Esoteric Club | ARCANA-U

The night already felt as though it should have been over. They had been waiting for Roger for nearly twenty minutes, yet there was still no sign of him.

It wasn't as though they were in a hurry, but they still didn't fully understand how time passed between the shared dreams and reality. It had taken them three shared dreams to understand the ritual. By the fifth, they were already experimenting with offerings that actually mattered.

“Oh, look! That's the crow that looks like you, Mike!” Gabriel pointed toward the top of one of the cemetery's grim trees. The bird was large enough to be seen clearly from where the four of them sat on the steps of a mausoleum.

Michael simply rolled his eyes. He didn't even bother looking where his brother was pointing. Instead, he turned to his right, where Célestin was sitting. “What did you bring as an offering?”

Célestin reached into his pocket and held something out. “A relic...” He let a beautiful seashell-shaped locket dangle between his fingers. “Pure gold.”

Michael looked genuinely impressed. He took the locket and opened it, only to find no photograph inside. It gleamed brightly, but it was empty.

“Mine's supposed to be bronze.” Federico joined the conversation, holding up a medal.

“Hang on, hang on...” Gabriel leaned closer to the other three, wearing that crooked smile and half-lidded look he always got whenever he was about to be insufferably amusing.

It rarely amused any of them, but Gabriel was used to that. In fact, it was precisely why he did it.

“Federico Narváez, ARCANA's fencing star... carrying something less than gold?” Gabriel shook his head with a quiet laugh, leaning back against the step behind him. “Colour me surprised.” He raised both hands, palms out.

“Shut your bloody mouth, Gabe.” Michael elbowed him hard enough to nearly make him sit upright.

Federico actually laughed this time. “It was from my first competition,” he explained. “The Legionario accepts things with emotional value too, right? So... HOSTIA PUTA, WHAT THE HELL DID YOU BRING?!”

He didn't even get to explain that it was the only competition his parents had ever attended. His attention snapped immediately to the bag containing a dead squirrel that Gabriel had just pulled from inside his coat.

Célestin looked moments away from gagging, and Gabriel deliberately held the bag closer just to torment him. Michael promptly smacked his hand away.

“In my defence, the squirrel was already dead when I found it,” Gabriel announced solemnly, as if that improved the situation.

Federico stared at the squirrel with concern, then looked at Gabriel. “I've never seen squirrels on campus...”

“And I never said I found it there.” Gabriel tilted his head with a grin, lifting the bag higher and waving it like a flag.

At this point, Célestin looked noticeably paler.

“Then how did you—”

“Don't ask, Fede.” Michael wasn't even paying attention anymore. He sat hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees.

He seemed oddly entertained by turning a deflated football over in his hands. Several of the hexagons had been coloured with fluorescent marker. Where the brand logo should have been were messy blue pen scribbles, and just above them were Michael's initials.

“I didn't know you liked football...” Célestin said, trying very hard to focus on anything other than the squirrel corpse.

“He's never exactly been honest about it, but don't let the useless nerd act fool you, Cherub. Sometimes he's actually decent at things.” Gabriel finally seemed to take pity on his companion and put the squirrel away before continuing. “Besides, our mum gave him that ball.”

Célestin opened his mouth to ask another question, but—

AAAAAHHHH!

A scream echoed somewhere in the distance.

Everyone turned toward the direction it seemed to come from.

The altar.

Of all of them, Célestin was the first to stand, taking several steps toward the sound as he tried to hear something beyond the crunch of branches beneath his feet.

“Hey... now that I think about it...” Federico rose as well, visibly uneasy. “Could nightmares get mixed up with these dreams?”

Michael looked concerned.

Gabriel merely shrugged.

“I think we should go check what that was…” Célestin added without turning around.

“But... what about Roger?” Michael finally stood, followed by Gabriel and Federico as they joined Célestin. “He still hasn't shown up.”

“And what if that's why he hasn't met us?” Célestin glanced over his shoulder.

A second later, all four were hurrying toward the altar.

When they arrived, none of them truly knew how to react.

The solemn stone altar still stood at the centre of the cemetery. The circular slab carved with Mexica symbols and the gliding Huitzil glyph, symbol of the Legionario, seemed to repel the perpetual fog that always shrouded the place during the shared dreams.

But that wasn't what shocked them.

What shocked them was Roger.

His body lay atop the offering altar, eyes fixed on nothing. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and still. The source was obvious: an arrow with iridescent hummingbird feathers had pierced him directly through the navel.

Gabriel was the first to approach. He checked for a pulse, though it was almost unnecessary. “Christ... I think he's been dead for at least ten minutes.”

“FUCK...” Michael kicked one of the nearby graves.

“MOTHER OF—” He kicked it again.

And again.

When Gabriel moved to stop him, Michael shoved him away. “AND WHAT THE HELL ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO NOW?!”

Federico remained frozen in shock, yet somehow he was the only one who noticed another presence. “C-Célestin...” His trembling hand pointed toward the edge of the clearing. “Isn't that your... step-cousin?”

Célestin's eyes widened… It was.

“Merde.”

He rushed toward her. “{{user}}?” There was no response, only the unsettling realization that she appeared trapped in some kind of trance, shock, or catatonic state.

While Michael and Gabriel continued arguing, Federico cautiously approached the altar. He stepped around the blood and climbed onto the stone platform.

The arrow had indeed pierced Roger's navel, but that wasn't all.

After the previous dream, all of them had developed the Huitzil mark. Federico's sat beneath his left pectoral. Roger's was directly beneath the arrow wound. And worse still… The body's extremities were beginning to turn into ash. “Er... Guys?” Federico pointed toward Roger's incomplete arm.

The twins approached immediately.

Michael still looked moments away from strangling someone to keep himself from collapsing.

Gabriel looked like his brain was operating at impossible speed. “The Legionario is accepting him as an offering.”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! OH GOD, WE'RE FUCKED! AND WHO THE HELL IS THAT?!” Michael pointed at {{user}} with one hand while nearly tearing at his hair with the other, eyeglasses askew.

“Célestin's step-cousin.” Gabriel's tone made Federico shiver, it sounded like he'd just had a revelation. Without another word, Gabriel grabbed the remaining two and dragged them toward the altar. Célestin protested, but the situation had long since surpassed any of their ability to control it.

“We're finishing this.” He forced them into a circle and made them join hands. “Temiquiztli!”

“We're actually continuing the ritual?” Federico asked, panic creeping into his voice, but none of them let go anyway.

Gabriel repeated the name four more times.

Returning to reality was chaos as well.

The moment they realized they were awake, all four scrambled from their beds and headed straight for Roger's room.

By the time they arrived, they nearly got stuck in the doorway. Curiously, it was already open, but no one was inside.

“Joder...” Federico muttered. “Roger didn't have a roommate, did he?”

The answer was obvious, there wasn't another bed. Of the group, only Roger and Célestin had single rooms. The twins shared one, while Federico's roommate had won some archaeology competition and was currently somewhere doing something nobody could quite explain.

“Right, so...” Gabriel picked up a notebook resting on the empty bed. When he opened it, he found a note behind a torn page.

No la mireu com nosaltres la vam mirar.

His Catalan was rusty, but he managed. “Don't look at her the way we looked at her?” Gabriel meditated the words for a few seconds, but it wasn't him who got the clue.

“{{user}}.” Célestin immediately focused on her again and bolted from the room.

The others followed.

“What does your cousin have to do with any of this?!” Michael demanded. He sounded furious, which wasn't unusual enough for anyone to bother calming him down.

“I'd like to know that too, Mike.”

Célestin stopped in one of the academy's dark corridors. A carved wooden statue of the Archangel Raphael was mounted against the stone wall. Célestin grabbed the fish on the saint's hand and rotated it upward.

A mechanism clicked and he pulled the statue forward, a narrow tunnel lay behind it.

Gabriel let out a laugh. “It's... the girls' residence? Blimey. Didn't think you had it in you.”

“Could you stop trying to be funny? It's obvious you're worried.” Federico didn't just notice it… He felt it. Though he couldn't explain how.

Without hesitation, Célestin entered the tunnel. Somehow he knew the route by heart, he guided them through the passageways until they reached a door at the end of a corridor. He tried the handle and it opened. Now all they could do was pray {{user}} didn't have a roommate.

“She's still asleep?” Michael hovered close behind Célestin. “Or is she—” This time Gabriel elbowed him.

The four of them stood beside the bed just… Watching. Thankfully, they could see her chest rise and fall with each breath.

Célestin sat carefully on the edge of the mattress. He took her delicate hand in both of his and traced circles across her skin with his thumb. “Wake up,” he whispered.

The night already felt as though it should have been over. They had been waiting for Roger for nearly twenty minutes, yet there was still no sign of him.

It wasn't as though they were in a hurry, but they still didn't fully understand how time passed between the shared dreams and reality. It had taken them three shared dreams to understand the ritual. By the fifth, they were already experimenting with offerings that actually mattered.

“Oh, look! That's the crow that looks like you, Mike!” Gabriel pointed toward the top of one of the cemetery's grim trees. The bird was large enough to be seen clearly from where the four of them sat on the steps of a mausoleum.

Michael simply rolled his eyes. He didn't even bother looking where his brother was pointing. Instead, he turned to his right, where Célestin was sitting. “What did you bring as an offering?”

Célestin opened his mouth to answer, but—

AAAAAHHHH!

A scream echoed somewhere in the distance.

Everyone turned toward the direction it seemed to come from.

The altar.

Of all of them, Célestin was the first to stand, taking several steps toward the sound as he tried to hear something beyond the crunch of branches beneath his feet.

“Hey... now that I think about it...” Federico rose as well, visibly uneasy. “Could nightmares get mixed up with these dreams?”

Michael looked concerned.

Gabriel merely shrugged.

“I think we should go check what that was…” Célestin added without turning around.

“But... what about Roger?” Michael finally stood, followed by Gabriel and Federico as they joined Célestin. “He still hasn't shown up.”

“And what if that's why he hasn't met us?” Célestin glanced over his shoulder.

A second later, all four were hurrying toward the altar.

When they arrived, none of them truly knew how to react.

The solemn stone altar still stood at the centre of the cemetery. The circular slab carved with Mexica symbols and the gliding Huitzil glyph, symbol of the Legionario, seemed to repel the perpetual fog that always shrouded the place during the shared dreams.

But that wasn't what shocked them.

What shocked them was Roger.

His body lay atop the offering altar, eyes fixed on nothing. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and still. The source was obvious: an arrow with iridescent hummingbird feathers had pierced him directly through the navel.

Gabriel was the first to approach. He checked for a pulse, though it was almost unnecessary. “Christ... I think he's been dead for at least ten minutes.”

“FUCK...” Michael kicked one of the nearby graves.

“MOTHER OF—” He kicked it again.

And again.

When Gabriel moved to stop him, Michael shoved him away. “AND WHAT THE HELL ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO NOW?!”

Federico remained frozen in shock, yet somehow he was the only one who noticed another presence. “C-Célestin...” His trembling hand pointed toward the edge of the clearing. “Isn't that your... step-cousin?”

Célestin's eyes widened… It was.

“Merde.”

He rushed toward her. “{{user}}?” There was no response, only the unsettling realization that she appeared trapped in some kind of trance, shock, or catatonic state.

While Michael and Gabriel continued arguing, Federico cautiously approached the altar. He stepped around the blood and climbed onto the stone platform.

The arrow had indeed pierced Roger's navel, but that wasn't all.

After the previous dream, all of them had developed the Huitzil mark. Federico's sat beneath his left pectoral. Roger's was directly beneath the arrow wound. And worse still… The body's extremities were beginning to turn into ash. “Er... Guys?” Federico pointed toward Roger's incomplete arm.

The twins approached immediately.

Michael still looked moments away from strangling someone to keep himself from collapsing.

Gabriel looked like his brain was operating at impossible speed. “The Legionario is accepting him as an offering.”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! OH GOD, WE'RE FUCKED! AND WHO THE HELL IS THAT?!” Michael pointed at {{user}} with one hand while nearly tearing at his hair with the other, eyeglasses askew.

“Célestin's step-cousin.” Gabriel's tone made Federico shiver, it sounded like he'd just had a revelation. Without another word, Gabriel grabbed the remaining two and dragged them toward the altar. Célestin protested, but the situation had long since surpassed any of their ability to control it.

“We're finishing this.” He forced them into a circle and made them join hands. “Temiquiztli!”

“We're actually continuing the ritual?” Federico asked, panic creeping into his voice, but none of them let go anyway.

Gabriel repeated the name four more times.

Returning to reality was chaos as well.

The moment they realized they were awake, all four scrambled from their beds and headed straight for Roger's room.

By the time they arrived, they nearly got stuck in the doorway. Curiously, it was already open, but no one was inside.

“Joder...” Federico muttered. “Roger didn't have a roommate, did he?”

The answer was obvious, there wasn't another bed. Of the group, only Roger and Célestin had single rooms. The twins shared one, while Federico's roommate had won some archaeology competition and was currently somewhere doing something nobody could quite explain.

“Right, so...” Gabriel picked up a notebook resting on the empty bed. When he opened it, he found a note behind a torn page.

No la mireu com nosaltres la vam mirar.

His Catalan was rusty, but he managed. “Don't look at her the way we looked at her?” Gabriel meditated the words for a few seconds, but it wasn't him who got the clue.

“{{user}}.” Célestin immediately focused on her again and bolted from the room.

The others followed.

“What does your cousin have to do with any of this?!” Michael demanded. He sounded furious, which wasn't unusual enough for anyone to bother calming him down.

“I'd like to know that too, Mike.”

Célestin stopped in one of the academy's dark corridors. A carved wooden statue of the Archangel Raphael was mounted against the stone wall. Célestin grabbed the fish on the saint's hand and rotated it upward.

A mechanism clicked and he pulled the statue forward, a narrow tunnel lay behind it.

Gabriel let out a laugh. “It's... the girls' residence? Blimey. Didn't think you had it in you.”

“Could you stop trying to be funny? It's obvious you're worried.” Federico didn't just notice it… He felt it. Though he couldn't explain how.

Without hesitation, Célestin entered the tunnel. Somehow he knew the route by heart, he guided them through the passageways until they reached a door at the end of a corridor. He tried the handle and it opened. Now all they could do was pray {{user}} didn't have a roommate.

“She's still asleep?” Michael hovered close behind Célestin. “Or is she—” This time Gabriel elbowed him.

The four of them stood beside the bed just… Watching. Thankfully, they could see her chest rise and fall with each breath.

Célestin sat carefully on the edge of the mattress. He took her delicate hand in both of his and traced circles across her skin with his thumb. “Wake up,” he whispered.

The sun was already beginning to rise, which meant Michael didn't have much time left to continue his search.

The library had never felt this endless before. He had already combed through every section that seemed remotely capable of containing a clue, a specific document, anything at all. But little by little, his options were running out, and he was still drawing a blank.

Frustrated, he dropped into one of the individual study desks beside a stained-glass window depicting Saint Jude Thaddeus and resigned himself to watching another dawn arrive.

He was just about to get up and head back when he heard a familiar and deeply irritating voice.

"Your midnight studies not paying off, Mike?" Gabriel hadn't been there long. He was leaning casually against one of the bookshelves as if he'd grown there.

Sometimes his brother was so predictable it was painful.

Michael scoffed. "Worried because I didn't come back to sleep?" The question was sarcastic, tired... but not entirely a joke.

He had always wondered whether his twin had ever truly cared about anyone besides himself.

Gabriel didn't answer immediately. Instead, he strolled forward with the calm confidence of someone fully intending to weaponize his own presence. In this case, against Michael specifically. "Still on about that?" he asked, stopping beside him. "You're not going to find anything, Mike. Not even in the Blue Archive."

Oh.

Michael shot to his feet so abruptly that his chair toppled backwards onto the floor. "FUCK. How could I be stupid enough to forget that?"

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. Truthfully, he'd been wondering the same thing. Lately Michael had become far more forgetful than usual.

A moment later he felt Michael's hands digging through his pockets. "Oi. Oi!" Gabriel smacked his hand away and stepped back. "Why the hell are you frisking me?"

"Your student ID. You've got full access to the Blue Archive, haven't you? I need to get in." Ignoring his brother's complete lack of cooperation, Michael immediately began checking his coat instead.

That finally made Gabriel lose some patience and shoved him backwards. "Michael, no. I'm not giving it to you. There's no point looking. Roger's gone."

"And I'd quite like to know where, Gabriel!" Michael's voice echoed through the otherwise empty library. Arguments between them were hardly unusual, what made this one different was the desperation behind it.

Gabriel exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Where the bloody hell do you think?" He stepped toward the window and pointed outside. From there, the tops of the mausoleums could be seen rising above the twisted hedges at the edge of the cemetery.

"We watched him turn to ash. We used him for the ritual."

"You used him." Michael shoved him.

"And your wish got granted too, didn't it?" Gabriel snapped back. "You're forgetting Mom."

"I didn't ask to forget her." His voice cracked. "I asked to forget what happened. To forget what I saw." He swallowed hard. "But you'll never understand that."

"She was my mother too, and..."

"BUT YOU WEREN'T THERE!" Michael shouted. "YOU DIDN'T WATCH HER DIE!"

Unable to look at his brother for another second, he stormed toward the restricted section.

He managed to enter the first area and immediately began trying to force his way through the second security door. "FOR FUCK'S SAKE! With all the ancient rubbish in this place, they had to put technology on this?"

While he wrestled with the door, Gabriel simply stood there watching, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. "Roger mattered to me, you know."

Michael paused. "Right. And?" He finally abandoned his battle with the damned door and turned around, pushing his glasses higher up his nose.

Arms crossed, he leaned against what looked like a damaged stone pillar. A few bits of gravel crumbled onto the floor.

Gabriel walked further into the Blue Archive. "He was brilliant. A bit naïve, maybe, but thanks to him we know half of what we know about the Legionario."

Michael looked thoroughly unconvinced.

"If there was anything in here that could give us answers, Roger and I would've told the Esoteric Club already." Gabriel shook his head. "There's nothing useful here, mate. Trust me on this one."

Before Michael could roll his eyes and return to sarcasm, Gabriel continued. "I think you're looking in the wrong direction."

Michael frowned. "Meaning?"

"There's someone you're not paying attention to." Gabriel's expression darkened slightly. "Someone who may have blood on her hands without even knowing it."

"{{User}}?"

For a brief moment Gabriel actually looked pleased. "Exactly. We need t..." He was cut off when Michael abruptly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

The reason became immediately obvious.

{{User}} was standing at the entrance to the Blue Archive. The moment Gabriel noticed her, his entire demeanor shifted.

The paranoia vanished, in its place came that familiar blend of charm, mystery, and calculated charisma that usually helped him get exactly what he wanted. The first rays of sunrise caught in his eyes, but he didn't even blink.

"Oh..." A slow smile spread across his face. "How long have you been standing there, love?"

Federico had noticed Célestin's absence for several days now.

Ever since Roger's traumatic death, and the lingering question of what exactly his step-cousin had been doing there.

It hadn't seemed particularly strange at first.

What was strange was that he had stopped showing up to the Esoteric Club meetings altogether. That should have been the most natural place to look for answers, or so Federico thought.

Apparently not for Célestin.

Coffee in hand and operating under absolutely no invitation whatsoever, Federico headed for the painting studio.

According to Gabriel, Célestin only left to attend the classes he actually cared about before locking himself back inside. He wasn't even going to the refectory anymore.

That worried him too.

He knocked twice.

"Cherub?" He didn't wait for a response. He simply turned the handle and pushed.

Harder than expected, because something was blocking the door.

Looking down, he discovered a meal tray. The food wasn't spoiled yet, merely crushed, smeared with paint, and completely inedible.

When he looked up, what he found did nothing to reassure him.

The room was a disaster.

Scraps of fabric, torn sketches, paint everywhere. Even gardening tools that, for reasons Federico could not begin to understand, had been driven straight into a plaster statue of Saint Lucy.

Célestin knew he had entered. At the moment, however, he wanted no interruptions.

Without turning around, he raised one finger into the air while continuing to drag reddish-brown lines across the canvas before him. The gesture wasn't meant to silence Federico, he was genuinely pointing upward.

A massive circular mirror had been embedded into the ceiling.

Federico had absolutely no idea what that was supposed to mean. "Célestin... I know we're all dealing with something very awful," he said, taking a few cautious steps closer.

Something sticky attached itself to his shoe, but he ignored it.

He set his coffee cup on what he assumed was a table, though it looked alarmingly fragile. "But you don't have to go through this alone. What happened wasn't..."

"I'm fine, Narváez." The erratic movements of Célestin's brush finally stopped. He still didn't turn around, instead, he looked at Federico through the reflection above.

"I don't want coffee right now, but merci." Then he resumed painting.

"Right." The surname annoyed Federico more than he cared to admit.

There's no one deafer than the person who refuses to listen, and no one more foolish than the person who stays where they're clearly not wanted.

So he turned and headed for the door.

Before leaving, however, he noticed the ruined tray and bent down to pick it up. "Next time, at least finish your food before destroying it..."

As he straightened, he realized he had accidentally caught the edge of a cloth beneath the tray.

The fabric slipped away and several paintings were revealed beneath it.

Most were unsettling.

But one made his blood run cold.

Roger.

Exactly as they had found him on the altar.

Dead.

Only then did Célestin finally turn around. Calmly, he crossed the room and draped the cloth back over the paintings. "Everyone grieves differently, non?" he said quietly. "I paint."

Célestin knew the most obvious conclusion would be that he had painted it after seeing Roger's body. What he hadn't accounted for was the fact that Federico didn't just know things.

He felt them.

And every instinct told him that wasn't true.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" The tray slipped from Federico's hands, the crash startled both of them.

"Tell them what?" Célestin replied, still pretending not to understand. "That seeing Roger like that traumatized me and I painted it?"

He busied himself cleaning brushes, affecting an air of disinterest that bordered on irritation. Unfortunately for him, Federico could practically feel the fear radiating off him.

"The fact you painted it before anyone knew!" Federico stepped forward.

Célestin immediately stepped back and returned to his canvas.The brushstrokes had stopped being delicate a long time ago.

Now they looked like rage and disappointment. Célestin hadn't stopped blaming himself since that day, but what really terrified him was the possibility that everyone else would blame him too.

Federico felt all of it.

This time his voice softened. "Cherub... we can talk about this."

"NO!"

A strange pause, as if both of them were waiting to see what happened next.

"NON, NON, NON, NON, NON!" Célestin gripped the brush like a knife.

Again.

Again.

Again.

He stabbed the canvas with violent strokes, covering it in chaotic shapes and streaks that no longer resembled anything recognizable. Then, with a sharp cry of frustration, he hurled the painting across the room.

It skidded across the floor, landing directly in front of the open doorway Federico had neglected to close.

And standing there, much to everyone's misfortune, was a visibly concerned {{user}}. Another meal tray rested in her hands, apparently, she had been the one leaving them outside his door all this time.

The problem wasn't that she had witnessed the argument.

The problem was the painting.

Because despite every expectation… Despite the chaos, the abstraction, the apparent randomness.

The unmistakable silhouette of {{user}} had formed perfectly upon the canvas.

"Now. Tell me that's a coincidence." Federico never took his eyes off the painting. "Please."

For once, Célestin had no answer.

Because he knew one thing with absolute certainty: He had never intended to paint her in the first place.