Chapter Text
Curious. When the Harbinger carriage arrived in Sumeru, it made a mistake. It seems a commander from the transport team mistook my location for that of my illusion. I suppose I can understand it; wartime strategies operate on rapid orders—a game of telephone played by high-ranking officials tossing out directives, sometimes with little forethought. In the end, I have to do everything myself.
Right, Zandik?
...
Oh. That’s right. Well, there is no longer any purpose in keeping this up, but habit is habit.
You, Zandik, have… lost. I feel for you. It wasn’t the conclusion I had envisioned. But my carriage is here, and I want to try to clear my head along the way.
“Lord Pantalone, we are deeply sorry for what occurred. We guarantee that we will credit the debt of our mistake to the Northland Bank’s ledger.”
A soldier clad in the transport service uniform bowed deeply before me, offering a salute.
“That won’t be necessary,” I said, flashing a faint smile. “The ashes are flying quite high. If you will excuse me, I shall step into the carriage now.”
A cigarette—I needed one. I entered the carriage, pulling down my hood immediately. The landscape was dyed in red. It turned out the goddess of these lands, where I once wandered lost, quite liked burning important things. Though I had to admit, the scenery held a certain beauty.
“What is the situation?” The voice of one of my subordinates forced me to focus on other matters. A pity, because I was just about to think of you again.
“Short-term unfavorable volatility. However, with the appropriate funding, the projected return is simply flawless.”
The man before me hadn’t understood a single word. Yet, he feigned comprehension, nodding repeatedly while a small bead of sweat rolled down his face. A tree the size of five whales lined up row after row was burning; I could understand his excessive heat. As for the falseness of his understanding… well. You always understood things on the first try. That was what I liked so much about our chats, my dear Doctor.
I turned the ashes into ice with a dream…
Strange, isn’t it? I never fall asleep when I travel, mostly because I have a pack of cigarettes at my disposal, some alcohol, or your letters. Do you think I’m going to tell you what I dreamed about?
No… Dear partner, I am not going to do that. Some things must remain private.
I am going to read one of your letters. I found it in my office the moment I arrived in Snezhnaya. You didn’t send it to me—I mean, not now. It’s evident you can’t, and you won’t ever be able to.
It was just lying on my desk, careless as could be. The only object that made the space look untidy. Very fitting for a heretic of rules.
And when I read it… I remembered I had many more in a drawer. Yes, a drawer with no locks, nor any embedded security system. A place where no one would ever expect me to put something important.
Though… information matters less to me than money. I don't like to consider that what lies within those letters you used to send me is worth money. After all, it is I who owes certain debts to you…
Owed.
…
Owes. Perhaps.
I opened the envelope. I like keeping the letter inside, reading it, and then tucking it back into the envelope. I polished my glasses and read, while smoking my first cigarette of the day.
Ah, wonderful. It didn't take long for the first one to arrive.
From: Il Dottore, The Doctor.
To: Regrator, Ninth of the Fatui Harbingers.
Subject: Project Status and Feasibility Report.
Dear Regrator,
I write these lines to you from Nod Krai. I must admit, not without a certain weariness, that it is a notable settlement. When Columbina suggested my relocation to this sector, I cataloged her recommendation as a waste of time. Nonetheless, I recognize the error; after all, that estimation was a calculation made by my segment number 18, and not a direct conclusion of my current judgment. The limitations of early copies remain a predictable factor.
To get straight to the pragmatic: the experiment is progressing in accordance with optimized metrics. Thanks to the injection of your funds, the manufacture of the "Moon" is practically complete. Ascension to divinity is imminent. As you well know, the final result is nothing more than a collateral consequence; what truly remains valuable is the development of the scientific method and the purity of the experiment itself.
The breakdown of material costs and the corresponding invoice will arrive at your commercial offices in the coming days. I trust your accounting department will process the payments with their habitual diligence.
Lastly, should your seasonal reserve levels require it, do let me know. The supply of that particular medication we both know of is ready to be shipped in its corresponding cryogenic flask.
Sincerely,
Il Dottore (Signature)
The letter slipped from my hands. I began to laugh softly while brushing away a stray ash that still clung to my coat. What an absolute absurdity.
“Sir! Are you alright?” asked one of the bank employees, carrying a stack of papers that practically hid his face.
“Why do you ask?”
“You are shaking quite a bit.”
“Oh.”