“Good afternoon—no, rather, good evening, Dr. Callan and Sister Ghervil.”
Even amidst the tension, Ramsey still managed a polite greeting to both women, though the sincerity of his smile remained questionable.
“There’s no need for pleasantries.”
Dr. Callan offered no pleasant expression in return.
“I wish to know why the cathedral’s bells have yet to chime.”
“The explanation for this is a trifle complicated…”
“Perhaps I should explain; I am, after all, directly involved,” Lalviye-Komel interjected, offering a faint smile to the young woman who stood by a pillar, feigning disinterest by gazing elsewhere, even as her curiosity about their conversation was palpable.
A surge of inexplicable annoyance coursed through Dr. Callan. She had long regarded the purple-haired woman as negligible, her provocations tiresome, and that sentiment persisted.
The true source of her vexation, however, stemmed from seeing the young woman take two steps closer, an unspoken invitation to join their discourse.
‘Yes, my words were perhaps a touch too sharp, too disagreeable, but it was all to prevent a certain someone from spiraling into baseless conjectures.’
‘And now, a single word from another and you’re all ears.’
She felt an abrupt urge to hurl the briefcase she had carried all this way.
Still, on the brighter side, perhaps the young woman’s anger had considerably cooled.
****
Three minutes later, within the very same corridor before the bell tower, Lalviye-Komel recounted the events in full detail to both, though her narrative was primarily directed at Ghervil.
“With the Bishop’s power currently diminished, the immediate priority is to chime the bells, guiding the nearby city’s inhabitants into slumber—a measure of considerable prudence.” As she spoke, Lalviye-Komel had positioned herself beside the young woman, who offered no discernible reaction.
“Is merely sleeping insufficient, then? Must they actively dream?” Ghervil inquired, turning her head slightly.
“Protection can only be found within dreams; to enter the Goddess’s dreamscape requires specific guidance, not merely the act of slumbering.”
It was Ramsey who provided the answer.
Simultaneously, he cast an inquiring glance at Dr. Callan, who, after a quick, surprised look at the young woman, shook her head.
This gesture conveyed that Dr. Callan had presumed Ghervil was already privy to such fundamental knowledge and thus hadn’t bothered to elaborate.
Hem-Scard remained silent, leaning against the wall, his gaze silently directing the black-cloaked figures to establish a perimeter around the cathedral.
Accurately perceiving the strained atmosphere, he mused that only someone as unflappable as Ramsey could converse so calmly with the ladies currently at odds.
Ramsey, undeterred by the inconvenience, proceeded to explain to the young woman.
“The true terror of the Long Night lies in its potential to spontaneously generate novel, unknown plagues—perhaps from a simple cold, or even a malevolent thought harbored by someone. While natural origins cannot be entirely prevented, our utmost effort must be directed at averting those of human design.”
“Within the dreamscape, shielded by the Goddess’s immense power, infection is rendered nigh impossible. Thus, individuals possessing dream-affinity are required to ring specially forged bronze bells, thereby extending the chimes’ protective influence.”
“In other cities, a central cathedral might boast three or four ‘bell ringers’ of sufficient power, yet in Mistfall City…”
‘Solis Abbey, then?’
Ghervil instantly grasped the unspoken implication.
With eight nuns and the abbess, that made a total of nine individuals capable of ringing the bell.
Every gaze present converged upon the two women standing in close proximity.
“My power has not yet fully recovered; its outward projection would be insufficient to encompass the entire city.”
This clarification from Lalviye-Komel elegantly elucidated why the cathedral’s bell was indispensable, while those of other churches would prove inadequate.
Their collective strength was insufficient, capable only of influencing localized areas.
“Will the exertion be considerable?”
To influence an entire city, it would likely require the Bishop-level power they had spoken of.
Could she, a nun without any formal testing or training, truly manage such a feat?
“For most individuals possessing dream-affinity, the toll would be substantial, but you are of Solis Abbey,” Ramsey stated, a flicker of trust gracing his features.
“I can ring the bell.”
Biting her lip, Ghervil stepped out of the corridor, her gaze drawn upward to the imposing bell tower silhouetted against the moonlit sky.
“However, I require someone to accompany me, and no one else is to interfere.”
“Agreed,” Ramsey affirmed.
“I am perfectly capable of fulfilling that role of companionship.”
Lalviye-Komel stepped forward as well.
Ignoring her, Ghervil walked back and gently tugged on the sleeve of the black-robed doctor.
“Do me a favor.”
With a slight frown, Dr. Callan hesitated for a beat before offering a nod.
Under the scrutiny of several pairs of eyes, the two women entered the bell tower together.
‘What is happening?’
‘Hadn’t they been at odds?’
Hem-Scard was the first to be perplexed. He glanced at his captain and then his teammate, one maintaining a placid smile, the other utterly devoid of expression.
It appeared he was the only one who had failed to grasp the situation.
****
“Should your concern be the physical exertion of pulling the bell rope, rest assured, it is entirely unnecessary. Almost all cathedral bells are ingeniously designed; the force generated by turning gears swings the bell’s body to strike the clapper. Thus, only a modest amount of strength is required to pull the rope and engage the mechanism.”
On the ground floor within the bell tower, Dr. Callan spoke from behind the young woman.
“Don’t you find it peculiar?”
The young woman offered no direct reply.
“No sooner had we returned than Bishop Sartre vanished.”
“Are you suggesting…”
From the apex of the bell tower, four stout ropes descended.
Each rope terminated in a looped handle, its length elegantly encased in red silk; a tug on any one would set the bells chiming.
“I wish to ask for your assistance.” The young woman slowly approached a rope, extending her hand to grasp it.
“Should I fall into slumber shortly, I ask that you protect me.”
A dawning realization of something amiss caused Dr. Callan’s heart to quicken, and an icy aura began to emanate from her.
“You once told me that only excessive deliberation and study would trigger the affliction,” she murmured, her voice laced with accusation.
“Upon reflection, I find your words entirely accurate. The Abbey cannot afford to vanish, and I cannot allow myself to be a burden in this critical moment.”
“Should I not awaken, or if you grow impatient, administer the potion from the box; it might prove effective.”
The young woman continued speaking, seemingly to herself.
Dr. Callan had witnessed that particular expression before: utterly devoid of any discernible emotion.
Yet for her, and for those in her immediate vicinity.
An inexplicable vexation would invariably arise within her heart.
‘Why, though? We had merely agreed upon a temporary utilization.’
‘Yet I always find myself compelled to do strange things, to entertain peculiar notions.’
‘Am I… changing from who I once was?’
“What if it proves ineffective?”
Enduring this internal turmoil, Dr. Callan spoke, her gaze fixed downwards.
“Then you needn’t concern yourself with me. Though I long to utter those words, I know your nature would never permit you to abandon me.”
“It’s good that you understand.”
The young woman smiled then, her composure no longer serene and unruffled; it was a truly beautiful smile.
For a fleeting moment, Dr. Callan found herself spellbound, her gaze unable to tear away, as she heard the young woman, still adorned with that captivating smile, declare:
“Remember to tally my overtime pay; my working hours today have far surpassed eight.”
“And one more thing.”
“It’s rather important…”
*Dong—*
*Dong—*
The resonant chimes began, and through their echoing din, a faint, almost indistinct sentence reached her ears:
“If you truly dare to wake me with a kiss.”
…
“You’ll be dead.”
…
The continuous tolling of the bell emanated from the cathedral’s heart, spreading outwards into the distant reaches of the city.
Ghervil experienced a peculiar sensation, as though something dormant within her body had been awakened, now resonating in perfect harmony with the chiming bell.
Her consciousness seemed to drift above the city, and following the sound of the bell, she witnessed the fearful, restless inhabitants slowly succumbing to sleep. Children ceased their cries, adults no longer tossed and turned in their beds, their struggles against slumber now quieted.
Even the livestock within their pens, and the swarming mosquitoes and flies, settled into an unusual calm.
It was not until nearly the twentieth chime that the city, cradled by the bell’s reverberations, finally sank into a profound slumber.
The pervasive sense of peace and tranquility slowly receded.
An inexpressible dizziness washed over her, and with each downward pull of the rope, she found herself exerting even more strength than the previous effort.
The world around her grew progressively darker.
The lights of the bell tower, once visible, steadily dimmed within her blurring vision.
She lost count of the pulls, but then a comforting warmth enveloped her hand.
At last, her strength gave out, and she released the rope, collapsing into a warm, welcoming embrace.