The great doors of the Sanctum sealed slowly behind Hongbo, cutting off the outside clamor and killing intent. Within, the hall was majestic and solemn, golden energy flowing silently between the massive pillars—yet it did nothing to dispel the visceral scent of blood and conspiracy that clung to the intruders.

  "Summon the Healer-Priests. Now," Hongbo's voice echoed through the vast main hall, brooking no argument. He didn't even glance at the barely-alive, black-clad Cleric being carefully moved by junior brothers, treating him as mere debris to be cleared. "Take him to the 'Contemplation Corridor'. Stabilize him. Ensure he can speak."

  The Contemplation Corridor—its name sounded peaceful, but it was the Sanctum's most secure facility for isolating and interrogating high-value individuals, protected by the strongest containment and silencing wards. "Stabilize" was merely a euphemism for keeping a subject alive long enough to extract every last drop of information.

  But as the priests attempted to move the survivor—the one kept alive by his comrade's desperate Energy Feedback—a sudden, horrifying change occurred.

  The corpse of the other black-clad Cleric, the one who had expended all his energy to save his partner and had already ceased breathing, suddenly convulsed violently.

  Beneath the black robes over his chest, an intricate, spinning dark crimson Mark flared to life.

  The Mark flashed three times with unnatural, frantic speed, as if it possessed a will of its own, and then—

  WHOOSH!

  A ghostly blue flame erupted from within the body, instantly consuming it. The fire was intensely bright, yet eerily released absolutely no heat. It precisely and rapidly reduced flesh, bone, and heavy cloth into a fine, metallic-looking, pale white ash.

  The process was terrifyingly fast—over in two or three breaths. By the time the surrounding Clerics reacted, attempting to suppress it with Auric energy, only a small pile of what seemed like ultra-purified ash remained on the polished floor, accompanied by a lingering, unnatural scent of cold scorching.

  Information Scorch.

  The term rose in the minds of all who witnessed it—a final, brutal safeguard planted on certain core researchers, triggered upon death and total energy depletion, ensuring any potentially informative physical or energetic traces were utterly annihilated.

  Hongbo's face darkened instantly, his expression thunderous. He stared at the pile of ash, his eyes cold and sharp. One dead. Half the trail gone.

  "Clean this up," he commanded coldly, turning on his heel and striding deeper into the Sanctum. Now, all hope rested on the half-dead captive sent to the Contemplation Corridor. He had to uncover what they were truly researching, what secrets the Energy Feedback held, before the Inquisitorial Tribunal or other factions could intervene.

  The Sanctum returned to its surface calm, but the undercurrents were raging. That pile of pale ash stood as both a silent warning and a question mark burned into the minds of all who knew.

  The energy fluctuations from the Sanctum's depths were like stones dropped into a lake; though weakened by layers of barriers, their strange ripples were still keenly perceived by Erika.

  Like a vine clinging to life in a stone crevice, he had pressed himself into a narrow, shadowed maintenance alcove near the Sanctum's inner ring. He knew nothing of the layout, feeling his way like a blind man, but his dangerous attunement to the Resonance Protocol guided him toward the anomaly.

  Hiding behind a massive pillar carved with angelic battle scenes, he strained his perception to its absolute limit. Filtered through heavy energy barriers, the voices from behind the rune-etched doors of the Contemplation Corridor were muffled—but he could still distinguish Hongbo's oppressive voice, and another—weak, yet unnervingly calm.

  "...High Priest, what I can tell you is limited." It was the black-clad Cleric's voice, breathless from blood loss, yet entirely devoid of panic. "That girl, Cecilia... her constitution is... unique. She is not just a vessel. She is the mirror reflecting your hypocrisy, and the key to undoing this false Order. More than that, I cannot reveal."

  Hongbo's tone betrayed no emotion. "Order? Withholding information from me, in my own Sanctum, is the greatest disorder. Why do you think the Inquisitorial Tribunal hunts you so relentlessly?"

  "They chase shadows. Fear itself," the black-clad voice held a trace of barely perceptible scorn. "While we... seek to understand the truth where light and shadow intertwine. Holding me is pointless. I know little more than what you are about to witness for yourself."

  A tense silence fell, heavy with unspoken conflict.

  Erika held his breath in the dark alcove, his heart pounding against his ribs. Mirror? Key? What lay behind these cryptic words?

  Just as he leaned closer, straining to catch another syllable—

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  A cold, slick hand settled on his shoulder from behind. Ghost-like. Utterly silent.

  Erika's hair stood on end, his spirit freezing in absolute terror. He instinctively tried to surge his energy to struggle, but the owner of the hand was overwhelmingly faster. Another hand clamped over his eyes and mouth like an iron vise, sealing all sight and sound, crushing his meager energy flow back into his veins.

  A familiar, smoothly amused voice whispered directly into his ear. The warmth of the breath brought only a bone-deep chill:

  "Shhh—What mischief are you up to, little mouse?" It was the short Cleric, Kaelen.

  His voice was hushed, carrying a sickening cat-and-mouse mockery. He didn't sound alarmed that a spy was in the Sanctum; he sounded entertained.

  "Eavesdropping on the High Priest? Uncovering world-shattering conspiracies?" Kaelen chuckled softly, his grip immovable. "Go on, then. Run out into the plaza right now. Shout what you heard to the crowds eating our sugar-spun lies. Tell them about the mirror and the key. See who believes a gutter-rat over the Sanctum's golden light."

  The sheer, suffocating arrogance of the words hit Erika harder than a physical blow. Kaelen wasn't silencing him out of fear; he was silencing him to show Erika how utterly powerless he was. The Sanctum's strength wasn't just in its walls—it was its absolute monopoly on the truth.

  Without giving Erika a chance to react or resist, Kaelen effortlessly dragged him away from the pillar, hauling him toward the Sanctum's outer corridors as easily as taking out the trash. Erika's heart was ice. Kaelen knew.

  As he was half-dragged toward the grand entrance, a clear, delighted voice rang out from the sunlit courtyard:

  "Erika!"

  It was little Anna. She seemed to have been waiting nearby, and now she rushed over like a happy bird, immediately clutching the arm of the still-shaken, pale-faced Erika.

  She looked up, her face lit with an innocent smile, addressing the Cleric. "Thank you, Cleric Kaelen! I knew I could count on you to find him!" She turned her bright eyes to Erika. "The festival parade is about to start—the best part! Come on, we'll miss the good spots!"

  Kaelen released his grip. His expression slid seamlessly back into its usual insouciant, friendly mask, as if the terrifying, mocking threat in the shadows had never happened.

  He waved a hand dismissively at Anna. "Found him for you, little Anna. Take your... inquisitive friend, and go enjoy the show."

  He placed a subtle, razor-sharp emphasis on the word inquisitive, his gaze lingering on Erika with unspoken, chilling meaning.

  Erika stood rooted, his arm held tightly by Anna, her excited chatter filling his ears. Kaelen's inscrutable smile faded into the background, while the black-clad Cleric's words—key and mirror—echoed deafeningly in his mind.

  He had been forcibly pulled back from the precipice, thrust into the sickening illusion of safety.

  The heavy shadow of the Sanctum was forcibly pushed aside by Anna's skipping form and the tidal wave of celebration. Erika was practically dragged by her into the broad Processional Way—a thoroughfare drowned in brilliant energy streams and roaring crowds.

  "Look, Erika! Look!" Anna pointed skyward.

  Giant birds woven from pure light essence wheeled and soared above them, shedding shimmering feathers of radiance. "The Luminous Messengers! You only see them on the biggest holidays!"

  Erika looked up at the dreamlike scene, yet a faint throb pulsed in the Mark on his left hand. He could feel it. These weren't true living creatures; they were constructs driven by intricate energy channels, consuming massive power siphoned from some forgotten, suffering zone. Wolfgang's muttered comment—"I wonder which forsaken corner will pay the price"—echoed bitterly in his mind.

  "Yes. Very beautiful," he replied softly, forcing his facial muscles to form a smile.

  Anna, oblivious to his internal torment, was utterly absorbed in the festival. She pulled him through the crowded stalls. Vendors sold Sanctum Sigil candies made of syrup and edible energy powder. Artisans levitated exquisitely carved models of the city.

  Anna stopped at a stall selling handwoven birds, her eyes glued to a small, lifelike sparrow crafted from gold and white thread.

  "Do you like it?" Erika asked, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears.

  She nodded vigorously, then hesitated, patting her own empty little pouch before shaking her head. "It's nice just to look," she said with a smile—though a flicker of disappointment was unmistakable.

  Erika looked from the golden bird to Anna. He thought of her risking danger to bring him the book, her current effort to dispel the gloom around him with sheer, innocent joy. Silently, he walked to the stallkeeper and used a few of his meager seed-allowance coins to buy the gold-and-white bird.

  "For you," he said, handing it to her.

  Anna stared, stunned. Then her face blossomed into a smile brighter than any energy stream around them. She took it with utmost care, holding it tight against her chest. "Thank you, Erika! It's so beautiful!"

  Watching her pure delight, a tiny crack seemed to form in the ice encasing Erika's heart.

  They moved on, reaching the grand parade. Phalanxes of Sanctum Guards marched in perfect unison; choirs on floats showered the crowd with particles of blessing-light. Erika's gaze, however, lingered on the discreet energy conduits snaking beneath the ornate floats. He noticed how, as the floats passed, the concentration of mildly euphoric energy particles in the air subtly increased, and the crowd's cheers grew fanatical.

  Such perfect, terrifying control, he thought, the notion turning his blood to slush.

  "Erika," Anna suddenly tugged his sleeve, pointing toward a distant, towering spire—part of the Angel's Descent complex. "They say that's the closest place to the 'Light'. Cultivating there must make you improve really fast, right?"

  Erika followed her gaze. He nodded slightly. "Perhaps."

  But his mind conjured the hidden annex, the container labeled Elysian-Vault-7, and the cruel Sustaining Infusion taking place within that "pure" light.

  The revelry continued—a cacophony of sound and a blinding dazzle of light. Erika played his part perfectly: the ordinary boy accompanying a friend.

  But only he knew his soul was split in two. One half immersed in this false, carefully woven peace; the other perpetually suspended in the Sanctum's shadow, observing the nightmare with cold detachment.

  Fireworks suddenly burst over the Sanctum, raining streams of molten gold across the night sky, illuminating Anna's face, bright with pure joy.

  Erika stood beside her, a faint smile fixed on his face. But amidst the deafening explosions, the Mark on his left hand flared with a brief, razor-sharp pang.

  Simultaneously, his stretched-thin perception, sifting through the chaotic, celebratory energy field around him, caught a fleeting wisp of a frequency. It was identical to the energy signature of the shielding field around Cecilia's container.

  But this ripple didn't come from the Angel's Descent.

  It came from deep within the Sanctum itself—from the Contemplation Corridor, where Hongbo had taken the surviving black-clad Cleric.

  The smile froze entirely on Erika's face.