Kapitel 48: Segment XV Jonam

Dark clouds gathered atop the Divine Capital of Hierapetra, followed by the faint crackle of an approaching storm. As the rain began to fall, thunder rumbled in a chaotic rhythm, like a sudden sob amidst endless tears.

Nysa watched the downpour with a detached gaze, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace from a secluded seat. In front of her, a young boy with peculiar blue hair and eyes took his time sipping a watered-down, shallow cup of black wine. She only drank water.

The boy, known to her as Jonam, timidly looked up, then glanced at the rest of the room. Men and women, slaves and prostitutes—all huddled within the establishment referred to as a kapeleion, merrily drinking away the damp coldness of the weather.

"My apologies for the atmosphere." Jonam broke the silence. "There aren't many places where people as conspicuous as us can meet without attracting unwanted attention."

Nysa raised an eyebrow. "I don't mind. I'm quite curious about why you'd want to invite me behind your allies' backs. I thought our contract had already ended. Don't you have to prepare for the upcoming assault?"

"There's little for me to prepare with Giron being the only survivor of my branch." Jonam revealed a childish grin, contrasting with his usual impassivity. "Furthermore, the others can still read the memories of my core. This won't be a secret for long."

"I see." She adjusted the elaborate eyepatch given to her by Ilana, not yet used to its presence. "Well then, what could this be about?"

Jonam marked a pause, putting his cup back on the table. He pondered about something with his head slumped, fiddling with his fingers like a boy about to confess his misdemeanor.

"You noticed that something was amiss, haven't you?" He finally said. "The Goddess of Secrets' machinations are seldom easily read, but this time, it's clear what the goal of her little game is."

"Anyone with half a brain would arrive at that conclusion," Nysa nonchalantly answered, unbothered. "A board on the brink of implosion, set within the Divine Capital of Hierapetra, mere days away from the start of the Sacrificial Ceremony... I can clearly see that she and I share the same target."

"You said that you're operating under the orders of the..." Jonam looked around, lowering his voice to a whisper. "... the Veiled Matriarch. I do not know her reasons for wanting the Celestial Offering's death, nor can I guess them, just as I can't fathom why the Goddess of Secrets would yearn for the same thing—but aren't you upset by this whole charade?"

"This is a game between divine figures, and you're a puppet thrust in it with no more worth than that of a pawn. I'm sure Master Beracha shares my thoughts, but it's not in his nature to intervene in matters that do not concern him or the Mekkubal Order. That's why he didn't say anything."

Nysa stifled a sigh, a glint of annoyance in her remaining eye. "Of all the people I've met, you're the last I'd have expected to say something like this. We're mere tools, you and I. Are you telling me that you wouldn't act the same way I do if your master had given you a similar mission?"

Jonam lowered his gaze. "My apologies again. As tools, our worth is indeed tied to our given purpose. This was hypocritical of me, but I guess... I must've been somewhat flustered about your situation. No, flustered isn't the right word. I'm more... angry, yet also envious. You're the first human to make me feel this way, so I'm still processing these new emotions."

"This is ridiculous. What about me would stir such envy—"

"Although irrational, I'd ask you not to ridicule what I'm about to reveal," Jonam interrupted her mid-sentence. "You heard Master Beracha earlier, right? Amongst Homunculi, I'm considered an exception—something that holds a higher worth than the other expendable units. Do you know why?"

Nysa shook her head, noticing subtle hints of sadness in his expression.

"Homunculi are born with a strict set of instructions. In the case of the Mekkubal Order, we're essentially autonomous killing devices in human skin, and our purpose—the single goal animating every one of us—is the annihilation of the Henosis Seekers. Our biological mechanisms are all tailored toward that task."

"When we die, our core copies all the information it deems useful for accomplishing our objectives, giving birth to the next us, another Segment, which will inherit our memories and experience, leading to a cycle of ever-evolving fighters that only seek to hunt the Henosis Seekers. In other words, the perfect soldiers."

Jonam gulped a mouthful of his watered-down black wine, wincing at its sweet yet slightly sour taste.

"As I once said, we do have feelings and emotions. Just like humans, we can bond with other creatures and form attachments. However, it's a flimsy link, no stronger than the affection one would have for his favorite cup or chair. Still, it's all we have... so we tend to cherish it. We experience death many times, ours and that of our allies, sometimes peaceful, other times agonizing, often definitive. That is why our senses are dulled... so that we may not break."

Tears slid down Jonam's flushed cheeks—silent ones, stifled by the pride of a tool that wouldn't accept its spreading cracks. Nysa empathized, and the bubbling sting made her reach across the table to hold his hands. They were abnormally soft, like those of a suckling babe.

"Those are no dull tears, Jonam," she said, barely audible amidst the kapeleion's clamor. Her stance was awkward, unused to caring for another, nor knowing how to do it.

"Four... fourteen times, I have succumbed. By the time of my fifth death..." He sniffled, fighting hard against his sobs. "I—... I had begun noticing a difference. Everything was so vivid, so powerfully resonating... i—it stung my heart and seared my mind when my friends kept dying... again and again, always forgetting the unimportant, the useless memories we once shared."

He retracted his hands from Nysa's grasp, burying them between his thighs. "I never forgot. The emotions that everyone else so easily dismissed, I was forced to experience fully... like a human. My creator, Alchemist Devora Jaffe, had deemed me defective at first and was arranging for my disposal."

Jonam wiped his face, his lips curving into a self-deprecating smile. "How sweet would that have been? To return to my oblivious, painless inexistence. Unfortunately, my anomaly came with a gift... or, I should say, a curse. The Reverse Boundary of the World recognized my defective blur of a mind as closer to that of a human being than a Homunculus. Unlike my kin, who could only hope to fiddle vaguely with raw Mana, I was able to become a magus."

He held his head between his hands, shaking at those thoughts. "From a defective unit, I became a masterpiece. The first and sole Homunculus able to evolve as a magus. An existence that defied the rules of occultism and artificial soul-crafting. From there on, I was denied the relief of death countless times."

His gaze focused on Nysa, and a feeble, wrathful glimmer shone in his blue eyes. "I am a Homunculus from the Mekkubal Order. I am bound by the unending urge to slaughter the Henosis Seekers, yet given no right to mourn the massacre of my own kind. I am treated as a tool, yet I possess the emotions of a human."

"I yearn for freedom from this hell, but such thoughts drag me into even greater despair, as they contradict the instructions thrust on me upon my birth. So when I see you... unshackled by the rules of a born-tool, tortured by a similar fate... but still unwilling to choose a better path..."

"Why? Why do you insist on suffering a tragic death, even when you have the option to flee? To go away, far from here, in a place where neither leash nor rules can bind you!"

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