4 Martius 1754.
I woke up with a bad feeling. Last night, after coming back from the circus, I fell asleep without putting away my equipment. Motley's mask and costume were left lying carelessly on the chair. Damn it. Carelessness is the greatest enemy. Fortunately, in this rooftop residence, privacy is the main commodity. The invisible servants from The Consortium would never enter without orders. They would not suspect a thing. Hopefully.
My thoughts immediately shifted to Chronos Salvation. The Consortium, through "The Puppeteer", asked me to hand it over. I have no intention of doing that. They have not paid the proper price. I have already sent them a fake report, of course filled with analysis that is entirely fabricated. I do not plan to give away something like that for free, it would be far too costly. At the very least, this will give them a headache when they try to make a replica, because my information is all wrong.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A knock at the front door of my rooftop residence. Sharp and impatient.
I frowned. Who could it be? The voice sounded like a woman's, but Miraille would never come without notice. Too risky. Maybe a stranger. Maybe a trap.
I slapped my own cheeks, forcing the sleep fog and paranoia away. Think rationally. I quickly put on my silk robe and walked to the main door made of ebony wood. But before that, I then hid the costume in a storage room that I rarely opened but was cleaned regularly, at least once a week by The Consortium's servants, so I could rest easy for the time being.
"Who is it?" I asked while unlocking the complex mechanical locks.
No answer. Only silence.
I carefully opened the door.
Click.
"Welt!"
A burst of cheerful energy. Irene Cheva stood there, smiling wide, her green eyes sparkling with an unnatural excitement. This was not the Irene I knew. The real Irene would never be this bright, that tired woman, like this? Is this what they call a deep dream? Well, obviously, she is a nightmare. One thing I wanted to ask: how did she even know I lived here? There is no way she could have followed me the entire time, right?
"Yes, what is it?" I asked, my voice slightly trembling. Damn it. My subconscious reaction to women is still a weakness. I am no demon, I still have remnants of trauma from my past life.
But why is Irene suddenly so cheerful? She is usually the embodiment of calm analysis, unless she truly feels comfortable with her conversation partner or surroundings.
"Irene, what are you—"
"Shhh." She placed one finger on my lips, cutting my words off. The gesture was so spontaneous and unexpected that I froze for a moment. "I want to show you my new discovery."
She grabbed my hand and walked inside my rooftop residence, looking around with childish amazement. "Wow. So this is where an up-and-coming 'investor' lives. Not bad."
She pulled me into the spacious main living room and let go of my hand. From the leather bag she carried, she took out an object. It looked like something I once knew, made of polished brass, spinning glass tubes filled with colorful liquid, and a series of crystal tuning forks probably used as sensors or something similar. Everything was connected by copper wires to a large crystal in the center. It looked like the work of a mad alchemist.
"Ta-daa!" she exclaimed. "I present to you... the 'World Greatest Detector'!"
I looked at her, then at the device. What a cliché name. She must be so proud of that name. "A detector for what?" I asked.
"An Essence Detector, of course!" she said excitedly. "But this is different. The Fravikveidimadr's devices can only detect raw energy output. Mine can identify the 'fingerprint' of a specific Channel, even distinguish its Order Archetype. I have been working on this since the incident in Symbology class. You know, after seeing your strange manifestation. I needed data. And you are the perfect data subject."
I eyed the device warily. This is dangerous. Very dangerous. If this device could read the true nature of my Void Essence…
"I want to test it on you," she said, her eyes shining with the fervor of a scientist.
This is difficult. If I agree there is a risk my identity will be exposed which would be a huge loss for me. But on the other hand, I could gain an advantage to strengthen my cover. What matters now is weighing these two sides without bias and I really need to craft a reasonable narrative about it.
"All right," I said.
As she began to power up the device, I did something inside myself. I pulled all my wild and chaotic Void Essence inward, pressing it into my aperture core. Then I activated the program I had installed there: Channel Oneiromancer. I projected the Essence image of my cover identity. What I am doing now requires full concentration without distractions, like forcing one part of your brain to sleep while the other takes over. I set the output to match the classification I already know: Archetype 7. And for the Channel name, I gave it the same one registered in the Essence Keeper Order: 'Tenebris'.
Irene's device began to spin and hum. Its crystal tuning forks vibrated. The liquid inside the glass tubes started to glow with a dark purple color. The central crystal emitted the same light.
"It works! It works!" Irene shouted, jumping in excitement. "I detected it! Channel Oneiromancer... yes, that's it! Archetype 7... and... Tenebris? I have never heard of that Channel name. New data! Amazing!"
She looked so happy with her success that I almost forgot she had just scanned my soul, what a damn thing. Luckily, I had learned this technique perfectly a few years ago, otherwise there would have been a leak that endangered my own existence.
"All right, your invention works," I said, cutting her euphoria short. I felt a bit drained after that internal Essence manipulation. "Now, I'm hungry."
The idea came out of nowhere, maybe it could shift her focus from the device. I was truly tired and hungry, so I intended to do something else more important than this. "I will make you something you have never tried before. A soup from a faraway southern continent. A family recipe." Of course that was a lie, because the southern continent does not even exist on the kingdom's map and is owned only by nobles truly known by the King.
Her eyes lit up again. "You can cook?"
I led her to my spacious kitchen which is probably a few steps ahead of any noble's kitchen. I began pulling ingredients from the Essence ice-powered cooler: wild mushrooms from the Darrow Forest in Baron Ramhubi's territory, potatoes from the Bag Cend Highlands, fresh cream from a dairy farm in the countryside, and some spices unknown in this kingdom which I imported through one of Doyle Acquisition's trade contacts.
I started cooking. I moved the way chefs in my old world did, chopping, slicing vegetables, sautéing onions. Irene sat at the kitchen table, watching me intently. She looked awkward in a kitchen, but her sharp mind never stopped working.
"Why do you sauté the onions first before the potatoes?" she asked. "Chemically speaking, wouldn't heat break down the potato starch faster and create a thicker base for the soup?"
"True," I replied without looking back. "But by sautéing the onions first, you start the Maillard reaction, creating more complex flavor compounds that you won't get if you just boil them with the potatoes."
"Interesting," she murmured. "So cooking is about managing the order of chemical reactions and not just about taste. I didn't know that, I've never cooked before."
While the soup simmered, we talked. Or rather, she talked. Her excitement from the discovery made her more open than usual.
"My father always worried," she said, staring at the steam rising from the pot. "From age fifteen to eighteen, I was supposed to learn etiquette and how to dance like other noble girls. But I locked myself in our family's underground lab, trying to make a golem from clay and lightning I captured during storms. I never got to learn those things. That's why I entered the academy late."
She chuckled softly. "I've always been more interested in how the world works than how a dance party works."
Her story explained a lot. Her genius, her social awkwardness, and her sometimes childish enthusiasm. Maybe this is what they call a hero's tale. A girl who did not want to do princess things and instead chose to perform insane experiments.
The soup was finally ready. I served it in two porcelain bowls. A thick cream soup of mushrooms and potatoes, with a warm and slightly spicy aroma from the herbs.
We ate in silence. I tasted it and it brought back nostalgia, a taste of a home I could never visit again. For Irene, I could see in her eyes that this was a new culinary discovery, she was probably trying to describe the flavors in her head.
After we finished, we sat in the living room, looking out at Clockthon as the city lights began to glow because I had only woken up at four in the afternoon. The atmosphere felt calm, comfortable.
"Welt," Irene called softly.
"Yes?"
"That soup..." she paused, choosing her words. "It doesn't taste like anything from this continent. The spices, the texture, I've never tasted anything like it before. Would you make it for me again someday?"
She spoke with sincerity, her eyes shining like a child's. I could understand that because she must have tasted many foods as the daughter of a wealthy Count who lived here with servants, while her family is far west of the academy. Maybe it felt refreshing for her, like when she first ate mushroom noodles.
I did not answer right away and I looked into her green eyes. I saw no suspicion, only a curiosity that went far beyond the ordinary.
Well, maybe I could cook again anytime as long as I feel safe and it truly is safe. I would not do anything foolish that could endanger someone's life. After all, I do not want to be remembered as a monster again, not for Welt Rothes. For the rest, I do not mind, except for identities that truly matter to me.
"Come by anytime, as long as I am home, I will introduce you to other dishes." For the first time, I felt warmth and smiled warmly, for the first time.
I then opened the door afterward.
Irene's eyes shone again.
"Thank you, Welt!" she hugged me briefly and since I had already opened the door, she left with so much cheerfulness, different from the Irene who usually spent time with me.
What on earth was that just now? Don't tell me, love?