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Premonition

—Leviathan 4—

Ladies and gentlemen.

Here I detail my end that was not written in my memoir—my own death.

I am walking, bleeding all over.

The Royal Knights have launched an attack on the clock tower, shooting poisoned arrows as they pursue me.

A gag order has been placed on the students; they are in their dormitory rooms, studying as if nothing is happening. This has always been the case in this academy. Whenever something top-secret was happening, those creepy students were always quiet. Despite my howls, the Royal Knights’ footsteps and shouts, the school remained silent, as if we were nothing but an eerie mirage created by a gathering fog.

I am walking.

My body is tough to begin with. I lived longer than the adults who came to Sauville with me, survived under the earth in which we were buried alive. But the poison from the arrows was gradually robbing me of my consciousness.

I am walking.

…Why?

I did not know. For the past few weeks, the Royal Knights surrounding the clock tower had remained on standby, watching quietly. I thought that the young man—Albert, an official of the Ministry of the Occult—had pulled some strings. I was pretending to spend all my time experimenting to create what he had asked me to create. Yes, I was pretending. Because in reality, I am incapable of creating anything. Nothing at all.

But tonight, the Royal Knights suddenly moved.

Perhaps the Ministry of the Occult lost the battle against the Academy of Science. Or perhaps it was the decision of the king himself.

I am walking.

One step, then another.

I knew that I would not survive. The poison keeps circulating in my body. My legs grow heavy, my eyelids droop, and I feel as if I am carrying a huge lump of lead.

I slowly enter the workshop.

And lock the door behind me.

I move my trembling body forward, one step at a time.

I open the stained-glass door to the hidden room and step inside. I am greeted by the gold of death that crossed the sea with me many decades ago. With shaky hands, I close the door. I can no longer move. My limbs are numb, my senses fading away.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

I have succeeded in sealing forever my deepest secret—the skin hidden under this mask—and the gold, in the hidden room. This secret I will take to the grave. The door cannot be opened from the inside. I will rot here.

I found it incredibly ironic.

That night in 1873, after coming to Sauville as a laborer, I was deceived and buried alive in a grave with my brethren. Then I rose from the dead. Vowing revenge, I tried to get involved in national politics and change its policies. But alas, I failed to achieve my goal.

I rose from the grave, and now I am about to enter one myself.

I hear a voice in the distance.

It is calling for me. A voice desperately crying out my name.

It is Albert. The beautiful young man is running around the clock tower like a madman, searching for me.

I hear his voice.

“Leviathan! Where are you?”

His voice betrayed grief.

“I need power. Leviathan! Power for this kingdom… no, power for Europe, to weather the global storm that is coming with the new century. Mystical power. Only you can provide it. Don’t go. Please stay, Leviathan. My sorcerer!”

I smile thinly.

I sense Albert’s beautiful golden hair, tied casually and hanging down his back like a horse’s tail, dancing around in the clock tower. His deep green eyes. Rosy cheeks like those of a young maiden.

He was still screaming.

I can hear his voice.

Marquis Albert de Blois continues shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Homunculi! Give me artificial humans! I beg you. Produce the mightiest warriors for this kingdom, warriors that can survive through the flames of war! Leviathan!”

I chuckle.

Wordlessly, I bid farewell to Marquis Albert de Blois.

Farewell, foolish nobleman. Beautiful madman of the Ministry of the Occult, corrupted by power and ambition.

We will never see each other again.

Forever…

Man is nothing more than a spring wound by God.

Once it stops moving, only decay awaits. Storms come and go. There is nothing we can do to stop them. Yes, one cannot create something out of nothing. Alchemy is a monumental lie crafted by frauds that transcended time and space. I am simply one of those frauds, claiming to be an alchemist.

Something cannot be created from nothing.

The same is true of a homunculus.

If you want a powerful child, have a woman give birth to it.

Yes, a special woman.

I am standing in front of the bars of gold, feeling the poison coursing through every vein in my body.

I can no longer feel my limbs. Not even a twitch.

A strange feeling suddenly floods my chest. I found it surprising. I never imagined I would think such a thing.

It was a feeling akin to loneliness.

Sadness, fear, and confusion.

I am going to die here. In a few minutes I will breathe my last. For centuries none will know I am here. I will rot alone and crumble to dust.

No one will know where I came from or who I was.

What lonely and cruel punishment.

At the moment of my death, one thing came to mind. I remember the book that I left in St. Marguerite’s Grand Library. A large book with a golden cover—my memoir. A challenge to someone from the future. A joke. But it was also somewhat serious.

To whom will find it one day. My kindred soul, bound to me by the dark hand of fate. O’ thou of the future, foolish as I am.

Are you a man?

A woman?

An adult?

A child?

It matters not. O’ you who will one day find the book. You from the future. I beg you to speak for me—the fool—and reveal my foolish secret!

Find me, I beseech you.

Save me from this golden prison.

Speak for the fool.

And save me.

---

Epilogue: Premonition

Dusk was settling over the vast campus of St. Marguerite Academy, and the long day was finally coming to an end.

The crystal fountain sparkled in the orange glow of the setting sun. Shadows fell on the flowerbeds, blanketing the colorful flowers in darkness. The cool breeze heralded the coming of a summer night.

Police officers had built an iron fence around the clock tower, guarding it heavily. In the distance, Victorique was standing alone on the grass, watching the structure standing in the corner of the campus.

Her eyes, deep green as a bottomless lake, had an inexplicable glint in them—a mix of anger and sorrow.

Footsteps approached Victorique from behind. A slender man’s long shadow swayed on the green grass. Its head was pointy as a unicorn.

“Oh, Grevil,” Victorique muttered.

“Call me brother, will you?”

Victorique snorted loudly in response.

Inspector Grevil de Blois, standing next to his small and mighty sister, silently puffed on his pipe for a moment.

“I received an order from the king,” he mumbled.

“…Hmm?”

“He wants to move the gold to Saubreme. I agree. We can’t just leave all that gold there. It will be kept in a bank and used for the kingdom.”

“I see.”

“The clock tower will be demolished. It’s getting old. No, I think the king wants to get rid of all the evidence. And I agree with that as well.

Victorique did not reply. She simply twirled the closed parasol in her hand.

Dusk was falling.

The wind was getting a little colder.

Inspector Blois turned to leave, but hesitated for a moment. He sighed, steeled himself, and posed a question to his sister.

“How much do you know?”

“Nothing,” Victorique said curtly.

“Nothing?”

“Yeah.”

“Father pulled some strings, so the public shouldn’t know anything. So…”

“Don’t worry, Grevil. I haven’t learned anything from anyone.”

“I see.” Inspector Blois mumbled, sounding deeply relieved. He spun on his heel and walked away.

“But keep in mind,” Victorique said, and the inspector turned slowly. “I have the Wellspring of Wisdom with me. Though I am imprisoned in this school and have nowhere to go, I have the fragments of chaos that you drop. Over the years, I have picked up the pieces and reconstructed them. I know a lot of things now. A lot.”

Inspector Blois’s eyes were searching.

“For example, I know that our father, Marquis Albert de Blois, was deeply involved with the alchemist Leviathan when he was younger. He was one of the few noblemen who foresaw the coming storm—the Great War. He also knew that the war would be a turning point for the world, regardless of which side you were on. His prediction came true. Now Europe is called the Old World, and the New World has new powers.”

“That’s right.”

“New powers created by the scientific revolution. In the next storm, even more scientific and entirely new weapons will be built and tested. Father fears the end of Europe. The end of chivalry and private wars. The next storm will be a war of machines. There will be slaughter on an unprecedented scale. The era of the New World is the era of science.”

“…”

“By looking into the past, I can guess what father was thinking. He wanted to use the old European power, the occult, as a trump card against the new power of the New World, science. Alchemists who create something out of nothing, immortal monsters, and ancient Gray Wolves with extraordinary abilities. The Old Ones. If they were real, they would indeed be ancient powers, not found in the New World. Father was searching for a vision unique to Europe.”

“…Yes.” Inspector cast Victorique a bitter gaze. “With Leviathan’s help, Father planned to turn this academy into an artificial human factory. Produce and supply a large number of warriors. Invincible warriors pretending to be students.”

“But he failed.”

“Yes. And then he got you. A child with the blood of the Gray Wolf.”

“I know. After Father lost Leviathan, he must have scoured all sorts of records looking for clues on ancient power and found legends of the Gray Wolves. He tracked down a lone Gray Wolf that had escaped into the city. Cordelia Gallo. He used her to birth me, and then…”

Victorique took a step back. Her green eyes gazed at Inspector Blois. “I know. I know everything. Father keeps me here not only because he is afraid. This academy is Sauville’s secret armory. It always has been. My father considers me a weapon and intends to keep me here until the right time—when the second storm hits.”

Inspector Blois held Victorique’s gaze. There was fear in his eyes.

Twilight was creeping in.

“Grevil, my foolish brother. A second storm will come in the not-too-distant future. Father intends to use my power then. And there will be others who will try to stop him. Who or what they are, I do not yet know. But the storm will arrive regardless.”

There was no expression on Victorique’s face as she stared at her brother with cold green eyes. Inspector Blois staggered back a few steps, his drill-shaped hair bobbing.

“It’s true that the academy is an armory,” he said, “and what better place to lock up a weapon like you? But an incident like this might change Father’s mind.”

There was a slight change in Victorique’s expression.

“My half-sister,” Inspector Blois whispered dryly. He hobbled out onto the pathway, as if running away from something sinister. He then hurried away and disappeared.

For a while, Victorique stood still on the grass. Then she tottered away, as though fearing something herself.

The evening breeze blew her long, velvety, golden hair behind her, rustling the lush foliage of the trees.

The setting sun painted the lawn, flower beds, and white gravel paths a vivid orange.

---

Kazuya was walking around one corner of the campus, looking around aimlessly.

Through the windows of the dormitory, he could see students who had already started packing for summer vacation. They were loading up swimsuits, straw hats, and lovely dresses one after, singing happily.

On the benches beyond the pathway, students gathered to talk about their summer vacation plans.

An ecstatic atmosphere filled the academy. The campus, built on a slight incline, was already slipping into summer vacation mode ahead of time. The intense sun and the dry air that made it feel like the academy was not located deep in the Alps added to the festive mood.

Kazuya walked along a small path paved with pebbles.

“Victorique! Where are you?”

He looked under benches and up the trees, as though searching for a lost kitten.

“Victorique! Ow!”

As he rounded a corner, a ball of frills bumped into Kazuya. Startled, he caught the white thing in his arms.

It was Victorique.

“There you are,” Kazuya said, relieved. He sounded happy. “I was looking all over the place for you. Seems like I immediately lose sight of you down here.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been looking for you for the umpteenth time this day.”

“You can’t find me…?”

Her husky voice trailed off. It sounded shaky.

“Victorique?”

Kazuya crouched down. The slight change in her worried him. Then, quite unusually, Victorique grabbed the sleeve of Kazuya’s uniform. Her little shoulders were quivering.

“Not really,” Kazuya said. “It takes a little bit of time, but I’ll always find you. Like I did just now.”

“…”

Kazuya peered into her face. Victorique had the same cold expression on her face that he was used to seeing.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Victorique shook her head.

She opened her small hands and, quite ruthlessly, pushed his face away.

“Ouch! What was that for? I was just looking at your face.”

“You’re too close.”

“I’m always this close. What’s wrong with that anyway? Meanie.”

Victorique snorted. “I’m fine,” she said softly. “Just had a little sibling quarrel.”

“You mean your drill-headed brother? Sounds dangerous. That thing on his head sometimes gets too close to the eyes. I’ve had a few close calls. I’d prefer it if he fixed it so it points to the back instead of the front, you know what I mean?”

“A quarrel on a global scale.”

“…Hmm?” Kazuya fell silent.

The wind blew past.

The leaves on the trees rustled.

Kazuya’s face clouded over. He remembered Brian Roscoe’s ominous words. His dark, challenging voice.

That creature is being held captive.

A monstre charmant.

Europe’s last and most powerful weapon.

A big, big storm awaits the cub.

The ominous voice, the green cat-like eyes, and the red flaming hair…

Kazuya shuddered. Victorique started walking, and he followed after her.

“Victorique…”

When he caught up with her, he tried to say something, but no words would come out. He just walked next to her for a while, thinking.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. Same as always.” Victorique replied bluntly.

“Really?”

“Ahuh.”

“Are you sure?”

“…Yes.”

He studied her face. She wore the same inexplicable expression: a mixture of prolonged weariness, unbearable boredom, and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Kazuya opened his mouth to ask a question, but after a moment’s hesitation, he decided against it.

Instead, he asked a different one. “Where are you going?”

Victorique stopped. She gazed into Kazuya’s face. “The library, where else?”

Kazuya was taken aback. “You’re going back to the library?”

“Of course. I won. That’s all. So I’m going back to my usual spot.”

Kazuya inclined his head. “I guess I won’t lose sight of you that way. But won’t you get bored again?”

“Indeed I will.”

“What would you do then?”

“I don’t mind.”

Victorique nodded and resumed walking. Kazuya rushed after her.

“Weariness, boredom, contemplation. Those are my only friends.”

“And me.”

“…”

Victorique lifted her head a little and cast a curious glance at the face of the boy walking beside her. Her cherry lips moved a little.

It might have been a smile.

The library was getting closer. As always, the huge stone tower was devoid of people, dominated only by silence. Kazuya grabbed Victorique’s hand as they climbed the slight incline.

Victorique squeezed his hand back.

A wind blew.

The branches of the trees shook. The water from the fountain spilled over the crystal with a refreshing sound. The pebbles along the path glittered under the light of the setting sun.

Two more days until summer break.

There was a sense of foreboding in the air.

They strolled toward the library, hand in hand.