Keeper of Totality

Chapter 98 (1 of 2) Secret Spy Service

“Quite a pleasant day, isn’t it?” Lucille announced politely. “I had heard that the Alichanteu County is a popular vacation site for many nobles, but rumours of its pleasant weather and views haven’t done it justice.”

Beside her, Vincent adjusted his glasses and scanned the others at the table, looking perplexed. They were on a balcony of the manor, ‘enjoying’ lunch as they saw aqua waves crashing against white beaches, the part of the shoreline privately owned by the Count’s family and free of docks.

A cool breeze was blowing, while the sun was warm. Scytale was demonstrating to the others just how wonderful the weather was – he was basking in the light, coiled up on the table. Nobody replied to her except the distant crashes of waves.

The sister of the two Alichanteu heirs, 23-year-old Aeron, jabbed her armoured elbows into the brothers’ sides on her left and right. “Thank you for your praise, Count Goldcroft,” Aeron replied with a tight smile.

“....yes...”

“...thank you...”

Two murmurs from the men echoed her, wincing as they held their injured sides.

Lucy smiled brightly. “The fief is worthy of such praise. Well then.” She stood up from the table and grabbed her cane. “I have other priorities now, so I’ll leave you three be and-”

“Ah... wait, Count Goldcroft-” Aeron held out a hand but Lucille seemingly didn’t notice, walking off with Vincent behind her. Scytale blearily opened his eyes and then flew after them.

When Aeron and her brothers were out of earshot, Vincent leaned to the side slightly to speak quietly to Lucy. “Is this attitude towards her truly necessary? She appears to have a much better temperament than her brothers... if she had remained in the succession then she could have been a valuable ally...”

“Do you think I’m doing this because of my dislike of the brothers?” Lucille queried, eyeing him strangely. “I don’t doubt that if we uncovered everything about Radical and Olden’s involvement, that I would have the pretext to gain total control of the County. However, I’d be tied down to the vulnerable County. It wouldn’t give me the freedom necessary for my goals.”

“Such as purchasing locations like the Ancient Dungeon that you know will be beneficial for the ‘future’,” Vincent noted dryly. “I admit that at first I found you to be a marvel, offering the Dungeon to the Commission with no regrets – but knowing you, clearly you just know of better opportunities to take for yourself. The ‘mystery’ surrounding you began to thin once I realised all these opportunities formerly belonged to others, and you just took them for yourself.”

Lucille hesitated while holding a door handle, her lips thinned in a straight line. “...look, they went to Guilds or other forces that died out 100-years later anyway. I’ve increased their life expectancy.” She coughed and pushed past as her aide rolled his eyes.

“Back to the issue regarding Lady Alichanteu – why postpone the much needed discussion?” Vincent sat opposite her in an armchair. “Is it just to investigate without her interference?”

“I’m waiting for... something.” Lucille paused, before continuing, tapping her fingers on her armrest. “An update from the other end. Also, I’m waiting for Aeron to become more desperate. She is a direct descendent of the County, so she has her fief’s interests at heart. I can’t have her hiding anything from me when the time comes to reveal it all.”

“Hm...” Vincent considered it and nodded. “You must be waiting for Count Ravimoux’s informants. I hope they’ve been successful in the Permafrost Glacial Abode Region.”

Regulus Ravimoux’s letter is important, but I want news from someone else... preferably.

“Also, I’m procrastinating,” Lucille replied smugly. “I overheard several employees discussing the arrival of the Alichanteu Elders tomorrow. If Aeron discovers this today, she’ll be rushing to meet me for support.” She inspected her gloves and shot Vincent a sly grin. “Which happens to be why I plan to arrange a spontaneous rendezvous after dinner in the most secure part of the Manor, where neither Aeron nor I will have any other spectators.”

Her silver-haired aide crossed his arms. “Where would that be?”

“The Count’s quarters.”

He blinked. “What... how are you going to get in there? The Lunitidal Order has all their Rank-5s stationed there!”

Lucille smirked and spread her arms in a shrug. “You’ll understand tomorrow.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Lucille...”

“Nah, she’s good, Vince.” Scytale walked in with a bowl of scones and other pastries. It was clear he made a trip to the kitchen, abusing his status as a guest. “Sure, it’s not something I’d want to do-” He shut his mouth when Lucy gave him a flat stare, then he hurriedly coughed and continued, “-but I’d prefer to just beat up all the knights and wing it so...”

Vincent looked between them both and sighed. “Fine.” He looked down at his wristwatch. “What shall we do in the hours until dinner?”

Lucille slowly tapped on her chin. “Let’s split up. I need to hear what the two brothers have to say for themselves.”

“So, I’ll deal with Artair, and you...” Vincent trailed off when Lucille glared at him, and he smiled. “I’ll reverse the roles then. I will deal with Arwen, while you deal with the older brother.”

“Won’t Aeron try to get involved?” Scytale asked, setting the bowl of food down.

Lucy considered it and pointed at her bond. “You distract her then. Drag her to the knights’ training grounds and spar with her, offering empty promises of meeting with me if she defeats you. Think of it as getting a handle on her Rank-4 combat abilities for me.”

“Gotcha. Will do.” Scytale gave her a salute and left the room, looking forward to messing with his new target.

“I suppose I’ll deal with Arwen now, before the amphiptere’s motivation wears off,” Vincent mused, standing up. “Until later, then.”

He left, and Lucy stretched her arms. She held her chin as she pondered how to approach the topic of Artair’s faction with him.

Is he backed by one of the factions, aware of it, or backed by one of the factions, and unaware of it? Or... backed by none at all?

...

A bit of eavesdropping, and Lucille located Artair without alerting any of the servants as to what she was doing. When she was about to turn the corner, she had to stop and back up due to the two people she saw through her perception field.

Strangely enough, they were having an argument... only Artair was on one side of the door, and someone Lucy assumed to be a supporter of his on the other.

“Sire!” The blond man rapped his hand on the door. “Please, leave your study so we may have a civil conversation about this!”

“I told you to return later, Sir Relworth,” Artair’s muffled voice replied curtly. “I expressed my intentions for nobody to visit me while the Count is in the manor.”

“But the Capt-”

A loud, meaningful cough interrupted the man, and he quickly changed his words. “I... uh, Lady Aeron has released you from your quarters this morning, has she not? There is no reason for this self-imposed isolation from your loyal supporters.”

“Loyal? You’re continuing to bother me when I have explicitly told you to leave. What else could this be but a show of blatant disrespect to me as your lord?” Artair argued.

His supporter gave a frustrated sigh. “That was not my intention, milord. I will... leave you be. For now.”

He marched off in the opposite direction from Lucille. After thinking for a while, she walked up to the door and knocked.

“Relworth! I told you to leave me alone!”

Lucille cocked an eyebrow but turned the doorknob, the door unlocked. She slipped inside and walked towards the man sitting in a chair behind a desk, fully absorbed in what appeared to be a... blueprint, in his hands.

Artair scowled as he heard footsteps and shot up, slamming his hands down on the desk. “Your rudeness knows no bounds, Rel... wor....” He trailed off when he saw who his visitor was.

Lucy glanced down at herself. “I don’t recall becoming a blonde recently.”

The Alichanteu heir continued staring, then coughed and bowed to her. “M-my apologies, Count Goldcroft. To what do I owe this..... uh... pleasure?”

“You’re not convincing me that this encounter is truly a pleasure, Sir Alichanteu,” Lucille remarked. She gestured in the direction Relworth walked off in. “Self-imposed isolation?”

“...to avoid the judgement of my sister’s knights,” he replied uneasily. Lucille could tell he was lying.

“Hmm.” Lucy ignored him to look at the main features of the study – the multitude of architectural designs and concept sketches of different buildings, manors and industrial factories alike. She stopped to inspect the blueprint spread across the desk. “This looks familiar.”

Artair flinched and swept it up, quickly rolling the blueprint back up. “Just a minor hobby of mine.”

Lucy crossed her arms. “Oh? So all these images have been designed by yourself?”

“As I said earlier... a minor hobby.” He awkwardly sat back down, waiting for her to say something – or at least leave. When she continued standing with her hands on her hips, making it clear she expected something of him, he cleared his throat and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “...please take a seat.”

“Why, thank you for the kind offer.” Lucille grinned as she slipped into the chair, keenly aware of his frustration. It appeared that someone did not want to talk to her in the slightest.

After a while, the man opposite her sighed. “So, Count Goldcroft... did you need something?” Artair began wearily, breaking the silence.

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“Do I have to?” She picked up a pen on his desk and absent-mindedly inspected it, testing its point with the tip of a finger. “I believed it was the duty of a host to entertain his guests.”

“Host? But I’m-”

“The oldest heir of your father, and therefore his responsibilities fall to you,” she interrupted, pointing the pen at him. The pen dropped to the table and Lucille intertwined her fingers together, resting her chin on them as she gave him a pleasant smile. “But of course, I was merely a commoner before becoming the Head of the Aurelian Commission, so do correct me if I’m wrong.”

He grimaced and looked to the side. “How would you like this mere heir to entertain you, Count Goldcroft? I’m still young, so I hope you forgive me for any lines I may cross.”

She smirked and crossed her arms. Is he trying to stress the age difference between us? He must truly want to tell me to stop pretending I’m a normal young noble. At least he’s showing he’s treading carefully.

“Fine, fine. I’ll stop playing with you.” Lucy stood up to walk over to the large window behind him.

Artair invertedly let out a sigh of relief, which Lucy noticed. He began to turn to look at her and then jumped to see her staring at him from his side, one hand on a hip and the other on the table.

“Sir Alichanteu, you’ll face your first death via heart-attack if you keep reacting like this to me,” she stated dryly. “It’s as if you’re looking at the Demon Emp-” Lucy’s words cut off as she considered that comparison. She clicked her tongue and stepped back.

“...is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I just annoyed myself.” Lucille crossed her arms again and leaned her back against the window. She tilted her head. “Artair Alichanteu, why don’t you hazard a guess as to why I’m visiting you?”

“Whatever Arwen told you, he’s lying,” Artair replied with a frown. “Don’t believe him. I don’t know everything, but he was acting panicked when you walked through the gates so I know he had something to do with this.”

Lucy stared at him. “What has Arwen told me?”

Artair stared back. “...what?”

...Lucille had a feeling they were on entirely different wavelengths. She pressed a hand to her forehead, sighed, and then continued, “Artair... I haven’t even spoken to either of your siblings yet.”

She walked forward to stand in front of him. “Not even Aeron. However, you’ve sparked my interest. What do you mean by ‘something to do with this’?”

“Oh... uh...” He blinked, before gesturing vaguely to the room. “The lack of preparation to house you? I received news that your visit had been cancelled from the butler, and news about an incident occurring on Gilded Seat from Ravimoux’s messenger seemed to confirm that for me, so I just trusted him... he’s been beside my father long before any of us siblings were born..." Artair looked down and scowled. “I discovered that the butler had told Arwen of the cancellation before me, even when I’m the first heir... should’ve expected that Arwen had managed to twist that old man around his little finger long before this...”

Why did they bother informing the brothers about the ‘trip cancellation’? Wouldn’t it be far easier to hide evidence by keeping them ignorant for when the other Counties inevitably investigate everything surrounding this incident?

Even Scytale knew that trusting the two heirs to get things done was a bad plan, at the very least. Did they want to incriminate the two heirs?

A third ‘party’ sprang to mind and Lucy hummed. “Did you contact your sister?”

“My... sister? No...” Artair rubbed his neck and shrugged. “I have no idea how she turned up on time to visit you either. And I highly doubt it was Arwen who told her, because... their relationship is rocky, at best. He’s never believed she’s truthful about remaining outside of the succession.”

“Aha.” Lucy continued thinking. She glanced at him. “Don’t take too much meaning from this question, but... there’s no possibility that your supporters have strong ties to the Central Empire’s political factions, is there?”

“I beg your pardon?!” Artair shot up, glaring at her. “My supporters are the vassals my father, the Count of Alichanteu personally chose to put by me from as young as seven! They’ve long been loyal to my father and to me! All have sworn to neutrality, as my father demanded of them!”

She sighed and waved at him. “Sit down. I just told you not to read too much into what I’m saying.”

If I were to make a rough assessment of his supporters, then it would be: duty-bound loyal vassals of the Count, who abide by the tradition of first born inheritor. Likely the vassals close to the Count from his youth, but not relatives with a history of political conflict with him.

So the ‘neutrals’ who don’t obey either sons are loyal, yes, but they’re open-minded and non-traditionalists. Makes sense. Most of them are dwarves or high-ranking crafters. They likely don’t care for Arwen’s attitude, and they look down on Artair due to his ‘caution’, or fear. So, they haven’t committed yet. I suppose Aeron trusted them with knowledge of the Count’s life too.

“Then how did Aeron arrive before I did?” Lucille mused aloud. “Spies?”

“Um... if I were to make a suggestion...”

She looked at Artair and raised an eyebrow.

“...I believe it was entirely a coincidence that she turned up now,” he offered. “And she didn’t know about your visit until she had to wring it out of Arwen, asking what he was making a fuss over.”

“Did she know about me though?”

“I believe someone in the family sent her a brief message a while back, but it wasn’t a priority.”

Lucille tilted her head, looking to the side.

No expectations for her then, hm? I wonder, was the downfall of the Aurelian Commission in part due to this issue with the Count- no, it obviously was. An incapacitated Count and two heirs locked in a succession battle, backed by dubious groups. This sister seems to have her priorities straight though.

She came to a conclusion.

If the sister achieved whatever she was doing while gone from the manor, it would’ve been an issue for those forces involved in this farce during the past timeline. I presume the Lunitidal Order suffered irreparable damages, likely involving her death, leaving Alichanteu completely vulnerable.

What has the sister been doing that is so dangerous to these hidden enemies, however? She resigned from the list of heirs and has effectively exiled herself from the manor politics. She has no influence, except within this order of knights that seem different from the normal Alichanteu Guards.

“What is the Lunitidal Order? Their purpose? Origin?” Lucy interrogated Artair. “If they’re knights loyal to the County, then I see no reason for them to have a separate name from just ‘Knights of Alichanteu’. Alichanteu isn’t part of the military, sending their knights off in a brigade to fight for the Empire.”

“They were the private knights my father led when his father – my grandfather, was the Count. They competed in Team Championships at Glory Pantheon’s Coliseums.” Artair shrugged. “They were supposed to have been retired as an Order. I’m... not sure why they’re listening to her, or active again.”

This sister is impressive. Even without succession rights, she still has the loyalty of the Count’s closest people. That is... a danger to the fief, however. Their loyalties shouldn’t be split between the true heirs and a now outsider. She appears to have strong leadership abilities and a sense of righteousness.

“Very well. I don’t have anything more to ask you.” Lucille stopped leaning and walked to the door, then glanced over her shoulder. “Is there anything else you wish to tell me? This is a rare chance to have a one-on-one conversation with me, without your brother’s knowledge, you know.”

Artair, looking visibly relieved she was leaving, hesitated when faced with her last question. “Tell you?” He opened his mouth, a flicker of something strange in his eyes, but then he shook his head. “N-No, I don’t have anything else to offer.”

Lucille observed him, and shrugged. “If you say so.” She opened the door to leave – and then her wrist was grabbed.

“W-Wait.” Artair grimaced and lowered his voice. “I want my father to wake up, but... we can’t do anything. We can’t find anyone who can tell us what’s wrong, and there have been signs that someone is stopping us from looking further.”

“...you mean to say the Count’s life is being held as hostage?” Lucy asked.

“I don’t know. We don’t know.” His face was pale as he gazed at her. “Arwen may dislike his half siblings, but he still loves our father. He’s trying to protect this place in his own way.” Artair let go of her arm. “As for the sign... our father’s condition changes whenever we order an investigation, or request for a powerful healer to check his condition. It doesn’t change for the better.”

“Then the reason the entirety of Alichanteu has kept the Count’s whereabouts and state ambiguous?”

“To prevent the situation from getting worse,” he replied. “We can’t let news about him to escape because this hidden enemy has control over his life from a distance.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes as she pondered this. “Is this your understanding of the Count’s situation?”

Artair blinked. “Well... the elders warned Arwen and I of this first, but I thought their explanation made sense.”

“I see.” Lucille looked down at her feet in thought, then at him. “You have been helpful, Artair.” She smiled and stepped back through the door. “Glad to see that you’ve learned some lessons after our very first meeting.”

“...thank you for your words,” he muttered sheepishly.

Lucy shut the door and calmly headed for her quarters, humming with her hands behind her back.

I suppose all will be revealed with tomorrow’s meeting with the elders.

...

It was a quiet night. Lucille lay on her bed, her eyes closed with her hands behind her head. She wasn’t wearing sleeping attire at all.

The shutters on the window of the guest room rattled slightly, and her eyes shot open. She sprang from the bed, already gripping her two weapons. A figure climbed through the window and gave a muffled grunt when Lucille’s elbow wrapped around his neck, the flat of Apophis’ blade pressed against his neck.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to enter someone’s room without knocking?” she admonished him.

“...I did.”

“I don’t suffer from deafness.” She let him go and he slid to the floor, rubbing his neck.

He looked up, dark eyes gazing balefully at her. “Again, with the lights on! I’m not supposed to be some mundane thief crawling in through your windows, I’m a creature of darkness! I’m supposed to suddenly manifest in pitch black! It’s why my race is one of the stealthiest, okay?!”

“I thought you were a creature of death, not darkness,” Lucille retorted, studying her gloves.

Kozzazan shot her a glare and stood up. “Well, sorry. It seems the mortals of the Mystical Realm are slacking on developing a dark-space element, so it falls to us death race to exercise elemental teleportation.” He sighed and sat down on a chair. “We’re just traveling using the spiritual realm. Darkness is the best at absorbing everything, so we can easily form in places that are dark as it always has death, in some form or another.”

“As much as I’d love to continue discussing your nature as a manifestation of mortality, I believe you came here for another reason?” Lucy stated dryly.

The phantom of the House of Wordless Observers reached into his dark robes and pulled out a letter of black parchment. He silently passed it over to her.

Lucille slid Ouroboros underneath the letter’s seal and scanned the silver text embellished on the page. She gained a broad smile. “It’s done? When can we begin?”

Kozzazan gestured to her. “Whenever you want. If you say the word, we could begin now.”

“Perfect.” She carefully folded the letter and summoned a ball of blue flames in her hand, incinerating the message. “I have everything I need to begin my first major step in this Faction.”

The member of the death race watching raised an eyebrow. “Which would be?”

Lucille grinned a very wicked grin. “A purge. One that will wipe this entire Commission clean and make it a pure slate for me to use.” She clenched her fist, extinguishing the flames. “Everyone in the Commission will know I now hold authority – whether it’s Vincent who expresses my intentions or not.”

He watched her with mild distaste and shook his head. “How could my superiors ever consider helping a human like this? Look at how quickly this power has gone to your head!”

Lucy’s gaze went flat. “Should I relay those words to the one who made the final decision?”

The threat of Lucius’ attention on him made him shut his mouth. She walked over to the phantom and placed a briefcase in his hands.

Kozzazan squinted at it. “What’s this?”

“My vehicle,” she stated. She opened it up and pointed at the ceiling. “Take this to the Count’s room once I step inside this, please?”

“What? Step in...” The type of object he was holding dawned on him and he scowled. “I’m not your new dimensional carriage!”

“Nope.” Lucy pointed at her briefcase. “That would be this. You’ll be how I get into the most secure part of this manor with your ability to reform in darkness, and I’ll remain undetected. If you do this, then you’ll no longer have to deliver letters to me in the middle of the night.”

Because the letter I just received told me Kozzazan is now free to stay at the Commission to respond to my beck and call. So, it’ll be during the day.

“...really?” He eyed her with suspicion, then huffed and stood up. “Alright, get in. You better keep to your word.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t lie about something small as this.”

“So you’d lie about something more important?” he complained. She ignored him to climb inside her case, then he shut the lid.

...

The phantom released her in a dark, enclosed space. Lucille paused when her hand touched the wall near her and she rubbed her fingertips together, feeling the dust particles on her gloves. “Where is this?”

“An empty cupboard,” Kozzazan replied, crossing his arms. “I’m going back now. As a phantom, it’s incredibly draining to cross planes. I’m going to head to Tartarus to recover... and to tell them I sent the letter.”

“A coachman is supposed to stay until his Lord is done for the return trip,” Lucille murmured, peering out of the cupboard doors’ gap.

‘Well good for me that I’m not a coachman,’ his mental voice replied as his presence melted back into the darkness.

She briefly smirked, but refocused as she opened the doors and carefully stepped out. After scanning the room, she paused as she noticed the armoured figure sitting on the ground in a corner, her eyes closed as she held her sword.

This girl would be praised by many cultivators for her ‘filial piety’.

Lucille activated her Dramatourgos skill to mask her footsteps and presence, quietly walking over to the fourposter bed. After sweeping aside the curtains, she rolled her sleeves up and peeled off a glove, ready to discover the truth about the seemingly comatose Count’s condition.

She placed a pale palm on his strangely cool forehead.

...hm?

Lucille took it off and stared at him. Then she put it back on.

Hmmm?

Hmmmmmmmmmmm?

Flabbergasted, she removed her mask and stepped back to observe the Count, the man in his 40s with grey-blue hair, in his entirety, Shard of Totality included. Her perception field shrunk down to as much as she was willing to do, covering only the area around the Count’s bed and herself, to condense the energy so she could fully understand what was before her with an in-depth scan of his whole physique.

He's not sick. In fact, he’s perfectly healthy.

She thought back to her earliest discussion about the Count of Alichanteu.

Vincent told me he had collapsed due to an old necromantic wound re-emerging. I expected that to be a slither of the truth, not an outright lie on behalf of Alichanteu.

There was one thing distinctly wrong about the Count, however. He was entirely ‘empty’.

Lucy couldn’t dwell on that thought for long. Something cold whistled past her cheek and she put a hand up to the stinging red line on her cheekbone, blood staining her gloves.

“Vile traitor! How dare you attempt to assassinate my father in his time of weakness!” a feminine voice roared. Rushing footsteps sounded behind Lucille.

Lucille smiled and spun around, spreading her hands in greeting. “You’re awake! How wonderful. Now I won’t fear I’m being rude by-”

A dull clang rang out at the same time a gust of wind pushed her hair back. Lucille glanced at the hilt of the sword sticking out of the wall beside her head, inches away from decapacitating her. A tear in the thin curtain marked the location it had entered to attack her vague figure behind the cloth.

The young woman who had thrown the blade had her face fixed in a vicious snarl, but then her eyes widened with surprise when she clearly saw the individual who had dodged her attacks. “Count Goldcroft?!”

“I admire your reflexes, though they weren’t used for the correct purposes right now,” Lucille replied, gripping the hilt of the sword and pulling it out of the wall with a firm yank. She flippantly whirled the sword around by balancing it on her wrist where it stopped to tremble slightly, tip pointed up. Then she grabbed it and tossed it to Aeron, who deftly caught it.

“Be careful with that. You could poke an eye out, swinging it around like that,” Lucille warned with no small amount of sarcasm.

“I...” Aeron looked down at the blade in her hand, blinked, then shook her head to return her thoughts to their situation. She rushed forward and grabbed Lucy by the collar. “What are you doing here?! This is supposed to be the most protected part of the manor! I nearly killed you!” she hissed.

“I doubt you could’ve killed me, considering I knew I didn’t even have to dodge for your blade to pass me,” Lucy said dryly. “Shadows behind cloth aren’t ideal targets.” She grabbed Aeron’s wrist to take it off her clothes and smirked, narrowing her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be glad to see me? After all that time spent chasing me, you now have a chance to speak to me in private.” Lucille stepped back and spread her hands. “You can finally ask what you’ve wanted, and I may help you! ....granted that it’s valuable enough an offer to me.”

“... but what do you want?” Aeron asked warily.

Lucy tilted her head. “That’s not what the one who wants to make a request should ask. You should come to the table, a proposition already in mind. But...” She walked closer and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You don’t have anyone else to turn to. So even if I decline, I’m your last hope.”

Aeron glanced at the hand on her shoulder and roughly brushed it off. She gritted her teeth, glaring at Lucille. “I hadn’t believed you were someone who’d take advantage of me, but I suppose yet again I find myself a poor judge of character. That must be why I failed to protect my father the first time.”

Lucille marginally raised an eyebrow. “It’s only taking advantage if the scales aren’t balanced. Regardless, you have more need of me than I have of you. So, do make me more invested in this tragic tale of a daughter trying to save her unconscious father.” She took a step closer and placed a gloved finger on her lips, lips tilted in a smirk and dual-coloured eyes narrowed at the knight.

“After all, you wouldn’t want him to never wake again.”

...not that someone without a soul could wake up.