CHAPTER 173: EERIE DOPPELGANGER

Noirette’s steps faltered for the briefest moment, her gaze locked on the figure ahead amid the moonlit throng.

The doppelganger stood motionless, a flawless reflection bathed in the lantern’s pallid glow. It was as if the night had exhaled a shadow of herself, poised in eerie stillness.

Yet, Noirette’s voice emerged casual, almost conversational, as if commenting on a passing vendor’s wares. "Blanchette, I am seeing my own doppelganger right in front of us."

Blanchette followed her line of sight, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly under the iridescent brim of her white hat, where droplets of cool, honey-like essence continued their lazy descent, evaporating into faint mists before touching the ground.

She tilted her head, scanning the space where Noirette pointed. "Is it standing still?"

Noirette nodded, her expression unchanging, though a flicker of unease stirred beneath her composure. "Yes, completely motionless. It has not moved since I noticed it."

Blanchette’s wide smile remained, but her tone carried a thread of analytical curiosity, her pale fingers absently adjusting the brim of her hat. "I see nothing there at all. This may involve some sort of powerful and unique skill, perhaps akin to the illusions cast by the abyssals of the Hollow Aequor.

"Regardless, it confirms the rumor we heard from the Void Hunter. All you need to do is never interact with it, at any cost."

Noirette exhaled slowly, forcing a lightness into her shoulders as she tore her gaze away.

The doppelganger lingered in her periphery, a silent ghost amid the flow of pedestrians, but she refused to acknowledge it further.

"Well, I’ll try my best, I guess."

With that, they resumed their tour of Yelmen bastion, weaving through the nocturnal districts with the unhurried grace of sightseers unburdened by haste.

The moon’s silvered vigil cast a dreamlike haze over the avenues, where lanterns of etched crystal hung from wrought-iron posts, their flames dancing in hues of sapphire and amber.

They paused at a cluster of food stalls nestled against a vine-choked wall, the air thick with the sizzle of skewers and the tangy bite of fermented spices.

A vendor, his face weathered like old leather and his apron stained with the day’s labors, offered them skewers threaded with glistening morsels of what appeared to be rift-caught fish, glazed in a sauce that shimmered like liquid moonlight.

"On the house for the court’s honored," he insisted with a bow, his eyes flicking respectfully to their hats.

Noirette accepted with a nod of thanks, biting into the tender flesh—it burst with a savory brine tempered by hints of citrus rind and smoked herbs, a flavor profile that evoked distant seas she had never sailed.

Blanchette savored hers more deliberately, her wide smile undimmed as she licked a stray droplet of sauce from her lips. "This rivals the finest in the Resilient Mother’s markets."

"I hate that I can’t get these foods to Vaingall."

"Stop being such a homesick husband, your wives are not that weak."

"But I’m weak."

"Right, said the person who proclaimed to be determined in the headless gallery out of sheer pettiness."

They meandered onward, the market unfolding like a labyrinth of delights under the perpetual night.

Stalls brimmed with curios that caught the lunar glow—vials of swirling nebulae captured in glass, pendants carved from distortion-frozen bone that whispered faint wonder when held to the ear, and bolts of fabric woven from spider-silk threads that shifted patterns with the viewer’s mood—calming blues for the weary, vibrant crimsons for the bold.

Or so they proclaimed, but all Noirette could see was purple.

Noirette bartered idly for a small trinket—a ring etched with lunar runes that promised to sharpen the wearer’s night vision—though her thoughts drifted occasionally to the periphery, where the doppelganger mirrored her every turn, a ghost trailing at the edge of sight.

In the end, she didn’t acquire the Curio Item, but she already analyzed the trinket to mimic its effect one way or another through manipulating her own Malleable Essence.

"This is getting annoying..."

The escalation came subtly at first, woven into the fabric of their idle wanderings.

As they haggled over a magic map, the doppelganger edged closer, its voice emerging in an uncanny echo of Noirette’s own timbre—smooth, laced with the same wry undertone.

"What is the worth of such faded lines? The paths shift before ink dries."

Noirette’s jaw tightened—she felt the words brush against her ear like a chill draft, yet she turned her back resolutely, engaging Blanchette in a murmured discussion of the map’s inaccuracies as if the intrusion had never occurred.

Undeterred, the doppelganger persisted, its presence growing bolder.

At a fountain where water arced in crystalline jets under the moon’s gaze, it interjected mid-sentence as Blanchette admired a submerged mosaic of celestial beasts.

"The currents here hide more than reflections—shall we plunge deeper?"

Blanchette’s eyes flicked sidelong, seeing only empty space, but Noirette’s pulse quickened—the figure’s head hovered at her shoulder now, its form overlapping the fountain’s edge like a superimposed shadow.

The willpower needed to totally ignore this mischievous being was extreme, especially since Noirette was close to her humanity more in her current form than she was in her original vessel.

The climax arrived in a shadowed alcove off the main thoroughfare, where they paused to sample honeyed pastries from a moonlit patisserie.

The doppelganger leaned in abruptly, its face thrusting forward to occupy the same space as Noirette’s, horns brushing invisibly against her own in a violation of boundaries that sent a shiver down her spine.

Its eyes—her eyes—locked onto hers with a cold, eerie stare, vacant yet probing, as if peering into the hollow core she guarded so fiercely.

The pastry turned to ash in her mouth, the sweetness curdling under the weight of that unblinking regard.

Blanchette noticed the shift immediately, her hand steadying Noirette’s arm. "It is time to leave."

"Yeah, I feel the same..."

Noirette nodded, the decision crystallizing like frost on glass.

They retraced their steps through the moon-domed expanse, the bastion’s nocturnal charms now overshadowed by the relentless pursuit at their heels.

The doppelganger shadowed them without falter, its attempts to insert itself into conversations—questioning their tastes, mirroring their gestures with mechanical precision—growing frantic at the edges of perception.

Blanchette walked with unwavering calm, her hat’s droplets falling in rhythmic defiance, but Noirette felt the strain coiling in her chest, a quiet erosion of resolve.

They emerged through the iron gates into the Resilient Mother’s familiar clamor, the daylit plateau a jarring return after Yelmen’s eternal twilight.

The guards at the post offered a knowing nod, but the doppelganger followed still, slipping across the threshold like smoke through a sieve.

Noirette’s breath hitched, a tear tracing an unbidden path down her cheek—fear’s silver thread dragged, as she quickly dashed away with a forced smile that masked the misery.

Blanchette glanced sidelong, her expression softening imperceptibly.

"Did you encounter a doppelganger in Yelmen as well?" Noirette asked as she was on the verge of crying.

Blanchette shook her head, her wide smile returning like a shield. "I do not get haunted by such things."

"Lucky you, I hope you get haunted."

"Oy, I know that misery wants companionship, but don’t say it that bluntly!"

Exhaustion crept in, a weariness born not of physical toll but of the relentless mirroring, as if her very self was being diluted in the echo.

Yet, as they delved deeper into the bastion’s heart—the aggression waned.

The figure’s movements slowed, its stares losing their piercing edge, until, in the shadow of a rune-lit archway, it simply... faded.

Until eventually, the doppelganger haunted no more.

Noirette halted, her shoulders sagging as a heavy sigh escaped her lips—relief flooding in like cool water over parched earth.

She spotted a street vendor hawking skewered delights glazed in sweet-spiced reductions, the aroma a balm to her frayed nerves.

The vendor, upon glimpsing her hat, thrust a skewer forward with a deferential bow. "For the court’s wisdom, freely given."

Noirette accepted it gratefully, sinking her teeth into the warm, caramelized morsels, the flavors grounding her in the moment’s simplicity.

At this point, both Noirette and Blanchette had been known by the locals as a famous foodie.

And while it might look like a demerit in income to feed these two freebies all the time, Noirette was quite expressive when it comes to tasting.

The vendors and restaurant owner simply used that reaction as marketing, especially with how beautiful and charismatic Noirette looked at glance.

And it started to slowly become an indication of which place had the best food, just by reading Noirette’s reaction when feasting.

Blanchette watched her with a gentle tilt of her head. "What was it like, being haunted by your own doppelganger?"

Noirette chewed thoughtfully, a tired smile curving her lips as she wiped a stray glaze from her chin. "It felt annoying, more than anything else. Like an unwelcome shadow that refused to learn its place."

The encounter solidified their resolve.

Yelmen, with its moonlit enigmas and holographic wonders, held no further allure. They retreated to their modest quarters in the Mage Court’s wing—and prepared for departure.

Noirette shouldered her backpack, its leather straps creaking under the weight—the Athena Marker tucked securely in a padded slot, the unlimited ink pen clipped to a loop, and her two ongoing project books nestled at the core, their pages alive with half-formed hypotheses on digitalization and its veiled architects.

Blanchette mirrored her, her own satchel lighter, containing similar tools and a few pilfered tomes from the Grand Archive.

Dawn’s pallor crept over the plateau as they approached the Resilient Mother’s northern egress, the air crisp with the scent of dew-kissed earth and distant rifts.

Their path toward north called—a whisper of glitches stronger in that direction.

Yet, at the threshold, a figure awaited—the Holy Guardian Dorose, her slender form silhouetted against the rising light, blond bob framing a face of serene authority.

Her modified butler outfit and cape, adorned with chained holy crosses that gleamed like captured stars, seemed almost mundane in the morning haze—until she turned, her presence crashing over them like a tidal wave of sanctified pressure.

Noirette’s stomach knotted, an immense dread coiling tight—the lore she had gleaned from the Archive painted Dorose not as guardian, but as fallen seraph, her power a chasm that had once rent seas and rewoven sundered flesh.

Blanchette, for all her unflappable poise, tensed beside her, the droplets from her hat falling a fraction faster.

Dorose’s hand rose, tapping Noirette’s shoulder with a touch that hummed through her bones—gentle, yet laced with the echo of divine thunder.

"Before you depart," Dorose said, her voice a melody of quiet command, while her smile’s warm mimic that of a hearthlight, "follow me for a brief talk. There is wisdom to share, and a task that suits your steps."

The dread lingered, a shadow in Noirette’s chest, but refusal felt as futile as defying gravity.

They trailed her back through the bastion’s winding arteries, the inhabitants parting like waters before her passage.

Dorose led them to the Mage Court’s headquarters.

She ushered them into a rentable workshop, a heavy oak table dominated the center, flanked by stools that molded to the sitter’s form upon contact.

Dorose gestured for them to sit, her cape settling like a cascade of midnight silk.

As they complied, she leaned against the table, her expression shifting to one of intrigued appraisal. "I have read your project on the digitalization of Fathomi, Noirette. It feels remarkably complete for a research begun by a new inductee—stirring a brand new topic to uncover, with insights that border on revelation."

Noirette’s throat tightened, pressure mounting like an unseen hand on her chest.

The Archive’s vastness had seemed a sanctuary, her words a private unraveling—now, exposed under Dorose’s gaze, she wondered if this scrutiny was omen or opportunity.

She managed a wry smile, her voice steady despite the knot. "Is that a concern, coming from the Holy Guardian herself?"

Dorose’s smile widened, a curve that held both warmth and the glint of ancient secrets. "Far from it. You are not the only one who sees the glitches threading through Fathomi’s weave."

The words landed like a stone in still water, ripples of surprise widening Noirette’s eyes. Blanchette’s composure cracked fractionally as well, her crimson gaze sharpening.

Noirette leaned forward, the question tumbling out. "Is there another Shallow One you know of?"

"Of course." Dorose’s affirmation was a gentle nod, her chained crosses chiming softly. "There is one such soul I know, afflicted by the same glitches you describe in your project—ripples and blocks that mock the organic pulse of our world.

"In fact, I wish for you and Blanchette to meet this individual and deliver a vital piece of information on my behalf."

Noirette’s mind raced, piecing the implications amid the workshop’s hum. "Why entrust us with this, rather than conveying it directly?"

Dorose’s expression turned contemplative, her fingers tracing an idle pattern on the table’s edge. "Because I do not know his current whereabouts—Fathomi’s fractures scatter the lost like leaves in a gale, as always. My duties bind me here as Holy Guardian, safeguarding the Resilient Mother’s peace, attending the ceaseless tide of political meetings that steer our course.

"You two, unbound by such anchors, may cross paths where I cannot."

Noirette glanced at Blanchette, whose serene features betrayed no reluctance—her wide smile was always a quiet endorsement.

Emboldened, Noirette met Dorose’s gaze. "I will deliver your message, in exchange for answers to my questions, given truthfully."

Dorose’s smirk held a spark of amusement, her eyes gleaming like polished amber. "I will answer if I deem the question proper."

Noirette drew a steadying breath, the words forming with deliberate weight.

"Are you a Fateling?"