Certified and Ordered

Pathofest 2025 Days 6-7: Orders from Above The letter from A had only been a death rattle. Now Daniil must hear the reading of the death certificate.

Tags: Gen, No Archive Warnings Apply, Daniil Dankovsky, Aglaya Lilich, Pathofest 2025, Thanatica (Pathologic), vingette, A Conversation in the Cathedral, Day Eight

Daniil, I am writing this in a hurry, so do forgive the uncustomary brevity! The Powers That Be are closing in on us. They persecuted us before, as you know, but now they are set to utterly exterminate us. We may yet be able to persevere, but you, my friend, are in grave danger! It is almost as if your destination was chosen to be the place of your burial. They say there is some kind of disease in the town, of a most lethal variety; perhaps Plague itself. I have little doubt that the Powers That Be have set up your whole journey. Telman, that vermin, wants to get rid of you more than he wants to cease the outbreak. I wouldn't be surprised if it transpires that there are no medical personnel whatsoever in the town! They will use it as pretext to delegate the whole mess of it to you. If this is the case, I urge you to keep out of trouble. Stay safe, Daniil; wait for the sanitary teams. They will arrive sooner or later. Take care, my friend! If they tell you to engage the Plague by yourself, refuse it, even if your principles enjoin you to do otherwise. Our research is what matters the most and we will not be able to go on with it if you are dead...

Yours, A

The very day he’d arrived; Daniil had gotten the letter. The first whispers of horrible foreboding. He had known, in some way, that this would serve as Thanatica’s death rattle. Would be the last he, or anyone else heard from within those ivory walls. But, as with every death, first comes denial. It was not until the Inquisitor arrived that Daniil had to believe it.

The Cathedral is even more horrid now that the Inquisitor has taken residency in it. Where before it was full of the wailing agonal masses, now it is silent. Still. The only audible sounds the pendulum behind her, and the painfully loud footsteps of Daniil's boots on the marble. There is no room for brevity, no room for medicine, no room for hope. There is only the heavy sense of doom, and the oppressive knowledge something terrible will occur, no matter one's actions. He comes to a stop at the base of the stairs, looking up at her. One perfectly curved eyebrow raises on that impassive face, and Daniil has to fight the pit of dread in his stomach as he climbs those stairs, feeling as if he is ascending to the gallows, the guillotine. 

She waits until they are face to face. Spends long, silent minutes staring at him, looking down that strong nose as she inspects the man before her. Shrinking under those eyes, the way Daniil has never shrunk before anyone before. 

“Thanatica has already been destroyed. There's nothing left; the place itself is in ruins, your research is in ashes. Your papers have been burnt. Wretched Telman made sure of it personally. And now I am going to tell you about the law.” She said it like a decree, rather than the death notice it truly was. There was no time for anger, no opportunity to bargain. Depression then, a state he was more than familiar with. And yet she continues on. “Thanatica is in ruins. You are the last vestige of an unnatural and dishonorable tumor. You were told by those above to find the truth and told the truth must be nice. Those were your orders. That was your failure. You, are your failure.”

“Then this order comes directly from the Powers. I see it now.” He almost wishes he had stayed, had perished in his Thanatica, in the flames. At least then he would have been with his research. His people. His beautiful institute.

“Yes, Bachelor Dankovsky, your malignancy is to be excised, along with this town. In accordance with the Law, the very logic of our world inevitably dictates the destruction of anything unnatural: anything that tries to break its own, non-capitalized laws.”

Daniil nods, trying to hide the way his hands shake. Thankful, again, for his coat, large enough to mask the churning in his gut. “I have made my life an unnaturality, then. In every facet.” He pulls out a cigarette, fumbling with the lighter, not bothering to ask permission. It’s easy to tell he has nowhere to run from this. From Law as described. The Inquisitor takes pity on him, and holds out her own lighter, flame flickering under the tip. He takes a long draw and nods his thanks. She nods, solemn.

When she speaks, she almost sounds mournful. At least with a taste of generous sympathy. “You’re doomed then.”

“I’m doomed then.” Daniil is proud that his voice does not shake when he replies. Is proud the only proof of his fear is the way the smoldering end of his cigarette wavering in the darkened cathedral. There is nothing left to say.

On Ao3 at: "Certified and Ordered" by Practical Gothicism