tea is cold forever."
Celina blinked.
Audrey laughed.
"I'm looking forward to your adventures with us." She turned toward the stairs. "Celina, teach him the ropes."
Without waiting for a reply, Audrey walked back upstairs.
Xion watched her go.
The door closed.
Silence followed.
Xion let out a deep sigh.
"Geez. That was too much."
Then he noticed Celina staring.
Her visible eye had widened.
The book in her hands trembled slightly.
Celina Crest was not weak.
Xion could tell immediately.
Her mana was refined, layered, and quiet. Not overwhelming like Audrey's battlefield pressure, and not sharp like Sean's Owl Eyes. It flowed around her like a library at night, calm on the surface but filled with things that might whisper if opened carelessly.
Yet she looked at him like she had seen something monstrous.
Which was rude.
Accurate, perhaps.
But rude.
Celina's rose-pink eye reflected Xion's figure.
No.
Not only Xion.
Behind him, in her perception, stood two faint silhouettes.
One of light.
One of darkness.
Both held strings connected to his body.
The strings did not bind him.
They guided.
Protected.
Manipulated.
Or perhaps all three.
Celina's thoughts scattered.
That blood-red hair.
Those crimson eyes.
That aura…
A monster not yet awakened.
No.
A calamity still wearing childhood.
She had seen powerful Pathwalkers before. She had seen Audrey crush Destroyer-class Lost Souls with a single swing. She had seen priests burn corruption out of entire villages. She had read records of Divine Candidates whose Authority Cores warped the air simply by existing.
But Xion Trinity felt different.
His mana was not vast.
That was the frightening part.
It was condensed.
Layered inward.
A red outline around something blacker than shadow.
Like a sealed star.
Or a coffin for a god.
"Are you okay?"
Celina blinked.
Xion stood before her, head tilted, expression calm.
"Huh?" she said. "What?"
He stared.
She cleared her throat quickly and closed her book.
"Yes. I'm okay."
She stood and offered her hand.
"My name is Celina Crest. Vice Captain of this Midnight Lore division."
Xion accepted her hand.
"My name is Xion Trinity."
Then, after a brief pause, he added,
"I'm only ten years old."
Celina froze.
"Ten?"
"Yes."
"You're ten?"
"I just said that."
Celina looked toward the stairs.
Then back at him.
Her expression shifted from surprise to concern to immediate internal panic.
What is the Church thinking?
Recruiting someone so young?
No, not simply recruiting.
Positioning him.
Preparing him.
Pushing him toward the frontlines.
Even if his existence threatens everything around him, putting a child like this on a battlefield…
Her hand tightened slightly around his.
It would either break him or make him worse.
Celina released his hand gently.
"I see."
She smiled softly.
"Then I suppose I should bring you up to speed."
Xion looked wary.
"Is this the part where you drag me somewhere too?"
"No."
"Good."
"I prefer explaining things before ruining someone's day."
"Less good."
Celina gestured toward a coffee table near the bookshelves.
Xion followed and sat on the couch across from her.
She placed her book on the table between them.
The title read: On Lost Souls, Pathway Collapse, and the Sevenfold Code.
Xion immediately disliked the book.
Anything with that title either contained useful information or emotional damage.
Possibly both.
Celina poured tea from a small pot and slid a cup toward him.
"Our organization," she began, "exists because the world is not as stable as people want to believe."
Xion lifted the cup.
"Most worlds aren't."
Celina studied him for a second, then continued.
"The public knows about monsters. Bandits. Curses. Border conflicts. Magical beasts. They even know about some Pathwalkers, depending on the country."
She tapped the book.
"But very few understand what happens when an Authority Core fails."
Xion remained silent.
Celina's voice softened.
"A Pathway is not merely power. It is a relationship between a person and an authority greater than themselves. Divine Pathways connect to Portfolios. Beast Pathways connect to Origins. The Authority Core serves as the bridge."
She opened the book.
An illustration appeared on the page: a human silhouette, a glowing core in the chest, and roots extending upward toward a radiant symbol.
"At the lower Arrays, the connection is weak but unstable. A Pathwalker receives abilities, instincts, dreams, and spiritual pressure from their Pathway. If they grow too quickly, misuse their authority, fail a ritual, overload their mana, or surrender to Pathway madness, the bridge cracks."
The illustration darkened.
The human silhouette twisted.
"When the bridge cracks, identity begins leaking out."
Xion's eyes narrowed.
"That's how Lost Souls form?"
"Partly."
Celina turned the page.
A grotesque creature appeared.
Humanoid.
Hollow-faced.
Its chest split open where the Authority Core should have been.
"Lost Souls are failed Pathwalkers, failed ritualists, corrupted mages, or ordinary humans whose emotions became dense enough to attract broken authority. They are not alive in the normal sense. They are spiritual remains shaped by desire."
"Sin," Xion said.
Celina looked at him.
He rested his chin against his palm.
"Wrath. Greed. Lust. Sloth. Gluttony. Envy. Pride."
Celina nodded.
"The seven natural sins are not moral decorations. They are the most common failure points of the human soul. Every Pathway can be corrupted through them."
She raised one finger.
"Wrath turns authority into violence without purpose."
Another.
"Greed turns growth into endless hunger."
Another.
"Lust turns connection into possession."
Another.
"Sloth turns hesitation into spiritual decay."
Another.
"Gluttony turns consumption into identity collapse."
Another.
"Envy turns admiration into theft."
Another.
"Pride turns selfhood into a throne built above everyone else."
Xion's expression remained calm.
But each word struck somewhere deeper than he wanted.
False God Pathway.
Identity.
Imitation.
Stolen authority.
Belief.
Contradiction.
He looked toward the sealed door at the far end of the hall.
"The Sanctum of Code tests those sins."
"Yes."
Celina followed his gaze.
"Every Midnight Lore recruit must pass at least one trial before being allowed into field operations. Full members are expected to pass all seven eventually."
"Eventually?"
"Some people take years."
"And if they fail?"
Celina's expression became solemn.
"If they fail normally, they are removed from active duty and treated. If they fail catastrophically…"
Her eyes lowered to the book.
"They become part of our work."
Xion understood.
They became Lost Souls.
He turned the teacup slowly between his fingers.
"And you want me to go through these trials?"
"Not immediately."
Xion stared at her.
Celina sighed.
"Audrey probably wants you thrown into them immediately."
"Of course she does."
"She believes pressure reveals truth."
"She seems like pressure in human form."
"That is also true."
Celina turned another page.
A ranking chart appeared.
"Lost Souls are classified by destructive capacity, intelligence, corruption density, and spiritual contamination."
Xion leaned forward slightly.
The chart listed several categories.
Soulless.
Hollow.
Wailer.
Ravager.
Aberrant.
Destroyer.
Calamity.
Celina pointed to the first rank.
"Soulless-class creatures are the weakest. They can destroy buildings, possess civilians briefly, and spread minor corruption. Dangerous to ordinary people, but manageable for trained Pathwalkers."
Her finger moved downward.
"Hollow-class can imitate speech and memories. Wailer-class attack minds and emotions. Ravagers are physically destructive and often tied to Wrath or Gluttony. Aberrants possess unusual abilities based on the Pathway or ritual that created them."
She paused at Destroyer.
"Destroyer-class Lost Souls can wipe out mountain fortresses, islands, military divisions, or entire towns depending on their nature. They often require multiple high-Array Pathwalkers to subdue."
Xion thought of Audrey.
"She destroyed a pack of Destroyer-class Lost Souls with one swing of her lance?"
Celina smiled faintly.
"So you heard."
"Is it true?"
"Yes."
Xion was silent for a moment.
Then he looked toward the stairs Audrey had disappeared through.
"She is a monster."
"A disciplined monster."
"That does not improve the sentence."
Celina continued.
"Audrey's War Lion Pathway is specialized for direct confrontation. As a Ninth Array Gladiator, she becomes stronger when facing enemies that resist her. Lost Souls that rely on physical force are poor matchups against her."
Xion narrowed his eyes.
"Ninth Array is still low compared to the full ladder."
"Yes."
"Then why is she that strong?"
Celina smiled slightly.
"Because Arrays are not the only measure of danger."
She closed the book halfway.
"Pathway compatibility matters. Experience matters. Combat instinct matters. Relics matter. One's Authority Core quality matters. Audrey has spent years fighting things that would make most trained soldiers forget how to breathe."
Xion absorbed that.
It matched what he had seen.
Audrey was not terrifying because of raw power alone.
She was terrifying because she understood violence as a language and spoke it fluently.
Xion looked back at the Lost Soul chart.
"So how do we combat them?"
Celina answered immediately.
"Magic and authority."
Xion blinked.
She had responded so quickly that it almost interrupted his thought.
Celina smiled apologetically.
"Sorry. Common question."
She continued.
"Lost Souls are weak against magic because magic is structured supernatural energy. It can purify, stabilize, distort, or overwrite physical and non-physical laws depending on the spell. Since Lost Souls are unstable spiritual constructs, proper magic can damage the cohesion holding them together."
She lifted a hand.
A small circle of pale light formed above her palm.
"However, high-grade spells can also worsen them if used carelessly. Overloaded magic may feed corruption, especially if the Lost Soul was born from a failed ritual."
Xion's eyes sharpened.
"So more power is not always better."
"Exactly."
Celina looked pleased.
"Authority works differently. A Pathwalker's authority can suppress a Lost Soul if the conceptual relationship favors them."
"For example?"
"A Solar Pathwalker can purify certain corruptions. An Arbiter can bind a Lost Soul if it still carries remnants of a contract or crime. A Bastion can contain one. An Abyss bearer can sometimes command or sever the dead fragments inside them."
"And a Conqueror?"
"Can dominate them through force, battle pressure, or victory conditions."
Xion looked toward the sealed door again.
"And False God?"
Celina became quiet.
The pale light above her palm vanished.
"That is harder to answer."
"Because nobody knows."
"Because the records are restricted."
"That means nobody knows."
"It means people know and refuse to write it down."
"Same practical problem."
Celina sighed.
"Possibly."
Xion leaned back.
Humans are easy to understand when you put the pieces together.
Celina was strong.
Kind too.
But strength and kindness were not always enough.
Lost Souls were not truly human anymore.
They were burdens given shape.
Sins wearing corpses.
Humanity loved naming monsters as if names created distance.
Lost Souls.
Demons.
Beasts.
Corruption.
Calamities.
But beneath all of that, most horrors began with something painfully ordinary.
A person wanting too much.
Hurting too much.
Fearing too much.
Hating too much.
Refusing to stop.
Xion stared at the steam rising from his tea.
Humanity's natural sins.
Wrath.
Greed.
Lust.
Sloth.
Gluttony.
Envy.
Pride.
He wondered which one would be waiting for him in the Sanctum.
He wondered which one the False God Pathway would enjoy most.
Celina watched him carefully.
"What are you thinking?"
Xion smiled faintly.
"Nothing good."
"That is honest."
"I try occasionally."
Before Celina could respond, the sealed door at the end of the hall pulsed.
One of the seven symbols glowed red.
Wrath.
Celina's expression changed immediately.
Xion felt it too.
A pressure beneath the floor.
A heartbeat that did not belong to a human body.
The base grew silent.
From upstairs came the faint sound of Audrey's footsteps stopping.
Then her voice drifted down.
"Well."
The door pulsed again.
The symbol of Wrath burned brighter.
Audrey descended the stairs slowly, lance already unfolding in her hand.
Her smile was gone.
Captain Audrey Shea Livingston had replaced the troublesome older sister.
The 9th Array Gladiator had entered the room.
Celina stood and grabbed her book.
Xion rose as well.
Audrey looked at the sealed door.
Then at Xion.
"Looks like Chanda wants to welcome you properly."
Xion stared at the glowing symbol.
"Is that supposed to happen?"
"No."
"Wonderful."
Celina opened her book, pages flipping rapidly.
"The Sanctum seal is reacting to something below us."
Audrey's magenta eyes narrowed.
"Lost Soul?"
"Maybe."
The symbol of Wrath throbbed again.
The air tasted faintly of iron.
Xion felt Clock tick in his chest.
Not warning.
Counting.
Audrey rested her lance on her shoulder.
"Celina, prepare containment rites."
"Already doing it."
"Xion."
He looked at her.
She smiled.
This time it was not teasing.
It was sharp.
Commanding.
Alive with battle.
"Stay behind me unless I tell you otherwise."
Xion stared.
Then his lips curved faintly.
"Are you protecting me?"
"I am protecting the city from whatever dumb decision you are about to make."
"That sounds more accurate."
The sealed door groaned.
Something scratched from the other side.
Slow.
Heavy.
Eager.
Xion's crimson eyes reflected the symbol of Wrath.
Somewhere deep beneath Chanda, something that had failed the Code was waking up.
And the city above slept peacefully, unaware that monsters were always closest when the streets looked clean.
Audrey stepped forward.
Her War Lion pressure filled the room.
Celina's pages shone with pale light.
Xion adjusted his gloves.
Clock ticked once.
The sealed door opened.