Chapter 242

Lyssandra’s gaze fell upon the blue screen hovering in the air. Her heart sank into a cold, heavy pit..

She saw her name at the top: Lyssandra.

But beneath it… there was nothing else.

No race, no gender, no level, no LP. And most terrifying of all, no stats anymore. The neat columns of numbers and attributes. Strength, Agility, Vitality - they were all gone. The entire left side of the interface which normally listed her skills, was a stark, empty blue canvas. It was as if the System had never existed. Had she imagined it all along?.

"But…" she whispered, a frantic denial bubbling in her throat before drawing on the most basic of an abilities. 'Fire Ball.'

A small, swirling orb of orange and red flame erupted, casting flickering shadows across the room. It hovered there, mesmerizing and real. Lyssandra canceled it, and the heat dissipated, feeling the familiar coiled strength in her limbs. She was still fast, still strong. She was still… her.

"Am I dreaming things?" she asked the empty room, voice trembling.

She looked down at her crotch, her eyes burning into the obsidian testicles. "Are you listening to me, the other self? The one who choked me?"

Silence. Deep, profound, and maddening emptiness was the only answer. There was no voice in her head whatsoever. The thing had been there, it had retreated back into the depths of her body, leaving no trace but a lingering memory of pain and pleasure.

"Fuck!" she roared, slamming her fist into stone floor with a crack of bone and rock. "So many things! Unfathomable!" The memory of her home world, the truth of her origin, had been snatched away again, ripped from her grasp by that… that thing.

"That bitch!"

Lyssandra paced the room, her mind a torrent of frustration and fear. Being paranoid wouldn't help. She had to be smart. The answers weren't here, not in this empty core room but out there.

She took a deep, steadying breath, forcing the panic down. "I have to continue. Find the truth in different places."

Giving a final, glare at the empty interface, she turned and stalked out of the room. It was time to return to Agos.

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Lyssandra’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, the terror of the void and the doppelganger felt like a distant nightmare. She was back in a simple, clean room. Sunlight, bright and golden, streamed through a high, arched window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The smell of morning dew and old, polished wood filled her senses.

'This is good,' she thought, relief washing over like a cool wave. 'I don't have to think much about that problem anymore. I'm just me, an adventurer. Here to seek knowledge.' The separation was a welcome balm on her frayed nerves.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," Lyssandra called out, her voice calm whilst she fitted the full-face mask over her features.

The door opened to reveal a beautiful young nun. She was clad in the stark white habit of the Church of Caelus, a simple silver eclipse hanging around her neck. Her serene face was framed by a white wimple. She offered a small, polite bow.

"Good morning, guest," the nun said, her voice soft and melodious. "I am a sister of the church. I have come to see if you are ready for breakfast. A place has been prepared for you in the refectory."

"Thank you, sister," Lyssandra replied before rising from the bed. "I am ready. Please, lead the way."

She followed the nun out of the guest quarters and down a stone hallway. Their footsteps echoed softly in the quiet corridor.

As they walked, they passed a heavy, dark wooden booth built into the wall. It was ornately carved, with a thick, purple velvet curtain covering the entrance.

Noticing the lingering gaze of Lyssandra, the nun said "Here we have a confessional booth," gesturing toward it. "Where our faithful may unburden their souls and seek the void of Caelus. It is a place of great peace and solace."

Lyssandra glanced at the booth, flicker of curiosity sparking. It seemed such a small, mundane thing, and yet there was something about the thick curtain, the promise of anonymity that made her pause. For a brief moment, she wondered if she could unburden herself there, confess everything that had happened, everything she had seen and done. But she didn't.

The refectory was a wide, vaulted room with long oak tables set in neat rows. Morning light poured through tall, stained-glass windows along the wall, casting colorful patterns across the stone floor and faces of those gathered within.

The room was alive with the sounds of a communal meal. Priests in dark robes spoke in low, thoughtful murmurs over plates of bread and fruit. Younger novices, their heads shaved and their habits crisply pressed, chatted in hushed, nervous tones about the day’s duties. A few lay servants moved between tables, refilling jugs of water and milk.

At one end of the hall, an elderly priest with a long, white beard and kind, sunken eyes was telling story to a cluster of people. "... and that, my children, is why we always check the wine barrels before the harvest festival," he said, his voice warm. The novices laughed, the sound bright and genuine.

Lyssandra followed the nun to a table near the center of the room. The table was modestly set with a bowl of warm porridge, a basket of fresh bread, a small wheel of cheese, and a cup of tea that smelled of mint and chamomile.

As she settled onto the wooden bench, a stocky man with a thick red beard seated across the table leaned forward. "You're the adventurer who came in yesterday, aren't you?" he asked, his voice carrying the rough edge of a man accustomed to shouting orders. He wore simple clothes of a church handyman, forearms covered in old scars and fresh soot stains.

Lyssandra gave a slow nod beneath her mask.

"Strange time to be traveling," the man continued, tearing off a piece of bread. "The roads aren't safe these days. Bandits. Worse things." He lowered his voice, glancing around like afraid someone might overhear. "Last week, a merchant caravan was found abandoned on the road. No bodies found or goods taken. Just… empty."

A pale woman sitting nearby let out a small, nervous gasp. "Don't scare her," she whispered, eyes wide behind round spectacles. "The Church protects us. The void of Caelus keeps us safe."

The stocky man snorted. "The void of Caelus didn't stop whatever took those people, girly."

The elderly priest at the head of the table cleared his throat, a gentle but firm sound silenced the conversation. "Enough of dark talk at the breakfast table," he said, though his eyes lingered on Lyssandra with an expression of quiet concern. "You are safe within these walls. That is enough for now."

She lifted a spoonful of porridge to her lips, tasted it, and immediately regretted it.

"This tastes so bad," she muttered beneath her mask. "Like someone boiled oats and regret together, then added a dash of disappointment for seasoning."

A few heads turned at the sound of her muffled complaint. The red beard, stocky man let out a bark of laughter. "Well, at least it's hot," he said, somehow made it better.

Suddenly, a prickling sensation crawled up her spine. The unmistakable feeling of being watched. Lyssandra turned quickly, gaze sweeping the room but there was nothing. Just priests eating, nuns whispering and the elderly storyteller wiping crumbs from his beard.

"What the hell?" she murmured, reaching out with her senses. She pulled up her mini-map, the familiar blue overlay flickering into existence.

There it was. A yellow dot, persistent and bright was moving in the corridor just outside the refectory. And around it, a cluster of white dots - the neutral characters she hadn't realized the map designated as such.

"Again?" she mumbled. This was the same yellow dot that had appeared when she first stepped into this place yesterday. It had been trailing her ever since, always at the edge of her awareness.

She stood, pushing her half-eaten breakfast aside and made her decision. She didn't like being stalked like prey.

Taking a roundabout path along the far wall, she moved to break the line of sight. When she was confident she'd lost the watcher's view, Lyssandra spun on her heel and strode toward the nearest doorway. Reaching the threshold, she pressed herself against the wall and waited.

Seconds later, a tall, gaunt figure passed by. He was striking in an unsettling way - pale, almost cadaverous, with a long, hooked nose and a mane of greasy black hair falling past shoulders. His dark eyes were set deep beneath heavy brows, lips were pressed into a thin, disapproving line. He wore a high-collared coat of deep violet, the fabric expensive but slightly rumpled, probably he'd slept in it.

He didn't acknowledge her presence at all and simply walked past, heading into the refectory as though she were no more interesting than the stone beneath his boots.