[Volume 2 | Chapter 72: Unveil (IV)]

What had once been an elegant living room now resembled a cross between a war room and a freshman detective's conspiracy board. By now it was evening, and Acacia had commandeered a whiteboard on wheels—acquired from Sirius's laboratory after some negotiation involving promises to "not break anything irreplaceable"—and positioned it prominently before the assembled group.

His audience occupied various states of attention and posture across the room's expensive furniture, all with their distinctive quirks: Leila perched on the edge of a couch cushion, emerald eyes alert and curious, while Elias sprawled in an armchair, legs draped over one armrest. Sirius and Eleanor sat together on a loveseat, Eleanor maintaining her impeccable posture while Sirius's lab coat-clad form slumped against her, head resting on her shoulder.Noelle, the final attendee, had chosen a spot on the floor near the front, sitting cross-legged with a notebook open in her lap and pen poised to take notes.

Acacia uncapped a marker with his teeth as he quickly surveyed the "Kick Alaric's Ass Squad."

Five people, each with unique knowledge and perspective. Five allies in a situation he'd initially believed he would face alone.

"Yo."

It was an utterance sharp enough to cut through Sirius's murmured commentary about the superior qualities of digital displays versus "primitive marker technology."

"Thank you all for agreeing to hear me out. What I'm about to share may sound farfetched, but I believe we're dealing with something potentially dangerous."

He drew a quick timeline on the board, marking yesterday's date with exquisite penmanship.

"Yesterday evening, I witnessed Alaric Ptolemy exiting Windsor Preparatory Academy's library clutching an ancient book with distinctive markings." He couldn't mention the Dead Sea Scrolls specifically—Bismarck's mission remained confidential—but he needed enough truth to build a credible case.

"What kind of markings? Geometric patterns? Runic inscriptions? Invocation circles?" Sirius interrupted, suddenly alert.

"I couldn't see clearly," Acacia deflected smoothly. "What matters is that when I questioned the library staff afterward, they insisted Alaric hadn't visited since graduation. According to their records, he hasn't checked out a single book this month."

He drew a stark line connecting the observation to the staff's contradictory claims.

"This morning, I returned to confirm. Three separate librarians swore they hadn't seen Alaric in weeks, despite me witnessing him less than twelve hours earlier."

Elias leaned upwards, now fully engaged.

"That tracks with how he's been acting lately. During our... confrontation... he knew things he shouldn't have."

"Like what?" Eleanor asked, her teacup pausing halfway to her lips.

Elias and Leila exchanged glances, mastering the art of negotiation through body language. It was Leila who spoke first, speaking with an uncharacteristic hesitancy.

"Alaric knew Nemesis's true name and details about his Ars Magna—information that isn't public knowledge. He was casting spells far beyond his capabilities."

Her fingers tightened around the armrest.

"Specifically, [Repulsa]—an Oscillation spell he's historically been terrible at using. His affinities had always been in Interference and Enhancement Thaumaturgy, not Oscillation."

"And [Incendio]," Elias added quietly. "A Strategic Class Fire spell used in wars. The kind that..."

"Burns people alive."

Sirius was not smiling.

The room fell into a heavy silence. Only the sound of Eleanor's teacup gently settling on its plate pierced the quiet, but even she received a transformation as well. Gone was the peacemaker that Acacia was accustomed to, and in her place was a noblewoman of the House of Altair of the Sovereign Eight of the Tachyon Empire.

"He attempted to use [Incendio] against my daughter?" Her voice, normally a gentle melody, had dropped to a chilling octave, laden with the authority of centuries' worth of aristocratic lineage.

"I-It's fine, Mom. The Wind Brigade arrived before—"

"It is most certainly not 'fine.' Strategic Class spells are restricted for a reason, particularly those designed specifically for human extermination."

Sirius had gone unnaturally still.

Chillingly still.

"When, exactly, did this occur?" he prodded.

"A few days ago. I handled it."

"So you didn't think to inform us that the Ptolemy heir attempted to incinerate you?" Eleanor's question carried no accusation, only a terrible, quiet ire.

"I... just didn't want to make you worry, much less cause a political incident over something I could just get over with," Leila murmured, suddenly looking much younger than her sixteen years.

Acacia detachedly watched the family dynamics unfold. The Trafalgars' reaction—their immediate shift from casual comfort to protective intensity—reflected bonds of loyalty and love he still struggled to comprehend.

More significantly, it confirmed his suspicions. Whatever Alaric had found, it was transforming him into something increasingly dangerous.

"This is why I've gathered you all," he interjected, dragging attention back to the whiteboard. "I believe Alaric has access to knowledge or power that's fundamentally changing him. The question is how is he accessing it, and what does he intend to do with it?"

"You think he's using the book you saw to enhance his abilities?" Sirius's mind had clearly shifted to analysis mode, a much palettable conversation for Acacia to have.

In response, Acacia drew another connection on the board.

"It's the most logical explanation. But there's a more immediate question, specifically, how's he manipulating the librarians' memories? I initially considered an Interference spell, but memory manipulation of this precision would be likely locked behind Strategic Class Thaumaturgy, possibly even at Magnum Order."

A lightbulb went up in Eleanor's head.

"Unless... he's using his Birthright."

"His Birthright?"

"The House of Ptolemy's ⸢Ephemeral⸥. It allows the wielder to implant suggestions directly into a target's consciousness with such seamless integration that the affected individual experiences the commanded action as their own genuine desire," she elucidated.

The missing puzzle piece.

"That would explain how he's been accessing the library repeatedly without leaving evidence... he's not erasing memories, that would definitely be too complex for him. Implanting the suggestion that he was never there... that'd be a much cleaner method."

"Well said." Eleanor nodded. "⸢Ephemeral⸥ requires only momentary eye contact to establish the bridge necessary for implementation. Hence, the name. It's a fleeting, ephemeral connection, barely noticeable, but powerful in the right hands. However, it does operate under certain restrictions, primarily what the family terms the Hierarchy of Will."

"Which means?" Noelle leaned forward, her curiosity clearly piqued.

"The suggestion cannot fundamentally contradict the target's established moral identity," Eleanor explained further. "A deeply committed pacifist cannot be made to commit murder, regardless of the wielder's aptitude. Similarly, people with strong convictions cannot be forced to violate their core beliefs."

"But librarians forgetting a single visitor wouldn't constitute a major moral violation," Acacia observed, adding these details to the board.

Eleanor's stone cold expression grew rather troubled.

"Yes, but...what concerns me is the frequency of implementation. ⸢Ephemeral⸥ uses a significant prana expenditure, particularly for repeated applications. Using it daily on multiple targets would be rather torturous for young Alaric. Nosebleeds, tremors, erratic behavior..."

Elias nodded vigorously. "I saw him during my morning run yesterday. He looked terrible. He was pale, shaking, kept wiping blood from his nose."

"He's overextending, it appears to be. It suggests that whatever he's accessing through that book is valuable enough to risk his health."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The puzzle pieces shifted into a clearer alignment.

"So we have Alaric repeatedly accessing a hidden book using ⸢Ephemeral⸥ to cover his tracks, exhibiting enhanced thaumaturgical capabilities beyond his natural affinity, and showing physical symptoms of Birthright overuse. That still doesn't explain what he's planning." Acacia wrote each element on the board in precise lettering.

"That's where I come in!"

Noelle practically vibrated with enthusiasm. This was the moment she had been waiting for, a chance to contribute and prove her worth. Her presence here wasn't by accident or mere association; it was by design and choice. She was here because she had earned her place.

"While investigating other libraries, I discovered Alaric has been spreading his research across multiple locations following a specific pattern... or more like, an anti-pattern."

Way to use my vocabulary.

She approached the whiteboard, pointing to the dates Acacia had marked.

"Mondays and Thursdays at Kraft's Records, Tuesdays and Fridays at Time Square, Wednesdays and weekends at Central Archives. They're always at different times to avoid creating obvious patterns."

"Concealment," Sirius nodded approvingly in the intellectual sense. "Clever, if somewhat paranoid."

"But here's the crucial part: at the Central Archives this morning, the librarian remembered him asking specifically about 'when Luna reaches conjunction with Spica this year.' She told him June 24th at 8:17 PM."

Sirius suddenly straightened from his slump, sitting bolt upright as his eyes widened. The movement was so sudden it startled Eleanor, who nearly spilled her tea.

"Luna and Spica conjunction? He specifically requested that astronomical alignment?"

"Uh... yes? He also checked out three books on astronomical calculations and historical star charts," Noelle clarified.

A heavy hush descended as Sirius and Eleanor exchanged a loaded glance. Something unspoken passed between them.

"...Would someone care to explain why a teenage boy's sudden interest in astronomy has you both looking like you've seen a ghost?" Acacia prompted, marker poised over the whiteboard.

Eleanor elected to explain, at least somewhat, the situation.

"In certain historical contexts, specific celestial alignments were believed to amplify thaumaturgical effects. Luna's conjunction with Spica occurs only once every three years and creates a 'prana confluence' as historians call it. It's a brief window where the barriers between dimensional planes are theoretically thin."

"Theoretically?" Leila cautiously inquired.

"Modern thaumaturgical science dismisses these correlations as superstition," Sirius described, his usual energy subdued. "But certain... historical practices... used to exploit these alignments for ritual enhancement."

"What kind of enhancement?" Acacia asked, though something in his gut suggested he already knew the answer.

Eleanor's visage grew grave.

"Birthright enhancement, primarily. Ancient noble houses occasionally performed rituals during astronomical conjunctions to strengthen their hereditary abilities."

Elias's face contorted at that.

"Wait, are you saying Alaric might be planning some kind of ritual to enhance his ⸢Ephemeral⸥ ? That's... sacrilegious!"

"It would explain his desperate research," Eleanor acknowledged reluctantly. "The House of Ptolemy has... historical associations with such practices, though they prefer to forget that particular chapter of their ancestry."

"Eh? How do you know that, mom?"

"Zuzana Ptolemy and I attended university together. We've maintained our friendship over the years. She's mentioned her concerns about Alaric's recent behavior. His frustration with ⸢Ephemeral's⸥ limitations, and his obsession—for a lack of a better word—with strengthening his abilities."

"So we have Alaric accessing forbidden knowledge, researching astronomical conjunctions historically associated with enhancement rituals, and exhibiting increasingly dangerous behavior." Acacia promptly connected these elements on the whiteboard with sharp lines. "The conjunction happens in a little bit over 24 hours. What are our options?"

Elias had grown increasingly agitated during the discussion, his tapping more erratic, his breathing shallow. Now he stopped abruptly, face draining of color as something clicked into terrible focus.

"This morning... during my run through Riverside Park when I saw Alaric..."

He wanted to vomit.

"Elias?" Leila prodded gently.

"He was just... standing there. I thought he was just resting. But he wasn't. He was..." Elias trailed off as if words were choking him.

"He was what?" Acacia prompted.

"Watching the children."

"The children?" they asked in unison.

"He had a small notebook. Taking notes. When he saw me, he left quickly. I thought it was odd, but I never imagined..."

The implication hung in the air like a guillotine blade.

Leila gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

Noelle turned a sickly shade of pale. Her left arm felt like a really good scratching post.

Eleanor looked away, refined features tightening with an emotion too complex to name.

Elias's jaw clenched so hard a muscle visibly twitched along his temple, hands curling into fists that promised violence if only his body were healed enough to deliver it.

Only Sirius remained utterly still.

The eccentric inventor, the laughing father, the brilliant madman—all these personas fell away like discarded masks, revealing a being ancient and terribly knowing beneath. His eyes met Acacia's across the room with such penetrating intensity that it felt like being dissected, every thought and calculation laid bare beneath that gaze.

This wasn't Sirius the inventor or even Sirius the father.

This was Sirius the scientist who had seen true darkness.

The greatest scientist of World War III.

The man who had witnessed what humanity was capable of when power and desperation collided.

"The «Zulumat» Ritual."

Everyone turned towards him.

While they didn't know the name of the ritual, their souls felt an ontological sense of danger from the word.

"An ancient, forbidden ceremony dating back to the Second Reformation Period. It requires an astronomical conjunction, preferably Luna-Spica, and five child sacrifices to permanently amplify a practitioner's Birthright."

"Five children? He's planning to kill five children?" Noelle stammered. Her face grew ashen.

"The name means 'darkness' in Arabic," Sirius continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "Discovered in Desperado, later used by nobility who feared losing political power during the Great Reforms. The theory holds that children in soul are the closest to the 'Primordial Sea,' their innocence and potential untainted by the material world's impurities. Such souls and prana networks can be 'harvested' to reinforce established Birthright pathways in the practitioner."

"That's... disgusting! How could...! Why kids?!" Leila cried.

"Yes, it is disgusting. It is also, unfortunately, theoretically sound. The Centrum Supremum's historical archives have documented three confirmed instances of successful implementation before the practice was outlawed in 142 E.V."

Eleanor reached for her husband's hand. Whatever memories or knowledge they shared in that moment passed unspoken between them, but the contact seemed to anchor Sirius, drawing him back from whatever terrible recollection had claimed him.

"We have about 24 hours. The Luna-Spica conjunction occurs on June 24th at 8:17 PM. That's when he'll perform the ritual," Acacia flatly summarized, betraying nothing of the storm brewing within.

"But where, Acacia?!" Elias didn't mean to shout, but the idea of Alaric abducting and killing children had him seeing red. "We need a location! We can't just search the whole city for—"

"We can narrow it down. An astronomical ritual isn't an astronomical ritual if they don't require a certain positioning relative to celestial bodies."

Acacia turned to the whiteboard. His handwriting shifted from his usual meticulous script to a rushed shorthand; such penmanship would have roused the ire of his mother.

"The main principle of astronomical influence is that celestial bodies must be directly orthogonal to the ritual site. That means Luna and Spica need to be at zenith—which is a 90-degree elevation angle—directly overhead at the moment of conjunction."

His hand moved unconsciously.

Windsor Coordinates: 42°18'N, 83°12'W

Luna-Spica Conjunction: June 24th, 8:17 PM local time

Required: Zenith positioning (90° elevation)

"First, we can calculate the celestial coordinates of the conjunction point..."

Spica Coordinates: Right Ascension 13h 26m, Dec -11° 10'

Luna at Conjunction: Right Ascension 13h 26m, Dec -11° 15' (accounting for orbital motion)

Conjunction Midpoint: Right Ascension 13h 26m, Dec -11° 12.5'

Leila stared, utterly baffled.

"How are you doing this without reference materials?"

Acacia didn't seem to hear her.

"Next, we'll determine when these coordinates reach zenith over Windsor's latitude..."

Local Sidereal Time = Right Ascension of zenith object

LST for June 24th at 8:17 PM = 13h 26m

Zenith occurs when LST = RA = 13h 26m

"The conjunction will be directly overhead at 8:17 PM, but we need to find the optimal ground position..."

His marker paused for a fraction of a second—such was the only indication that he was performing calculations that would stump even astronomy professors in a fraction of the time.

For zenith positioning:

Azimuth = 0° (due north)

Elevation = 90° (directly overhead)

Ground position requires adjustment for:

Atmospheric refraction: +0.5°

Lunar parallax: -0.9°

Spica parallax: negligible

Net adjustment: -0.4°

The room had fallen completely silent. Even Elias's ragged breathing had quieted as they watched Acacia work. It was a dance of sorts—a delicate ballet between mathematics and a mind that seemed to transcend the limitations of mortal thought. He moved from one set of equations to the next as if it were a kindergartner counting to five.

"The optimal position is 0.4 degrees south of Windsor's city center..." Acacia mused and drew a map of Windsor, marking all locations accurately.

Windsor City Center: 42°18'N

Required Position: 42°17.6'N

Distance: 0.4° × 111.32 km/degree = 0.74 km south

"That places the optimal location in the southern districts... specifically..."

His marker hovered over the board as his mind visualized Windsor's geography in thirteen different orientations, a feat that was unlikely to be understood by anyone. With a decisive nod, he circled a location.

Southern Districts of Windsor:

Millbrook: 42°17.8'N (too far north)

Riverside: 42°17.4'N (close, but residential)

Oakridge Path: 42°17.6'N (exact match)

Acacia smirked.

"Oakridge Path."

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