“Emory…” Caelum muttered. “Is that… you?”

  “It… looks like you’re awake, Caelum,” he responded with a calm tone. Slowly stepping towards him. As soon as he was about to speak, Caelum intervened. Speaking with a clear, and straight tone. The others silently listened along their exchange with thoughtful expressions.

  “You are Emory. Emory Yraemonde, the member of the Pale Fangs. You must remember me from the Inquisition, don’t you?”

  “I do, yes,” he nodded. Staring into his eyes. “This feels… strange. Seeing you standing right there, in the world I’ve always known.”

  Silence followed after his words until his lips curled up in an awkward smile. Shaking his head in disbelief.

  “You are an enigma, man. Everything I know about you has been from my experiences in the dream… nothing else.”

  Caelum slowly lowered his head as his voice took a solemn turn. The ‘Emory’ he knew was very different from the person standing before him. He could still clearly remember Emory’s projection appearing in that endless white world, helping him to muster the courage to eventually enter that dark castle. Seeing him being so calm and collected felt paradoxical to him, but understandably so.

  To Emory, he was now witnessing a person from his dreams appearing in his true reality. Like he said, Caelum was a total enigma to him. Yet, Caelum also knew that this was the perfect time to ask him the necessary questions.

  “That is me. I am the person from you and everyone else’s dreams,” Caelum said, slowly raising his head to meet his eyes. “I know this must feel so strange for you, but there’s something I want you to tell me.”

  “What is it?”

  “How long did you dream for?”

  Emory took a moment before answering.

  “The dream itself felt like an eternity, but, it seemed like only a night had passed.”

  “…A time paradox,” Caelum muttered. “It really does look like magical intervention took place here.”

  “Magical intervention, you say?” Emory asked, as Lunar, with his arms crossed, squinted his eyes.

  “Have you discussed this with the others?” Caelum asked.

  “Oh, you mean August and the rest? Yes, we have,” he nodded. “We all agreed on the idea that someone caused this to happen. There’s a phenomenon called the Somnium Universalis, which describes a collective dream shared by multiple people.”

  He then planted his palm on his head.

  “But, this whole thing seems so convoluted and complicated that it couldn’t even bring August, or Lunar, to a reasonable answer. The best thing we came up with was Lunar’s theory of two casualties.”

  Caelum promptly looked at Lunar, who averted his gaze. If Lunar proposed his theory, did that mean he also mentioned Michel as the perpetrator? Or, did he simply used a mysterious, unnamed proxy?

  For some reason, Caelum felt as though Lunar hadn’t told the others of the faceless demon. It made him feel a little relieved, because Michel’s name would undoubtedly cause widespread distress amongst the group.

  Emory broke the silence, as he glanced at Helvega laying on the bed.

  “Actually, I’ve been wanting to ask about your… sister.”

  “She’s fine, for now,” Caelum said, looking at her unconscious self.

  “It seems so strange, doesn’t it?” Emory added. “Her resulting in this state whilst having lived a false life. Considering Lunar’s theory, it shows that she is a real person, but… also not. It couldn’t possibly mean that you and Helvega existed in the real world prior to the dream, can it?”

  “That seems to be the golden question,” Geneve intervened. “None of us besides the perpetrator is going to be able to answer that truthfully.”

  “I’m leaning towards the upper latter,” Emory said, crossing his arms. “Caelum and Helvega have to be real people. If it weren’t for the magical intervention, as well as the fact that he is of the same age as he was in the dream, despite it being set 68 years in the past, I would doubt it.”

  “Exactly,” Caelum nodded. “That’s how I feel, too. However, like you said earlier, it’s all an assumption. We can never know for sure until we’re given answers.”

  He then lowered his head, and stared at his palm.

  “Until that day happens, I want to investigate this place. I need to confirm the gratitude of the dream by its entirety.”

  Lunar then added with a curious tone.

  “Like, the people who weren’t present in our proximity?”

  “Yes, exactly. It can’t possibly mean that the ‘pedestrians’ we happen to come across in the streets weren’t real, right? They must be real people, too. Not only that, they must be residents of Rudalia, as well. The easiest way for me to find out about that will have to be through the Assemblies.”

  “Right,” Lunar nodded. “By confirming the existence of the Assemblies, you could deduce that, since those organizations played a role in the development of the dream, it must mean the perpetrator ensured that the dream consisted of pre-established mechanisms, like how Luria is known to be an acolyte of Urdall’s Church, and how that played a role in Phineas being the one overseeing the Inquisition to make the dreams coherent.”

  “The verdict? A mystery has now been established,” Geneve said. “What is the story of Caelum and Helvega in the true timeline?”

  “No, that’s not all…” Caelum muttered, prompting everyone to turn their attention towards him.

  “…Where is my brother?”

  ***

  - Meanwhile, at a bar in central Bethora -

  The wooden-walled bar was draped in a soothing atmosphere. Faint jazz music could be heard within the proximity, and the walls we adorned with lamps that dimly illuminated the interior. Two men dressed in dark coats were seated at the main counter that was flanked by a female bartender, who was draped in a modest, short-sleeved brown dress.

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  Above the counter hung a blue and white vertical flag that was embellished with a golden illustration of a motherly figure dressed in a robe. One of the men pointed towards the flag with furrowed eyes, and exclaimed,

  “Who put that dirty flag up there?! Get that shit out of here! The Cadence has no place in this bar!”

  The man next to him responded.

  “Nay! The flag is deservin’. Ye pride doesn’t outweigh reality, ye tward!”

  “What did you call me?” the first man said, his eyes laced with fury as he leaned closer to him.

  At one of the corners sat Vash, dressed in his usual brown coat with a white shirt, and Ulysses, who was dressed in a black turtleneck under her black coat. As they both glanced at the aggressive verbal exchange of the two men, she tapped him on his shoulder, prompting him to take care of the situation himself.

  With a heavy sigh, he stood upwards, and approached the two men from behind.

  “Guys, let’s not have this right now. Next round of drinks is on me if you promise you won’t fight.”

  “Just sayin’, man,” the second man responded. “It’s annoyin’ when the folks don’t realize we’re far better off being a part of ‘em. It’s as though they completely forgot what that old fuck did to us.”

  “You’re too naive,” the first man said. “It won’t take long before they will deport us from our own land. The United Nations aren’t looking at us with a sweet gaze. All they want, is profit. What do we, the people of Elowen, bring to the table? Exactly, nothing. Almost everything Elowen consists of is because of the Second Treaty. We’re basically at their mercy!”

  He stood up, and pushed his chair onto the edge of the counter.

  “I don’t need this. That flag better be gone next time I come here. Good thing I finished my meal already.”

  As he said this, he stormed off the bar, leaving the others behind with solemn expressions. Even the second man held his gaze onto his plate with aimless purpose.

  After Vash exchanged glances with the quiet bartender, he went back to his chair, where Ulysses awaited him.

  “Sorry for putting you on the spot like that.”

  “It’s fine,” he muttered, taking a sip of his coffee.

  “Anyway,” she said, resting her head on her palm. “Where were we?”

  After taking another sip, he placed the cup back on the table, and continued the conversation.

  “Much of the dream I can’t remember, but I do recall being bargained with becoming a Master for the Gaian Inquisition. There was a man named Michel who, months before the Inquisition even started, had gotten into contact with me.”

  As he spoke, he wrapped his hands around the warm cup with a worried expression.

  “The thing that scares me the most is just how accurate the dream was to my real life. My past. The man who I was, and eventually became.”

  “Mind telling me about it?” she carefully asked.

  “…I met the young boy before the Inquisition began. Michel had told me that he was going to die in the midst of it, and I had to help him to ensure that would happen.”

  Ulysses remained silent in response. Urging him to continue.

  “Makes you wonder, why would I help a mysterious, faceless man, make a scheme to kill a young child? That is what I asked myself, too, but his presence alone brought me the answer.”

  In Vash’s mind, he began seeing Michel’s silhouette, dressed in a long black coat, in a dark room, standing before a window as he was scrutinizing a page in his hand. His own voice began to echo, as though he was narrating his own story like a book.

  “He knew about my dream of becoming one of the elites. The upper echelon of society. However, at the same time, I resented it.”

  His vision then blurred, and materialized into a sight of him standing before an overarching iron building with a resentful expression, surrounded by a sea of mist.

  “I resented Terra Firma, as well as Luria for their incompetence. Nourishment prices were at an all time high, and inflation was sky-rocketing, which made taking care of my daughter significantly harder, because not only was I a former staff member of the Custody Agency, I was also a former client there. It was the only honest work I could do, to help people who were in a similar position as I once was.”

  His vision changed once again, morphing into himself laying bare chested on his bed, aimlessly peering out a window next to his bed.

  “But somewhere during that time, space became sparse within the CA. It made me feel depressed, because I wasn’t able to aid as many people as I could anymore. This was the spark that fired up my dream. I wanted to become a prominent, revered member of the CA, and leverage my power and influence to make the agency branch out, and make the voices of the dying be heard. I believed I was the only person who could do it. The only person with such courage and determination. A rebel standing against the oppressors.”

  His daydream then morphed once again. Dressed in a white blouse, he was now sitting at a cramped office draped in a musty green atmosphere. Sitting adjacent to him was Michel, who was dressed in a dark brown coat, a wide-brimmed black hat, and the silver smiling mask he always wore.

  “This was when he approached me, in my office. We shared a very lengthy conversation that mostly revolved around my dreams and ambitions. He would eventually propose an insane idea: He would allow me to become a Master for the Inquisition, and make me grow into a prominent figure within the ranks. If I would be a well-respected member within the temple, the chances of negotiation with Luria and Terra Firma would be very high, since Luria’s an acolyte of Urdall’s Church, and a close ally of Terra Firma.”

  That was the end of his illusory visions. The jazz music slowly faded back into his mind as it was brought back to the bar’s atmosphere. He shook his head, and spoke with a confused tone.

  “However, I can’t… remember everything. There was something among the lines of fabricating a lie, but I can’t remember the full extent of it. What I can remember, though, is encountering that young boy. His name was Caelum. Caelum Jinton. The adopted son of Autora Jinton, and the biological son of Emon Moreau. He was the one who Michel wanted dead, and…

  …damnit, I can’t remember.”

  “But, he’s not dead anymore, is he?” Ulysses said.

  “No… you’re right. He’s alive, and with us, in the real world.”

  He took another sip of his coffee, and continued speaking in disbelief.

  “It’s quite literally a fantasy coming to life. As though we’re characters in some sort of mystical tale. It feels so strange…”

  “Let me ask you something, Vash.”

  He remained silent in response.

  Her eyes slowly began to dramatically illuminate, as they were staring into his.

  “The Great Shepherd…”

  “But, it can’t be, Uly…” he intervened.

  “It’s strange, but it somehow makes sense to me,” she said, lowering her gaze. “He shall be born in rubbish, and His name will spread throughout the lands like wildfire’. This is certainly happening. Caelum has already become an active topic in Bethora.”

  “Then, let me ask you this,” Vash said, slightly frowning. “What exactly constitutes the Perished One? What does the boy have we don’t? What is the indicator? I know the Shepherd’s upbringing is supposed to be unconventional, but…”

  “I am sure it is him, Vash. However, despite him inevitably becoming a bigger topic in Bethora, it’s only based on the intrigue of his presence in everyone’s dreams. As prophetic as that may sound, it’s still shallow, and doesn’t hold as much weight as solid, concrete evidence. I don’t believe King Julius will rever his existence unless he proves himself first.”

  “What are you telling me?” Vash asked.

  “Put him under your squad, and test him. He will eventually become a part of the army, and prove himself to the people. His adequacy can’t be carried by others, for he must do that on his own. If we were to announce to everyone about the arrival of the Great Uniter, the boy would undoubtedly live with great pressure, which could hinder his consistency. He most likely has other things to focus on right now, so we must let him do as romans do. If he truly is the Perished One, everything will fall into place, and his name will be praised.”

  After several moments of silence, Vash let out a deep sigh, and raised himself from his seat.

  “…I have to go.”

  Her lips curled up in a closed smile, as she nodded gracefully.

  “I know you do. Take care.”

  “You too,” Vash ended, as he stepped towards the front door. Ulysses watched his figure depart, her smile unwavering.