The curtains unfurled, and a haze of fragrant steam wafted through the grand hall—a delicate veil of warmth and delight heralding the beginning of the feast.
Before Jay were laid seven exquisite dishes, each a testament to divine culinary craft. Dessert followed, rich and decadent. Yet, not even a flicker of pleasure touched his face.
His complexion remained pale, his expression hollow—etched with a subtle, sinking gloom. The reason was simple, yet agonizing: his inability to cast Arts. He wasn't even proficient at manipulating spiritual energy.
Albedo noticed the shift in his demeanor but chose silence over sympathy.
The lunch break faded into memory, and Jay found himself back at the training grounds alongside Miss Mira. But this time, Luke wasn't there.
He had instructed Jay to rest after the session and had left with Albedo. Even Jin trained in isolation now, detached from the rest.
The absence of his moral anchor gnawed at Jay, but the lesson pressed on.
"So, we've covered Battle and Spirit Arts," Mira said, her tone clinical.
"Um… right," he muttered.
"Have you ever used Mystical Arts before?"
"I've tried… and succeeded, in a way."
"Very well. Mystical Arts differ fundamentally from the others. They are more intricate—and infinitely more dangerous."
"Danger…?" His eyes widened.
"Oh yes. You'll understand more as your mastery deepens."
'Danger… from Arts?' His thoughts twisted.
But aren't Arts the essence of the Awakened? Common abilities wielded by many?
"What kind of danger?" he asked, unable to contain the question strangling his mind.
"Not all are hazardous," Mira replied, pausing to find the right words. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the empty horizon. 'If Luke were here… no, what does it matter? I am his teacher.'
Shaking off her hesitation, she continued.
"You know that Arts are invoked through an Invoker, correct? At your current stage, you should have one in your palm."
"Yes," he said, glancing at his right hand.
The Invoker—a spiritual organ of sorts—didn't exist within the physical body, but rather in the spirit body. It was a gift shared by all Awakened upon their spiritual awakening. For those in the lower to middle ranks of the Spiritual Awakening stage, there could only be one Invoker—embedded within the palm of their spiritual form, and by extension, mirrored in the physical body.
Though its position could shift—from one palm to the other with a symbolic clap—it could not be duplicated.
The Invoker was vital, for it was the mechanism through which spiritual energy transformed—enabling the invocation of Arts. Without it, even the most powerful awakened being would be helpless.
Every Art had its own unique pattern of invocation. A single misstep in this sequence could lead to failure… or worse.
"Battle Arts and Spirit Arts have simpler invocation patterns compared to Mystical Arts," Jay noted quietly.
"Indeed. Mystical Arts require more than energy—they demand symbols. Unique sigils tied to the supernatural. These are the core of all Mystical Arts—known as Mystical Symbols."
Jay, ever a devoted reader of spiritual theory, knew of them.
"There are ten primary Mystical Symbols," Mira explained, "each governing a different aspect of mysticism."
She began to recount them—ancient, forbidden glyphs passed down through ages.
The Symbol of Life—the wellspring of healing, imbuing energy with restorative power, even the capacity to grant life itself.
The Symbol of Death—its antithesis. It contained decay, corrosion, and the silent end. It existed in eternal opposition to Life.
Mystical symbols Time and Space, on the other hand, did not oppose, but coexisted—two forces that intertwined like lovers in the void, easier to wield in tandem.
Then came Astral and Constellation, symbols that mirrored each other in philosophical depth.
Mystical symbol of Astral governed the triad of spirit, mind, and body. At its core was mastery—over oneself, and, in rare mastery, over others. A symbol used by the few who could command others like marionettes.
Mystical symbol of Constellation carried aspects of fate and destiny. It was the basis for divination, and when used alongside Astral, it granted insight into the lives and futures of others.
Next were Mystical symbols Moon and Sun, locked in eternal conflict.
Mystical symbol of Moon governed illusion, concealment, and seals. It was the art of shadows and veils. Meanwhile, Mystical symbols of Sun broke through—an anti-symbol that unraveled the Moon's deceptions with purifying light.
Finally, there were two enigmatic forces.
Mystical symbol of Dream—the most elusive and feared. It ruled the subconscious, granting access to the dreamscape. A dangerous tool, invaluable for interrogation, infiltration, and deception.
Mystical symbol of World—the symbol of dominion over world. It allowed manipulation of physical phenomena: weather, gravity, elemental balance. To wield World was to wrestle control from nature itself.
Jay listened, each revelation weighing on his soul like iron chains. These weren't mere skills. They were forces—untamed, ancient, and ravenous.
And now, they were his to understand… and survive.
***
The day slipped into darkness. Nightfall draped the Nameless Domain in its ghostly veil. Only when the final shimmer of light faded beyond the distant horizon did Jay finally complete his training.
Miss Mira had long since left—after ensuring his safety and giving precise instructions—leaving the boy to his solitude.
Exhausted to the marrow, Jay dragged himself from the training grounds, every muscle aching.
Unaware of the crimson eyes watched him from the shadows—silent, patient, and cold.
Eventually, he collapsed into the sanctuary of his bed and surrendered to sleep, only to be violently awakened by Luke pounding on his door with impatience.
Now dressed in a formal ensemble, Jay passed through the Gate of Light into the physical world. He stood by the roadside near the apartment complex they were pretending to live in—just another layer of their fabricated existence.
Beside him stood a man in an immaculate coat and polished boots. Deathly crimson eyes regarded the world with detached amusement.
"Hello, Jin. That outfit really suits you," Jay offered with a small, genuine smile.
Jay himself wore high-society attire, as instructed. Today was not for monster-hunting jobs. Today, they were to act in their roles as Military Police. No armor. No weapons. Just masks.
Of course, the ever-cautious Jin had more than a few hidden tricks—tools he'd coaxed from both Albedo and Mira through charm and cunning.
Jay had noticed a change in Jin lately. It began after he devoured a detective novel during his short leave—two entire books in one day, despite his training schedule.
And now… without a true identity of his own, Jin had adopted one: the cold, calculating detective protagonist of that story. Intelligent. Manipulative. Always ten steps ahead.
It was evident in his gaze, in the measured tone of his voice, even in how he had sweet-talked Miss Mira earlier that morning. Jin seemed like a different person.
'Maybe he really is,' Jay thought, 'It's not like I ever truly knew him…' He sighed.
'But one day, I hope he'll show me who he really is.'
After Jay's greeting, Jin smiled—a rare, almost disarming expression. But beneath it was nothing. A mask.
"Oh, good morning, Jay. Slept well, I hope? You looked… exhausted yesterday," he said with a gentle, practiced tone.
"Ah… yes. Thank you for asking." Jay lowered his head, awkward and shy once more in front of him.
But why? He'd already accepted Jin a long time ago. Yet here he stood, speaking to a stranger in the same skin.
And Jay didn't like that.
"Umm… could you not pretend when it's just the two of us?" he asked hesitantly.
"Sure," Jin replied flatly, his voice void of warmth—emotionless, mechanical. The way he usually was. And that, oddly, brought Jay comfort.
"Why do you act like that? We're not strangers…"
"No. But practice is necessary," Jin replied coolly. "Hiding who I am protects me. And if I shift my nature mid-battle, it disrupts the enemy's rhythm."
'Enemy?' Jay frowned. 'But… against who?'
Jin's crimson gaze locked on him. And yet, despite the intensity, Jay felt no fear.
'Strange…'
But it was the same with Luke, with Miss Mira… even Lord Albedo.
'They feel… like family,' he thought, smiling softly to himself.
"You looked troubled yesterday," Jin remarked.
"You were watching…? I mean… I've just been struggling with Invocation," Jay admitted, looking away.
"Why?"
"I… I don't know. Maybe I just don't have what it takes…"
Jin turned his gaze to the awakening cityscape. The morning sun bled over rooftops as the streetlamps blinked off, one by one, surrendering to daylight. With a couple of flickers the street light turning themselves off.
Then, in his usual hollow voice, he asked, "Do you know how they tame Bicoran beasts?"
"Uh… no. Why?"
"It's an interesting story," Jin said, his tone distant. "When a Bicoran is still a calf, they bind its back leg to a post. The rope is strong—strong enough that the infant can't break it."
"…Ahhh."
"The calf struggles. For days. It pulls, it thrashes. It wants freedom. But the rope doesn't break. Eventually… it gives up. It accepts its weakness. It accepts the rope. It surrenders its will."
He paused. Jay said nothing.
"Then the beast grows," Jin continued. "Its muscles thicken, powerful enough to haul wagons for kilometres without rest. And yet…"
"What?"
"Do you know what they use to restrain it once it's fully grown?"
Jay hesitated. "Iron chains maybe?"
"No. Just rope. The same fragile rope. Because by then, it doesn't need to be restrained by force. Its spirit is already broken."
Jay's eyes widened.
"It could break free in an instant… but it never tries. Because it believes it can't. The rope doesn't bind the beast—its psyche does."
A low growl echoed as their four-wheeled beast-carriage arrived. The Bicoran pulling it stopped with a guttural snort, its breath reeking of last night's meal.
Jin stepped forward, opened the gate, and turned back one last time.
"Don't be a Bicoran, Jay," he said, eyes gleaming beneath dark shades.
"You're a human."