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[[ COA IX "Collect Illustrations" Log ]]

I like to save these after the COA event is over, since it's all such neat lore, so I thought I'd type the descriptions myself here!

Please. Goodness. This took me Too Long.

1) [Red Insect] + A type of insect I've never seen before, deep crimson in colour, shedding a faint bioluminescent glow. In my childhood memories, the world beyond was nothing but filthy, timeworn shelters beneath an ominous red sky that stretched endlessly above. During my days here, I often find these insects circling around me. More often, they choose to settle on the winding scars along my skin. These old scars hold a particular attraction for them - the old sounds left by the fungal infection that once dragged me to the brink of death in hallucination. The visions it induced always reflected the infected one's deepest desire. I do not believe that "catastrophe" itself has any intention of its own, yet a mirror that reflects desire is more than enough to guide humanity to its ruin. Either way, these insects are a silent proof that the time I experienced, and the memories I carry, even the ones steeped in terror, may indeed be real. The traces of the catastrophe have become a part of my body, and now I feel something almost like nostalgia for them. Perhaps in those unfree days, that tiny shelter's fleeting joy and comfort were still the fuel that carried me this far. But perhaps they were also a warning - a reminder that no matter how I escape that apocalyptic cage, by whatever means, the power that can destroy civilisations and drive humanity to its end still lurks, waiting in the dark. 2) [Holy City Flower] + A flower found widely in the Holy City, with beautiful violet petals. I'm very fond of it - it looks exactly like the flowers I see in picture books. Some plants in the Holy City often have geometric features. Each ring of petals on this flower lines up precisely with the centre of the outer ring. Behind the bloom extend thin filament-like structures, like delicate tendrils. The roots and the back of the flower crown carry a particular scent: soft and powdery, with a hint of something almost metallic. "Merchant" told us this flower is often used for incense. It has a special property: it can stir dreams. "Merchant" is always the most enthusiastic in our group. Each of us received an embroidered sachet of incense from him. Perhaps I'll place mine beneath my pillow and wait for dreams to come. These blooms also commonly appear during festivals - bright ornaments woven into hair and tied at the waist. The sight has led me to new thoughts: this solemn, pallid Holy City can suddenly erupt into revelry overnight. It is a spectacle I had never seen before, never even imagined. 3) [Black Mask Fragment] + Fragments of a mask. Judging by the feather-like lines etched on it, it is almost identical to the white masks the faithful wear, save for its colour, completely inverted. Stripped of pure white, the shard feels bitterly desolate. I imagine this deliberate inversion of the dress code declares the wearer's stance as the exact opposite of Holy City orthodoxy. "Cuckoo" knows the factions that skulk beneath the city. He says that black feather masks belong to a group of conspirators, though now only a few remnants of that faction remain. Their core belief is that the history of the Holy City is fabricated. They insist some nameless power is shaping everything we see. These fervent conspirators haunt every corner of the Holy City, collecting proof that this place is not a "natural creation". Perhaps the evidence they've gathered may be of use to us.

In every civilisation, at every point in history, there is always a group of people determined to overturn what the majority accepts as common sense.

4) [Blasphemous Painting] + A copied painting. Amusingly, the original was by "Artisan" himself, and I was fortunate enough to see it in his home. Even as an imitation, the central image still inspires confusion and unease. It is a ringed structure woven from a countless number of arms, nesting into itself over and over. Many hands reach outward from the circular form, arranged in such a way that they resemble pairs of spreading wings. The painting isn't made with delicate brushwork, but with fingers and palms plunged into pigment, smeared in rough, violent strokes. This brutal method leaves the ring riddled with holes that resemble living tissue. The colour palette is cold. "Artisan" has always loathed the Holy City's ceaseless warm light; only perfectly opposite hues make him feel "correct" and "safe". Most of the time, he seals himself indoors and "corrects" his furnishings with the colours he deems right. Supposedly, this image comes from a nightmare that tormented him for years - he was submerged over and over in this sea of arms and hands, torn into pieces, smothered almost to suffocation. Among us, "Cuckoo" and "Merchant" are particularly fond of this piece. 5) [Shell Without Growth Lines] + A seashell, about half the size of a hand. Its colour has faded, and it bears faint signs of natural wear, but no growth rings, nor any recognisable scars of damage or repair. Growth rings are proof of a shell's time spent living - its surface patterns are the chronicle of that individual's life. This object, by contrast, is baffling. It feels as if it were conjured from nothing by some unknown force, skipping every stage of growth, lying wordless in my palm as stark evidence. Perhaps there exists a set of creations - humans, animals, plants, the stone steps of civilisation, and the legacies they stand for - that are the direct products of "the original construction". These scattered clues hidden within the Holy City, these tiny flaws in an eternal paradise, might help us persuade more people to trace the true origin of this place.

A particular civilisation and its believers, an eternal pastoral city of devotion, and participants willing to accept this entire narrative and live within it. Can we ever decipher the code behind its construction? 6) [Totem Ornaments] + To this city, this is something "pagan" - an ornament from the same source as the ones I wear. Before I came here, I wandered for a long time. I found what little I could of this world's culture in scraps of ruin. This was a raw, powerful faith that believed nature teemed with many divinities, different tribes each venerating their own gods. People called themselves sons and daughters of thunder, of storms, of the earth, distilling the forms of all things into bold totems, collecting bones and teeth to create elaborate, ostentatious jewellery to wear.

I spent time studying this belief, not just to blend into this world, but because it fascinated me. I had never lived, or even imagined, a life so free and forceful. People dyed their clothes in vivid colours with natural pigments, and watched the world with a fervent, attentive eye, striving to move in rhythm with nature's laws. At my most troubled, I would grip the carved pieces I wear. I know what they mean. As I picture every force in nature, I remember: my own heart is not weak. 7) [Crawling Blessed Ones] + One of the late-stage forms of a Blessed One. Its wings cannot fly, it does not need to eat, nor can it speak. It can only crawl slowly along the ground. The Blessed Ones all differ in nature. Some believe their forms carry symbolic meaning, honest reflections of their pre-transformation souls, like a mirror. This type of Blessed One is entirely harmless. Its twisted body can no longer protect itself in any way, but the culture of widespread veneration here grants it some measure of safety. Even so, I struggle to imagine whether, behind those eyes and within that 'holy' body, a whole soul still remains intact.

The power of this city grants them the form of Blessed Ones, but offers them no power beyond bare immortality. Most of the beings "Cleric" shelters are similarly disabled. I can read, in her eyes, an emotion poured in almost to the point of mania - aching nostalgia, and something close to obsession. 8) [Two-Coloured Incense Box] + Incense crafted by "Merchant", the colour of its contents changing with its intended effect. Each piece is small enough to carry on one's person, its fragrance present day and night. "Merchant"'s talent for perfuming is remarkable, and his incense truly has special properties. I feel its influence myself whenever we work together. The deep blue incense was a gift from him to "Artisan". Its dark hue is an affectation - chosen simply because the recipient prefers cool colours. Its function is to calm the mind, to help the wearer sleep more soundly. "Artisan"'s frayed mental state is a constant worry, but luckily our group contains someone as attentive and warm as "Merchant". Sometimes "Artisan" dozes at dusk, and we quietly watch his sleeping face. He looks almost gentle. I think perhaps the nightmares visit him less often now. Maybe I should ask "Merchant" for one... or two... of these little incense boxes myself. As for the red incense he wears - what does that one do? "Merchant" seems strangely reliant on these scents.

From a purely aesthetic point of view, he also designs each incense piece in its own style. He throws himself completely into life, and the mood of our group is lighter for it. 9) ["Azurite"] + A striking ritual spice, as bright and clear as a sapphire. This is incense reserved for Holy City rites, and "Merchant" supplies the finest quality. Its main ingredient seems to be a rare resin with a distinctive aroma, prepared by special methods. "Merchant" adds and extra step, coating their surface in oil to make their colours more vivid and translucent. It's almost exactly the shade I always imagined the sea to be. They say the craftsmen still argue over the correct materials and techniques, but "Merchant" is no traditionalist. He's always experimenting with "improper" improvements. Even unlit, the incense gives off a faint odour: a gentle bitterness, touched with coolness - the same scent I noticed when I first met "Cleric" and underwent the rite. When burned, it produces heavy smoke, though without acrid, choking fumes.

Interestingly, the only one of us who frequently officiates rites, "Cleric", is also the most sensitive to smell. Whenever "Merchant" presents his latest wares, she lifts her sleeve and quietly steps aside. Over time, she has revealed more and more of her human preferences and quirks. If she were not bound to that symbolic position, perhaps we might have had more chances to know her as a person. 10) [Obsidian Blessed One] + An obsidian Blessed One, seemingly in the terminal stage of transformation. Its body is heavily scarred and unusually dark, with three pairs of functional wings. No record of an Obsidian Blessed One exists in the Holy City's archives. I suspect she is exceedingly rare - perhaps unique.

The saddest part is that her consciousness seems preserved almost too well. What I see seems to be a fully human mind trapped within this body. Her huge eyes and wings still spill emotions, and we seldom see anything there but pain and exhaustion. According to the canon, even if her body has completed its transformation, her soul must still be weighed down, sinking into a pit of sin.

She is secretly hidden and cared for by "Cleric". Once, this Blessed One was a close acquaintance of both "Cleric" and Cuckoo". In the "Cleric"'s case, she once guided this person through everything, in meticulous detail, and the other, in turn, bore some of the secrets hidden beneath "Cleric"'s exalted façade. "Cuckoo" argues they should find a way - any way - to end the Blessed One's agony, even if she is nearly unkillable. "Cleric", however, stubbornly keeps her close, under her protection. They once fought bitterly over this. Now they carry that argument in shared, wordless silence. 11) [Geometric Branches] + A particularly rare plant whose stem and leaves, once fully mature, arrange themselves in exquisite geometric patterns. At maturity, it looks less like an organic life-form and more like a complex work of art or a device. When the wind blows, its uniform leaves shift in sequence, and in that motion it finally seems alive. Faint blue light glimmers in the gaps of its limbs. The Blessed Ones are especially drawn to this plant. The name it bears is drawn from this rumour of attraction. But few have ever actually seen the sight of Blessed Ones gathering among its branches. The residents of the Holy City piously obey every precept, and so the Blessed Ones and this plant that are so closely associated with them, are both forbidden.

Sometimes I wonder if fear and reverence, holiness and taboo, always come in pairs - two faces of one thing. They nourish one another, feeding a cycle in which "mystery" grows ever larger. Of course, our little group is already an anomaly in a city woven entirely from taboos. As I write, the Artisan is sketching this plant on paper, while "Cuckoo" uses one of its branches to coax our latest foundling - a cat in mid-transformation. 12) [Colossal Blessed One] + Colossal Blessed Ones, with wings spanning higher than several stories of a building - and that is only what we have personally witnessed, not the limit of what may exist in the Holy City's records. These massive beings have an immense, crushing presence. They descend most often in the depths of night, appearing silently in the hushed dark. Their behaviour seems centred around watching. Every window, door, crack or vent becomes a conduit for their invasive gaze. To be caught in that stare is to risk severe cognitive distortion, even permanent psychological damage.

When the evening sky over the Holy City burns with an unusually vivid red, residents rush indoors, sealing every possible aperture: drawing heavy curtains, moving furniture to block any gap. They are instructed to burn incense through the night and, if possible, wear special full-cover masks until dawn. On such nights, the Colossal Blessed Ones never appear alone. They move in numbers large enough to blanket the whole city in a shadow of terror.

They say that an artist once opened his door on such a night and saw flocks of Colossal Blessed Ones roaming the streets. To him, it was the most beautiful and awe-inspiring sight he had ever seen. The painting he left behind, based on that vision, is nothing but a twisted void, drawn in masses of grey-black lines. 13) [Festive Sweets] + A festive sweet beloved by the public, made mainly from wheat flour, yeast, eggs, butter and a little sugar. The dough is poured into standard moulds and baked into rounds. The edges sometimes rise a little as they bake, while the inside remains soft, slightly sticky. Another hallmark lies in the topping: small black spheres made with a special spice blend, giving the dessert its distinct aroma.

I have to admit, I absolutely adore this sweet. It's the first time I've truly understood, with all my senses, what a dessert ought to look, smell and taste like. Back in the shelter days, the few books we could trade for were my only window into the world before my birth. The crude news from our receivers was always too dull. I preferred being a child archaeologist rummaging through old paper. The contents were a jumble - myths, lifestyle magazines, travelogues. Those last three were my favourites. In one cookbook, the page on "Truffle Cake" was torn out. I imagined it to be the most delicious cake of all - round, studded with whole black spheres that gave off a special fragrance.

Though I have never seen or tasted it, that imagining alone brought me joy and anticipation. Perhaps it was like the shell-shaped cakes in another novel, meant to be eaten with black tea, carrying memory in their texture. So why is it that another fictional element of my past - a detail that belonged to my old world - has appeared here again? 14) [Sword-Bearing Blessed One] + A Blessed One in the middle stage of transformation, with a cold, statue-like, inorganic appearance that still retains a recognisable human shape. "Cleric' explained that the form and metamorphosis of a Blessed One are often symbolic. Because each life is unique and unrepeatable, so to is the process of transformation. Theologians have tried to categorise the many possible outcomes, and these statuary Blessed Ones, thanks to their stone-like material, are classified as highly unusual.

In simple terms, they are the Divine's most favoured children, but they are also extremely dangerous - among us, only "Cuckoo" can deal with them with any confidence. First, they resemble the Holy City's god, whose body is like a living statue - cold, hard, smooth, yet capable of miraculous movement. Statuary Blessed Ones are, in appearance, closest to the Divine.

Their danger lies in their indiscriminate aggression towards living things, though they remain bound by a rule: under strong light, they are completely still, indistinct from ordinary statuary. Once the surrounding brightness falls below a certain threshold, they can move freely. Usually, they are kept in seperate spaces under constant illumination. And within the Holy City, creating new statues is forbidden. Aside from structural ornamentation and a few officially sanctioned effigies, the appearance of an unknown statue is nearly always a sign of trouble. In any case, accidents happen. I'm grateful that my childhood handheld lamp could still serve its purpose at a critical moment. 15) [Folklore Collection] + A long scroll filled with folktales, often carried by street storytellers. This art is very popular. Sometimes we see one or two performers in strange masks standing in the streets, their faces hidden, surrounded by townsfolk. Their scrolls are filled with intricate illustrations, beloved by children.

This is the most surprising aspect of the Holy City folk culture to me. My impression of it had always been solemn, white and austere, yet these lively performers bring colour and clamour to its quiet streets. The Holy City encourages most forms of literary creation, and the most prized works are those fantastical stories that push the furthest beyond common sense, as if the more bizarre and outlandish its content, the greater its value. This attitude seems tied to the city's Divine. Some texts preserve a story: the god and a child each compose a tale. The Divine writes a florid, beautiful poem, yet people prefer the child's story, and so does the god. Another version has it that the more stories people create in a year, the more vivid the miracles that year will be.

"Artisan" thinks there's no need for further interpretation: perhaps the Divine simply likes reading fantasy stories more than reading scripture.

16) [Fragrant Wine] + A common wine of the Holy City, with a fragrant herbal taste, used widely in purification and ritual. For me, this too is a first. I never had the chance to taste alcohol before, though I've read plenty about alcohol and brewing. Alcohol seems to hold a special place in human civilisation. Throughout history, people cultivated, gathered and refined their methods endlessly to brew better spirits. Rice, barley, corn, sugarcane, all manner of odd herbs, seeds and fruits - humans have always tried everything they could turn into a drink. Around the sensations alcohol brings, countless stories, myths and rituals have formed.

One evening on the high terrace, "Merchant" and I scoured the area for every kind of drink we could find. In that looser mood, crystal bottles filled with wine made conversation flow freely, branching like rivers. When I came back to myself, "Cuckoo" was playing his instrument and telling legends, "Merchant" was staggering dangerously near the platform's edge, "Artisan" had fallen asleep in the painted flowerbed on the floor, and only "Cleric" remained mostly unchanged - perhaps maintaining the poise expected of her role had become habit. But when "Cleric" tried, for the third time, to catch a nonexistent red insect flitting before her eyes, I realised she was not entirely untouched. This journey may still be short, but in those relaxed, unguarded moments we saw our truest selves spill out before each other. 17) [Transforming Bird] + A bird in the earliest stages of transformation. For birds, perhaps, it is the hardest to notice. In the days before the procession, we often saw a particular girl who kept a nearly healed bird perched on the broad brim of her hat - like a warm, multicoloured ornament perfectly suited to the festival. Later, she entrusted the bird to me, and I never saw her again.

One morning at dawn, I heard faint, familiar birdsong drifting from a nearby alley outside my window. I assumed it came from a flock of similar birds until I saw the shadow on the warped window lattice. The birdsong was pouring from a strange flute. A shiver ran through me. It felt as though that figure had once been part of my life - something I would recognise anywhere. But when I opened the window, the flutist was gone. 18) [Broken Talisman] + A shattered talisman. Its owner is nowhere to be found. The Holy City's precepts tell everyone that the talisman protects the world of the mind. And indeed, records show that when a talisman is damaged or dislodged by accident, some residents lose their grasp on reality, falling into terror and madness. For Holy City residents, the talisman accompanies them from birth to death. From the moment an infant receives its first rite, this ornament carries the faith passed down through generations. A single talisman can quiet a wailing infant. For outsiders who wish to enter, a solemn ceremony is required, and a talisman personally granted by a Cleric. The city's defences are strict, and the talismans cannot be forged. In this matter, I had little choice.

The talisman's core is usually a blue crystal, though that oversimplifies it. In truth, under shifting light and angle, you can find every colour you can imagine within that strange blue. These hues flow inside solid stone, and sometimes I feel that perhaps actual life and truth are hidden in that mottled brilliance. We simply haven't learned the form that "life" takes there. The crystal bonds to flesh through transparent strings of light. Wearing it causes no pain, but removal is another matter. They say taking it off leaves no physical injury, but the mind experiences unbearable stabbing agony and suffocation. In a sense, the talisman has become a part of the citizens' belief, culture and even anatomy - a heraldic badge that marks their identity, granting them free passage within the city. 19) [Zither] + A stringed instrument from another faith beyond the Holy City, now quite old. Hidden marks on its body show its maker was "Cuckoo". Before he donned the shackles of a sinner, "Cuckoo" was a master luthier. As a youth, he wandered into the Holy City and has never yet been tamed by its faith. On rare occasions, he still plays - his fingers bound tight to the strings - or hums under his breath. The melodies are undeniably beautiful. The sound of his instrument can drag the listener bodily into worlds of story: gliding over a calm, soft sea; falling like a swallow into a storm; freezing into the night, into the black-mercury eye of a doe. Perhaps it is because "Cuckoo" lives more deeply in those stories than anyone else that they spill so naturally into his music. In such moments, "Cuckoo" will never bow his spine to any faith. He lives only inside the narratives he writes for himself.

Within the Holy City, such instruments and songs are branded heretical. Even so, these rebellious notes are enough to make a faith-broken "Cleric" and a colour-drunk "Artisan" stop and listen.

This was the first instrument "Cuckoo" ever made, we later learned. 20) [Interior Design Plan] + A design draft for a piece of interior furniture. In truth, it was commissioned by "Cleric" from a craftsman she trusts. We have seen many such works of various sizes in her room. The object resembles a cradle, usually hidden beneath large wing-like structures. These wings can be opened by a mechanism to reveal a hollow, soft, comfortable interior. Its real function is that of a cradle - for secretly sheltering Blessed Ones without attracting notice. People form alliances not only out of shared interest, but also through shared pain and shared secrets. The first is more efficient. The second is deeper and longer-lasting. I have not forgotten the first time I watched the Blessed Ones rise or fall from those cradles, drifting towards "Cleric" and me in the dim room. When my hands finally touched their white feathers, the living warmth beneath them flickered through my fingertips like electricity. "Cleric" crouched among them, a young, white shepherd among her flock. She stroked their wings and murmured soft words. I don't know if these nearly terminal Blessed Ones could still understand human speech, but the scene was enough to convince me of their instinctive trust, of old familiarity that remains even after irreversible change. Among them was a black sheep - a one-eyed black Blessed One. "Cleric" held her tight for several minutes. It was the first time I had ever seen "Cleric" show such raw sorrow. Her body was wound tight as a spring, fingers pressed between black feathers, and I thought I could see tear stains on her sleeves. I couldn't tell whether those tears belonged to "Cleric" or to the Blessed One. 21) [Thinker Sketch] + Sometimes, carved human faces appear on Holy City buildings. The most famous is the statue of the Thinker, said to be the first sage to undergo transformation. From the statue's form, we can see the Thinker's winged metamorphosis began at the head: two wings rise high from either side of the skull. They are not functional, but their effect is imposing and holy. It is believed that transformation begins in the soul. The process is like the Divine's hand reshaping a being's physical form, a second creation inscribed with clear symbols unique to each individual. Some changes begin in the brain, as the Thinker's name implies, when thought surges in the brain. Wings sprouting upward from the head embody this trait. Others begin in the heart, the belly, the mouth, the limbs. There is no inherent hierarchy among these variations. In our little group, only "Artisan"'s transformation began in the brain. Both sides of his face and the back of his head show clear feathered growth. Even if his ideas and creations are considered blasphemous by Holy City standards, his body still bears out his nature. Perhaps because of this, his family still expects him to appear at social gatherings, even when his mind is unwell. These changes have a mundane side as well, shaping new social rules. For our little group, the most interesting and practical function of the "Artisan"'s cheek-wings is entirely different: he can use them to shield his eyes from the sun or wordlessly signal his mood. 22) [Marble Tree] + A singular, pure white tree whose material resembles smooth marble, yet is alive and grows naturally. Its shape is marked by geometry - branches radiating from the crown in precise patterns. Because of its colour, the canopy sometimes strikes me as an enormous, intricate snowflake. And like a snowflake, no two crowns share the same design. "Artisan" prefers the indoors, but one of the only reasons he'll go outside - besides necessary operations - is these trees. When we discover a new marble tree, he is willing to go out to sketch it. He's nearly filled an entire book with these studies. The rest of us are fond of them as well. "Merchant" dreams of transplanting them to his future spice garden. "Cuckoo"'s bird likes to perch among their measured branches.

23) [Black Rabbit Mask] + A mask belonging to a street storyteller - a black rabbit with three eye sockets. I have indeed seen a performer wearing it. I have a bold suspicion: this storyteller may not be a native of this world. She seems deeply familiar with Earth's history and even tells tales of the universe and outer space. Because I do not belong to this era, I recognise these "fictions" for what they truly are. At times, her movements are clumsy and naïve, as if she isn't fully comfortable controlling her own body. How can someone be so learned and yet so utterly ignorant of basic social common sense?

When I explained my theory to the others with great excitement, "Cleric" patiently pointed out that three-eyed masks are nothing unusual here - thanks to the transformations, people with changed numbers of eyes are everywhere. "Cuckoo" and "Artisan" nearly burst out laughing. I rarely see such expressions on their faces. Only "Merchant" greeted my guess with serious enthusiasm. Perhaps I should transcribe the science-fiction stories in my head. "Merchant" might enjoy reading them.

24) [Stump Without Rings] + A tree stump without growth rings, catalogued as "a creation with no trace of time," and used to support the claim that the Holy City's history is forged. Alongside it are other pieces: a tortoise shell with no growth pattern, a fish's otolith without age lines. They appear before us like miracles - evidence that can be called "divine signs". but also proof that the Holy City's history is far shorter than the canon or common belief suggests.

If the Holy City is stitched together with lies, then these material proofs are a lamp lit within vast darkness. Yet it is precisely this tiny lamp, this small flaw in a massive system, that makes you feel how minuscule our knowledge is before that darkness. Some choose to press forward with this light, probing the boundaries of the unknown. Many more, perhaps, choose to snuff it out and become part of the dark.

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