Ever since Ailn heard that the deceased Noué Areygni’s eyes sometimes turned gold, he’d realized she was a reincarnator.

  There were more than a few points of interest here. Most important was a question that bugged him: what exactly happened to a reincarnator’s jewel shard when they died? And how long exactly have reincarnators been coming to this world?

  The thought occurred to him that if shards didn’t change possession after death, he would actually need to go graverobbing to complete his job. And when he realized that, he truly did want to strangle the young god who sent him here.

  He’d let the matter lie, deciding to go for easier shards; now that Varant needed cash, however, Ailn decided to try his hand at treasure hunting.

  If his employer wasn’t going to answer his questions, then he’d simply opt for the most fun option on the table.

  Renea, it seemed, was just as drawn in by the prospect.

  “The ‘Weighing of the Heart’ is meant to depict judgment after death,” Renea blurted out, as she tugged Ailn’s sleeve, and pointed at the torch. “And ‘as above, so below’ means heaven above and hell below. Is this why you thought you could find Noué’s vault?” she asked excitedly. “Because we—”

  “That’s a common misconception,” Ailn interrupted Renea. “‘As above, so below,’ refers to the body being a simulacrum of the universe. It’s from an alchemical text.”

  Renea made a face, as her brother took the wind out of her sails. “...You’re quite knowledgeable, aren’t you?” she asked sullenly.

  “Don’t pout,” Ailn said. “You’re right about the mural.”

  The siblings drew closer to the mural to analyze it, while Kylian and Ciecout stood back stunned by the excitement—and shared knowledge—both of them displayed.

  One of the figures on the mural had golden eyes.

  “Is that… red haired woman Noué? She’s the one being judged?” Renea mumbled, as she analyzed the mural. “Anubis is there but the bird deity’s been replaced by a weird green frog…”

  “There’s something weirder. Look,” Ailn pointed at the scale which should have been weighing a heart against a feather. “The heart’s being weighed against a bundle of coins. And the woman is stretching her arms out, with a big grin.”

  Renea squinted at it, before a frown tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “I think it’s a joke about selling out,” she said, sounding a little upset. “That’s truly disrespectful.”

  Soon, the priest joined them, unable to stand passivity any longer.

  “Is that truly Noué Areygni?” Ciecout asked, as he drew up, carrying the light of the artifact with him. His eyes were wide with shock. “How astounding it would be, if she were actually depicted here this whole time—right beneath our noses! Even if in such abstract fashion.”

  He peered closer, his fascination evident. The orange light of his artifact seemed to create a passionate and curious fire in his eyes.

  “I’ve never heard of the proverb nor the mural,” Ciecout said. “What is the name of this religion? Where was it practiced?”

  It had been a long time since something within his field had escaped his learning, and it was clear Ciecout was anxious to rectify that.

  “There was a—It’s from…” Renea gulped, trying to think of something.

  “It’s been a long time since we read the book,” Ailn said apologetically.

  “A long time?” Kylian asked dubiously. His eyes slightly narrowed. “As in, before your amnesia?”

  “...That’s right,” Ailn replied. “Renea reminded me of it the other day because she was so upset. Talking about how… Ennieux tore the book up when we were kids. Because she thought it was heretical.”

  Renea turned to Ailn with a glare, while Ciecout’s expression crumpled in anguish.

  “Always the fools of the world!” he moaned. “No matter where you are, up in the castle or in the cathedral where learning should be preserved!

  “You’re exactly right, Father. As above, so below, right?” Ailn offered Ciecout the consolation of solidarity, while Renea groaned.

  “At any rate, there’s a religious and artistic tradition that only the two of you are aware of,” Kylian said, walking up and not looking all too convinced by Ailn’s explanation. “You truly believe you can find the missing portrait?”

  “If it exists,” Ailn said. He gestured for Ciecout to bring the light over to the bas-relief on the left. “This one, I’m gonna need help with.”

  “Wait, I’m not done looking at the mural—” Renea complained.

  “There’s still plenty of light reaching you,” Ailn said, glancing over his shoulder.

  They could stare at the differences all day, frankly. It was essentially a new piece of art. But the changes in the upper half of the mural had given him a strong potential lead.

  In the original ‘Weighing of the Heart’, the top half consisted of judges all sitting and facing forward along the wall—basically, they were sitting facing the right. It was likely a metaphor for existing on a higher plane, but the practical effect is that it looked like they were sitting on a mezzanine watching the judgment play out.

  Noué’s take on it, however, had the judges all facing toward the ‘audience.’ In modern parlance, it was a fourth wall break.

  There was no reason ‘as above, so below’ had to match its original meaning. It could, in fact, mean heaven and hell just as Renea suggested. It could be as simple as indicating the cathedral above vs. the catacombs beneath.

  Or, it could mean something incredibly cheeky. And given the sense he was getting of Noué’s personality, he had a feeling that’s exactly what it was meant to be.

  “I genuinely have no idea what this bas-relief depicts,” Ailn admitted. “I was hoping one of you could tell me.”

  Much like the mural, the bas-relief seemed to be divided into two distinct tiers: one part above, and one below.

  On the upper tier, men and women stood on a large disc, their arms raised toward a second disc which radiated rays of light. Ailn guessed it represented the sun.

  These figures above looked rather satisfied with their place in the world.

  Below, another group of men and women appeared, much smaller in size. Whether this was meant as a metaphor or as an indication of perspective, Ailn couldn’t tell. These lower figures had scattered non-human traits: long ears, animal features, and odd proportions.

  Each figure clasped their hands together, in a pleading gesture aimed upwards.

  The figures above didn’t seem to reciprocate their request, but the sun’s rays reached every corner of the bas-relief nonetheless—and the figures below had looks of pitiful gratitude.

  No matter how hard Ailn tried, he couldn’t connect this scene to anything in his memory. While he didn’t claim to know every piece of art ever carved, this one felt drastically different from anything he had encountered before.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Oh, I believe I know this one…” Ciecout squinted at it. “It’s one of Areygni’s paintings, and yet here it’s carved.”

  “It’s the Legacy of the Magi,” Kylian said. “It portrays the invention of magic—and the universality of its inheritance. Despite being firmly outside of the empire’s mythos, the original painting is hung at the capital’s magic tower.”

  Both Ailn and Ciecout gave Kylian an impressed look.

  “The legend of her vault aroused even my curiosity,” Kylian admitted. “If nothing else, I found the subject an interesting read.”

  “What is the myth exactly?” Ailn asked.

  “That there’s a floating city where the greatest of mankind live, and that they invented magic,” Kylian shrugged. “It’s a tale to encourage a child’s imagination,” he suggested, before taking on a chiding note. “Though there are certainly those misguided adventurers who still seek it.”

  “Does it have a name?”

  “Vilesyel Dorado.”

  “...Did you just say El Dorado?”

  “I said ‘Vilesyel Dorado,’” Kylian repeated the name of the mythical city slow enough that Ailn could understand it.

  By now, Renea had come trotting over. She’d apparently forced herself to stare at the mural until she found something else significant, in petty defiance of Ailn. The lack of light had made it a great deal harder.

  “The crocodile was replaced by a wolf,” she declared with some pride.

  “...That is interesting, actually,” Ailn said. He wasn’t sure if it would mean anything for the puzzle, but he didn’t want to clip her wings.

  “I don’t understand why you’d carve something you already painted,” Renea said, confused as she stared at the bas-relief. “This must have come later, if she worked on the mausoleum closer to the end of her life.”

  “The answer for that, I’m pretty sure,” Ailn said, “is gonna be in the lower chamber.”

  When Ceric crawled through the newly opened space… he found a secret chamber.

  And what he saw in that secret chamber went beyond sinister. It was evil—even if he didn’t know exactly what evil had been perpetrated.

  It was some manner of ritual chamber, replete with an elaborate alchemical circle in the chamber’s center, and holding cells all around: the workings of a cult, clearly.

  Yet for some reason, it had been abandoned—hastily it seemed. And in their haste, they’d left on its stone-hewn shelves rows of obsidian jars. Almost all of them were uncorked and empty. A couple had clearly smashed upon the ground, leaving shards like glassy coals mixed with the residue of a sludge-like substance.

  One jar, however, had been left forgotten, tucked away into the corner of a lower shelf where Ceric’s lantern-light had only happened to catch it.

  He picked up the jar, pulling out its cork stopper. A dark air wafted out, immediately sickening him, and he frantically squeezed the cork back in tight, casting his gaze around in a panic in case a cult member was still somehow watching.

  He had to hurry. This needed to reach capable hands as soon as possible, and he set off in a mad dash searching for the surface.

  On the left wall stretched another mural, its images descending all the way into the lower chamber. Opposite it, on the right wall, a series of verses also cascaded downward, as though they were guiding the way.

  1 Listen to the truth.

  2 As above, so below.

  3 And all things came from one, so all things are the same as one

  ? Her father is the sun, and her mother is gold.

  ? The world’s imperfection, holiness shall reveal its lies.

  ? Wind bore her, a new earth felled her, and she birthed a new world.

  ? Separate the false from above, and the artificial from below, so she may no longer be debased and cast down

  ? When she is pure, she shall rise again.

  ? Then her last lie will be shown in glory.

  1? Drown it with truth, which immerses all things, dissolves all pretense

  11 Thus, reveal her world.

  12 Such is the miraculous method to transform lies

  13 Call me Ishmael, three parts Ahab, and one half Odin.

  1? My father shall set, and my mother turn to lead. The lecture is done.

  “What an odd poem,” Ciecout remarked. He looked rather unsure as to whether he should direct his attention to the poem or the mural.

  All three of his companions looked to him for some sort of answer, but Ailn wasn’t entirely sure what to think of it himself. He hadn’t expected she’d satirize the rest of the Emerald Tablet.

  Much like The Weighing of the Heart, the differences in this version nearly made it a new text.

  The mural along the left wall, meanwhile, was peculiarly structured, but in a way that fit Ailn’s hypothesis well.

  It shifted through artistic styles as it descended. There were likely references he missed, but recognizing the different styles was probably the most crucial insight.

  Renea concentrated on the top painting for a long time before her eyes finally lit up.

  “I know this one,” she said brightly. “This is churrasco.”

  “Churrasco is…” Ailn stopped himself, seeing the pleased look on her face. There really wasn’t any reason to rain on her parade was there? Not like anyone in this world would know that was a term for grilled beef. “...Correct.”

  At the top, a woman with golden hair dressed in priestess garb, stood before the sun. Her robes shimmered where caught light, while everything behind her gradually sank into shadows.

  The interplay of light and form was accentuated by her pose: her face at a tilt, her figure in contrapposto—one arm reaching toward the sun, the other drawn behind her and pointing into the dark. The scene was quintessentially chiaroscuro, a style which used the contrast between light and shadow to create depth as strikingly as possible.

  The next scene in the mural depicted a bustling dock caught in a light drizzle.

  Laborers, facing in all directions, loaded crates despite the weather, while boats sailed in and out from the top left. Amid flat colors and muted gloom, a woman with bright blonde hair stood with her back to the viewer—her yellow coat bright and flowing, almost like a kimono, unsullied by the rain.

  “Then this is…” Renea tried to summon the style’s name, but couldn’t. “I think it inspired… Monet and Van Gogh?”

  Actually, Ailn couldn’t remember the name, either. But it didn’t matter that much. The point was the painting had a pseudo-perspective, with a vanishing point that the boats came from.

  The third section of the mural was unmistakably Byzantine in style. A woman stood in the middle of a crowd bowing in supplication, her head surrounded in gold leaf that was either a halo or a crown.

  Her hair was also blonde, though duller than the gold leaf which surrounded it.

  Everyone faced forward, their poses stiff, barely more three-dimensional than Egyptian art.

  The fourth scene reduced humanity to its most basic form: stick figures, rendered in red, reminiscent of cave paintings. Rather than bison, however, they seemed to be hunting shadowy serpents.

  One of the stick figures was presented with wavy hair, rendered in a sandy blonde.

  Each scene continued the descent—from three-dimensional realism to two-dimensional abstraction. And that’s what made the concluding piece so odd.

  “Huh,” Ailn said.

  “Isn’t this a tad too shameless?” Renea asked, sounding irked. “I wonder who the other woman is supposed to be…”

  This reference was even harder to miss than The Weighing of the Heart. It was The Creation of Adam, except Noué had put herself in the place of God. With silky red hair and golden glowing eyes, she gazed benevolently downward, extending her finger to another woman who reached back to meet her touch.

  That woman was once again clad in yellow. Her hair, however, was brown.

  “Thankfully, that makes our job easy,” Ailn sighed with relief. “All we—”

  “Wait. Wait! You already solved it?” Renea asked anxiously.

  “...Part of it,” Ailn frowned. “First—”

  “Hold up!” Renea held up a hand to shush Ailn while she looked back and forth between the paintings and the verses.

  “It’s more knowledge than logic,” Ailn said impatiently. “If you know you know. If you don’t, you’re just wasting your time.”

  “Why do you know all this stuff, anyway?” Renea asked.

  “It’s because…” Ailn stopped. Why did he know? With his amnesia, it was almost impossible to explain why he could do things. But this was esoterica. If he understood anything about himself, it was that he didn’t learn this kind of thing as a hobby.

  He felt a flash of heat pass through him, along with a painful and almost irritating twinge in his heart.

  It settled down into a quiet ache.

  “It’s because there’s a certain type of criminal who eats this stuff up,” Ailn said, softly, while glancing at the jars all around him containing organs. His expression hardened.

  Renea, caught up in trying to solve the riddle, didn’t seem to catch his shift in mood. That was for the better, anyway. No need to upset her.

  “By the way,” Ailn started, pointing towards the jars. “Remember how we were walking through here in the dark when we were escaping the catacombs?”

  “Huh? Yeah, of course,” Renea said, only halfway paying attention.

  “Remember how you almost tripped and you shattered something?”

  “...Yes. I think…” Renea’s tone grew skittish, as she noticed the jars on the shelves.

  “Guess what was in that jar.”