(Once Constantine saw the vision, he wanted others to know)
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Somewhere in Holyborn, Aondon, in Crooked Fort.
In the pale glow of the sunset filtering through stained glass, the forsaken chancel stood silent. There was no altar, no pews, no hymns. Only emptiness.
The chromatic light fell upon figures in battered armor, no longer gleaming but dulled and subdued. They stood like statues, their heavy swords planted firmly into the ground, a solemn tribute.
Their barrel helms hid weary eyes, but their sorrow was unmistakable. All their focus rested on him - the Thirteenth Apostle, lying motionless in repose.
Far from the knights, near the chancel entrance, stood a solitary figure. A pall-bearer. His hand trembled on the bell cord that hung from the arch above. His breath caught.
He didn't want to ring it. But if he didn't... what might happen?
The cold winds swept through the chancel, making the candles flicker. The knights moved their kite shields forward in unison, black and white in somber harmony. Their voices rose in a chant:
"Shield us, O Lord, as we shield Thy truth; by Thy will, we stand unbroken, and to Thy name, we give the glory."
One by one, the candles were extinguished by the gusts, and snowflakes began to drift inside, covering the already-fallen Chi Rho emblem on the floor.
----
At a time when urban explorers ventured out to uncover and debunk the hidden truths of the world, two figures wandered through the desolate halls of a forgotten building.
Their body cams, cheap yet functional, buzzed faintly, capturing the eerie silence around them. Each wore the camera like a badge of honor, eager to document proof of what lay hidden here.
A boy in a green shirt with a vest and blue pants walked ahead. His energy radiated a certain charm, a hero in his own eyes. "...Hey, Buletaar! Did you know this place used to be Lincoln's Inn... like, a century ago?"
Behind him, a guy with a funky hairstyle, dressed in a neon jacket that glowed an unnatural blue in the dark, snorted in response. "Jack, you mean the lecture hall? The one where they hosted those boring social functions? Man, I miss sleeping through Miss Lackduster's lectures..." He laughed, the sound loud and carefree against the oppressive stillness.
Jack smirked, not one to let Buletaar have the last word. "Oh, yeah, your homeroom teacher. She's famous for throwing dusters at everyone - except me." His tone carried a mix of pride and mischief as his gaze drifted to the corners of the hall.
There, strange red, camera-like devices clung to the walls, their contours barely visible in the dim light. Jack squinted at one of them, feeling a faint unease.
Buletaar scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Don't be too proud. You were always late to her lectures. She probably didn't bother aiming at you."
The banter continued, their words weaving nostalgia and humor into the otherwise haunting atmosphere. The faint outlines of a white cane with red stripes lay unnoticed near Buletaar's feet.
"Oh, you Purple Lion! I'll tell her about your crush if you try to act smart," Jack teased, his laughter echoing in the empty space. His laugh carried memories - of mischief, of friends, and the playful banter of school days. Yet, it mingled with something else in the air... a faint, almost imperceptible sound of breathing.
The body cams buzzed, recording every moment. They were functioning perfectly, their night mode active. But even with their lenses and microphones, they couldn't detect what lay hidden. How could they see what wasn't meant to be seen?
Jack, distracted by his own thoughts, wandered outside. The moonlight spilled over the snow-covered ground, bathing it in a strange, ethereal glow. A curious warmth seeped through him, though the air was cold. He froze, his gaze landing on something in the distance.
"What...?! Who - well, never mind," he murmured, shaking his head like a child encountering something wondrous yet perplexing.
Before him stood a snowman, crafted with delicate precision. Three perfectly round snowballs were stacked to form its body. Coal eyes glinted in the light, and a row of pebbles shaped its smiling mouth. Its carrot nose pointed proudly forward, and buttons dotted its chest. But the snowman was incomplete.
One of its stick arms had fallen, lying near its base alongside a scarf that had slipped from its neck.
Jack approached with a quiet excitement, crouching before the snowman. His voice softened as he spoke, almost to himself. "...Poor snowman. Let me fix you up. At least you can have something, even if I don't..."
Gently, he picked up the stick and the scarf. Wrapping the scarf around the snowman's neck, he repositioned its arm with care. His thoughts wandered, and for a moment, he was lost in memories of her.
But his reverie was interrupted by a sudden, firm tap on his shoulder.
Startled, he spun around. His heart raced, expecting to see Buletaar or maybe even her. But what he saw was neither.
A man stood before him, tall and imposing, dressed in a black felt top hat - a style so outdated it felt surreal. The man's suit clung to his frame as if it had been worn for decades, snow collecting on his shoulders. A faint, putrid smell seemed to emanate from him, seeping into the air like an unspoken warning.
"Lad," the man rasped, his voice deep and unsettling. "Are you lost?"
---
"Lad, are you lost?" the man repeated, his raspy voice cutting through the silence. He stood firm, leaning slightly on a walking stick shaped oddly like a candy cane. Jack's gaze drifted uneasily over the man's dark suit, noticing how it clung unnaturally to his form, as if it hadn't been removed in decades. Snow piled on his shoulders, and an inexplicable, putrid smell seemed to seep from him, mingling unpleasantly with the crisp winter air.
Jack shifted uncomfortably, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "...Uh, I guess I am. Haha. I mean, I'm not *lost* lost. I was just out here with my friend - well, childhood buddy, really. He's probably just... wandering around somewhere..." He trailed off, glancing over his shoulder toward the darkened building he had just left. Its shadow loomed like a silent observer.
Turning back to the man, Jack tried to explain further. "I just needed a breath of fresh air, I guess... got a bit restless in there." His voice wavered slightly, betraying his unease. He began taking a step back, instinctively distancing himself from the stranger.
The man's deep voice rose sharply, stopping Jack in his tracks. "...Taking steps back won't help you, lad. What you seek... what drives you... is nothing but an endless hunt. A mirage. Idyllic notions that scratch at your premonitions but never fill the void."
Jack froze. The man's words, cryptic yet unsettlingly precise, struck something deep within him. He found himself replying, almost as if to himself: "...The land of hope might be a broken utopia for me... but it's still better than living in endless insomnia."
The words carried weight, emotions he'd kept bottled up until now spilling into the frigid night. His yearning to understand - to escape - clawed at him, filling his chest with an ache he didn't know how to soothe.
The man said nothing. His expression remained unreadable as he pulled a corncob pipe from his coat pocket. Jack's eyes flicked to the ground as something fell from the man's pocket - a frozen human finger.
Jack's breath caught in his throat, but the man didn't seem to notice. He lit his pipe, the faint orange glow casting eerie shadows across his gaunt face. The smoke swirled in the icy air, vapor rising like spirits taking flight.
The man spoke softly, more to himself than to Jack. "Another one... seized by the numbness." He took a long drag from the pipe before pulling it from his mouth. Without a word, he walked back to the snowman and placed the pipe in its makeshift mouth.
Then, without looking back, he turned and began walking away, disappearing into the moonlight.
---
Back where the moonlight refused to fall, Jack roamed the building's desolate halls, calling out for his friend. "Buletaar - ! Hey, where are you? I'll tell her about your - !" His voice faltered, his tone tinged with frustration and a hint of fear.
The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating, until a loud *crank* shattered it.
Jack froze, his heart pounding. The sound was unmistakable. It echoed through the building, metallic and jarring, like a rusty mechanism reluctantly coming to life.
He knew better than to shout again, but his instincts - stupid as they were - propelled him forward. He ran toward the source of the noise, his shoes crunching loudly against the snow-covered floor.
Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the building itself resisted his presence. The darkness seemed to close in around him, but he pushed on, driven by the hope - irrational though it might be - that the sound would lead him to Buletaar.
Ahead, a door loomed, its edges outlined faintly by a pale, flickering light. Jack hesitated, his breath visible in the freezing air, before reaching for the handle.
Behind that door, he was certain, lay the answers he sought: the truth about this place, the fate of his friend, and perhaps, the key to escaping the relentless pull of *The Calachi*.
---
Jack's eyes darted around the dimly lit room, its glow faintly provided by strings of fairy lights curling along the walls like creeping vines. Red camera devices were perched in every corner, their lenses ominously pointing toward the center of the room, yet emitting no light.
Seated in a circle at the heart of the room were elves. Their diminutive frames, pointy ears, and green uniforms hinted at an age-old myth brought to life. Their solemn expressions, eyes closed, and hands delicately covering a central object, suggested a ritual - or perhaps, a vow.
Jack raised an eyebrow, attempting to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "So, is this the *Knights of the Round Table*? Or some kind of cosplay meeting?"
Before he could observe further, a loud, muffled *Ka-boom!* from behind startled him. His heart leapt into his throat as he fell back onto the cold ground. Laughter rang out as he looked up to see Buletaar, doubled over, clutching his stomach.
"Relax, fool," Buletaar managed between chuckles. "It's not what you think. This is the *Circle of Aos S�* - ever heard of them? Ancient myths? Elves crafting something sacred?" He smirked, leaning casually against the wall. "And weren't you bragging earlier about being braver than me?"
Jack stood, brushing snow from his clothes, glaring at Buletaar. He reached out to grab his friend's arm in mock anger, but Buletaar stepped back, shaking his head.
"I - can't, Jack. Have you forgotten?" Buletaar's voice faltered, his face suddenly clouded with something dark, something unspoken.
Before Jack could press him, a faint jingling of bells echoed from outside, quickly followed by the thunderous *gallop-gallop-gallop* of enormous hooves pounding against the frozen ground. The floor trembled beneath Jack's feet, the vibrations growing stronger, louder, relentless.
"What the - ?!" Jack shouted, spinning toward the sound. "Run! Buletaar, it's an earthquake or... something!"
But Buletaar didn't move. His head hung low, his expression frozen, as though he hadn't heard a word.
"Buletaar!" Jack screamed, his voice cracking with panic. "BULETAAR! MOVE!"
Still, his friend stood rooted to the spot, unmoving, his face obscured by shadows. Jack rushed forward, grabbing at Buletaar's hand - only to find nothing. His fingers passed through as though grasping at smoke.
"What the...?" Jack whispered, staring in horror at his trembling hands.
Buletaar finally raised his head, his eyes dull and lifeless. His voice, though low and halting, carried a weight that shattered Jack's world.
"Y-you... what could you do? What *can* you do... when you couldn't even save *her*?" Buletaar's words struck like a hammer. "You left her there... her body mangled, her head in his hands, her legs stuffed into a sack of *gifts*."
The words tore through Jack, each one like a dagger to his chest. The room quaked with an unnatural force, cracks splitting through the walls as the accusations echoed endlessly in his mind.
"No!" Jack yelled, clutching his head as if trying to physically block out the words. "I didn't - I wouldn't - " His voice faltered, drowned by the growing tremors and Buletaar's damning voice.
As Jack squeezed his eyes shut, trying to suppress the flood of memories, he heard the jingling of bells again - closer this time.
A shadow loomed behind Buletaar, massive and grotesque, its presence suffocating. Jack opened his eyes, his breath catching in his throat as he saw it.
The figure was colossal, its features hidden beneath a blood-red cloak. The only discernible detail was the haunting jingle of bells that dangled from its tattered garment, swaying with every heavy step.
Buletaar turned toward Jack, his expression hollow. "You shouldn't have picked up the bell, Jack."
Jack's vision blurred as the figure reached toward him, the sound of jingling bells becoming deafening. He closed his eyes one final time, the image of Buletaar's fading figure burned into his mind.
When he opened them again, all he could see was the bell - gleaming coldly in the pale light.
Tears blurred his vision as memories flooded back, crashing over him like relentless waves.
_Whenever a wish is made... it is made without any consequence, any thought. Selfish thoughts are more dangerous than the Devil himself._
Jack's trembling hands reached for the bell. Its cold surface felt alive, vibrating faintly as though imbued with something far beyond his comprehension. His mind replayed fragments of his life - the warmth of her laughter, the gentle touch of her hand, and the moments he couldn't save.
"Mom... I'll make it right," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Her voice echoed in his mind, pulling him deeper into his memories:
**Jack:** "Mom, someone told me I'll find it someday."
**Mom:** "Find what, sweetheart?"
**Jack:** "The bell. The one that calls the angels."
**Mom:** "Why, Jack? Why would you need it?"
**Jack:** "I don't know... I just want to keep you safe."
**Mom:** "Safe from what? Oh, my darling boy, you don't need angels for that." She paused, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "And what about Abelia? Don't you wish to marry her one day?"
**Jack:** "Moooooom!" His cheeks flushed as he looked away.
**Mom:** "*~Giggling~* Fine, I'll stop. Sweet boy, I'm going to sleep now."
Her words were the last he heard before the silence.
"Mom?" He remembered shaking her gently.
"Mom, wake up."
He remembered calling her again.
Again.
And again.
Until his voice cracked, and his heart shattered.
---
"They say, a bell exists somewhere to call angels. Does it truly exist? Or is it merely a man-made tale to keep the fragile peace intact?"
---
Jack stood frozen, his hand clutching the bell as the colossal figure loomed closer. The red-cloaked being exuded a sense of despair that weighed heavy on his chest. Its presence seemed to warp reality itself, and with every step, the bells attached to its garment jingled in an eerie, arrhythmic melody.
"Jack," a voice whispered, soft yet deafening in its clarity. It wasn't the booming voice of Buletaar or the raspy tone of the man with the candy-cane stick. No, this voice was familiar, gentle, and full of sorrow.
It was hers.
"Mom?" Jack's voice cracked, the bell slipping from his hand and landing softly in the snow.
"Why didn't you save me, Jack?" the voice asked, the words cutting deeper than any blade.
"I - I tried," Jack stammered, his knees buckling under the weight of his guilt. "I wanted to. I looked for the bell. I - "
"You made the wish, Jack," the voice interrupted, now tinged with an accusatory edge. "You made the wish without consequence. And now you bear the burden."
The red-cloaked figure reached out, its massive hand stopping inches from Jack's face. In its palm lay a faint, flickering light - a fragment of something familiar.
Jack reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against the light. The moment he touched it, memories surged into him: his mother's last breath, the laughter of Abelia, the silent accusations of Buletaar. And beneath it all, the resounding echo of his own selfish wish.
---
"Whenever a wish is made... it carries a price. And sometimes, the price is far greater than the wish itself"
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