"Sulfur, salt, mercury."
Sherlock Hermes was in his room at dusk, double-checking the equipment he would use tonight for the ritual of advancement.
He had a monocle on, squinting painfully to read the scribbled handwriting on the labels of vials and jars.
Sherlock grumbled to himself, fingers running over the glass vials on the shelves. "Sanctified silver dust, holy blessed water. A bundle of dried black sage, a spare white crystal, six new red candles."
And in the Hall of Silver and Tin—
Princess Isabel was pacing restlessly in her own room.
She was reciting a list of the ritual items to herself, clearly agitated.
"Clove essential oil, cinnamon oil, cypress oil, benzoin. immortelle oil, chamomile oil. and. and."
Hunched over beside him, humming a melody as he wrote, the elven artist Yanis groaned and laid down his pen in frustration.
"—And ginger, dill, and white bread. Honestly. little Isa, why on earth are you so anxious? You should have faith in your royal ritualists. They're much more competent at preparing ceremonies than you are."
"Yes, I know.
Isabel muttered, not even stopping to correct him with "Call me Isabel, not little Isa."
She became winded and grasped at the collar of her pale yellow chiffon dress, as though attempting to fan herself for coolness. But careful about royal propriety and dignity, she couldn't quite bring herself to do so vulgarly in public.
"Your first promotion will be easy. Nothing to fret about."
Yanis enticed softly, "You must have faith in yourself. You're exceptionally gifted—your roots are sounder than most. First progress, and on a full moon to boot. I'm sure six or seven people will make it. What do you fear?"
".That's the very thing I fear."
Isabel spoke nervously, "If six of the nine make it and I don't—word gets around, and it'll reflect badly on the royal family.".
"And people will talk behind your back, too, teacher. They'll say awful things. They'll spread mean rumors."
She had only been permitted to walk the Path of Beauty because of Queen Sophia's glaring favoritism. The royal 'Du Lac' clan of Avalon was, by tradition, committed to the Path of Authority.
And yet of the queen's six grandchildren, the one she most indulged was her second youngest—Isabel.
Apart from her, only her two-year-old brother has been younger.
Isabel had demonstrated outstanding ability in the arts since she was very young.
When she was four years old, she had taken the Queen to see a production of the opera Lulu's Magic Flute. Although she did not understand one word of Stellarium, after a single hearing, she could hum complete arias out of memory.
Queen Sophia had been delighted. Prior to taking the throne, her own ambition had been to be an opera master. Even after succeeding to the throne, she had written a number of operas in her free time—though she never published them, remembering her position.
Of all her children and grandchildren, only Isabel had inherited her musical talents.
So she overrode the court.
She made an exception, permitting Isabel to set foot on the Path of Beauty and academically pursue Art.
The Path of Beauty was a path of harmony and aesthetics, of flow and eternity.
And the most important skill on the Path of Beauty—was Art.
Opera, music, painting, sculpture, theatre, dance, poetry—all of these were included under the mystical arts of the Path of Beauty.
Art itself was inherently mystical. Every great master of art, without fail, had traversed the Beauty Path.
Just as the cardinal ability on the Path of Authority was Leadership—a king's art of leadership, the ability to cause others to obey—just as charged with the arcane.
If a person wanted to make his or her advancement on any path deeper, mastery of several arts was necessary.
Maybe it was because of her quarter-elven heritage—Isabel was born to be a dancer and singer.
And once she had set her course, she was compelled to see it out.
After a transcendent chooses a path, they are haunted by the urge to ascend ever higher. The longer they idle, the greater their chances of tumbling into madness.
Just as an up-and-coming but not exactly genius youngster in any endeavor, after they see real talent, is struck with despair—a gulf so wide only those far inside the art can even know.
On the Path of Beauty, where feeling the harmony and timeless beauty of the world. that fall into madness came all the more naturally.
Almost all artistic masters who dedicated themselves to one thing—eventually lost their minds.
So the Queen specifically called Master Yanis to instruct Isabel in painting, sculpture, and composition.
This would be the most secure path of development.
After all, Isabel wasn't heir to the throne. If the Queen was pleased, why not give the child her head?
That was how the court had interpreted it at the time.
But good things never last.
Beginning over a decade ago, the Avalon royal family started mysteriously falling ill, one at a time.
Initially they suspected poisoning—later it was revealed to be a potent bloodline-curse of annihilation. A curse so strong that even the Church's light spells were unable to lift it, nor could the saints' relics provide any safeguard.
If even a nation's strength couldn't hold out against it, then naturally it must have been the handiwork of some other nation.
Who else?
It must have been the Stellarium Kingdom.
Even Avalon didn't have any tangible evidence, but all reason led to one conclusion. a ritualist like that could only be found in Stellarium.
And so, about a few years ago—after the first king fell victim to the incurable curse—Avalon and Stellarium officially became enemy nations.
Up to this moment, in the generation of Isabel's father, he alone remained alive.
And within her own generation, half had already died.
Her eldest brother, Isabel herself, and her little two-year-old brother alone were left.
She had not done anything, but ended up as the third successor to the throne.
—And if she really succeeded one day, a serious problem would occur.
Avalon, a country founded on the Path of Authority, would have a new monarch who didn't have the slightest connection to Authority.
She may be only third in line currently—but that alone was risky enough. Who knew she wouldn't suddenly become first?
Isabel had done nothing wrong. Master Yanis definitely hadn't. But things changed, and word was spreading through the higher levels of government—some said that Stellarium's true purpose was to put Isabel on Avalon's throne.
Thus, they would be able to cause chaos in the kingdom from within.
After all, the country's aristocracy, its government, even most of its warriors—all hailing from the Authority Path. How could they pledge absolute devotion to a queen of Beauty?
Therefore, the pressure upon Isabel was crushing.
Each mistake she committed would be amplified. Then criticized, then reviled.
But she didn't blame them.
Because she felt their pressure as well—their apprehension for the country's fate.
And she realized. Their fears were valid—if she ever did become queen, Avalon would be entrenched in prolonged instability. But she honestly had no affinity for the Authority Path. she had attempted, again and again, but simply was not able to master it.
All she could do was pray—pray that her older brother and younger brother wouldn't die.
But that wasn't under her control either.
All she could do was obey the rules, and do her best at everything—leave nothing to be criticized about.
Which is why she had never depended on royal privilege. She went to university, sharing a living space with other students.
Only after completing three semesters of exams like anybody else did she transcend. Prior to that, she rigorously confined herself to the more earthly parts of the Art discipline—those within reach even of ordinary folk.
And she worked on her basics, relentlessly, for thirteen years.
It was monotonous and apparently useless. Aching to the point of queasiness. But she gritted through it.
Because she wanted to prove she would never take advantage of her royal privileges.
She hoped, doing that, to drown out the whispering.
She attempted to belittle her status as a "princess", hoping people would consider her merely an individual—not the third in line for the throne.
But only now did she realize—
Maybe she had never truly been a normal person.
She was still served, pampered, and helped by others.
While other transcendent students prepared their own rituals, she sat there sipping tea. The royal ritualists would handle everything—no need to worry about drawing circles wrong, or being scammed with poor-quality materials.
“.I’ll do it myself.”
Isabel made up her mind.
She bowed low to the elderly ritualist. "Master Osborne, I'm terribly sorry. It's not that I don't believe you. It's just. I feel like perhaps it won't be wise for me to do nothing."
She couldn't quite identify the nervous, fidgety sensation in her breast.
But seeing the white-haired man work himself into a frenzy on her behalf left her very uneasy.
As though it were her fault, but someone else took the blame.
Her older brothers and sisters had always spoiled her. Whenever she broke something, they took the blame.
She hadn't been reproached then—but she still felt abominably guilty.
—Just as now.
It was as though something was consuming her heart.
"Let me prepare the promotion ritual by myself, please."
Princess Isabel insisted.
Her voice had become steadier, less timid. “You may assist me from the side, Master Osborne.”
The old ritualist chuckled, stroking his beard.
“Of course, my little princess. You’re right, really. these things do feel more meaningful when done by your own hands.
"Remember this feeling well, Your Highness. Your first step into the Dream Realm, your first encounter with the other eight transcendent paths. This is the moment you truly leave behind the title of 'apprentice' and become a real transcendent—"
Meanwhile—
In the Moriarty estate, Aiwass had just awakened, holding his head in his hand and stumbling out of bed.
He still hadn't slept enough.
But his spiritual instinct cautioned him—if he did not wake now, he would miss something crucial. So he made himself get up.
Outside, the sun was already low in the sky.
With shaking fingers, Aiwass lit a match. It took him several attempts to succeed.
He lit the white candle on his bedside table—clearly prepared ahead of time by Oswald as a "healing remedy.
Aiwass clutched the flame in his palm, sensing life coursing into him from the candle. Only after this did he breathe out slowly.
Fortunately. his fixation on the occult was such that his bedroom was always well-supplied with materials of all types. Nothing essential would be held up.
As the saying goes, "The underachiever has the most stationery."
He had no idea what to do with most of it—but he purchased as much as he could find.
.That being the case, he hadn't had anything to eat for a day. His belly rumbled with hunger.
Things first—first he had to eat. Then he could get ready for the promotion ritual.
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