118 miles Northeast, Thursday, April 26th, 4:58 p.m. CET — Lift Station #2, Lake Pantano, Valley of the Holy Trinity, Province of Brescia, Lombardy, Italy
A breeze stirred through the valley, sending ripples across the surface of Lake Pantano. A small shack stood quietly at the water’s edge, its machinery humming softly near a dam that held the lake in place. The surrounding mountains, rugged and towering, rose sharply from the rocky valley floor, their snow-capped peaks lingering from the winter chill despite the warmth of spring.
At the base of the station, three men stood in quiet observation, their gazes fixed upward toward the lift system as it slowly lowered a car from the monastery perched atop the mountain. A lone figure stood nearby at the station’s controls, an old Italian man, his weathered face framed by a thick mustache and a scruffy beard. His name was Signore Giovanni Bellini, a lifer at the station, whose knuckles had long ago turned white from decades of gripping the same levers. He adjusted his woolen cap and chuckled softly under his breath.
“Ah, she moves slower than a snail on a hot day,” Giovanni muttered with a grin. “I tell you, the thing must be as old as the mountains themselves!” He shifted his weight and radioed over to the opposite station atop the hill. “Two boarding. Lift is clear to ascend.”
The two passengers, Monsignor Vittorio Altomare and Father Elias Roche, stepped forward to board the lift. Though both carried an air of authority, they were strikingly different in presence. Monsignor Altomare, a man in his early 50s, was tall and sharply dressed in a dark suit, his posture rigid with disciplined stoicism. His dark hair was neatly combed back, and his piercing blue eyes held the cold detachment of a man who had seen much yet remained impenetrable.
Father Roche, older by a decade, was notably shorter, his stocky frame wrapped in a black cassock and a dark trench coat that billowed slightly as he moved. His grey, tousled hair and faint stubble softened his appearance, and his warm brown eyes carried an easy, disarming quality. Unlike the monsignor, whose presence seemed to cut through the air, Roche had the look of a man who had spent his life among people, listening, understanding, and quietly bearing their burdens.
As the lift began its steady climb, the two men settled into their respective places. The air was colder here, and the sound of the machinery humming around them filled the otherwise silent space.
“I’ve worked in Rome for nearly twenty years, you know,” Monsignor Altomare began, his gaze fixed on the mountainside below. “And now, here I am, all the way in these remote hills, investigating the disappearance of a single nun. Makes you wonder if it was all worth it.”
Father Roche chuckled, his tone calm but resolute. “It’s not the size of the assignment that matters, Monsignor. All work, no matter how small, is done in the name of our Lord and savior. That alone makes it worthy.”
Monsignor Altomare gave a half-smile and a quick retort. “Yes, but it’s still just one nun, isn’t it? Do you really think this case requires two investigators?”
Father Roche’s eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned forward, his tone measured but firm. “This nun is not just any nun, Monsignor. Not only was Sub-Prioress Beatrix recently appointed to become the Mother Superior of the Monastery of Saint Benedict in Cortina d’Ampezzo, but she was also resonant. Her ability to manipulate frequencies, far beyond the norm, marked her as someone extraordinarily significant. Her disappearance is not merely a matter of a missing soul; it strikes at the heart of the mysteries we’ve long guarded, and it raises profound questions for the Vatican.”
“I didn’t see any mention of that in my report,” Altomare stated, his tone laced with disbelief.
Father Elias paused, then replied evenly, “There is a second report, Monsignor—a report I was instructed to provide you upon our arrival.” With deliberate care, he reached into his satchel and extracted a neatly folded document, extending it toward Altomare.
Altomare took the report, his eyes narrowing as he unfolded it. The gesture alone betrayed his growing frustration, and a tight frown creased his features. “You kept this from me?” he muttered, scanning the lines of text with mounting anger. “How am I supposed to carry out this investigation when crucial details are withheld?”
Elias met his gaze steadily, his voice quiet yet firm. “The Vatican insisted that this information be delivered solely to you when we were alone. We’re dealing with matters of such sensitivity that premature disclosure could jeopardize the entire investigation.”
Altomare’s grip tightened on the report as the lift continued its slow ascent, the tension between them underscored by the steady hum of machinery. The weight of this newly revealed information settled upon him, and though his eyes burned with indignation, a flicker of reluctant understanding passed between the two men as they braced themselves for what lay ahead.
17 miles Northwest, 5:14 p.m. CET — SS42 State Highway, Tonale Pass
The G550 Wagon carved its way through the valley, a lone traveler on the winding state highway. Dense green forests blanketed the mountains on either side, their canopies shifting in the late afternoon breeze.
Inside, the hum of the engine blended with the deep voice of an old Italian singer, his ballad filling the cabin. Otto sat behind the wheel, his face impassive, his hands steady as he maneuvered through each curve.
In the passenger seat, David was focused on his laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard, his brow furrowed in concentration. The glow of the screen reflected faintly in his glasses, his mind seemingly elsewhere.
In the back seat, Loconda stirred. A damp sheen clung to her skin as she woke, her pulse quickening from a dream already slipping away. She exhaled, pushing strands of hair from her face, and looked down to find Renata curled in her lap, the cat’s small body rising and falling in deep sleep. Gently, she lifted the feline and placed her beside her on the seat before leaning against the window, staring out at the passing scenery.
More mountains. More trees. The same view she had seen miles ago. She frowned, her sense of distance blurred by the monotony of the landscape. How much farther?
Shifting forward, she reached out and tapped David’s shoulder. “Can you turn the A/C up?”
David glanced at her, then wordlessly adjusted the dial. A cool gust swept through the cabin, and Loconda sighed in relief.
“Perfect timing,” David said, closing his laptop with a decisive snap. “I wanted to have a quick one-on-one with you before we arrive.”
Without looking away from the road, Otto reached for the center console, pulling out a pair of headphones. He slid them on, lowering the volume of his music as David straightened in his seat, turning to face Loconda fully.
“As you may or may not know, I have no special resonant abilities whatsoever. You might’ve noticed when we first met backstage in New York, how Miss Gior was able to put everyone to sleep except for Otto here. Wonder why that was?”
Loconda, her eyes momentarily distracted by the steady hum of the truck, turned her attention back to David. “Because he’s resonant?” she guessed.
“Correct,” David nodded, casting a glance at Otto before meeting her eyes again. “Very few people possess abilities like yours. Old Otto here was also a product of the Havocant program too. And while it would probably be ideal if he could give you the full rundown from his own firsthand experience, unfortunately, he’s not much of a talker, so you’re gonna have to settle with a secondhand version from me.”
He took a brief pause, giving Loconda a moment to process, then continued. “Right now, we’re headed to a small town called Temú. It’s one of the staging areas for the participants of the program. From the second you step out of this vehicle, you will be watched and judged by the nuns and the priests administering the program. I’ve driven dozens of students to this location before, and I can’t count on one hand the number of students who’ve come back having passed the program. So trust me when I say that you are being watched and judged at all times. Take it literally, because it is literal. If you can imagine it, they can do it.”
He turned his focus back to the road, giving her a moment to absorb his words. “So be on your best behavior. Okay?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice steady despite the knot forming in her stomach.
David glanced over at her, his expression serious but not unkind. “Now, the name of the game here is: Can they trust you? That’s it. That’s the name of the game all summer long. The academy you tried to join already labeled you untrustworthy. Now, you have one final chance to prove you can handle a power as dangerous as resonance. Because in the wrong hands, resonance can become a weapon of mass destruction.”
He paused, his gaze narrowing as he fixed his attention on the winding road ahead. “There will be several trials, some obvious, some not. They will push your moral character to its very limits. If you’re a bad person, it will show. If you’re good, your light will shine. The only advice I can give you is this: stay alert, always. Everything is a test. Nothing is what it seems. Don’t get comfortable. Always ask yourself, ‘What is the right thing to do?’ and then do it. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she responded, her voice quieter now.
David’s eyes softened slightly as he spoke again. “I don’t want to see you coming back to Milan in tears. I really don’t. So I hope you take my words to heart. I genuinely do. I have high hopes for you, Mrs. Toussaint. Don’t let me down. Alright?”
“Yes, sir… I mean, no sir. I won’t let you down,” she replied, her voice tinged with resolve.
David gave a nod of approval and turned in his seat, tapping Otto on the shoulder. Without a word, Otto removed the headphones from his head, set them back in the center console, and turned the volume up on the radio. The smooth, lilting tones of Italian opera filled the truck, filling the silence that followed.
Loconda sank back in her seat, feeling the weight of the impending storm pressing down on her chest. Her thoughts swirled with uncertainty, but before she could lose herself in them, Renata, slowly climbed back into her lap and curled up, purring softly. The gentle vibrations of the cat’s purr offered a small comfort, a fleeting moment of calm in the midst of her internal conflict.
She stared out the window, watching the mountains blur past, their jagged peaks a silent reminder of what lay ahead. Stay on guard… Always ask yourself, ‘What’s the right thing to do?’ and do that. What have I gotten myself into? she wondered, as the road ahead seemed to stretch on without end.
14 miles Southeast, 5:22 p.m. CET — West Entrance, Monastery of the Eternal Light, Adamello Mountain
As the lift came to a halt within the dimly lit confines of Lift Station #0, the metallic clang resonated through the chamber. The door slid open, revealing a young man with tousled dark hair and earnest brown eyes. His name tag read “Marco Bellini,” and his resemblance to Giovanni was unmistakable. Dressed in a simple woolen sweater and worn trousers, Marco greeted them with a polite nod.
“Buonasera, Reverend Fathers,” Marco said, his voice carrying a hint of his father’s gravelly timbre.
“Thank you, my son,” Father Roche replied warmly as he stepped out, offering a gentle smile.
Monsignor Altomare, however, brushed past without acknowledgment, his focus fixed ahead.
Emerging from the station, they found themselves on an expansive platform, its centerpiece a helicopter pad. The crisp mountain air was invigorating, and before them stood the Monastery of the Eternal Light. The structure was a marvel of architectural ingenuity, seamlessly integrated into the rugged face of Adamello Mountain. Its alabaster walls and intricate stonework made it appear as though the mountain had birthed it. Only the ornate stained-glass windows, grand iron doors, and quintet of spired towers with gleaming white tiles distinguished it from the natural rock.
Father Roche paused, murmuring a brief prayer as he took in the sight. “Deo gratias,” he whispered, crossing himself.
A welcoming party approached: two nuns in pristine habits and a priest adorned in ceremonial robes. They presented small tokens of hospitality: loaves of freshly baked bread, vials of holy water, and baskets of seasonal fruit.”
“Welcome to our sanctuary,” Father Lorenzo intoned, his voice echoing in the crisp air. “I am Sub-Prior Lorenzo, and these are Sisters Maria and Lucia.”
“Thank you, Father Lorenzo,” Roche responded, his tone warm. “We are grateful for your kindness.”
Monsignor Altomare’s expression tightened. “Is the Cardinal available to see us?”
Father Lorenzo maintained his composure. “His Eminence has scheduled a meeting with you tomorrow morning. In the meantime, Prior Altieri is available to see you once you’ve settled.”
Father Roche interjected gently, “There’s no need to rush. In fact, we prefer that our arrival remains discreet. Please inform only the Cardinal and the Prior of our presence. Tomorrow, we will require a secure room for interviews and a comprehensive list of all personnel.”
Monsignor Altomare bristled at being preempted but, feeling the mountain’s chill, chose not to contest. “Very well. Lead the way.”
They entered the monastery through a grand vestibule adorned with frescoes depicting scenes of divine revelation. The high arched ceilings and polished marble floors exuded an air of solemnity and reverence.
As they walked, Monsignor Altomare leaned toward Father Roche, his tone edged with impatience. “Why delay our investigation?”
Father Roche’s eyes scanned the sacred art lining the corridor. “Firstly, our late arrival makes it unwise to disrupt those who’ve dedicated their day to divine duties. Secondly, arriving unannounced allows us to observe genuine behaviors. It’s prudent to understand the natural order here before our presence influences it.”
Though initially irked, Monsignor Altomare conceded the merit in this approach. They continued in contemplative silence, absorbing the monastery’s profound history as they were guided to their quarters.
6.4 miles Northwest, 5:45 p.m. CET — Village of Temú
As the G-Wagon rumbled through the narrow streets of Temù, the village unfolded like a picturesque postcard. Temù was a quaint alpine village, its cobblestone streets lined with charming stone houses adorned with vibrant flower boxes. The towering peaks of the Adamello mountain range loomed in the distance, their snow-capped summits casting a serene backdrop. The scent of pine and fresh mountain air filled the atmosphere, and the gentle murmur of the Oglio River provided a soothing soundtrack to the village’s tranquil ambiance.
The truck came to a halt in front of a modest hotel attached to a church with a sign that read Home of the Eternal Light. The church’s façade was a harmonious blend of rustic stone and intricate carvings, exuding a sense of timelessness. Two monks stood at the entrance, their faces obscured by hoods, exuding an air of solemnity.
David’s expression turned grave as he faced Loconda. “Remember,” he cautioned, “the moment you step out of this truck, you need to be on guard.”
Loconda nodded, tightening her hold on Renata, nestled snugly in her arms. To her surprise, Otto turned to face her, his eyes meeting hers with a gentleness she hadn’t seen before. Breaking his customary silence, he spoke in a low, steady voice, “Trust your instincts. They will guide you.” His unexpected words hung in the air, carrying a weight that resonated deeply within her.
Facing both men, Loconda’s eyes reflected a deep well of emotion. “I can’t express how grateful I am to both of you,” she began, her voice steady yet laden with sincerity. “Thank you for believing in me and bringing me this far.”
David’s stern demeanor relaxed into a warm smile. “You’ve got this,” he said, offering a final boost of confidence.
With a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out, her boots clicking softly on the cobblestone as she approached the monks.
One of the monks stepped forward with a silent nod, gently taking Renata from her arms along with her luggage before heading toward the hotel. The other gestured toward the church entrance, silently guiding her inside.
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