It was still early when Jenkins left the church and returned to Pops Antique Shop with Chocolate. Just as he expected, Papa Oliver was already back, standing behind the counter and tinkering with a complex clockwork chanism.
"Should I start cleaning?"
Jenkins asked, hanging his coat on a hook.
The old man smiled. "No, don't worry about it. Just find a place to sit. I doubt we'll have any custors today."
He'd slept for several days, which ant he was behind on his transcription work for the church. Jenkins wasn't about to forget his duties today.
Even after becoming a Saint of the church, his daily routine remained unchanged.
Papa Oliver was in an excellent mood. He told Jenkins that the Church had just acquired and sealed away two new Series B Extraordinary items. Better yet, their safety ratings were low, aning Jenkins could apply to use them if the need ever arose.
One was designated B-10-3-8113, the 'Candle of Emotional Contamination.' When lit, it produced a black fla that plunged any creature within its range into a dreadful state of emotional turmoil. The other was B-10-4-9822, 'Demon's Bane.' Appraisals showed it was extraordinarily effective against demonic entities.
The first was likely the sa candle Jenkins had seen on the table when Miss Bevanna spoke with the demon, while the second was the very Extraordinary item he had personally witnessed co into being.
He had wanted to take it with him, but his divine power was nearly depleted. To avoid reverting to his mortal form in front of everyone, he'd had no choice but to leave it behind to deal with the last two demons.
They chatted as they organized the shop's inventory. Jenkins noticed Papa Oliver had recently acquired a large number of exquisite, gear-based crafts. His ntor explained that such items had beco quite popular lately.
When he returned ho with the rapier Old Jack had sent, the hired maid had dinner ready. Jenkins ate as he read the letter that had co with the package.
Old Jack began the letter by teasing Jenkins for being so careless with such an important item, before subtly assuring him that his secret was safe. He ended by asking Jenkins to give Papa Oliver his regards and, once again, inquiring if Jenkins would consider becoming his apprentice.
Jenkins just smiled to himself.
Tonight marked the transition from the Month of the War God and Falling Leaves to the Month of the Sage and Harvest. Having made his preparations, Jenkins settled onto the sofa on the ground floor, quietly awaiting the turning point.
He opened his pocket watch and laid it on the coffee table, its face bathed in the tranquil moonlight.
The mont the three hands of the watch aligned, Jenkins closed his eyes and felt himself plunging once more into a vast expanse of white mist.
The whispers of a man and a woman drifted into his ears, their voices swelling and fading, drawing near and receding. The fragnted sounds were like the pitter-patter of an ant's feet on a leaf—illogical words and aningless notes that nevertheless caused the very void to vibrate.
The woman's voice held a strange familiarity, a warmth he hadn't felt during his previous two encounters with the whispers. His forehead grew faintly warm, as if recalling a soft touch from a mont before.
Under imnse ntal strain, Jenkins hurriedly committed to mory what tones he could. When he reached his limit, he didn't force it. He let his mind go slack and succumbed to the darkness, falling completely unconscious.
He ca to at two in the morning.
He was sprawled across the sofa. Chocolate lay curled into a quiet ball on his stomach. The weather in Nolan had turned cold with the arrival of October, a fact the cat seed to appreciate.
Sensing Jenkins stirring, Chocolate padded up his chest to his neck and peered down at him imperiously.
In the light of the twin moons, its yellow eyes seed to hold an unusual glint.
After a mont's observation, the cat hopped aside, its interest in its owner apparently exhausted. Jenkins sat up, pressing a hand to his head, and stroked his pet, a wave of emotion washing over him.
He had far too many secrets, and Chocolate was the only one he could safely confide in. His sudden impulse to adopt the cat when he'd first found it on the corner of Maidenhaven Road had been the right decision. ℞Ä𐌽ȮᛒĚṧ
It must have been fate guiding him.
"ow~"
Chocolate rolled over lazily, exposing its belly for a scratch.
Jenkins was now more certain than ever that the whispers he heard at the turn of each month were the voices of the Righteous Gods. Between the seventh and eighth months, he'd heard a man and a woman; between the eighth and ninth, two n; and now, between the ninth and tenth, a man and a woman once more. It all aligned perfectly with mortal perceptions of the gods' genders.
He hadn't gleaned much knowledge this ti, only a single, startling fact: the Lord of War had ascended to godhood in the 8th Epoch, and the Legacy Sage had done the sa in the 12th.
Jenkins narrowed his eyes, stunned for a long mont. This world was growing more mysterious by the day.
So, gods weren't born; they could be made. Yet this contradicted the two pieces of information he'd already acquired about ascension:
"That which can beco a god is not of this world."
"That which can beco a god cannot be human."
If both statents were true, did that an only beings from other realms—like those from the 'Magma Hells' or the 'Forests of Bone'—could ascend to godhood?
What had the Sage been before? What species? And what was the special significance of the blue, 'otherworldly' abilities?
Jenkins abandoned the tangled line of thought. It was getting him nowhere. He simply accepted the fact that his own soul didn't fit this world's definition of 'human.'
He had no plans to use the rapier hidden in his cane himself. At the next gathering—which, he calculated, was tomorrow night—he would trade it with Miss Skylark for that linked ability she had. Reaching Level 2 had granted him four more ability 'bubbles,' and he would reserve the last one for Astral Perception.
Listening to the whispers had placed an imnse strain on his mind, even knocking him unconscious, but strangely, he felt wide awake now.
He soothed his disgruntled cat, then extended a hand. From point to line, line to plane, and plane to solid form, a brand-new puzzle cube materialized in his palm.
He could now confirm his theory: Psychography, plus the Creation Pencil, plus the Book of mories, equaled creation from nothing.
The divine art of Psychography allowed him to draw in the void, the pencil served as the core of creation, and the Book of mories supplied the blueprints. The stone steps he'd built while in his divine state had been simple only because he'd lacked the ti to sketch a more intricate structure. With the Book of mories, however, that limitation was gone. Next ti, if the opportunity arose, he could create a winding, exquisite spiral staircase of jade, carved with the likenesses of angels.
This thod of creation didn't seem to wear down the pencil at all, but the drain on his Spirit was imnse. When he had created the bicycle, he'd only used the pencil. His Spirit, freshly replenished and expanded after escaping the Mysterious Realm, had been practically overflowing, allowing him to sketch the vehicle into existence.
But combining one ability with two Bestowals was a far greater drain. Manifesting sothing as small as a puzzle cube had left him feeling utterly depleted.
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