“I wouldn’t have guessed you had such a commanding air.”
The young woman circled in front of the older one with light steps.
“Is this how you interact with your colleagues in the Hospital Department?”
“They wouldn’t want to interact with me.”
Setting down the two cases she carried, Dr. Callan gazed in the direction the railway tracks stretched.
The roaring sound heard from outside the station belonged to a train heading in the opposite direction; the Blue Rose would still be some time in arriving.
“Why?”
Ghervil thought Dr. Callan was bluffing; it wasn’t as if she would devour them.
“Because not everyone is like you, lacking a clear understanding of their own position, acting as an assistant yet letting their employer carry all the luggage.”
This remark did not sit well with the young woman.
For most of the journey, the cases had been in the car’s trunk, and besides, it was Dr. Callan’s fault for not allowing wheeled suitcases, forcing them to be carried by hand.
“There you go again. I’m not with the Epidemic Prevention Bureau or your department; that tactic won’t work on me.”
“You’re mistaken.”
Dr. Callan spoke softly.
“Having signed that contract, you are at least considered an auxiliary member of the Hospital Department.”
‘Had she boarded a pirate ship?’
Dr. Callan seemed to hear her unspoken thoughts.
“Regret is useless now.”
“Rumble—”
“Rumble—”
A steel train, its locomotive and carriages painted entirely blue, approached from the distance.
Even from afar, one could discern a large, sea-blue diamond, over half a meter in diameter, embedded atop the locomotive’s front, secured by a silver metal frame at its base.
It was strikingly conspicuous, refracting brilliant light from every angle.
Ghervil, of course, knew it was made of glass, a large imitation; real diamonds were never that immense, nor would one ever be mounted on a train engine.
‘So, Blue Rose was actually the name of a diamond?’
“Everyone please step back behind the yellow line. And you, the beautiful lady in the hat over there, unless you wish to meet the Goddess soon.”
The young woman immediately understood who the police officer was addressing.
She turned, found a tall figure at the edge of the crowd, and, slightly flustered under the gazes filled with good-natured laughter, pulled down her hat brim to conceal her reddened cheeks before hurrying to the figure’s side.
“Why didn’t you call out to me?”
“I was too captivated watching you.”
“Never mind.”
The young woman rubbed her face to cool it down.
“Considering you helped me with the cases, let’s go. We should try to get a spot closer to the front.”
The train slowly decelerated, entering the station and coming to a halt, a slightly grating hum indicating either its brakes or the opening of its doors.
The glass diamond on the locomotive reflected dancing specks of light, which then grew dimmer and dimmer, until the locomotive, the entire train, and the surrounding environment gradually darkened.
It was no illusion.
A tug from behind made her turn, revealing Dr. Callan clutching her arm, her gaze fixed intently on the sun’s direction in the sky, where the mist had grown so dense that the dazzling light eerily vanished, replaced by a luminous white full moon.
It was indeed a moon, Ghervil barely made out through the shifting gaps in the mist.
A small commotion erupted among the crowd; the dimming light made it difficult for eyes to adjust.
Some prayed to the Goddess, others called out to relatives and companions, pushing towards each other.
Within ten seconds, a deep, resonant voice brought the situation under control.
“Quiet!”
The middle-aged man from the Epidemic Prevention Bureau, wearing a silk hat, had appeared at the very front of the crowd at some unknown moment.
“Everyone, please board the train in an orderly fashion. There are sleeping berths available on board. Find your designated spot and enter a dream state immediately!”
“Dong—”
The chime of a distant church bell seemed to echo, and the crowd gradually calmed, falling silent, though many wore expressions that hinted at memories of unpleasant things, heads bowed, as they boarded the train one by one under the direction of police officers and agents.
“Let’s go. It should be fine.”
After most people had boarded, Dr. Callan released the young woman’s hand, picked up the cases, and took a step forward, only to find the young woman motionless, facing the train.
Experience and a strong intuition compelled Dr. Callan to glance sharply at the train.
Behind the carriage windows, dim orange lights glowed, and figures continuously moved past.
Those who found their seats promptly drew the curtains, and everything appeared normal.
Despite this, she did not pull the young woman onto the train.
Instead, she set down one of her suitcases, then with a single hand, took out a hair tie and fastened her hair into a ponytail.
With a swift flick, she opened her own black suitcase, and from within, a special black robe with intricate structures neatly unfolded, wrapping around her as she draped it over her shoulders.
From Ghervil’s perspective, the shadows darting behind the train windows were not only human figures, but countless grotesque rat-like apparitions, constantly leaping between people, among the cargo and luggage, and even on the gently swaying curtains.
Every hidden corner, every crevice, pulsed with these eerie, countless rat-like shadows.
“Caw—”
In the distance, a flock of crows flew from the trees, one of them soaring towards the station, circling for a moment in the air before spitting out a round bead.
Unnoticed by anyone, the bead landed precisely in the hand of the black-robed woman below.
Dr. Callan opened her palm; it was a crow’s eyeball, streaked with blood and veins.
The pupil focused, the eyeball rotating in her hand, attempting to discern the woman’s appearance.
Five fingers tightened their grip, and the eyeball instantly dissolved into blood, dissipating into the air.
In Dr. Callan’s mind, a stern female voice, likely belonging to someone in their fifties or sixties, echoed:
[“All doctors below chief level are forbidden from entering Mistfall City.”]
“Please, both of you, board quickly. A VIP compartment has been prepared for you. We can handle the current situation; there’s no need to trouble you… the train is about to depart…”
Once all ordinary passengers had boarded, the middle-aged agent from the Epidemic Prevention Bureau, who had been maintaining order, approached and spoke subserviently.
Dr. Callan paid no heed to the middle-aged man.
She simply took the young woman’s hand and walked towards the station exit.
“Our sightseeing plans are ruined. Now, we go to the Cathedral…”
****
At the same time, in the Red Maple Leaf District, within a reception room in the back hall of Mistfall City’s Grand Cathedral:
“Damn it!”
Helm slammed his fist against the doorframe.
“It had to be now. It’s been so long, and the doctor still hasn’t returned? I should have gone to pick up the nun myself!”
“You still struggle with calmness, my colleague.”
Ramsey, a pipe clenched between his teeth, leaned back in his chair, turning the pages of an eleven-year-old case file.
“Even if we found a way to help her recover her memory, it wouldn’t necessarily provide clues to solve the plague.”
“I never considered doing that! Protection, do you understand? Those beasts are targeting the Abbey!”
Helm retorted indignantly, coming to stand before Ramsey’s table, his hands pressed against the surface.
“You may not think that way, but others certainly do.”
Ramsey gestured with his eyes towards several black-clad agents and priests arguing outside the window, then resumed reading.
Helm was immediately speechless; he had a litany of complaints he couldn’t voice.
The slow progress of the investigation was precisely due to the friction between the two systems.
Or rather, a faction within the Cathedral unilaterally believed that no traitor could possibly emerge from their ranks, viewing the suspicion cast upon Bishop Sartre as disrespect to the Goddess and the Church.
“Perhaps it’s not too late for me to go pick up the nun now…”
After a moment, Helm resumed pacing and muttering.
“No need to go. By my reckoning, they should have already boarded the train.”
Ramsey glanced at his pocket watch.
“The train? Where to?”
Helm looked over, surprised.
“I don’t know where, but it should take them out of this city.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner!”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference if I had. Or would you have wanted to clash with a chief-level doctor?”
“I…”
Helm calmed down.
It was good that the nun could leave the city; they wouldn’t have to expend energy protecting her.
For now, the priority was to ensure most of the city’s residents entered a dream state and survived the Long Night.
Upon reflection, however, he again found the Hospital Department unreliable.
The promised reinforcements hadn’t arrived, and the only chief doctor present had left without authorization, disregarding the lives of the city’s residents.
He once more lost his favorable impression of The Order, with the nun being the sole exception.
“Have you noticed anything amiss?”
The lounge was quiet save for their two voices; something seemed to be missing compared to usual.
Anyone who had experienced the Long Night could distinctly feel the incongruity.
“Are you referring to the Cathedral bell not having rung?”
Ramsey also found it strange and set down his case file.
More than ten minutes had passed since the Long Night began, and the Cathedral bell should have rung by now; it was a crucial method for guiding people into a dream state.
Typically, the head of each church performed this, transmitting the power of their own dreams through the bell sound to aid people in falling asleep and dreaming.
“Yes, that’s it! I’ll send someone to check…”
“Thump.”
The door was pushed open.
“Something’s happened.”
Lalviye-Komel stood panting at the doorway.
“On the way to the bell tower just now, Bishop Sartre went missing.”