We spend the rest of the morning in the pantry, a small pocket of warmth and civilization in the vast, silent tomb. It's a fragile peace, but we cling to it. We eat more. We talk. Not about the attack, or the future, or the horrifying new reality of my powers. We talk about small, stupid things. Flynn complains about the fact that the coffee has no milk. Amelia tells us a long, complicated story about a legendary exorcist who once supposedly fought a Gloom Dweller for three straight days using only a silver spork. I mostly just listen, letting the sound of their voices wash over me.
It feels normal. Almost.
It's a lie, of course. A flimsy curtain hung over a backdrop of horror. But we're all willing to pretend, for a little while longer, that the curtain is real.
Eventually, Amelia's scholarly curiosity, or perhaps her sense of duty, wins out over the comfort of the pantry. "We need to talk to the Classmaster," she says, her expression turning serious again. "We need to make a plan."
Flynn groans, but he doesn't argue. He knows she's right. "Yeah, okay. But I'm taking some of this cheese with me."
We gather a small, portable feast—bread, cheese, a few handfuls of grapes—and head back to the main chamber. The others are there, huddled in small, nervous groups. Their gazes follow us as we enter, and the familiar wave of suspicion washes over me. They see me walking with the 'golden' children, and I can see the thoughts brewing behind their eyes. The monster, ingratiating himself with the powerful.
Whatever they thought of Amelia and Flynn associating with me before, they could only magnify that now.
Thomson is still at the central table, surrounded by a small mountain of scrolls. The glyph is nowhere in sight. He looks up as we approach, his expression unreadable.
"You've found the pantry," he says. It's not a question.
"It's well-stocked," Flynn says, holding up the cheese.
"Good. You will need your strength." Thomson's gaze drifts over us, and it lingers on me for a moment. "Amelia. You were in the library. Did you find anything?"
Her spine straightens, and the professional scholar takes over. "A great deal, sir. The archive is... incredible. But regarding the glyph or the possibility of a Tainted Blood wielding the Gloom... nothing conclusive." She looks hesitant for a moment, then continues. "There are... fragments, sir. Whispers. Heretical texts that speak of 'Shadow-Blessed' or 'Gloom-Kissed' exorcists from the First Age. But they're all dismissed as propaganda or myth. There's no solid information."
"Gloom-Kissed," I murmur, the phrase leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
Thomson nods slowly, as if this confirms something he already suspected. "And the humanoid? The one from the island? Any mention of his kind?"
Amelia shakes her head. "Nothing, sir. The bestiaries all describe the Nobles as bestial, animalistic in form. No mention of humanoids with... violet hair."
"And that's the biggest problem," Thomson says, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. "We're fighting an enemy we don't understand, using knowledge that is now obsolete." He looks at the three of us, his gaze heavy with the burden of command. "But we cannot afford to be passive. We cannot simply hide in this tomb and wait to be found. We must become proactive. We must gather intelligence. We must understand our new enemy."
He gestures to the scattered scrolls. "This is our new curriculum. In the daytime, we must risk the outside world for supplies, for remnants of The Order who survived but haven't found us, and perhaps for some kind of answers." He says it so matter-of-factly it sends a chill down my spine.
Go outside?
Into the world that has been so thoroughly changed?
But then...
He's right. There's nothing here but food and books. And the books...
"...What are we looking for?" I ask, my voice quiet.
Thomson's eyes meet mine. "If I knew that answer, I'd have you all stay safely in here and search for it alone."
He pauses, looking at Flynn. "We need a supply run. We need fresh water. The well in this place is likely long since dried up." He then turns to Amelia. "And we need to know if any other sanctuaries are still active. The records of the network are spread out, encoded within personal journals and historical texts." He then turns to me.
And I know what he's going to say before he even says it.
"And we need you to practice your command of The Gloom." Thomson's tone leaves no room for argument. "It is the only weapon we have that they will not expect. You are, for better or worse, our greatest asset."
The words hang in the air. Greatest asset. I've spent my entire life being told I'm the Order's greatest liability. The Tainted Blood. The failure. Now, I'm their best hope. The irony is so thick I could choke on it.
A murmur ripples through the other students. They hear it too. They see the Classmaster looking at me, entrusting me with a task that should be theirs. Fear gives way to resentment. Thomas's face is a thundercloud of anger. He looks like he's about to say something, but Thomson shoots him a look that is pure ice. The boy swallows whatever protest was on his tongue.
"It will be dangerous," Thomson continues, his gaze sweeping over the entire small group of us. "You cannot trust that the Gloom Dwellers you encounter shall follow the rules you've been taught. They may attack in lesser gloom, perhaps even daylight. They may be more intelligent, following tactics, or even...humanoid." He says the word like it's a curse. "You have all been promoted to Full Exorcist. In this new world, there are no other ranks. There is only those who survive, and those who are consumed."
He lets that sink in. Then, he turns back to the three of us. "I know not what path of damnation you walk, Caden, but it is a path you must. You must practice. You must test the limits of your power. Defend those around you from the Gloom Dwellers, test your control on it. There is no training for the likes of you."
I can't help but think 'no training' is just a nicer way of saying 'no hope'.