Swan Song [Dark Fantasy | Progression Fantasy | Slowburn]

[Volume 2 Epilogue | Chapter 83: To The Next Phase (IV)]

Acacia closed the door to Alaric's room with a quiet click, exhaling slowly as though releasing a breath he'd been holding for hours. He leaned against the wall for a moment and collected himself.

"My, my... quite the philosopher you've become, Mr. Belmont."

The sound startled him. Ezio Pelagius leaned casually against the opposite wall with his signature smile playing across his lips. His formal Knight's attire seemed out of place in the hospital setting, but he wore it so effortlessly that it felt at home anywhere.

"I was just speaking my mind," Acacia flatly replied. He was already exhausted from dealing with a noble having a mental breakdown. The last thing he needed was another blue-blood's commentary.

Vexingly, Ezio's smile widened.

"Well, that's quite the insightful mind you have! Your understanding of human nature is impressive for someone so young!"

Acacia didn't respond. He'd known Ezio was outside the entire time, maintaining the [Silenzium] spell that prevented their conversation from being overheard. The [Bounded Field] had been a necessary precaution given the sensitive nature of what they discussed. None of it could become public knowledge.

"Here. I believe this belongs with Her Excellency now," Ezio said, extending a package wrapped in black silk.

Acacia was surprised that the Modern Tome didn't receive any damage even after his fight with Alaric, though he supposed that a "magical" book like that wasn't able to sustain physical damage.

"Thanks."

He took the package from Ezio's hand, feeling its weight settle in his own. The book seemed to pulse with an odd energy, but perhaps that was just his imagination. The Modern Tome of the Dead Sea Scrolls was a dangerous artifact that had nearly cost the lives of three children and the sanity of a noble heir. Even the most harmless-seeming objects could hold immense power.

"You should be the one to physically hand it over to her at the Northern Spire," Ezio continued. "A private automobile is waiting outside to take you there."

Acacia nodded, tucking the wrapped book securely inside his jacket.

"Meanwhile, I believe I should... remind our young friend about the terms of his continued existence."

Ezio was staring directly at the door to Alaric's room, but the smile that played on his lips had shifted from bemusement to predatory. Acacia knew that whatever conversation was about to happen would be significantly less therapeutic than his own.

"...What are you going to do?"

"Nothing that need concern you. Run along now. Her Excellency is waiting."

Well, whatever was about to happen between Ezio and Alaric wasn't his concern. He had his own mission—deliver the Tome to Lorelei Bismarck—and frankly, everything else was a distraction.

As he walked away down the corridor, he heard Ezio murmur the incantation for [Aqua Chimaera]—that invisibility spell he'd used at Oakridge Path.

Acacia didn't look back.

Inside the hospital room, Alaric had managed to compose himself somewhat. The tears had dried on his cheeks and left faint salt tracks that he'd hastily wiped away.

Weakness was unbecoming of a Ptolemy, even a disgraced one. Especially a disgraced one.

He was staring out the windows when he felt a strange shift in the air. It was prickling sensation at the back of his neck, like being watched.

"Who's there?!"

The air shimmered, and suddenly a man was standing at the foot of his bed. Tall, imposing, with a rugged handsomeness to boot.

His Knight's uniform bore the insignia of Viceroy Bismarck's personal guard.

"Who the hell are you?!" Alaric demanded, trying to summon some semblance of his former arrogance.

The man smiled and moved closer. Too close. Disturbingly close.

Without any warning, he grabbed Alaric's leg through the hospital sheets. His fingers were long, lithe, and strong, wrapping around his ankle in a vice-like grip like they were trying to crush him.

Alaric screamed in agony.

"Scream all you want. I've maintained a [Bounded Field] this entire time while you were having your heart-to-heart with Mr. Belmont. No one can hear you," the man said pleasantly, as though he were discussing his favorite type of woman.

"W-what do you want?!"

The man's grip tightened slightly, causing another burst of agony.

"It concerns that book you've been playing with. It's one you had no right to even look at, let alone use. Under normal circumstances, you would be executed on the spot just for touching it."

"You... you're the one who planted it in the library!"

"Clever boy." The smile never left the man's face. "My master is a merciful person. Your life has been spared, despite your indiscretions."

"You framed me! The Firebombs—that was you!" Alaric hissed through clenched teeth.

The man snorted. "You really should check for security cameras before stealing Legion-grade equipment, even if you used your Birthright on the personnel. So sloppy. Now listen carefully. You will follow the script. You were a troubled young noble, crushed under the weight of familial expectations. You attempted suicide by setting fire to an abandoned building. You require mental rehabilitation. That is the story."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Putting Alaric into mental rehabilitation was to prevent law enforcement or potentially the Divine Court from scrying into his memories, where the truth could be revealed. Alaric could somewhat understand the strategy, but he couldn't think much further than that as the man flexed his fingers, sending another jolt of pain through his body.

"Deviate from it even slightly, and I will not hesitate to slit your throat. Trust me, I *will* know. Do we understand each other?"

Alaric nodded frantically, tears of pain and humiliation pooling in his eyes.

"Wonderful!" The man released Alaric's leg, leaving all the pain yet not a single bruise on his skin. "I'm so pleased we could arrive at an agreement! Hopefully, we won't need to have this conversation again."

His fake smile was the last thing Alaric saw before the air shimmered once more, and he vanished from sight. The curtains by the window fluttered briefly, then settled back into stillness.

Alaric lay there, trembling; the full reality of his situation crashed down upon him.

He had always been a pawn in a game far larger and more dangerous than he could have imagined.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Belmont! Ah, I knew you'd come through~"

Currently, Acacia was in Viceroy Bismarck's inner sanctum within the Northern Spire of Windsor, and he had just returned the stolen Modern Tome of the Dead Sea Scrolls to the woman herself.

As per usual, Lorelei Bismarck looked stunning in her tailored navy blue pantsuit with a white vest and a dark tie. The ensemble highlighted her natural beauty, from her light blonde hair with pink tipped highlights and sharp hazel eyes.

She was currently seated in a plush, high-back chair, examining the book with a critical eye.

Acacia stood before her, underpaid and overworked. He was tired from everything that had happened, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep for an entire day.

"I can't tell you how much I've missed this little troublemaker," Lorelei resumed, running her fingers almost lovingly over the Tome's ancient binding. "It's been quite the adventure for such an old book, hasn't it? From the restricted section of a school library to a noble's hands to an abandoned building... my, my."

She placed the book carefully on her desk and looked up at Acacia with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"You know, you're proving to be even more reliable than Ezio. Don't tell him I said that, though—he'd sulk for weeks. Perhaps I should offer you a reward? A kiss on the cheek for a job well done?"

She leaned forward playfully, but Acacia didn't react to her teasing.

"What exactly is that book, Viceroy Bismarck?"

Lorelei's playful demeanor faltered slightly, but her smile didn't quite vanish. She was silent for a moment, considering his question.

"Why, it's the Modern Tome of the Dead Sea Scrolls, just as I told you. The prophetic text covering events from—"

"Alaric said it was giving him commands. Decrees and direct orders. Not prophecies. It told him to perform the Zulumat ritual by June 24th or die standing. It told him to stop me from entering the restricted section of Windsor Prep's library. A prophetic text, indeed," Acacia sarcastically replied, crossing his arms. "That's not how you described the Dead Sea Scrolls to me. You never told me it was sentient."

The hushness that followed was thick enough to cut; Lorelei considered this once more, before smiling and shrugging.

"And how would you know what Alaric Ptolemy claims? I was under the impression he was in IPA custody."

"I spoke with him at Windsor Medical Center."

"I see." Lorelei leaned back in her chair, head in the shade. "So... do you believe what he told you?"

"More or less. It's also interesting that Sir Pelagius happened to be at Oakridge Path precisely when everything went wrong. It's *almost* as if you'd made the same deductions I had and sent him there."

A small smile played at the corners of Orion's Lioness' lips.

"You truly miss nothing, do you, Acacia?"

She rose from her chair and walked to the window, looking out at Windsor spread below. The city was alive with movement—trolley cars and automobiles churning the streets, the windmills around the scenery, and the ceaseless ebb and flow of the city's populace.

"The Dead Sea Scrolls are... complex artifacts. What I told you about their prophetic nature is true, but I admit I simplified certain aspects."

She turned back to face him directly; the smile vanished.

"The Scrolls—and by extension, the Tomes—are reactive to their readers. They respond differently based on who holds them, drawing on the reader's deepest desires and fears. For someone like me, trained in their proper use and respectful of their power, they remain what they are meant to be: windows into possible futures. But for someone unprepared, someone desperate and vulnerable like Alaric Ptolemy... they can become something else entirely. A mirror that reflects back the darkest parts of oneself... that reflects one's worst impulses and presenting them as destiny or decree."

It was a grim expression that befell her features, and Acacia further realized the gravity of the situation.

He exhaled softly. "So... it's not an angel's text. It's a demon's."

The metaphor wasn't lost on Lorelei. She nodded, albeit after an odd flinch of her face. She returned to her desk, placing her hands flat on its surface as she leaned forward.

"I should have secured the Modern Tome better. Its theft is ultimately my responsibility, as is what happened to that boy. I never imagined someone would find it in the library before I could get it back after that deal Ezio made with a potential partner. The security measures should have been impenetrable."

Impenetrable...? It's just a school.

"Anyway, the Tomes are dangerous in untrained hands. They're not evil, but they are powerful beyond most people's comprehension. What Alaric experienced was strictly his own desires and fears being reflected back at him, twisted by power he couldn't possibly understand."

She straightened, her usual confident poise returning.

"I'm truly sorry for what happened. Truly. But please understand that the fault lies with me for not securing the Tome properly, not with the artifact itself."

Acacia pondered her words.

The explanation made a certain kind of sense. It aligned with what he knew of thaumaturgical artifacts and their unpredictable nature in untrained hands. And yet…

Something about it felt too neat, and far too convenient. His intuition whispered that there was more to this story than Lorelei was sharing. But he was tired. So damn tired.

And without evidence, intuition was just another form of paranoia.

"I understand," he said finally.

Suddenly, he felt the slightest of microexpressions in Lorelei's eyes.

Relief?

No, he must have been imagining it.

"If that's all, Viceroy Bismarck, I'd like to return home. It's been a long day."

"Of course, of course." Her casual demeanor came back, though perhaps not quite as effusive as before. "The automobile that brought you here will take you back to Pandora's residence. Please give her my regards when she returns from Eichenstadt."

Acacia's turned to leave, but Lorelei's voice stopped him at the door.

"Acacia?"

He glanced back.

"You did well today. Please take pride in yourself for completing the mission. Windsor is safer because of you."

The Irregular nodded once more and left without another word.

Even if he wasn't truly convinced, on paper, her explanation made sense.

Alaric was a vulnerable kid desperate for validation. The Tome took advantage of that and showed him what he wanted to see.

It made sense.

But it was too convenient.

Acacia Belmont had learned the hard way that life rarely fit together so tidily.