Chapter Text
"Let us end today's gathering here."
One by one, the members of the tarot club stood up and bowed, their voices echoing off unanimously in the vast space of the place above the gray fog:
"By your will."
With a flicker of his hand, Klein cut off the connection between his tarot card holders and Sefirah castle.
Now with no one but him sitting on the table, Klein allowed himself to fall out of Mr. Fool's persona and to lazily slump back in his chair.
The meeting took a great toll on his spirituality.
Even now, one week after that horrible cat-and-mouse game with Amon in the forsaken land of the gods, he still felt the aftereffects and strain on his psyche and spirit body.
Or maybe his mental state had no chance to properly recover since he had to constantly stay on guard, no matter the time -
After all, the forsaken land of the gods was no
place for a relaxed vacation and even as a sequence 3 he couldn't allow his concentration and focus to waver for even one second.
One misstep in the darkness and he would be as good as dead.
Two missteps in the darkness and a monocled man would ensure he actually was.
Klein sighed.
He had to hurry up, find the demonic wolf Kotar, lead the City of Silver out of the forsaken land of the gods, all while avoiding Amon, and advance to sequence 2.
The list of tasks was endless and almost as impossible.
The seer massaged his temple, trying to ease the suffocating headache that had already been plaguing him when the tarot meeting had barely begun.
Once he was back down, he would need to eat Frank Lee's mushrooms again...
The thought was sending shudders down his spine, even now, when he was only in his spirit body.
Although he couldn't feel hunger whilst being in the place above the grey fog, he knew once he was back in his body, he would inevitably have to eat.
Up until now, he hadn't eaten properly, refusing to rest for longer than necessary.
Should he ask Danitz to sacrifice some food to him?
He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts but to no avail.
Sleep would certainly help but Klein who barely was in position to take his time for a lunch break couldn't allow himself more than maybe two or three hours a day to rest.
As a sequence 3 he still was human enough to need to follow a certain sleep schedule...
'...another impossible task when the god of mischief could be lurking around the next corner', Klein inwardly lampooned.
Better sleep one hour too few than one hour too much - in Klein's opinion, waking up tired and exhausted was definitely better than opening his eyes with a monocle on his nose.
After a couple of safety divinations that had become a constant part of his daily routine by now, he descended back to his body.
A strike of harsh lightning happened to cross the otherwise dark and sunless sky for the brief moment of maybe a second, illuminating a plain and desolate landscape where not even the most tenacious plants could grow.
Darkness and silence swallowed the barren wasteland once more.
Except for the faint pool of light cast by a single lantern, which barely enclosed a man slumped beside his only source of light.
He wore a clean suit consisting of a black waistcoat, a simple but neat white shirt beneath, and a perfectly tailored black frock coat accentuating the man's good stature.
Gehrman Sparrow got up from the spot he had been sitting on, dusted off some of the black and charred earth of his long coat and grabbed his lantern.
His eyes swayed past his barren surroundings, not registering any significant changes as to when he left for the Tarot meeting.
After several steps, the tall man paused.
Something was off.
He breathed in the icy air, his eyes narrowing.
A clown's intuition was rarely wrong but right now, it also did not provide enough details, no concrete premonitions, to save his ass.
His divinations had not given away any immediate danger for the next couple of hours, he should be safe.
At least as safe as someone can be in the Forsaken land of the Gods.
The cold air burned in his lungs as he tried to scan the area behind the light of the lantern. The darkness with its creatures, never resting and always waiting.
Waiting for the day Klein's lantern would extinguish.
They could be waiting for a long time, Klein was sure.
But these creatures were not the reason his spiritual intuition was going off-
Klein raised the lantern he was holding in hope of enlightening a larger area, when his eyes fell on the slightly smudged glass.
His heart skipped a beat.
One of the glass panes was cracked, a thin fracture running neatly from one corner of the rusted iron frame to the other.
The flame behind flickered anyway, unbothered, the crack barely splitting the trajectory of the light.
A fracture, one that definitely wasn't there when he ascended to the grey fog.
How was this possible?
There was no way the glass could have splintered on its own, and it certainly couldn't have been done by one of the light sensitive monsters of the dark.
The fracture had to be caused by a third party.
Someone had been there.
Someone had been here, when he had left his body to attend the Tarot gathering.
Someone human?
The memory of a monocle being nudged and put back in place made a shudder run down his back.
Or not?
Now, upon closer inspection, he also noticed a little dent in the dark iron framework right on one of the corners the crack was pointing at.
As if the lantern had fallen down, the impact from the fall cracking the glass and leaving the dent.
Just that the lantern had been sitting next to him, on the barren ground, the entire time he was gone.
Or apparently, not.
Klein tried to sort out his thoughts.
It could not have been Amon, Klein was sure.
First of all, Klein wasn't parasitised. He checked his spirit body several times, but nothing - no traumatising twelve-ringed worm could be found.
If Amon had been here while Klein's body was completely defenseless, he would have surely parasitised the seer again to gain full control of the situation.
Second, from Klein's impression of the god of deceit, he worked rather cleanly, as odd as that may sound.
He would never toss a lantern by accident, would never leave such obvious trails of his work...
Or was this one of the many trickful plays the Angel of mischief loved to put on?
Another nerve-wrecking game where Klein would be balancing on the tiniest rope between survival and damnation once more?
Klein bit his lip, nerves already tense and worn-out. The weeks in the darkness and the constant dread of pursuit had already claimed their price.
Amon would never leave such a clear sign of his presence, unless he wanted - desired - for Klein to know he was there.
There, when Klein couldn't even move a finger, his mind far away in safety but his body without protection.
No doubt another ploy to win Sefirah castle, still, what were the rules of this game?
This time, it certainly was not the Try-to-escape-from-me-type of game, but of an entirely different kind Klein could not yet name.
And it began exactly like this:
Having to figure out where the fracture could be coming from.
Walking on the path Amon had prepared for the better or the worse.
Klein laughed dryly, the laugh that escaped his throat while barely being audible sounded way too loud in the everlasting silence of the forsaken land.
The days he had been spent with anxiety growing in his chest were over, now, the threat was here.
Which also meant, he could finally, actively do something.
He sat down again, placed the lantern in front of him and closed his eyes.
One thought later, he opened them in the familiar space above the grey fog.
The mist was curling, nudging at his ankles as if to warmly welcome the visitor.
Klein sat in the lofty chair of Mr. Fool again, at the end of table just like always.
Right now, Mr. Fool wasn't feeling very lofty, but one quick divination about the lantern would certainly at least enlighten his problems.
With a vague gesture of his hand, his yellow topaz pendulum flung over from the junk pile into his hand.
Routinely, the silver chain of the pendulum unrolled to its full length, the golden topaz at the end bounced once and -
Pointed directly down at a carefully folded handkerchief lying on the table.
A handkerchief.
Klein's mind went blank.
He did not own any handkerchiefs.
As Dwayne Dantes he sure did, but he had never even thought about sacrificing a handkerchief to himself -
The realization settled in like stones sinking to the deepest depth of the ocean.
'By the goddess", Klein helplessly thought.
'By the goddess, I have already lost.'
Of course, he knew the meaning of the handkerchief.
Amon had full access to Sefirah castle.
And Klein didn't even manage to comprehend when exactly the place had been stolen from him.
When Amon had taken his sweet time folding and placing a handkerchief right at the end of the table, where he knew Mr. Fool was usually seated.
He had concluded the Tarot meeting, spent maybe a handful of minutes down, and now, everything was already lost?
Klein felt his thoughts spiraling.
He didn't understand.
If Amon could walk in and out of Sefirah castle as he pleased, why hadn't he used this opportunity to completely ban Klein from this place or to quickly finish him off?
'Most likely in that order even', Klein lampooned.
Personal entertainment?
The corners of Klein's mouth twitched.
If personal amusement was enough reason to keep Klein alive, the seer realized, he was in for one hell of a game.
Klein was too absorbed in his own thoughts to have noticed the grey fog continuously climbing up the table legs and high chair, curling smoothly around Klein's legs and now lower body.
The man breathed out slowly.
With the hand not holding the pendulum, he touched the handkerchief like a man that was approaching a poisonous snake.
Klein tucked one finger in the soft folds, slowly grasping the handkerchief and lifting it up to inspect it further.
The handkerchief was made of fine white linen, the kind that had been pressed so precisely it held its folds without a crease out of place.
Of high quality.
Surely expensive.
The fabric was thin but not fragile - smooth to the touch.
Soft.
Along all four edges ran a narrow border of ivory-colored lacework, delicate and even, in the way that only patient, practiced hands could manage.
'Definitely the handkerchief someone of noble lineage would carry', Klein concluded.
In the bottom right corner sat the monogram. The letters A and M had been embroidered in simple, black thread.
AM.
The AM could be short for Amon - leaving his own handkerchief, maybe even a leftover from his noble times as a Duke in the 4th epoch, to show Klein he had already lost was the exact humor Klein imagined the angel to have.
Klein froze.
Now that the handkerchief was properly unfolded, he could make out two simple sentences, written in dark blue ink, right in the center of the handkerchief:
"You looked tired last monday. You should sleep more."
Klein inhaled the air sharply -
From all the cryptic hints and messages he had expected Amon to leave on his table, he would have never imagined to find concern.
Another lie, but a rather obvious and blatant one, a lie lovingly set in cursive by the God of deceit.
The seer shook his head.
Last monday?
Currently, it was monday! Did Amon refer to monday last week?
Klein found it rather difficult to believe the Sefirah would be out of his control for an entire week without him noticing.
These past couple of minutes down in his body were already hard to believe.
He brought the handkerchief even closer to his face, checking to see if he hadn't missed any additional hidden messages or similar.
A faint smell of... cherries? .... and chocolate...? filled Klein's nose.
He couldn't quite make it out, so he sniffed one time at the handkerchief, inhaling the air as to figure out more.
The picture of a piece of cake he had eaten once in a distinguished bakery for the upper class as Dwayne Dantes surfaced in his mind.
Chocolate. Cherries. A lot of white cream.
Black Forest cake.
The image that came to Klein's mind was almost vivid in its detail.
Three distinct layers of dark chocolate sponge were visible from the side, each one separated by a thick band of whipped cream that had been piped or spread with some care, dense enough to hold the layers apart without collapsing.
The sponge itself was very dark - nearly black in the center, lightening to a deep brown at the edges where it had baked against the pan.
It was moist, visibly so, the kind of crumb that held together when cut but left a faint residue on the knife.
Between the cream layers, a generous amount of sour cherries had been distributed - whole, or nearly whole, dark red and glossy, their color striking against the white of the cream and the near-black of the sponge.
Some had bled slightly into the cream around them, leaving faint pink stains at the edges.
The outside of the slice was coated in more whipped cream, and the surface had been finished with chocolate shavings - thin, loosely curled, dark, and slightly uneven, the kind made by dragging a knife or peeler across a block of chocolate.
Three cherries crowning the top, dark red and delicious.
The smell was rich and cold at the same time - chocolate, cream, and underneath it something dark and faintly boozy from the cherries.
And now, he could smell the exact same mixture from the handkerchief.
Now what kind of clue could this possibly present for the game Amon so kindly had invited him to play?
First, he had to prove his suspicions. While he could not imagine anyone else but Amon as the rightful owner and placer of the handkerchief, he had to be sure.
He breathed out slowly, put the handkerchief back on the table and pointed his pendulum at the white fabric.
"Amon put the handkerchief here."
He repeated the divination statement seven times, focusing on channelling the power of the grey fog into his divination.
The pendulum started spinning -
Counter-clockwise.
Amon did not place the handkerchief here.
Klein blankly stared at his pendulum.
Who else if not Amon could access this space and leave this message?
Nevertheless, this meant all hope still wasn't lost - Amon had not yet set foot into Sefirah castle.
Relief unfurled in Klein's chest like a flower opening for spring. He allowed himself to enjoy the feeling for a couple of seconds, before continuing his detective work.
"Amon wrote the message on the handkerchief."
The seer felt the pull at his spirituality once more and watched, holding his breath, how the pendulum spun in a clockwise manner.
So Amon was indeed the author, but he did not place it here - supporting Klein's conclusion and only hope that Amon had no direct access to Sefirah castle, but instead needed someone else to position the cloth here.
The numbers of people treading in these halls could be counted on two hands, and none of the Tarot members could have ever voluntarily sided with Amon.
Or placed the handkerchief right in front of Mr. Fool's nose during the gathering, without the man noticing.
Leaving only one person of suspicion left.
Someone who could easily walk in and out of this place above the grey fog, someone for whom the doors of Sefirah castle would never close.
'That would be me.', Klein thought.
"I put the handkerchief here."
He repeated the statement seven times, trying to ignore the dreadful anxiety piling up in his stomach.
The pendulum spun clockwise in a moderate manner.
Klein did.
He let out a short breath.
Amon's mind games were the trickiest and most deceitful ones - After all, there is nothing more prone to lying than your own mind and memories, Klein knew.
"Amon forced me to put the handkerchief here."
Once more, a counter-clockwise rotation.
'So I placed the cloth voluntarily here...'
Klein lampooned, not knowing what to make of this information.
However, in terms of matters regarding Amon, "voluntarily" was a word that could stretch in its meanings quite wide.
Klein had no memory of the handkerchief, but he had another one of Amon's hints:
Last monday.
Now, the implication was rather clear.
"My memories have been tampered with."
The next divination statement received a positive answer.
The tension in his shoulders felt like it had just multiplied.
After the last tarot gathering on monday, Klein and Amon must've had an encounter, maybe a bet had been made, a deal had been struck, the curtains to a new devilish game had been drawn -
And Klein had lost his memories, most likely stolen.
A heist committed so smoothly and neat Klein hadn't even noticed. Not one discrepancy, not anything.
Just the crack in the glass of his lantern.
Just the handkerchief on the table.
A message from Amon, or a hint from his past self?
"Today is monday, the 22th december in the year 1350 of the 5th epoch."
"Today is tuesday, the 23th december in the year 1350 of the 5th epoch."
"Today is wednesday, the 24th december in the year 1350 kof the 5th epoch."
Finally, a positive answer.
So no memories of monday evening and the entire tuesday, as well as wednesday morning.
Two days.
What could have possibly happened in two days?
The corners of Klein's mouth twitched.
48 hours in the presence of the angel of time was a timespan enough for despair.
Suddenly filled with a surge of energy, Klein got up and stored the handkerchief in the junk pile with a single thought, before returning to his body on the ground.
He had already spent enough time in Sefirah castle. Amon could be making his move any moment now, and Klein had not yet figured out the conditions of this new of game if his.
In any case, moving forward was the only option. Klein still hadn't found any other civilisations except for the City of Silver in these forsaken lands and maybe that was good - he wouldn't endanger anyone by accidentally involving them in what was about to come.
And Klein was certain something was about to happen. For the better or the worse.
The silent danger that has been eating away his nerves for the past weeks had finally revealed itself and it was time to act.
The next couple of days, Klein did not sleep and did not rest.
With every step he took deeper into the unknown lands, the more distance he put between himself and the "lantern-incident", how Klein had started to refer to it, the better.
At least this is what Klein assumed.
Hunger was gnawing at him, but also sharpening his senses, making him even more alert about his surroundings.
Countless times he checked whether he had been parasitised, whether there were any avatars in his surroundings, but nothing.
No teasing smile playing around charming lips, no monocle being nudged, no sweet lies and no sour truths whispered in the darkness.
Klein wondered what bitter ending was awaiting him.
Here, at the end of the world.
It felt like the marauder angel was having fun mocking Klein like this, keeping him on edge and waiting.
Waiting.
That was most likely a way of torture only someone as obnoxious as Amon could think of.
Keeping Klein constantly guessing what his next moves would be, building up a dreadful suspense that did not get fulfilled with every passing hour, with every passing day.
Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened -
If it weren't for the handkerchief
If it weren't for the lantern.
On sunday morning, Klein reached a small ruin.
A low stone wall, half collapsed, with stone blocks scattered on the desolate ground. Behind, two more stone walls meeting at a corner still stand, still stubbornly holding what might have been a roof in better times.
Now, except for the arched doorway on one wall and the heavy stone altar on the other, what might have been a church thousands of years ago was not even worth a memory.
A shelter only a lonesome and very desperate traveller would consider.
Gehrman Sparrow allowed himself to slump down in the corner, placing the lantern in front of him.
Should anything happen his chances to run away from this position weren't great, but at least he didn't have to worry about his back for once.
His eyes burned. His body felt weak and his mind sluggish.
Klein envied the Sleepless in these moments - and he missed his comfortable and soft bed of the rich tycoon Dwayne Dantes.
The seer sunk deeper into his frock coat, ignoring the cold as good as he could, and allowed himself to have his thoughts wander astray.
Sleepily, his head tilted to the right, a rustling sound accompanying him to the land of dreams-
A rustling sound?
He was leaning on a stone wall!
Immediately, Klein opened his eyes and turned his head to the source of the sound, his hand already on his revolver.
When faced with the marauder angel, bullets could only serve as a distraction at most, but they would be enough to buy a little bit of time, albeit only a second or two.
And time was of highest importance - especially when your enemy was the pure embodiment of exactly that.
Klein's breath stalled for a moment.
The rustling sound had been made by a small piece of paper, folded once and tucked into a gap between two stone slabs.
He easily fished the paper with one hand, the other still on his revolver.
Slowly, he unfolded the paper, his heart beating loudly in his chest.
He brought the paper closer to the lantern and now, thanks to the soft light, Klein could recognize the familiar handwriting immediately.
He had seen it before on a certain handkerchief.
This time, the few words on the paper were written in dark black ink and even more audacious than the last ones.
Just one sentence.
"This is not what I meant, Mr. Fool."
For a couple of seconds, Klein was simply speechless.
Klein tried to get himself to focus, to analyze the swindler's words but no matter how much his thoughts were racing, he didn't understand what Amon could be referring to.
Did Klein misunderstand the rules of their game?
He tightly pressed his lips together.
All he did was run and wait, how could this not be what Amon wished for?
For Klein to wear himself down until now, when he could barely think straight and exhaustion was pulling on his mind and body like a deadly rope?
The seer shook his head - maybe Amon's mind wasn't something to be understood by humans, and maybe Klein had too much humanity left to follow the angel's train of thoughts.
He rubbed his face with gloved hands, trying to massage his temple.
Despite having found the note behind him, Klein decided to stay. He might be signing his own death sentence like this, but he felt like he had no other choice.
Amon had known Klein would reach this ruin for rest.
Had planted the note yet not made a move.
Was there a specific reason for not approaching Klein himself? Since he knew the seer would be resting here, why not set up a trap?
Why not come in person and finish whatever game they were currently playing?
Or... was the note the trap?
Each question stirring in Klein's head was left unanswered.
However, by now he could conclude that for some odd reason, Amon couldn't see him in person - or send an avatar, parasitise him or similar.
Maybe it had been one of the conditions of the game Klein had agreed to play....
What Klein would give to find out what happened during these two days he had no memories of.
Maybe it was alright, maybe he could rest...
Only for a handful of hours.
To replenish his spirituality - then he would divine certain matters above the grey fog.
To allow his eyes to close.
The bounty hunter returned to his spot in the corner, closing his eyes. His fingers still held the note Amon had left so kindly.
He breathed in the cold and dry air, wondering whether he would be able to fall asleep quickly under these circumstances - but in this aspect, his worries were for nothing.
Sleep came quickly, pulling him down and under, like a tide swallowing a plank.
The soft clinking of silverware and the smell of something deliciously baked drifted into his senses, slowly pulling him awake.
The hazy image of fluffy white bread, the good kind, the one the siblings couldn't afford until Klein became a beyonder, flashed before Klein's inner eye.
The sweet and faint smell of whipped cream and sugary cakes were mingling and mixing with his sluggish thoughts.
Had Melissa and Benson been to the bakery and were now preparing breakfast?
Hopefully, Melissa finally got herself a little treat too and allowed herself to spend money for once...
Klein's sleepy mind was still half-stuck in the comforting dreams and relaxing sleep he enjoyed for the past couple of hours.
He felt warm and comfortable. It was good to be back home.
Someone was humming a low, playful melody.
'That's not Benson's voice...' Klein frowned.
How odd.
Lazily, Klein opened his eyes to a dark green blanket that had been lovingly laid on top of him, even carefully tucked behind his shoulders.
The seer blinked, trying to orient himself.
He wasn't at home.
Melissa and Benson were far, far away, maybe making breakfast in the safety of their home in Backlund, but not here, in the forsaken land of the gods.
The melody reaching his ears was hummed by a voice he would never forget. Ever.
And now that he was awake, he could recognize it instantly.
Klein felt as if his blood vessels had been filled with ice.
He slowly raised his head, his eyes wandering from the unfamiliar blanket to the scene in front of him.
Now, if anyone would have asked him, whether he believed himself to be rather sane or not, in this particular situation Klein would have no idea how to answer.
A red and white checkered tablecloth was spread wide on the floor in front of him.
Several decorated plates with freshly-baked pastries and different cakes, sweets and sinful desserts were laid on top. Steam rose from a delicate porcelain cup, filling the air with the rich aroma of black tea.
A man with dark black hair was currently placing matching teacups on their saucers, humming his little melody.
He wore a black suit, well-fitted without a crease out of place. A dark grey shirt sat beneath a black vest - the sleeves were lazily rolled up to the elbows.
Pale, white skin that looked so incredibly soft in the warm lantern light.
These were the only confessions in promiscuity the man seemed to allow himself, the rest of the tall man's outfit was strictly speaking...
Flawless.
From the dark leather shoes to the black pants and the equally black vest accentuating his waist and good figure, everything was simply immaculate.
A yellow chrysanthemum was stuck in a small pocket on his vest.
The yellow flower was so odd, in such a stark contrast to the desolate and barren forsaken land of the Gods that Klein's eyes were caught one or two seconds too long on this simple sight alone.
The man's head was facing down towards the cup he was currently holding, but Klein knew, once the man lifted his head, there would be that nerve-wrecking, playful and mocking smile again and a monocle before eyes as dark and empty as the abyss.
If he had needed a wake up call, watching his future murderer setting up a picnic right in front of him was definitively more than enough.
From all possible scenarios, Klein wouldn't have imagined Amon to leisurely organize a homely picnic to devour Klein's beyonder characteristics and authority of Sefirah castle.
Did Amon plan to devour him on a tablecloth among pastries? Like Klein was just another dessert - well in the eyes of the angel, Klein might exactly be that.
Still, the audacity to set the table while the main course was resting next to him...
It was best to act now, now while the angel was still on his knees on the tablecloth, still inspecting the teacup in his hands and at least pretending to not have noticed Klein waking up.
One second later, Klein was on his feet, revolver still in his hand and loaded, pointing the barrel at the seemingly unsuspecting angel of time.
Without so much of a sound, the dark green blanket fell forgotten to the ground.
The dry click of the hammer being cocked-
The ancient, several thousand years old angel lifted his head to face Klein. He held up his hands in playful self-defense, eyeing the revolver with teary eyes:
"Please, take pity on your poor wife, won't you?"