On the third day of the Easter holiday, the rain finally stopped.
It was a rare spring day in Brighton, one where you could actually see the sun.
Richard had been sitting in his room since early in the morning.
Spread across the center of his desk were the rubbing copies of the twelve sets of inscriptions from the Boundary Stones.
[Erudite] imprinted all twelve sets of inscriptions in his mind, capturing every chisel mark’s depth and every moss-eaten edge with millimeter precision.
But [Erudite] merely prepared the materials.
The ability that could truly read something new from them was [Rationality].
Since [Rationality] had been activated, it had evolved from the initial sensation of a "sidelight revealing every bump and hollow" into a second pair of eyes—a pair specifically for finding fault.
Richard spread out the beginnings of an independent interpretation draft on a piece of scratch paper.
He had already finished the first through sixth sets.
His aunt called him about once a month to hear his progress report and offer small hints when necessary.
But she never overstepped her bounds. "This is your own evidentiary text. Every extra word I say is like snatching the pen from your hand."
Richard laid the rubbing copies for the seventh through twelfth sets on his desk.
The seventh set was "Covenant," the eighth was "Witness," and the ninth was "Banishment." The tenth through twelfth sets formed a sequence: "Rest," "Wait," and "Return."
At the very end of the twelfth set was a strange symbol: three arcs and three dots originating from a common center.
According to the annotations of traditional Epigraphy, this symbol was the trigger structure for "Return."
Richard had already read about this in the materials his aunt sent, even before he had used [Rationality] to deconstruct this set.
All Boundary Stone Arrays of this three-part "Banishment → Rest → Return" structure left such a trigger in the final set.
It wasn’t much of a secret.
The one who was sealed could not be destroyed, only banished.
According to the rules of Duality, if you wrote "Banishment," you had to leave a door on the other side that could, in theory, be used to return.
The door was there, but it was extremely difficult to open.
To activate the three-arc, three-dot concentric circle, several nearly impossible conditions had to be met simultaneously.
Richard stared at that line of commentary.
The Curtain is thinning.
Old weak points were loosening one after another, and the deterioration of the Seals was accelerating year by year.
Mr. Hutton had drawn a diagram of the Highland Seal network that night at Whitcomb and had said himself that in twenty to thirty years, there would be a multi-node cascade failure.
’So, the decay of the "Banishment" Inscription below a certain threshold—something that was "nearly impossible" centuries ago. In the present day, and in the next twenty to thirty years, isn’t that slowly becoming "not so impossible"?’
The ancients wrote "posterity need not worry" because the Curtain was still thick in their era, and that door was welded shut.
But the ancients didn’t live to see the day the Curtain thinned.
This was where he could make his mark.
Mr. Hutton had said it was normal for Scholars of different eras and Tiers to interpret the same set of inscriptions differently.
This was innovation, a part of how tradition continued.
Richard dipped his fountain pen in ink and wrote down his thesis.
He thought of the Celtic priestly rule that "a true name can only be written, not spoken."
Written down, it had two aspects: it was a lock. Spoken aloud, it was a summons.
’So, this "Return" is itself a Curse Spell waiting to be activated in the direction of a "summons."’
’What if, during the annual reinforcement, a procedure was added that worked in the opposite direction?’
’Don’t dismantle it, and don’t weld it shut.’
’Forcibly welding a door of this level might, on the contrary, provoke the one inside to struggle desperately.’
’Follow the rules of Duality. For the "Return" set, preemptively recite a reverse counterpart text.’
’Use up that pending "Return" in advance, solidifying it from an unresolved door into another "Rest."’
Setting down his pen, Richard read the draft from beginning to end.
’Isn’t this what a signed evidentiary work in the Scholar path is all about?’
’To stand in one’s own era and clearly fill in the blank that the ancients never had a chance to look at twice.’
...
On the fourth day of the Easter holiday, Mr. Hutton sent someone to deliver a large envelope to Richard.
The envelope was sealed with the wax seal of the Classical Society North District Office. Inside was a sixteen-page application form for a summer workshop.
Richard spread the form out on his desk.
The application was long, with each page having its own detailed instructions.
The first page was for basic information: Name, date of birth, place of origin, current school, class, guardian.
Richard filled it out quickly.
The second page was where it got more particular.
"Family background and internship experience should be described in as much detail as possible."
Richard stared at that line of text for a moment.
’At the application stage, sticking to the Newcomer’s custom of "keeping a low profile" would be a huge mistake.’
The nib of his fountain pen touched the paper.
"Family Background:
Maternal Grandfather: Lord Gerald Ashford.
Aunt: Isabella Ashford, Associate Professor in the Classics Department at Imperial University."
"Social Experience:
October 1912, New Calendar. Began studying Spiritual Vision and Divination under the recommendation of Mr. William Bigelow, a student of Lady Mary Viktorova.
December 1912, New Calendar. Participated in a winter internship at Whitcombe Mill in the North.
Assisted Mrs. MacNeil in completing the sealing ritual for ’She Who Eats Shadows.’
February 1913, New Calendar. Participated in the spring Seal reinforcement mission at the ’Unyielding Pit’ in the Brighton West Suburban Mine.
Served as a Trainee Inspector for observation, and subsequently completed the Reforging of the core area Seal with Professor Mortimer (tenured professor, Imperial University)."
"Writing Experience:
September 1912, New Calendar. Second place in the Cicero Cup (awarding body: the Classical Society).
February 1913, New Calendar. Published the essay ’An Ordinary Winter’s Day’ in the ’Young Pens’ column of the seventy-sixth issue of the *Northern Literature Review*."
Having written this much, Richard stopped and leaned back in his chair.
He had filled out most of the sixteen-page form.
Family, academia, social experience, writing... Section after section was laid out, and behind every line stood a person.
His grandfather, his aunt, Mr. Hutton, Mrs. MacNeil, Lady Mary, Professor Mortimer... This stack of names on the table felt heavy.
’Just over half a year ago, I was just some sickly guy with grades at the bottom of the class.’
Now, filling out an application for a summer workshop, he could fill every section.
And because it was so full, he suddenly thought of Lillian.
She had the foundation. In terms of inspiration and basic academic ability, Mr. Hutton had once said she was no worse than Richard.
But if she were to spread out this same sixteen-page form...
’What would she write in the "Family Background" section?’
’What would she write in the "Social Experience" section?’
It would just be one blank section after another.
She probably couldn’t find a single name on this form to speak for her; at most, she might fill in Mr. Hutton’s name.
Just as Richard was about to finish the application, he heard his Mother call him from downstairs.
"Richard!"
"What is it, Mom?"
"Come down and take a look in the yard."
Richard put down his fountain pen.
His mother wasn’t one for theatrics. If she was telling him to come look, it was probably something she couldn’t easily explain.
Richard went to the window and looked down.
Outside the courtyard gate, near the base of the neighbor’s wooden fence, a small, light-brown fawn was pacing in circles.
Its coat was clean, its antlers were very short, and a blade of sparrow-pecked grass hung from the side of its mouth.
It walked back and forth in circles along the short lane.
After completing a circle, it would stop and snort.
Then it would start walking in circles all over again.
Richard understood at once.
The fawn’s outline became a little clearer in his Spiritual Vision.
The "feedback line" connecting its neck to Hecate was pulled taut.
Taut meant the Messenger had reached the target area but couldn’t find its target.
Richard raised a hand to his chest.
Two items hung from a leather cord, two layers of Disguise that he always wore stacked on his chest.
The two layers combined to conceal him so thoroughly that not even a Spirit Realm Messenger could find him.
’This little fawn has probably been wandering around Waste Rock Lane for who knows how long.’
It had followed Hecate’s "target area" all the way to Waste Rock Lane.
But it just couldn’t find the "target," so it could only walk in circles within that general vicinity.
Richard hurried downstairs and walked to a corner of the yard.
The fawn stopped, its frustration palpable.
Its large, clear eyes stared daggers at him.
There was grievance, impatience, and a hint of resentment that screamed, ’Where the hell have you been?’
Richard silently apologized in his heart. He bent down and was just about to reach out...
The fawn lowered its head, its antlers ramming straight toward him.
The force wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t light either.
Richard was knocked onto his butt, landing on a damp patch of grass in the yard.
The fawn snorted, shook out a folded letter, and leaped over the courtyard wall without a backward glance.
Its form quickly dissolved into a mist and returned to the Spirit Realm.
Richard sat there on the damp patch of grass.
His mother, Margaret, was standing in the doorway of the living room and glanced in his direction.
She didn’t say anything, just smiled with pursed lips.
Evelyn peeked her head out of the house.
"Brother, why are you sitting on the ground?"
"...I slipped."
Richard picked up the letter.
He patted the damp spot on his trousers, went back to his room, and unfolded the letter.
Hecate’s handwriting was more hurried than last time.
"To Hermes..."
"We will meet again on the night of April twelfth. Please be punctual."
"Also: a newcomer will be joining this time."
"Specifics to be discussed upon arrival."

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