Published at 14th of November 2026 9:43 am

Chapter 221. Numbers game

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“You all right?” Filip asked, shaking Josh, looking the confused boy in the eyes.

“Yeah, I’m—agh!”

The empath bent forward, grasping at the sides of his head, probably experiencing the same bout of pain that Ophelia and I were experiencing. The ache came in waves as our consciousnesses settled back into the mental constructs, letting us fully experience all the sore spots in them.

I groaned through gritted teeth as my mind pulsed. But it was also a good sign. Suffering meant we were alive, and that was a success considering what had just happened. I then looked to the side. Ophelia was worse for wear, sitting there massaging her head, pale as a ghost, with bloodshot eyes to match her unhealthy complexion. Thankfully, we had brought back most of our consciousness without ever fully losing its shape, meaning permanent injuries were unlikely.

I continued sweeping my gaze over our group, searching for Myhur. The mushroom lay on the other side of Josh, but unlike us, he didn’t move. For a second, I thought we hadn’t dragged him out, but then I noticed his eyes were open as he gazed into the darkness above. His gaze was completely lost, unfocused, and empty. The moss on his face seemed to have relaxed. No, I realized, not relaxed, but actually wilted to the sides—a mycanoid’s version of an unhealthy complexion.

I noticed movement and saw Luna sit down by Ophelia and begin casting soothing spells.

“You good?” I asked, looking at Myhur, but got no answer.

I looked at Luna and nodded toward the mycanoid, suggesting she check on him. The vampire did approach, but as she was about to cast a spell, Myhur raised his hand to stop her.

“Iii’m alive,” he said. “No need to worry, no need to heal.” His voice was as deep and firm as always, leaving little room for discussion.

Luna hesitated, but then sighed and moved to help Josh.

“You look like you got your asses kicked,” Dave said from the side. “I usually don’t bother men that look like they're dying of a hangover, but I have to ask, are we in the clear or not?”

“Clear is not the word I’d use,” I groaned as another wave of pain assaulted me. “But I think we got something. Depends on how much Josh remembers.”

Everyone turned to the empath, who was still on the ground massaging his head.

“I remember some things,” Josh said, “but I can barely think now.”

“You all need to rest,” Luna said, getting up, her voice leaving little room for protest as she looked mainly at me.

“Fine, fine,” I said, raising my hands in the air. “We’ll rest. But we don’t have that much time either.”

The group was already positioned for a defensive stand, so we didn’t have to set guard rotations as the four of us lay on the ground, recuperating. Ophelia and I went into meditation to speed up our recovery after each downing a soothing potion. I didn't give one to Josh, as I had no idea how he would react to the magical concoction. Myhur was also meditating, or so I thought, as he still seemed out of it, while Josh just lay on his back, wincing from time to time at the waves of pain.

It was hard to tell how long we had rested before Josh finally pushed himself up and asked Filip to help him into his wheelchair. He instinctively shifted his body as if to stand on his own, only to freeze the next moment. For a second, his face settled into an expression of sadness and disappointment before it returned to the neutral look he usually wore.

“I think we can talk. I can at least hear myself think,” he said, finally back in his wheelchair.

“Are you sure?” Filip asked, helping the boy turn to us. “We can wait some more. We don’t want you injured.”

“I’m sure.”

“If he’s fine, he’s fine. I’d appreciate shortening the wait,” Rey said from the side, his gaze sweeping across the cavern walls and stopping on the deep shadows.

I nodded in agreement with the policeman, and we all gathered together.

“So,” Dave asked, “what did you learn?”

“Perhaps how to get out of here?” Marvin asked.

“I…” Josh began hesitantly. “I’m not sure where I was, honestly, or if what I saw is of any use. But I didn’t find a way out, if that’s what you’re hoping. Unless—” He raised his gaze, looking to me with a question clear on his face.

I shook my head at the idea. “No, the way we returned was not related. We found an exit from the memory, not this space.”

I could see Josh’s face fall, along with everyone else’s.

“So what should I explain?” he asked.

“Everything, really,” I replied. “What most likely happened was you were taken into the very mind of magic, into the memory projecting the space around us. It connected with you due to your open mind, and since you can’t really control your consciousness that well, you fell right through into the bigger mind, or it literally pulled you in.”

I looked around, getting a mixture of reactions. Filip and Marvin looked the most confused. The FBI strike team seemed less so, but frowns were still visible beneath their helmets and face coverings.

“What you saw should be a symbolic representation of the memory. Magic works through symbolism, and that means every number, every face, everything you paid attention to should have been important and part of the story. Once we figure out the rules, we should be able to at least move around, maybe even figure out how to exit without too much injury.”

“How likely is that?” Dave asked.

“Uninjured? Not very.” I shook my head. “But getting out alive should be doable. If the memory was so strong it was a sure kill, I doubt any of us would have been able to escape.”

“Okay then,” Josh said, beginning the story.

The first part of his story didn’t reveal much. He had clearly been panicking, running around the labyrinth without knowing how to progress. However, what was interesting was that his description seemed very similar to our situation. The corridors were changing their layout, preventing him from moving forward. The questions were why this was happening and whether we could make progress the same way he had. According to his story, he ran around in confusion until he finally tired himself out. This was usually a pivotal point where something had to change. Had he fallen into full panic, his mental energy would have dissipated, practically killing him. Thankfully, he literally gathered himself.

“Can you feel it now?” I asked immediately as he tried to describe threads made of emotions as best he could.

“Well…” He took a deep breath and then closed his eyes.

It didn’t take long before he opened his eyes again with a sour face, shaking his head. “No, I can’t feel them.”

I clicked my tongues in irritation and gestured to him to continue the story. He didn’t talk for too long before I stopped him again.

“Sixteen blinded children? And the number kinda jumped at you?”

“Yes,” Josh said. “They felt sad in a way, and I didn't count them.”

I sighed. Of all the places I thought I’d end up in, I didn’t think another singularity, or singularity-like space, was anywhere high on the list, but here we were, in need of numerical interpretations with no one really proficient in them.

“I don’t suppose any of you know anything about numerology?” I asked the FBI team, but to my surprise, before I could prompt Josh to continue, one of the women on the team raised her hand. Her name was Jude, if I remembered correctly.

“Please tell me you studied under an oracle,” Luna said hopefully.

“No,” she replied, “but I did dabble in numerology, horoscopes, tarot, you know, the works. That’s what got me on the team, I think. Some of the books were real.”

“But did you study under someone at some point?” I pressed on.

“No, but I got clearance to read the books in the FBI’s possession.”

“That’s something,” Ophelia said with a hint of hope.

“Some of them did contradict each other,” she added, wiping away the hopeful look on my apprentice’s face.

“Better than nothing,” I said, cutting her off. I had to say, looking at the FBI team, I couldn't tell whether they were well prepared or throwing everything at the wall, hoping something would stick. The mixture of weapons seemed to be matched by a range of skills, from explosives to numerology. “So what does sixteen mean?”

Jude took a while to think before answering. “Well, for people whose birt—”

I stopped her right there.

“Birthdays don’t determine shit about the person. A birthday is just an ingredient used in fortune-telling. Anything with ‘who your true partner is,’ ‘where to go on vacation,’ and other personal bullshit you can skip.”

“Okay. So how about tarot significance?” she asked.

“Could be useful,” Luna said. “Assuming we are talking about real tarot, and not the other one.”

“Okay. It says that the number corresponds to the Tower card.” She paused, looking at me. I shrugged, not recognizing it, and let her continue. “It says it’s a card of warning. It represents the destruction of old lies. I also read it’s tied to a recurring cycle and, well… the importance of past lives, but that, I assume, is bullshit.”

I nodded. “Yep, but the first interpretation sounds at least plausible, though a loop and destruction of old lies don’t give us much for now. Anything else?”

“I also read it’s related to transcendent Neptune/seven.”

“Could it be about gods?” Josh asked, most likely prompted by a familiar divine name.

I shook my head. “I doubt that. We would have seen a lot of water-inspired symbols, not to mention the structure would most likely be tied to Neptune's church of the arcane world.”

“Aaand, that’s kind of it.”

I sighed and turned to Josh, keeping the destruction of old lies and a cycle in my head. “Continue.”

He nodded and picked up where he had left off, describing falling into a cell, but then paused and suddenly looked at Dave.

“The old man,” Josh said slowly with a growing frown. “When he changed and began speaking about sons and so on, at the last moment, I… I think he started looking like you.”

Josh’s declaration was met with confused silence.

“Is that a sign?” Dave asked, with a sour face.

“Certainly,” I said, nodding slowly. “But don’t ask what it means.” I turned to Josh. “Just finish the story and let’s see everything together.”

Josh continued, describing Myhur’s strange behavior next. The mushroom looked saddened by the description but offered no input as the empath went on with his story. Next came his meeting with us, and then the carved door. The symbols and sigils in that room were far too strong for Josh to read. Finally, he described the last room. He couldn’t remember most of what he saw there. There was a squirming ball high in the air, there were people, and Myhur was there, but it all blended into one strange image overwhelmed by the presence filling the room. But one thing stayed with the empath: the very information that had crashed into him with the force of a meteor, causing him to scream.

Two numbers—eleven and eleven—shown as two groups of worms standing as if at attention around the ball in the middle. The moment he saw that, his mental energy transmitted the shock to his brain, almost knocking him out and leaving his consciousness intact but unable to act, frozen in shock.

“Eleven eleven,” Dave repeated, turning to his numbers woman, as we all did, questions visible on our faces.

She hesitated, frowning, before shrugging in resignation.

“I mean… It’s a wishing number?” she said, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

“Like seeing it on a clock and making a wish?” Dave sounded skeptical about the arcane significance of such a silly tradition.

“Yes. I mean, repeating numbers have a lot of significance in numerology. But almost every book I read had a different interpretation. The only constant was the wishing part, which is stupi—”

“Iiiit’s correct,” Myhur boomed from the side. We all turned to him, surprised by his sudden entry into the conversation. He swept his gaze over us, his face solemn. “The hive has a wish. A wish to be fulfilled. A source of that hatred, of that pain. It…” He choked, and since a mycanoid’s speaking apparatus consisted of massive lungs, choking was difficult, meaning he had actually lost control of his muscles for a second.

“It wishes for my death,” he finally finished.

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