A servant guided me.
She seemed reluctant to speak, and I wished Edmund-sensei or Lilith had come instead.
She was bringing me to what might become the beginning of the world—for me.
The beginning of this world.
Not literally, but perhaps if I completed this trial, I would receive some fruit of labor. Right?
I didn't know what the trial would entail.
But I wasn't worried.
Whatever parlour trick this world had prepared was worth less than dust before The Mystery.
There was nothing a human could conjure that could test my will or break my resolve for The Mystery.
This would merely serve as a demonstration of superiority—
and a minor, yet meaningful progression on my path.
Maybe then this so-called prophecy would become known to me.
Or even better—
maybe this world would be known to me.
And that girl.
Yes. She said I would hear her name if I survived.
As if it was supposed to pose me some sort of trouble.
"We have arrived, young novice master Thales Miray," the servant said.
"Novice?" I repeated, confused—and slightly annoyed.
Was this a joke? Was she looking down on me?
This wouldn't make me angry.
But it was rather brazen.
"Whatever are you implying by that word?" I asked with a hint of condescension.
I held back—I didn't yet understand the power dynamics.
"It's your rank," she answered, "or rather, it will be—if you ever step foot from this room again."
"Rank for what, servant?"
"Rank in House Miray, based on your aptitude with chaos.
Of course, the formal estimation is separate.
I do not have permission to say more."
"I see. That was… surprising. But thank you," I said, with the appropriate manners.
"But of course."
She curtsied, unlocked the door, and trotted off—
back to other duties, I presume.
She had escorted me only because those too attached to me were not permitted to walk with me.
It might interfere with the trial—directly or otherwise.
A sense of coldness and emptiness breathed its way lightly from the room.
The darkness beckoned.
So I walked.
I was no coward.
"Pussy," the silence seemed to whisper.
But I was no feline.
The hairs stood tall on my smooth skin.
I was a young boy facing an unforgiving abyss.
Then—I saw it.
I was horrified.
It was an omen of death.
I saw…
Me.
Was I looking at my reflection?
Those thoughts were immediately dispelled.
"Thales Miray of House Miray has entered," it said—mechanically.
Oh? Was it a doll modeled in my image?
I stared into its abyssal eyes.
"Good morrow, mine own cousin," it said.
Its voice was no longer mechanical.
It had my exact intonation.
My pronunciation.
My pitch.
Except now it was speaking nonsense.
"The intellect burns at the stake upon entering h're,
thee shalt visage, thou art liketh an open volume in this gloom.
Thee shall desire, feareth, and loseth thyself."
Its language didn't communicate with my mind.
It spoke directly to my heart.
And that was terrifying.