Two months have passed since I secured Chronos Salvation. I have spent these two months in calculated calm, what I call a cooling period after the heat of the operation at Augustine's estate. Doyle Acquisition, now under Finch's much more motivated management, keeps moving unnoticed by the masses, absorbing small assets and building my logistical foundation. My war of attrition with House Droct has entered a cold phase; they know I am dangerous but they do not know how to strike back without triggering an open war that would cost them dearly. The Consortium grants me autonomy, but I know every move I make is being watched. I am their attack dog, and they are waiting to see whether I will stay loyal or bite the hand that feeds me.
All this is just the surface game. Beneath it, inside my sky manor, I have a more important task: to understand Chronos Salvation. The artifact sits on my desk, a golden pocket watch whose ticking does not follow any ordinary clock's rhythm. Every night I try to dissect it with my mind, with my Void Essence. I try to understand its conceptual 'language' but always fail. This object is the product of a civilization far more advanced, and I lack the fundamental context to grasp it.
I need more data. And that data will not be found in market reports or Fravikveidimadr archives. That data is buried in forgotten history.
December 17th, 1753. The new year is near. My nineteenth birthday in this world is also approaching, on the second of Aprilis. Time that keeps moving forward, time I hope to command one day. In this world there is no Christmas celebration. But they do have gods. Many gods. One of the most prominent in Clockthon is the Church of Grugnir, which worships Slid, the God of the Seas. The followers of the Deep Current Channel believe that Slid is the sea itself, the Origin Current that all sailors return to in the end. An intriguing concept.
Today, for the first time in both of my lives, I decided to go to a church. Not because of some spiritual impulse. I have another purpose. Churches, especially those that have stood for centuries, are living archives. Their walls, iconography, hymns, all contain fragments of history and myth that might give me a clue.
I sent a message through carrier pigeon to Irene and Finnian, inviting them. Going alone would look suspicious. Going with Finnian would normalize it. And going with Irene would be an opportunity to observe her outside the pressure-filled academic environment.
We met in front of St. Saleem Church, a colossal Gothic structure built from dark stone, dedicated to the God of Earth whose true name is never spoken. In Clockthon, religion is just part of the landscape, like factories and banks. There is the Church of Slid for sailors, the God of Earth Church for farmers and miners, and a dozen smaller cults. It is polytheism wrapped in monotheistic ritual. Crafty bastards, the founders of these religions.
I arrived first. After months apart I could see the changes in my friends as they approached. Finnian, now twenty-three, wore a formal shirt with a tall hat and a walking stick. He looked like a young noble trying too hard. His awkward childishness was still there but now wrapped in a layer of politeness that he probably forced on himself to look like a true gentleman.
Irene, now twenty-six, was the most surprising. She no longer looked like the feral girl I met eight years ago. She wore a simple forest green dress, but its cut accentuated her tall, athletic build. Eight years of physical training had shaped her figure into something efficient and strong. She no longer hid her intellect and wore it like a crown with pride.
"All right, let's go inside. Have you ever been here, Irene?" I asked, trying to sound casual after being momentarily stunned.
"Yes, of course, I was born here, Welt," Irene answered, her voice now deeper and calmer, from my left side.
Damn it. I was slightly nervous. I was not used to her presence now so mature.
"Welt, are you okay?" Finnian asked. "You're not usually like this. There's an apothecary nearby..."
"No, no. I'm just a bit nervous because this is my first time in a church. At least I'm honest about that."
"First time?" they both exclaimed at once.
"Welt, you don't believe in gods?" Irene asked, her green eyes looking at me with genuine curiosity.
"I believe they exist," I replied, using my cover story. "But as you know, I come from a remote place." The real Grime, the street urchin, would never have had the chance or the desire to step into a church.
"All right, let's go in then!" Finnian said with his usual cheer, pulling us both toward the main doors.
The interior of St. Saleem Church was magnificent. Its ceiling arched high, supported by massive stone pillars that looked like a petrified forest. Dim light filtered through tall stained glass windows, painting the stone floor with colored patterns. The air was filled with the scent of incense and damp earth. Hundreds of people sat on long oak pews, their voices murmuring quiet prayers.
We sat in the middle row. Irene was to my right, Finnian on her other side. This crowd was perfect camouflage. While everyone focused on the ritual, I could focus on watching how they worshipped.
"Welt, do you know how to do the worship ritual?" Finnian whispered.
"No. Be quiet and I'll just follow what everyone else does," I answered.
The service began. We stood and sang the Earthling Hymn, a simple yet powerful song of praise about the earth as the foundation of life. Then we sat down and a priest began to recite prayers.
"May Merciful Earth carry my burdens."
Then it was time for offerings. On Saturdays, the congregation is required to offer a handful of sacred soil from their homes. I did not know this. Damn. This was clearly a mistake.
"You didn't bring any, did you?" Irene whispered, a sly smile tugging at her lips. She handed me a small brown cloth pouch. "Take this. Half is yours."
I took it without a word. We stood and walked to the front, placing our offerings on a rough stone altar.
When we returned to our seats, the main sermon began. The High Priest, an old man in a brown robe with a face that looked carved from stone, spoke with a deep and calming voice.
"Brothers and sisters, we stand upon the same rock, the earth that supports our steps... The earth consumes the carcass, then grows the seed. So too with our mistakes: let them be buried, so they may sprout anew. Do not fear the storm above your head as long as your roots run deep. May the God strengthen us."
I did not listen to his words. I studied the symbols carved into the wall behind him. Most were agricultural symbols I already knew. But one, high up, hidden in the shadow of an arch, did not belong. Yet I recognized it. It was a complex gear surrounded by twelve stars. It looked like the mechanism inside Chronos Salvation.
I focused my vision, trying to memorize every detail. Was it just decorative architecture? Or a clue?
The service ended with a closing prayer. "O Earth... the place we stand and live. I offer myself to Thee... Protect this follower from the pursuit of wicked gods."
When the congregation started to leave, I did not rush them out. "Want to get some pasta? I heard there's a good restaurant next to the church," I said.
"Sure. You're paying, I didn't bring any money," Finnian said. Typical.
We went to a small Imperial Firenze-style restaurant tucked away in an alley beside the church. The place was cozy, filled with the smell of tomato sauce and garlic.
While we waited for our order, I started my game.
"Irene," I said casually. "Back in the church, I saw an interesting symbol above the altar. A gear surrounded by stars. Do you know what it means?"
She stopped stirring her tea and looked at me, her eyes narrowing slightly. "That is the Ancient Emblem of the Primeval Forger," she answered. "A symbol from the pre-kingdom era. Legend says it belonged to a guild of craftsmen who could create artifacts beyond our understanding. They vanished after the Shattered Moon Catastrophe."
The Primeval Forger. This information was valuable. Chronos Salvation was most likely their creation.
"You seem to know a lot about ancient history," I said.
"The Cheva family guards some of the kingdom's old archives," she answered. "It is part of our duty."
"Interesting," I said. "Finnian, what about your family? Does the O'Connell family have any special focus besides seafood trade?"
Finnian, who was busy chewing on garlic bread, looked surprised. "Uh... us? We're just regular merchants, Welt."
"Every noble family has something they hide," I said. "A skill, a connection, a secret. It is how they survive in this kingdom's political game."
I let the words hang in the air. I was not asking. I was stating that I knew there was more behind their polished images. My real goal was to plant seeds of doubt and curiosity. I wanted them to start wondering, "How much does Welt Rothes really know?"
Our food arrived. I shifted the conversation to lighter things, academy gossip, winter holiday plans. But I knew that short exchange had done its work. I had gained a new clue about Chronos Salvation's origin. And I had reminded my two "friends" that I was not just any ordinary friend.
When we finished eating and walked back to the main street, the air between us felt slightly different. Finnian was quieter. Irene looked at me with a deeper gaze.
I had managed to use an ordinary social outing to push my agenda forward. This is the kind of operation I like best. Silent, efficient, leaving more questions than answers for my targets.
Suddenly, as we turned a corner, we saw it. A small crowd had gathered in front of a jewelry shop. In the middle of the crowd stood a few city guards and a man in Fravikveidimadr robes. They were examining something on the ground.
"What happened?" Finnian asked.
We approached. On the stone pavement lay the corpse of a minor nobleman. His throat had been slit cleanly. There was no blood spatter. Beside the body, a symbol had been drawn in white chalk: a raven perched on a set of scales. The mark of The Consortium.
The Fravikveidimadr agent looked up and met my eyes. He was one of the agents I had seen at Raven's Nest. He recognized me.
"Murder in broad daylight. In the Main District," Irene murmured beside me. "Someone is sending a message."
I knew who the message was for. This dead noble, Lord Harrington, was a minor ally of House Droct. The Consortium had not waited for me to make my move. They had made theirs instead, using brutal and direct methods. They wanted to show me how they "handle" competition.
The Fravikveidimadr agent walked toward me. "Mr. Rothes," he greeted me formally. "What a coincidence to find you here. Captain Dales would like to see you as soon as possible. There have been some new developments to discuss."
I felt Irene's and Finnian's eyes on me. The game had accelerated. The Consortium had made their move. Fravikveidimadr was responding. And I was, once again, right at the center of the storm.
"Of course," I replied to the agent, my voice calm. "Lead the way."
I glanced at Irene. In her eyes, I saw no surprise. One thing was certain, she knew that my little trip to the church today had never been just a coincidence. Just like this murder.
In Clockthon, there is no such thing as coincidence. There are only plans that intersect. And my plan had just become much more complicated.