The air within the Sanctum proper always carried a specific scent—an amalgam of ancient stone, cold incense, and the faint thrum of latent energy. Solemn and oppressive. Erika followed Wolfgang through successive archways and past guards, finally stopping before a heavy wooden door carved with intricate golden circuits. This was the antechamber to a Bishop's office.

  "Inside, answer the Bishop's questions truthfully," Wolfgang instructed in a low voice. His tone was calm, but Erika could sense a subtle wariness about him, like a predator in familiar territory still alert for unseen dangers.

  They waited in silence on a bench outside. Time stretched, marked only by distant hymns and the low hum of energy conduits. Erika's heart beat a little faster, both from the impending Mark and a nagging unease about the unknown procedures.

  After an indeterminate time, the heavy door swung open silently from within.

  The first to emerge were two figures—a guiding Sister in plain vestments with a firm, kindly smile, and beside her, a smaller figure wearing the immaculate, formal robes of a full Sister.

  Erika's breath caught in his throat.

  Anna.

  She looked a little thinner, but the perpetual, trembling terror that used to cloud her face in the wilderness was entirely gone. Her clear eyes shone with an irrepressible, almost feverish light. She spotted Erika on the bench instantly. Her face broke into a radiant smile, her lips parting as if to call out, but her feet remained perfectly planted.

  "Anna," the guiding Sister said softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm. A silent reminder of Sanctum decorum.

  Anna immediately lowered her eyes. Her submission was instant, smooth, and absolute. The seamless obedience sent a strange, discordant ripple through Erika.

  Wolfgang's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Watching Anna and the Sister depart, he muttered, more to himself than to Erika, "A Sister? Seeing the Bishop? Unusual. The Clerical sequence, especially Sisters, typically operate in supported roles within the Auric Circuit's reach... Their duties rarely require specific Marks for direct, confrontational power…"

  His words held a professional puzzlement. Erika, however, couldn't wait. The moment Anna disappeared around the corner, he focused his mind, reaching for the faint, private thread of their Mind-voice connection.

  This time, it wasn't like shouting into a void.

  A clear response rippled in his mind. It was Anna's unique mental signature, vibrating with a startling, almost unnatural zeal:

  "Erika! At the final assessment… the examiners were so merciful. I'm not a novice anymore! I'm a full Sister! I don't have to be assigned to a remote church. I've been chosen to stay at the Sanctum for further studies! Erika, I couldn't have done it without your guidance before!"

  The message was bright, bubbling with genuine joy. The tight knot of fear for her physical safety finally loosened. She was alive. She was safe.

  But listening to her joyful voice, a heavy, suffocating weight settled in Erika's chest.

  Merciful examiners? Further studies?

  She was still the same. Still so fragile, still so desperately willing to believe in the light. After everything they had lost, she had clung to the Sanctum's pristine facade, truly believing she had found a holy haven.

  But Erika couldn't.

  He remembered the cold, staged execution in the wilderness. He remembered the chilling truth Wolfgang had casually dropped in the dark: Demons fighting demons.

  Anna was standing right in the middle of a demon's lair, smiling at the monsters, completely unaware.

  A sudden, terrifying dread gripped him. He wasn't afraid of her changing; he was terrified of what would happen when that brutal truth finally tore away her veil of safety. He was terrified of the day she realized what the Sanctum truly was—or worse, that the truth would bare its fangs at her before he was strong enough to stand between them.

  He had to get stronger. Faster. At any cost.

  "Congratulations…" he sent back.

  He pushed sincere warmth into the thought, burying the cold dread deep inside his bones. As the mental connection faded, he turned his gaze toward the Bishop's heavy door, his eyes hardening into ice.

  The room inside was spacious and solemn, lined with bookshelves, smelling of old parchment and high-grade incense. An elderly man in elaborate bishop's robes sat behind a massive desk, reviewing documents. He looked up at their entrance.

  "Cleric Wolfgang," the Bishop's voice was even, carrying the heavy, practiced authority of long-held power. "What matter requires my authorization?"

  Wolfgang gave a slight, respectful bow. "Your Excellency. I bring this novice to request access to the 'Foundation Energy Current' and a circuit cultivation chamber for the inscription of his Mark."

  The Bishop, about to return to his papers, paused. He looked up, his gaze shifting between Wolfgang and Erika. "A novice's first formal Marking is conducted en masse by the Indoctrination Hall at the appointed time. You know this, Wolfgang. It's more… efficient… for management." He lingered slightly on the word management.

  Then the Bishop's gaze casually swept over Erika's exposed arm.

  His slightly clouded eyes narrowed abruptly. The bored, bureaucratic film over them vanished, replaced by a sharp, naked glint of greed. He leaned forward, squinting to read the unique, primitive-looking Mark etched into Erika's skin.

  After a moment of dead silence, an expression of dawning comprehension—and then sheer, unadulterated opportunism—spread across his wrinkled face.

  "Oh—!" He drew the word out, the heavy air of authority instantly evaporating. He looked at Wolfgang, his tone melting into something distinctly slick and sugary.

  "Wolfgang," the Bishop's voice dropped to a conspiratorial, marveling whisper, "you've… truly found a rare prize this time."

  The dignified wrinkles on the Bishop's face seemed to instantly rearrange themselves into a mask of fawning enthusiasm. He practically scrambled out from behind his massive desk, his previous haughtiness discarded like trash.

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  "Oh, such a trivial matter! Why trouble yourself to come in person, Cleric Wolfgang!" He rubbed his hands together, the dry friction of his palms sounding like sand. His eyes darted feverishly between Erika and Wolfgang before settling on Erika, assessing him not as a human, but as a priceless, highly profitable artifact.

  "The paperwork? Bah, just a formality! Not an issue at all!" he gushed, his smile overly ingratiating, leaning in uncomfortably close to Wolfgang. "I'll see to it immediately! Guaranteed priority access!"

  He lowered his voice further, his tone dripping with the slickness of a merchant eyeing a lucrative monopoly. "What if we use your private cultivation chamber? The energy channeling is top-tier! Leave the authorization to me..." He nudged Wolfgang's arm gently, his eyes crinkling into a knowing, greedy smile. "Haha! Wolfgang, my friend… you understand. In the future, when this... investment yields results... do remember your old colleague here who smoothed the way! Hahaha!"

  The blatant implication, the sudden, cloying familiarity from a man who had just moments ago been lecturing them on protocol, made the air in the room feel thick and suffocatingly dirty.

  Wolfgang remained utterly composed, his expression hardening into cold granite. He shifted slightly, deftly avoiding the Bishop's hand. "My private chamber will suffice," he replied flatly. "Additionally, I request a standard maintenance cycle for its energy circuits and replacement of all micro-guidance rings."

  "Consider it done! Leave it to me!" the Bishop thumped his chest in assurance. "I'll have it arranged right away! You may proceed directly there now!"

  The formalities were completed with surreal speed under the Bishop's extraordinary zeal. Wolfgang said no more, giving the Bishop a slight nod before turning and leading a deeply perplexed Erika out of the room.

  The heavy door closed behind them, muffling the Bishop's distasteful laughter. Walking the empty, quiet corridor, Erika finally dared to whisper, "Instructor, that Bishop… why did he…"

  Before he could finish, Wolfgang, walking ahead, stopped abruptly. He turned his head and spat—a dry, contemptuous sound—onto the polished marble floor. The gesture itself, devoid of actual spittle, conveyed a disgust so potent it was almost physical.

  "Disgusting," Wolfgang ground out, his voice low and icy. He didn't look back, but the tight line of his jaw and the sudden drop in pressure around him spoke volumes of his revulsion at the Bishop's performance.

  He offered no explanation, but the word disgusting, paired with the earlier rare prize and the Bishop's sycophancy, was enough for Erika to understand: His primitive Mark held immense, possibly unique value—enough to make a Bishop debase himself for early investment or future benefits.

  It brought no joy. Only a cold, heavy stone settling in his gut.

  In silence, they returned to Wolfgang's private cultivation chamber, located in a more secluded part of the priory deep within the Sanctum.

  Compared to his last visit, it seemed freshly maintained. The faint odor of ozone from recently activated circuits lingered, and the micro-guidance rings in inconspicuous corners shone with new lustre.

  Wolfgang locked the door behind them, shutting out the world's noise and schemes. He walked to the room's center and turned to face Erika. The earlier disgust had faded from his deep-set eyes, replaced by a pure, task-focused seriousness.

  "Good," he began, his voice returning to its usual flinty tone. "The irrelevant noise has been cleared. Now, focus all your spirit. What comes next is the true first step through the gate of power—inscribing the second Mark. It will belong to you, and it will inevitably bind you."

  The air in Wolfgang's private chamber grew thick, heavy with silence broken only by the low hum of energy flowing between the micro-guidance rings. Erika sat cross-legged in the center of the energy-conducting array, following Wolfgang's instructions, pushing all distractions aside and sinking his awareness inward.

  "Feel your existing Mark," Wolfgang's voice was a steady guide, a lighthouse in the dark. "It is your foundation, your anchor. Use it to sense the energy currents gathering around you. Do not resist. Guide them, like directing streams into a waiting riverbed."

  Erika kept his eyes closed, obeying. He first felt the presence of the primitive Mark on his left arm. It pulsed like a sleeping heart, slow and potent, emitting an ancient, faint light. Next, he perceived the change in the chamber—countless hair-thin strands of golden energy seeping from the micro-rings in the walls, floor, and ceiling. They drifted toward him like attracted fireflies.

  At first, these energy streams felt chaotic, brushing against his skin with a faint, prickling resistance. Remembering Wolfgang's warning, Erika didn't force them. He relaxed his body and mind, using his intent to gently "stroke" the primitive Mark on his arm.

  Something wondrous happened.

  The primitive Mark seemed to awaken, its pulse quickening slightly, emitting a unique pull. The once-disorderly energy streams, like soldiers finding their commander, began to align. They swirled around Erika, coalescing into docile, golden rivulets that seeped through his skin and into his body.

  The initial sensation was one of strange fullness, like parched earth soaking up rain. But it was fleeting. The energy was swiftly absorbed, filtered by the primitive Mark, then flowed into his limbs and core in a purer, more manageable form.

  "Now," Wolfgang's voice came at the perfect moment, "visualize the form your power should take. A shield for protection? A blade for sharpness? An eye for insight? Pour your will, your understanding of power, into the energy. Form the embryo of the circuit at your chosen location—usually the other arm."

  Erika had already decided. He needed power not for glorious battle, but to pierce through deception, to grasp hope, to sever the chains binding Anna. His will was firm and pure—to see through falsehood, to perceive clearly, a sharpness underlying protection.

  He drove this fierce intent like a blacksmith's hammer into the refined energy gathering and flowing within the meridians of his right arm.

  Boom.

  A silent thunderclap roared in his mind. It wasn't just searing heat; it was as if boiling, liquid glass had been injected directly into his veins. The golden energy, driven by his fierce intent, suddenly turned feral. It violently tore through the meridians of his right arm, carving a new, brutal path through his flesh.

  Erika's entire body convulsed. A strangled gasp escaped his throat.

  His muscles spasmed violently, threatening to tear themselves apart under the sheer, unnatural pressure. But they didn't. The days of agonizing, lung-burning runs, the endless grinding of his physical limits—it all suddenly made terrifying sense. His body had been brutally tempered for exactly this moment, forged into a vessel just tough enough not to shatter.

  Sweat drenched his back in seconds. He gritted his teeth until he tasted blood. He could "see" it—a complex, shimmering geometric pattern of pure energy slowly being scorched into his right arm.

  "Hold it," Wolfgang's voice sliced through the haze of agony. It was cold, clinical, utterly devoid of sympathy.

  A heavy hand clamped down on Erika's shoulder. A terrifying, icy pressure instantly flooded his system from Wolfgang's grip, forcefully suppressing the rampaging golden energy, pinning it down like a butcher holding a struggling animal to the block.

  "Do not fight the mold," Wolfgang commanded, his tone low and absolute. "Let it burn into you."

  Erika's mental strength drained at a terrifying rate. The pain was absolute, but with Wolfgang's iron grip acting as a brutal stabilizer, and the primitive Mark on his left arm anchoring his core, he endured the agonizing branding.

  Finally, as the last energy node seared itself into his flesh, the entire pattern contracted sharply and stabilized.

  The blinding light receded. The excruciating pain faded into a deep, throbbing ache, replaced by a new, intimately terrifying sense of connection. Erika slumped forward, panting heavily, his vision blurring. He slowly looked down at his right arm. There, beneath his sweat-slicked skin, a new Mark had formed, emitting a sharp, golden glow.

  Dual Marks.

  A strange wave of power filled him—yet at its very center was a deeper, unnatural void. Every cell in his body screamed for more energy to fill this newborn, starving emptiness. Instinctively, with a flicker of feral greed in his eyes, he reached out for the remaining ambient energy in the chamber.

  "Stop."

  Wolfgang's voice was a bucket of ice water. The grip on Erika's shoulder tightened painfully, instantly severing his connection to the room's energy.

  "Don't be impatient," Wolfgang said, his gaze examining the new Mark with the detached satisfaction of an engineer inspecting a newly weaponized machine. "A newly formed Mark is like a freshly forged blade. Blind gorging will rupture your channels."

  He traced a finger lightly near the edge of the new Mark.

  "The consolidation was... remarkably smooth," Wolfgang stated, his voice flat, completely omitting the brutal reality of what had just been grafted onto Erika's soul. He gave a slight, satisfied nod.

  He clapped Erika on the shoulder, his tone carrying the unmistakable, chilling anticipation of a handler about to unleash his hound.

  "Excellent. This means… in a couple of days, you'll be ready for use."