Author: Lurina

019: The Quest Unrelenting (𒐀) - The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere | Royal Road

Inner Sanctum | 7:21 PM | First Day

The heavy stone doorway swung slowly open as Bardiya pushed at it, and our group stepped forward.

True to Neferuaten's word, the interior was a lot more pleasant than the exterior, although it maintained some of the oppressive quality. The room we arrived in was large and octagonal, with tall huge pillars reaching up to a high ceiling and bare wooden rafters, surrounding a central area in which there was a impractically large, round table, with a cavity in the center which hosted a currently-unlit brazier. Tall windows of stained glass faced us on all sides.

In the temple this place was an imitation of, this would have been the main hall. There was some peripheral wooden seating to the sides, and I could even see the altar, near the back, which appeared to have been converted into a stand for several stone busts. I recognized some of their faces from classrooms in the the academy, and in other schools I'd attended - they were all foundational healers from the Mourning Period or the First Resurrection. There was Yue Xie of Shaorang, who designed the first ever incantation intended to extend lifespan in the year 17 (it didn't work). Esasil-Um-Kattu, the first healer period, who performed his first treatment in the year 2 (which killed the patient). And also somewhat less ancient figures, like Ubar of Tahrun, who created the Senolyte-Slaying Arcana.

As she said, still for worship, I mused to myself. Just of a different sort.

Sometimes I wondered if other people had an internal narrative as smug as mine could be about everything.

Aside from that, there were also several logic bridges, subtly built into indentures near the central chairs. That gave me a pretty good idea of what this room was for, which allowed me to feel smart for approximately 2 seconds before Neferuaten spelled it out.

"Welcome to our humble conference room," she said, gesturing a hand in front of her. "This is where we conduct meetings with our lower-ranked members, as well as, more recently, the outside world in general."

"Is this where we'll be giving our presentations?" Theodoros asked.

"Well surmised. Yes, that's correct," she said. "As I understand it, the current plan is for links to be established to the Academy of Medicine and Healing, along with four affiliated universities, in addition to the rest of our own membership. We'll be seated in the middle, there--" she pointed, "--and you'll approach from the other side of the room, where we stand now, and give your presentations. After that, we'll ask a few questions, then let you go." She smiled.

"I see..." he said, his eyes turning to the ground. There was more than a hint of anxiety in his tone.

"You're nervous?" She inquired.

"A little, yes," he said. "I mean. Normally, I don't have a problem with this sort of affair, but doing it in front of so many people... Thousands, perhaps... It's a little frightening, don't you think?"

She chuckled to herself. "Oh, absolutely. It's utterly terrifying."

He blinked. "You agree?"

"I couldn't agree more," she said, with a nod. "I can't stand performing for an audience. The pressure of it always tears up my guts, even now. I'd love it if I could just sequester myself away in some tower, without worrying what people think."

"But you're one of the most important arcanists in Mekhi," Theodoros said, not seeming to know how to process this. "You must do numerous presentations like this every year, surely?"

She nodded. "Probably half way to a hundred, yes."

"Part of getting older," she said, "is understanding that, if one wishes to achieve anything of note, then there is no choice but to bend oneself against ones own nature from time to time. To accept a measure of unhappiness as the norm."

He frowned, and looked away, scratching at his neck. "I suppose."

"Don't take this as some sort of attempt at profound guidance, though," she said jovially, as she advanced further into the room. "It's possible I'm just neck-deep in my captor's paradox. If you can make a life for yourself just doing what you love, you should absolutely do that instead."

This got a little laughter from me, but not Theo, who still seemed perturbed.

"If I might inquire," Bardiya - who seemed to have attached himself to our trip, now - said, "if you feel as much, why did you decide to make your identity known to the public?"

"Oh, I didn't," she said casually. "I was against the idea. I was against today's event, too. Outvoted in both cases, alas."

Theo blinked in surprise at this, a little shocked, whereas Bardiya took it in stride, only furrowing his brow and nodding. I, on the other hand, knew Neferuaten, so had already suspected as much.

"I'm, uh, not sure I understand," Theodoros said. "If you're not happy about all this, why are you giving us a tour? Or going along with it at all...?"

"Well, it's not as if I'm bitter over it," she said, looking over her shoulder. "Or that I hold it over any of your heads. On the contrary, if I were able to put a stop for it, it would probably be for your sakes." She approached a small cabinet, to the side of the altar, and checked a few of the drawers. "Ah, here we go." She withdrew and held up a small metal key. "We'll need this for a little later."

"What's that for?" I asked.

"Snooping," she said, and tapped her nose with a childish grin.

I blinked, then opened my mouth to ask for elaboration, before ultimately deciding it wasn't worth the effort. Neferuaten was good at keeping things close to her chest. If she wanted to surprise us, she would.

"When you say 'our sakes'..." Theodoros continued.

"You are young," she said, rejoining and ushering us to the other side of the chamber. "Very much so, in young miss Eskhalon's case. And becoming a public figure of any sort is, regrettably, for life. I think you should have the luxury of a few more decades before having to decide if that is something you want. Your class being paraded around as it is already seems irresponsible, but all this..."

The frown he wore deepened considerably. If her goal was to make Theodoros give up on this entire idea and spend the following day hiding under the bed in his guest room, she was making good progress.

"It's only a few thousand academics," I said, feeling like I had to reassure him a bit. "It's a lot, but... I can't see it making that much difference, in the grand scheme of things?"

"Perhaps not on its own, no," she said, as she led us to a heavy wooden door, near the back of the room. "But things get set in motion. Before one knows it, you're being thrown forward from one social expectation to another, at it all becomes a blur... But I digress."

She opened it, and gestured to a set of steps within.

"I would presume this takes us to the bell tower," Bardiya said, crossing his arms idly. Theodoros now seemed a little lost in thought, his gaze off to the side.

"Correct," Neferuaten said. "Unless you'd rather not bother? There's not much to see other than the view, in truth."

"I don't mind," I said. "I mean... We're here, so we might as well?"

Bardiya nodded in assent at this, and Neferuaten shrugged, stepping forward through the doorway.

We climbed the steps, which were narrower and a little more haphazard than I'd expected, like the tower was even older than the rest of the building - or the original was, at least. As we did, we passed by various portraits, depicting people from all four corners of the Mimikos, in styles of dress that varied from recent to hundreds of years old. Beyond that, though, there was no clue as to the identity of the depicted.

I looked at them curiously. "These pictures--"

"Relatives of members, past and present," she explained, guessing where I was going with it, "who are no longer with us. This tower is a memorial, of sorts."

"Oh," I said, "I see."

"They're quite well done," Bardiya commented. "Good brushwork and colours, a distinctive style that's not unrealistic..."

"Mmm," Neferuaten hummed. "You think so?"

He nodded. "May I ask who painted them?"

"I did," she said. "And thank you for the compliment, incidentally."

Bardiya seemed unphased by this, merely smiling, while Theodoros, again, looked surprised. "You, uh... Paint?"

"Oh, on and off. It's just a little hobby, really. I started doing it for the order when the last fellow who used to keep up the tradition retired. You'll see some of his work in just a minute." We ascended a few more steps, and then she pointed over to the wall again. "Ah, here we go."

Sure enough, there was a marked change in art style. While Neferuaten's portraits felt much more likely, with the subjects wearing very distinctive, often even happy expressions, these ones were more solemn, with a grim air - though the actual attention to detail felt a little stronger.

"Mm, a more hyper-realistic style," Bardiya commented. "Early Second Resurrection, if I'm not mistaken."

Neferuaten smiled. "In spite of what you might say, young man, I'm getting the increasing sense that you missed your calling as an art critic."

He shook his head. "I merely make observations. I lack the critical eye for such an affair."

"If it's supposed to be a memorial," I asked, chiming in, "why do none of them have names?"

"Good question!" she said. "It's a precautionary measure, in case infiltrators accessed the sanctuary and tried to learn our identities. Less important now, but unless everyone in our lower ranks chooses to make their's known, then I expect it will remain. It would be a little awkward for only some to be labelled, don't you think?"

I nodded, thinking to myself.

Soon, we reached the top of the tower. As she'd said, there wasn't very much to see. The view wasn't unimpressive - I could clearly make out the abbey house down in the distance, and, if I squinted, the Everblossom project - but it wasn't so high as to render the moment breathtaking, despite being quite close to the roof. Bardiya stopped to take it in, but Theodoros didn't even seem to really care much other than being put off by the height.

My gaze turned towards the bell itself. It was impressively large and ornate, with the design of a serpent running around the rim, and was attached to a fairly complex automatic ringing mechanism overhead.

"As I said, not much to see," Neferuaten said. "It's a good spot to come up and think from time to time, but little else."

"When does it ring?" I asked.

"Do you want to know when it's supposed to ring, or when it does in reality?" She asked, staring upwards at the ceiling.

"Uh, former then latter, I guess," I said. Bardiya moved over to the bell itself, ducking his head and peeking within the interior.

"The bell is intended to ring at only two special occasions," she explained. "The first is when a new discovery of some note is made, usually after the conclusion of a successful experiment. That happens about once every few years. The second you can probably infer from the context clues of it's location."

I bit my lip. "Death."

"Indeed," she said, with a nod. "When a member, or someone close to them, passes away, the bell is struck ten times. When a discovery is made, eleven."

"Why the disparity?" Bardiya asked. He tapped at the inside of the bell with his scepter. It made a satisfyingly resonant metallic sound.

"One of our countless peculiar traditions," Neferuaten said. "Supposedly, it is intended to symbolize how, though each death is a tremendous tragedy, the will of mankind to triumph over it will always be greater, and will ultimately be victorious." She chuckled. "Personally, I suspect that someone simply did it too many times once, and justified it with some colorful explanation they presumed would sound poignant."

"What about the reality, then?" I asked.

"Zeno will sometimes start the mechanism when we are late assembling for meetings," she said, breaking into a small smile. "He likes to think of himself as the first among equals. That he ought to keep the rest of us on our toes."

"That sounds a little frustrating," I said, frowning.

"Yes, he's a bit of an old cunt." She sighed wistfully to herself, before turning to regard the group as a whole. "Shall we move on, then?"

We headed back down the stairs and into the conference chamber, Bardiya and Neferuaten idly chatting about the artwork as we went. Theodoros fell behind a bit, still looking insecure, his arms crossed. I dropped my pace a bit to walk beside him.

"I'm sure it'll be okay," I said. "We're done presentations for bigger audiences at the academy, haven't we? That one we did at the end of last year was for close to 2000."

He winced. "I don't think I handled that particularly well, either. I barely got any sleep, the night before."

Truth be told, I hadn't, either. Every time we had to do any sort of grand public performance, it made me anxious for weeks. I was just better at concealing those feelings then he was.

"But you got through it, didn't you?" I said, trying to sound reassuring. "In the end."

"This feels a bit different," He said, troubled. "That was mostly for students, not-- Well, not for people like this. And what she said, about being a public figure..."

"She just has a cautious mindset," I said. "And can be a little hyperbolic. Trust me, I know her."

He looked a little more at ease hearing this, nodding to himself.

"Um, Utsu," he said.

I looked to him. "Hm?"

"Can I... Uh..."

He paused, not seeming able to find the words, his face growing a little flushed. I looked at him, at first expectantly, then with confusion.

"Never mind," he eventually said. "Sorry. My mind's all over the place."

"Oh," I said. "It's okay."

We arrived back in the conference hall, which turned out not to be quite as empty as we'd left it. Up near the rear doorway, there was a small, mostly-wooden construct only a bit over a foot wide, scooping up detritus from the floor. It was shaped sort of like a beetle, with an oval body and several little legs.

Cute, I thought.

'Cute?' Who was I now, Ophelia?

"Try not to get too close to the golems," Neferuaten said. "The proper ones we use to help with experiments are hardy enough, but these little things are bit useless. They'll break or give up on the task if so much as tap them with the side of your foot."

"I think I've seen one of these at home," Theo said.

"Mm, I'd expect your father got it from here," Neferuaten said. "We have more of the things then we know what to do with. The plan was to make this sanctuary capable of complete self-maintenance, but at some point, I'm afraid things got a little out of hand..."

I heard the subtle sound of gears churning within its chassis as we passed it by. Mundane, then. Not artificed.

We passed beyond the doorway, and through a hallway that Neferuaten offered little comment on, before proceeding through a set of wooden double doors. We arrived in another large room, this one more typical, though still impressive in its own right. It looked like something between an intersection and a library. The walls were lined with shelves of books (and at least 4 doors) across two floors, with twin staircases on either side connecting them. In the center was something like a lounge, though far larger than the one in the guesthouse, with chairs and sofas gathered around an open, round fireplace.

Adjacent to that was the largest feature of the room: An orrery, depicting the celestia of the Remaining World. The Tower of Asphodel was at its center, reaching from floor to ceiling, while each of the seven planes were set in orbit around it. The bowl of the Mimikos and the smaller bodies of the Empyrean at the top, followed by the Atelikos, and then the rest, culminating in the Nadir at the bottom. They were connected to the Tower by bronze beams, each set in their own position.

This was partly a truthful depiction, and partly a common artistic license. While all the planes technically overlapped in physical space, their metaphysical relationships were more complex, and were not positioned differently so much as they were perceived to by virtue of the dimensions they inhabited being different. For example, the Thyellikos was physically much, much larger than the planes higher than it, and so the critical bodies, its actual planets, were far more distant from the Tower of Asphodel.

Even this explanation would require multiple qualifiers. The human mind wasn't really built for understanding interplanar physics.

"The main hall," Neferuaten said. "...or at least, it was at one point."

"It looks more like a library," I said, stating the obvious.

"Yes, rooms here have a nasty habit of catching library-itus," she said, curling her lip. "An unfortunate side-effect of any space inhabited exclusively by scholars, I'm afraid."

"That's an impressive orrery for a private building," Bardiya remarked. "The design is typical, but the scale isn't too far from what you'd see in a museum."

"I'm not exactly sure who put it here," Neferuaten said, crossing her arms. "It wasn't part of the original building, and it doesn't really fit with our work. It does give the room a bit of an intellectual air, though, so that's nice."

I squinted at it. "I'm not sure there's any other reason people build orreries. I mean, they make you learn the stuff by heart in primary school, so it can't be educational."

"Hah, that may very well be true," she said, with a cynical, but mirthful, look. "I suppose most decor beyond a certain point is little more than social broadcasting, when one gets right down to it."

"Um," Theodoros said, speaking up for the first time in a while, "would you mind if I, ah... Took a look at some of these books...?"

I blinked at this. It seemed like a bit of an odd request for the middle of a tour, even for Theo, who was nearly as bookish as Ran.

"Be my guest," she said. "In fact, feel free to pan out and look around as much as you like. Though keep in mind that most of our literature to do with our work is in the research tower's library, so don't expect to find anything too revolutionary."

Our group split up a little. Bardiya headed to the lounge area, while Theo went up to the second floor. I stayed on the first, idly peeking in all the enclaves of shelves. Most of the books were fairly dry texts on history, natural philosophy, and arcane lore, though there were spots where I found popular fiction or more entertaining biographical texts. Other than that, there were also a number of other interesting knick-knacks and mementos on the shelves, like some statuettes that looked like they were from the First Resurrection. Many newsheet articles that referenced the order had been framed and put up on the walls, some of which appeared to have been published centuries ago.

What I found most interesting, though, was at the far end of the room. Framed in a prominent position, with space given to accommodate its reading, was a complete copy of the Covenant of the Mourning Realms, the root of law and society on the Mimikos, signed by the six parties at the First Convention. It listed a multitude of overly-wordy commandments, all of which were beaten repeatedly into the heads of schoolchildren until they were forced to swear the oath themselves at age nineteen.

The Covenant had been written largely as a reaction to the destruction of the old world, and was embedded with the trauma of that event. Thus, most of the tenants revolved around preserving its memory and knowledge, as well as avoiding what were perceived as the mistakes that led to its annihilation. 'I will preserve knowledge in all forms, from both desecration and destruction, and will not seek to distort it either willfully or through misrepresentation.' 'I will hold human flesh as sacrosanct, and will seek only to elevate mankind, not to deviate from its image.' 'I will pay heed to the suffering of others, and make sure none are left behind so that others may profit.'

For all that older people waxed about its importance, the truth was that the parts of it that weren't so vague as to be platitudes were pretty reactionary and emotionally-driven. It wasn't even useful; politicians turned interpretations of it into law back and forth as suited their agendas and personal values. It wasn't difficult, now that I'd escaped the low-key patriotic indoctrination that all children go through, to understand why the Uana and Lluatec had rejected it outright.

Which made it vexing that it had become so culturally embedded that questioning it, even just slightly, was seen as politically unthinkable.

"Ah," I heard Neferuaten's voice from behind, in tandem with her approaching footsteps. "I see you've found one of the room's centerpieces."

"Why is this here...?" I asked, frowning in confusion at the lengthy roll of parchment.

"Why?" She considered the question for a moment, or at least mimed doing so. "It's the foundational text of modern society. Should it not be here?"

"Well, rather... The Order of the Universal Panacea was founded out of a desire to defy the Covenant." I said. "It's hard to think of a stranger place for it to be hanging then its main hall."

She hummed. "It can be good, I think, to remind oneself of the rules one intends to break," she said, "else one might forget the reason they broke them to begin with. Why do you think the founders of the Parties wrote the Covenant the way they did, Utsushikome?"

"Um." I thought about it for a moment, hesitating. "...is this the sort of question where you have a specific response in mind?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "Just answer in whatever way seems most truthful to you."

"Uh, well..." I crossed my arms, looking upward. "They were probably upset about what they'd lost, and wanted to do something to make sure it would never happen again, in order to feel catharsis. Without really thinking about the long term."

She considered this answer for a few moments, smiling to herself, before she eventually spoke.

"All human beings, I think, desire the same fundamental things. Freedom from pain. Love from others. Continuity and meaning to our existence." She looked closely at the document. "People express those desires through many contradictory means, and the scarcity of those things drives them into conflict, but in the end, the core is the same. Everyone, from the most innocent of children to the greatest of history's monsters, are suffering, and desire an end to that suffering."

"I'm not sure I understand," I said.

"I'll be clearer," she said, her voice gentle. "When pursuing something you truly believe will help mankind, it is important to remember that even those who loathe you, you would see everything you do turned to ruin, are still only acting out of a desire to, in some capacity, ease the experience of living. Because if you allow yourself to hate them for their obstinance, that hatred will fester, and after a while, you will no longer be pursuing your goal to help others... But rather, simply out of spite, to soothe your own anguish." She looked to me. "Do you follow what I'm saying now, Utsushikome?"

"I... think so," I said, nodding. "You're saying that it's important to have compassion for what your enemy believes, even if you think their ideas are awful."

She nodded. "That's more or less it, but I think I'd put it slightly differently." She closed her eyes for just a moment, taking a breath. "I would say... Even if the forces of circumstance force you to act against them, never forget that your enemy is the bucket, and not the other crabs. Do that much, and your goal will always remain clear in your heart." She smiled.

I hesitated as I processed her meaning, then smiled back.

I admired the grandmaster for many things, but it was this that I loved about her the most, ultimately. How much compassion she had, how much kindness, even towards those who were undeserving of it.

Without that, I thought, I probably wouldn't be here.

"Alas," she said, "regrettably, this copy is actually here for a different reason. If you look closely, you can see the Biological Continuity Oath has been amended to unambiguously permit our research."

"Oh," i said. I took off my spectacles, peering more closely at it.

Sure enough, the wording had been altered slightly, from 'deviating significantly from the natural structure of the human body' to 'deviating destructively from the natural structure of the human body.' A subtle change, but one that completely altered how the command read.

"Why, though?" I asked. "I don't see the point."

"The founders of the order believed it would help our case, if we were ever discovered," she said. "To show that we still believed in the ideals of the Covenant overall, even if we showed this one bit of defiance." She chuckled. "A laughable proposition, as it turned out. The Administrators happily executed a number of our members as oath breakers, and would have gone further, had they the chance."

From behind us, Bardiya approached. "Pardon if I'm interrupting," he said.

"Not at all," Neferuaten said. "I think we were just finishing."

"Yeah," I said. "I guess we ought to move on if we're going to finish before dinner."

"Mm, that's a fair point," Neferuaten said, nodding, then raised her voice a little bit. "Theo, you still coming along?"

"Oh, er. Are we leaving? Just a minute." He came into view on the railing overhead, then proceeded towards the stairs at a quick pace, tripping over a little bit and having to catch himself. He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose as he approached. "Sorry, got a little caught up in looking at the encyclopedias. The collection here is, ah, quite excellent."

She smiled. "This room is open for anyone staying here, so if you'd like to finish looking around later, you're welcome to do so." She gestured forward. "Shall we, then?"

She led us through the doors, and we visited a few more, less exciting rooms. A dedicated lounge with a long glass window. A room full of artwork and other precious objects donated by past patients. A media room, with countless shelves full of echo mazes.

The others chatted and asked questions as they walked, with Bardiya and Neferuaten increasingly hitting it off. Meanwhile, I slowly grew quieter, stewing in my thoughts again now that attention wasn't really being paid to me. Again and again, I kept being struck by the strange sense that I'd somehow seen this before. But every time I tried to predict what would be in the next room, I failed, so I started to dismiss it as cognitive bias.

Other things were swirling through my mind, too.

What would you do if you found him in one of these, right now?

I suppressed the thought.

Eventually, we came to an unremarkable looking doorway, from which I could smell the faint scent of cooking food - chicken? Some kind of roast...?

"This is the kitchen?" Bardiya asked.

"Indeed!" Neferuaten said, cheerfully. "Shall we take a peek, or would you like to keep dinner a surprise?"

"To be frank, I wouldn't mind grabbing a little snack," Theodoros said. "I didn't really realize until I got to walking how long its been since I last ate."

My stomach had been grumbling a bit, too. I'd been starting to regret not taking Seth up on his offer before this excursion.

"Seems a pity to waste your appetite when we're so close," Neferuaten said, reaching over to the door handle. "But it's hardly my place to mother you. Let's take a look inside, I'm sure we can find something small in the pantry--Oh. Oh dear."

We glanced over her shoulder to look inside the room for the source of his reaction. The kitchen looked decent enough - well stocked, clean, relatively spacious. And indeed, there appeared to some food in the oven, though a little more smoke was rising out then seemed entirely normal.

But this was not the highlight of the room. No, that was the young looking man, with dark black hair and servants clothing, hunched over a table, unconscious. Drool was spilling softly out of his mouth.

"Well," Neferuaten said. "I suppose that doesn't bode particularly well for dinner."