“Two years. That’s all I can tell you. As for why it’s accelerated, I think you already know the reason.”
“….”
“Did you know that was going to be the outcome?” Vanitas asked quietly.
“…Yes.”
Vanitas’s voice rose. “Aside from criminals, who else did you use as lab rats?”
They had not only replicated a stigmatas, but they had refined it, multiplied it, embedded it into vessels created from chimeras. Constructs made from demons, spirits, beasts, and unwilling humans.
“Is that so?”
To those who followed Araxys, there was no greater authority than the prophet known as Fyodor. To them, his words were the law. Every cultist referred to him as the Chosen Messiah, the one who spoke on behalf of the Black Dragon’s will.
That explained Astrid’s powerful, and unexplainable stigmata unlike any other. Among all those he had encountered, hers was the most destructive. Even more so than Margaret’s or Ezra’s in terms of devastating power.
“….”
“To call it dislike is an understatement,” Vanitas replied flatly.
Yves was caught off guard. He hadn’t expected Vanitas to ask so directly, nor did he think the boy knew of the connection. But the surprise disappeared quickly as it appeared.
The gathered acolytes knelt deeper as Fyodor’s gaze swept over them.
And now, Vanitas understood.
He stood before the congregation, eyes closed as if in mourning.
He paused.
“At first, it was criminals on death row.”
“To the one who clipped him from our garden…” He raised a hand, curling his fingers into a fist. “May the roots of Araxys wrap around you in time. May you see the truth when your own leaves begin to fall.”
“Lance Ableton, he was one of my finest. Raised in the shade of the great tree. And now, he has returned to the soil.”
Because of Julia Barielle’s political power and influence, she had silenced everyone who tried to speak out, everyone who dared attempt to reveal the truth, fabricating the actual origins of the terminal illness.
He leaned back slightly.
“At one point, she even contemplated taking her own life,” Yves said. “We talked her out of it. Reminded her of what would happen to you if she were gone.”
He paused.
He lowered his gaze.
“The facility didn’t survive,” Yves continued. “When it finally manifested, the radiation from her stigmata contaminated everything. The researchers, the equipment, Julia, even my wife and… your mother.”
Yves took a breath. “After that, your mother fell into… depression, I’d say.”
Vanitas’s fists clenched. For the first time since their conversation began, irritation surged within him.
“….”
“Continue.”
There was a moment of silence.
“….”
It didn’t need to be said. Everyone who had been present that day had died months, sometimes years later, depending on how close they had been to the epicenter of the radiation.
All of them passed unaware, never realizing they had been slowly dying from exposure.
“I presume that was every day?”
“I wasn’t there,” Yves replied. “I had an appointment with a patient that day. Everything I’ve recounted to you came from Roxanne.”
“At first?”
In the past, that spirit had possessed a vessel, an individual whose body and soul were overtaken, transforming them into the entity known as Araxys.
Vanitas looked at him for a moment before speaking.
“Probably enough that it won’t surprise me.”
“At first… failure,” Yves said. “We nearly killed that child, Vanitas. Not once. Not twice. I’ve lost count.”
Vanitas gave a small nod, already piecing the story together. “Do you have any idea what Vanir was doing there?”
“Yes,” Yves replied.
Vanitas narrowed his eyes.
And Fyodor, in turn, regarded them all as his children.
He remembered that Astrid had frequently visited the facility as a toddler. And he had been the one who kept her company, playing with her, and watching over her.
Roxanne, his wife.
“Artificial stigmatas.”
“….”
“….”
“To put it simply, it was more like engineering spirits. Creating them synthetically, then binding them to hosts to simulate a soul-like bond. That bond was then condensed until it took the shape of a stigmata.”
“Don’t resent your mother for it, but I felt you deserved the truth. When we brought up your name… she was suddenly… afraid.”
Vanitas gave a subtle, humorless smile. “I’m a dying man. If you choose to lie to my face, then you’ll have to live with that guilt.”
Araxys.
After Clarice eventually married into the Astrea family, something changed. She had started smiling again. Yves, Roxanne, Julia, and the rest of the researchers were genuinely surprised, especially when they learned she had given birth to Charlotte.
He paused.
“Who were the test subjects?” Vanitas asked.
Because he was Vanitas Astrea.
His tone rose ever so slightly.
“Exactly,” Yves confirmed. “We attempted to imitate it. But even imitation has its cost.”
To resurrect Araxys meant finding a suitable vessel. Those who truly understood the legend knew that Araxys was not a god, but a spirit.
“….”
“Yes.”
“But you, on the other hand… you didn’t seem too happy,” Yves said, watching him closely. “Did you dislike your new family?”
* * *
Vanitas listened carefully, unbothered by his personal doctor Yves’s words. He wasn’t surprised at all. It was most likely the time he had spent in the Rivers of Fate that caused his terminal illness to progress this far.
“Anyway, on certain days, she brought you to work,” Yves added. “That usually happened when no one was home to watch over you.”
“Clarice and I met back at the Silver University Tower. She was already close friends with Roxanne by then.”
Yves shook his head. “No, but we knew something was wrong with their marriage. As her friends, we tried to talk her into divorcing him… but it didn’t go anywhere.”
“And what came out of it?” Vanitas asked.
“No,” Yves said quickly. “It wasn’t what you’re imagining.”
“Where should I start?” Yves murmured.
There was a bitter edge to his tone, and his eyes carried a glint of regret—like someone who had already lost something irreplaceable.
And with that, he began to speak, this time without holding anything back. Though he admitted there were still things he couldn’t remember, he did his best to recount the truth.
“You’d believe whatever I say, right?”
Vanitas narrowed his eyes. “So that experiment…?”
He looked Vanitas directly in the eyes.
Vanitas ignored the remark.
“He died,” Vanitas said flatly.
“Soon, my children. Araxys shall return.”
“Through that connection, the three of us basically did everything together,” Yves continued. “And it wasn’t long before we became acquainted with our senior, Empress Julia.”
There wasn’t anything romantic about their beginnings, nor any fateful spark or love at first sight. It was simply that they shared many of the same lectures. They were all pursuing the same major, and through that, Yves naturally got to know Roxanne.
And knowing Roxanne inevitably meant becoming familiar with Clarice, Vanitas’s mother.
“And from what little the survivors remembered before the facility was wiped from existence.”
“To give her some space to breathe… Empress Julia sent her to the Dominion for work,” Yves said. “She thought that perhaps, in that autocratic nation, Clarice might find some stability. A change of environment. Anything just to pull her out of that state.”
“But now feels like the right time to ask… What was your relationship with my mother?”
“Astrid is the origin source of Mana Core Degeneration Syndrome.”
“She was a beautiful woman. If I’d met her before my wife, I probably would’ve fallen for her instead.”
Astrid Barielle Aetherion, the child saved at the cost of many.
“But in the end…”
“We failed more than we succeeded. Most of the time, the host couldn’t handle it. Soul instability, mental degradation, mana system collapse. Some would go insane. Others…”
“Succeeded, huh?” Vanitas’s tone was cold.
“It always pains me,” Fyodor said, “to see a child severed from their roots.”
“Stigmatas are connected to the soul,” Vanitas replied. “So to create artificial ones, you’d need to work with the very foundation of souls themselves. Are you telling me what I think you’re trying to tell me?”
When he truly thought about it, the answer was simple.
It was an organization built around the worship of a supposed deity, led by a prophet who claimed to have been chosen by Araxys. That man had performed miracles, saved lives, taken others, and spread terror in equal measure.
“And that’s where she met Vanir Astrea.”
“But eventually… we succeeded. Though it came at a cost.”
Vanitas nodded slowly, listening.
And that truth no longer surprised him.
He opened his eyes then, a pale, luminescent hue in shades of gray. His long hair that could be mistaken as a woman’s fluttered in the breeze.
But to seal a spirit did not mean to banish it. Spirits would never truly cease to exist. They whispered and haunted like phantoms lurking behind the curtain of an opera, playing cruel games with the hearts and minds of people.
“That little girl didn’t have many years to live.”
And that vessel had been sealed away long ago by none other than the Archmage Zen himself.
“I see.”
Yves hesitated, then answered. “You know her. Astrid. Julia’s own daughter.”
Not long after his death, she began to fall into a deep depression. Whether it was some form of Stockholm syndrome or something else entirely, no one could say for certain. Not even Yves, despite being a certified doctor, could properly diagnose it.
“….”
Vanitas swallowed hard. Just hearing that name tugged at something deep within him. Something he didn’t care to explain.
Yves looked down.
“So, reverse-engineering the connection between spirit and vessel.”
“Good. That makes this easier.” Yves paused. “Under Julia Barielle Aetherion, all of us researchers were assigned to a single, classified project.”
Yves didn’t press any further. There was a pause before Vanitas spoke again.
“At this stage,” Yves continued, his voice quieter now, “I can only advise you to live your life to the fullest.”
There was no need for Yves to say anything more. He already knew that Clarice Astrea had never loved her son. Under Vanir’s abuse, she had turned a blind eye, choosing instead to focus all her love and attention on Vanitas’s half-sister, Charlotte.
Yves spoke steadily, recounting every detail he could remember about Clarice.
Vanitas looked up, eyes narrowing “Did any of you know about my biological father?”
But in the end, he was nothing more than another follower.
Yves paused. Vanitas’s eyes shimmered with a glint of amethyst as Yves eventually continued.
“We were offered an internship,” Yves went on, “and that turned into our full-time job after graduation.”
“You’ve been keeping things from me. I get it, and I respect that. I wouldn’t want to antagonize you, Yves.”
“A sapling cut before it can blossom. A branch lopped off before it bears fruit. That was what he was… my dear Lance.”
“How well-versed are you in the concept of stigmatas?”
“I can’t say I haven’t.”
For years, their experiments had progressed. Countless lives had been lost in pursuit of this goal. But now, finally, their work was bearing fruit.
Yves sighed. “I don’t. The Astreas were any high-ranking nobles for normal people like me to pay too much attention to.”
“Then let me ask, have you heard of artificial stigmatas?”
“…Yes.”
“But Yves, you’ve never once told me what your work under Julia really entailed.”
Vanitas stared at him. “What about you?”
Yves let out a slow breath, his gaze turning toward the floor for a moment before returning to Vanitas.
They had been brought into a research facility owned by Julia Barielle. At the time, she wasn’t yet the Imperial Queen, though she was already engaged to Emperor Decadien. Even after their marriage, Julia continued her work at the facility for many years.
“No,” Yves admitted. “Truthfully, I didn’t. We were… persuaded, so to speak. Astrid was a frail girl back then. And given my expertise, I was naturally assigned as her doctor during her early years.”
“….”
“And me.”
“Continue,” Vanitas urged.
And it all made sense.
“Was Julia’s way of saving her daughter.”
The cult was named after the Black Dragon himself, Araxys.
And with that, Yves continued, elaborating on what followed after Clarice’s husband died.
“I killed him.”
“We have come far. Too far to fail now. The roots we’ve planted in blood and bone have grown into something far too sacred.”