<blockquote>


    "The weakest and lowest grade of Incunabula are termed Ash Incunabula. These typically manifest as mud-brown or ashen-colored tomes with corroded and faded covers. The typical Increment associated with the Ash Incunabula have historically been mere descriptions of personalities. Volume 3 deals with the various myths associated with Ash Incunabula, and also discusses some of the historical roles holders of Ash Incunabula have played.


    The next grade are the Hollow Incunabula. These are sometimes but not often considered equal to White Incunabula, on account of the various drawbacks of the latter as more fully explicated in Volume 4. The Hollow Incunabula often appear translucent and fashioned of plastic and typically blessed its holders with improved dexterity. Any skill requiring speed and finesse benefits from the blessing of a Hollow Incunabulum.


    White Incunabula tend to appear bone-white and are associated with causing rapid mutations in holders. Such changes range widely in extent, with the most extreme metamorphoses being the stuff of horror. Indeed, some of the greatest literary tragedies to have emerged in the last century have centered around one or other White Incunabulum transformations. According to studies, the greatest and most gruesome changes stem from body obsessions—should one suffer such mutations, the least invasive way to reverse such changes would be to undergo intense psychological conditioning in an attempt to influence subsequent ''writings''/''rewritings'' in a remedial direction. Please refer to Volume 5 for more information.


    Next were the Primary Incunabula, the covers of which could be cerulean or crimson. Primary Incunabula related to chemical manipulations and corresponding physical changes within a holder''s body. Research into Primary Incunabula is particularly fertile, and therefore this most recent edition dedicates three full volumes (Volumes 6-8) to explicating the general contours of the Primary power. The roles of Primary Incunabula holders admit of truly infinite variation, and a lifetime''s dedication to scientific study is required to fully unlock its productive capacity.


    The first of the ''Metal Incunabula'', Bronze Incunabula (or sometimes, ''Copper Incunabula''), their covers gleaming copper-like, tend to bless its holders with ''mental'' changes. It had, in fact, been proven at one point or other that such ''mental'' changes followed on physical changes to the brain; as such, some academics still argue that Bronze Incunabula should merely be considered a better grade of Hollow Incunabula. Please refer to Volume 9 for more information on the classification. Refer to the last chapter of Volume 9 for a brief primer on the academic discourse surrounding the distinction between Bronze and Hollow Incunabula.


    The next Metal Incunabula is the Silver Incunabula (or, in certain other circles, ''Steel Incunabula''), powerful Incunabula the color of blue-tinted steel. The Silver Incunabula''s status as "second-best" is controversial because many considered Bronze Incunabula equal to, and in certain rare cases superior to, Silver Incunabula. The Silver grade conferred powers relating to ''coordination'', ''intelligence'' and/or ''management''; but really the debate is confused, given that those relevant Increments still in public circulation have been noted to be rather vague. Volume 10 discusses in general outline the key aspects of these powers.


    At the top reign the Golden Incunabula, with covers of gold, like their designation. Those chosen by the Golden Incunabula are considered inordinately blessed, for only they can manipulate time and space. The network that tied together the star systems within the Democracy''s dominion at the dawn of the Interstellar Age, for instance, was built and maintained by holders of the Golden Incunabula. To a certain extent, fundamental facets of the many-sided die called reality can be transmogrified—willed into or out of existence—by these divine powers. Volume 11 deals with the history of these artifacts, while Volume 12 discusses the budding perspective that the powers conferred by the Golden Incunabula are based on established scientific principles. Please note that this edition, regretfully, removes all material pertaining to the heated and ongoing debate between the scientistic proponents of Psychosomaticism and the spiritually-minded intellectuals from the School of Theli, as result of anti-sedition regulations promulgated with Requisition Order No. 23."


    - A summary of the divisions of Incunabula excerpted from the first volume of Cox''s Important Bibliographies


    </blockquote>


    The first name was called. Echoes of shuffling feet upon marble, as the slightest crack appeared in the sea of humanity. Betelgeuse saw her as she ascended the platform, a girl who took womanhood seriously and filled it in with glowing black hair, squirrelly features and the lightest touch of freckles. Her mouth was set into a resolute line, like those who had gone before her.


    Solemnity was in Sexton Quine''s fingers when he placed the ceremonial helm upon her head. Then he took the scepter, raised it high, and surrendered it to her grasp. Upon the coronation the inlaid gems flashed and dazzled—reds, purples and blues—then died.


    Curious sounds echoed throughout the space. Somewhere secret, ancient mechanisms cranked sullen vibrations. And there it was—from on high, from an exit Betelgeuse could not see, an object descended. It was bright and gleaming…


    Bronze Incunabulum!


    Betelgeuse recognized it at once, having admired over countless hours his mother''s copper-skinned grimoire.


    His eyes widened. The hope he had kindled, the anticipation he had cultivated—everything centered on obtaining the Bronze Incunabulum.


    He recoiled. These feelings had grown big and strong over the course of years. He scoured his heart, groping across the contours of anticipation and hope, then suppressed them with as much will as he could muster. Superfluous feelings could be dangerous because they filled the heart with disturbance and made it difficult, thereafter, to bring one''s internal alchemy back to an even keel. The heart had its ebb and flow, but under the circumstances serenity had to be preserved.


    The tome fell half-open, pages flapping wildly, into her outstretched arms. She looked and gaped and mouthed and wept. Sexton Quine, who had retrieved the scepter, deftly removed the head-piece from the enraptured soul.


    Her face flitted across a million emotions. Betelgeuse saw this and empathized, because he could imagine how it must have felt, and because he too wished for the same satisfaction. It was the fulfillment of her deepest desires. It was the fulfillment of years of yearning and years of being weaned on the old myths.


    Crucially, acquiring a Bronze Incunabulum had conferred upon her the title of ''worthy''. Whilst only those blessed by a Silver Incunabulum could truly consider their trajectory boundless, Bronze grades were all but guaranteed a good future, for they formed the material and productive backbone of the Democracy. Its holders went on to become technicians, engineers, lawyers, craftsmen, doctors and more. Such holders were accordingly conferred status and financial stability.


    So it was that this newly minted Bronze-grade could now avail herself of the opportunity to pursue further development in any of Earth''s Polytekniks. From there, one could usually find well-remunerated positions in government or any of the Big Six—i.e., Lebensraum, Romulus Systems, PiLiPaLa, Ayam Corp, Caturdhara Industries and taotie.com, the supermassive corporations run by certain of the Founding Families, namely the Mentzers, Baathors, Chens, Abelards, Choudurys and Lee-Pohs respectively.


    And from there… who could say if she would not rise to hold a position of real power? From whence did power come, except through constant and unceasing application? Hard work paid off sometimes.


    The redhead closed the copper-colored tome reverently, then exited from the platform. As for the Increment that had been revealed to her, that was her secret to keep and share as she liked. The immutable first line in an Incunabulum, the so-called Increment, formed the basis of a holder''s power, and as such was kept under careful guard. In general, a holder only revealed his Increment to his family or spouse.


    Information regarding the Increment of members of large families could after all fetch a hefty price on the black market.


    Indeed, an interesting event had occurred the year before which Betelgeuse could not now help recollecting, his wandering mind seemingly bent on grasping at any distraction—the ''Lee Incident'', which had resulted in a piecemeal snippet of research pertaining to the Increment of the Lee Family''s scion Sarah Fu finding its way onto Pecorino, the Intraweb''s infamous black market. He remembered the price at which it had been sold. 800,000,000 credits. That was eight hundred million credits, an inconceivable amount of money. By way of comparison, his father earned a monthly salary of 5,000 credits working as the sole family lawyer of Edom-Zeta.


    At the time he had been trying his hand at arbitraging ''information asymmetries'' on Pecorino, making one or two or at best multiple tens of credits buying and selling snippets of Increment research (and by so doing, technically flouting the government''s prohibition on the transferal of such research). The snippets of research Betelgeuse had had the opportunity to browse ran up to 50 credits at the most.


    50 versus 800,000,000. It was a difference that boggled his mind.


    Betelgeuse attempted heroically to empty his head of distractions. Everything hinged on maintaining his heart''s serenity unto the crucial moment. It was well known that the outcome of the Analysis could be affected by the slightest wisp of incoherence.


    The next name was owned by a well-built and masculine figure. That the youth had trained his muscular body with specific intent was clear for all to see. Clean-shaven, sharp-jawed and barrel-chested, he approached the altar and closed his eyes. The helm went on; he grasped the scepter, biceps, brachialis and triceps straining against nothing in particular.


    A single tome the color of bleached bone descended. Betelgeuse narrowed his eyes. Sexton Quine hurriedly retrieved the head-piece and scepter.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The man opened his lids as the White Incunabula fell into his grasp. A curious sheen of mucoid energy arced from its billowing pages and fell upon his forehead, the power coalescing into a sort of glutinous and translucent membrane which sheathed his skin. Almost at once, he jerked his head upward, his dark pupils melting away into pure white.


    The audience stared raptly, their visages locked into expressions of horrified fascination. Cracking sounds started to emit from his body. Then he started screaming, sublimating pain into one long, ear-splitting screech that dragged out long seconds beneath its tines. The cracking sounds got louder; his tall frame lengthened, his arms warped then straightened, his fingers clawed spiderlike and inverted painfully. Every lilt in the scream was followed by further sounds of cracking bone, every sound of cracking bone presaging the engorgement, tearing and enlargement of flesh. No more a mere human, he was the loom upon which the beneficence of the White Incunabulum worked. Warp and weft, weft and warp.


    Then he stood, a giant of a creature, every feature—pectorals, deltoids, obliques—carved to perfection. He was the perfection of the male musculature multiplied twice over.


    Betelgeuse permitted himself a breath. He had heard the stories regarding the worst White Incunabula transformations, which had naturally engendered some trepidation. It appeared, however, that the man had disciplined his mind to such an extent as to prevent the exaggerations caused by dysmorphia.


    The giant raised himself to his full height, rolling his wrist clockwise and then anticlockwise, his cadet-suit clearly stretching to its limit but somehow maintaining its integrity. His austere visage was devoid of emotion, but Betelgeuse looked closer and found within the man''s eyes a hint of grave disappointment.


    After all, this was a White Incunabula, placing him squarely on the lower rung of society. The man maintained an admirable equanimity as he stepped down from the platform. Now standing two heads taller than the average participant, he stood out even as he plunged immiscibly into the sea of humanity.


    The next few participants came and went. Hollow, Hollow, another White, this time with no discernible physical change. Then a crimson Primary—another "worthy" had been minted, thought Betelgeuse. Primary holders were just as important as the Bronzes to the well-oiled functioning of the Democracy; their future, while not so much as guaranteed, was considered bright.


    The Docent continued down the manifest, reaching, finally, the Edomites. First to be summoned was the woman at the back of Betelgeuse'' line, six places down from him. An "Edith".


    Under the glare of the sourceless saffron light her hair cast a shadow over her face. Her expression betrayed a sense of heavy uncertainty.


    Betelgeuse muttered a brief prayer under this breath. No matter which village they hailed from, they were all Edomites in the end.


    As she reached the platform, she stumbled, then caught herself. He furrowed his brows, imagining the wince on Chrys'' face. No one blinked.


    Red, purple, blue. This time, the hum was muted.


    High up and located near to the ceiling was a row of stained glass windows sporting striking shades of yellows, oranges and blues. Translucent whites glowed softly where the colors did not touch. A curious shade spidered over the glass, making it difficult to discern the image which had been so carefully curated.


    The light outside was dimming, he realized; then, a soft rattle tickled his eardrums, the kind of rattle coalesced from the drubbing a torrential downpour makes from the perspective of one ensconced within a large and padded room.


    The cover of the Incunabulum was gray, mottled and ashen. Her eyes enlarged wide as dinner plates. He heard, behind him, Chrys'' sharp intake of breath.


    The Ash Incunabulum, and with it, pariah status. Consignment to the lowest rung of society. The Ash grades were a hidden people. They were ignored because it was embarrassing to talk about them. And yet they were so common, engaged in ''dirty'' work like soldiering, sanitation, and certain aspects of raw materials extraction. Many Ash grade women eventually found themselves in the ''entertainment'' industry once they got on in years. Common, but not commonly seen.


    Sexton Quine was efficient as ever in retrieving the paraphernalia. The Ash Incunabulum fell into Edith''s grasp and she scurried away quickly. No one wanted to dwell on it, least of all her.


    Silence from the masses. These things were ignored.


    Betelgeuse followed her messy and tangled black hair as it bobbed down to ground level before disappearing. He began another prayer, muttering, then stopped himself halfway, willing all of it away, forcing all of it out of his mind.


    And yet, he could not really help stealing a glance backward. He wanted to see the emotions on her face. He wondered what was going through her mind. He hoped she was doing okay.


    Instead, Chrysilla''s rather vague and spiritless expression filled his vision. He would have to lean further out to see Edith, but he didn''t want to risk it.


    ''Stop it,'' he scolded himself. It was becoming harder to convince himself of the serenity of his heart.


    Another Edomite, then another. Hollow Incunabula. In both cases, disappointment reflected from downcast eyes.


    Next was E-Prime—the woman who had been quietly standing beside him. The Docent called out a name that seemed familiar.


    "A Tabitha!" Betelgeuse leaned back, whispering. Chrysilla had been looking dazed, perhaps a little frightened by the outcome of their fellow Edomites'' Analyses; her spirit flared back to life at the stimulation and she flashed him a wan smile.


    "Ah, Tabitha…" she sighed, remembering their warm yet soulful friend. Their Tabitha, blessed with a gregarious personality and three years older than them, was the holder of a Hollow Incunabulum.


    Although their Tabitha had never revealed her Increment to him, it was obvious to Betelgeuse that it related to music, she having been a rather accomplished fiddler.


    "Yes, I wonder how she''s doing," he whispered to himself. Tender memories, tender imaginations, secret even from Chrys, were resurfacing. His will-to-serenity was flagging.


    But he was not going down without a fight. If serenity did not work, then he would force a peace. Redoubling his efforts, he purged his internal space of all distraction. Let it all go. Nothing mattered so much as the Analysis.


    The mysterious hum recommenced somewhere beneath his feet, tickling his soles through the boot. The familiar sparkle and shine of the scepter stabbed him through the eyes.


    And then a shimmering object, resplendent, harboring a mythical quality much like how the stories had described the mithril of old.


    An audible gasp echoed through the hall.


    The fabled Silver Incunabulum!


    Boundless development, limitless potential!


    Tabitha''s features betrayed momentary shock, before melting away into its rigid template. The corners of the Sexton''s mouth curled upward, hinting at a smile. The Docent congratulated her, but otherwise retained his austere demeanor.


    She scanned the open page quickly and left the platform.


    Chrysilla Nightingale had already begun making her way up to the chancel, even as Tabitha disappeared between the rows of participants.


    The time was nigh.


    Betelgeuse prayed for her, as he had prayed for Edith and the other Edomites.


    It was so difficult, he realized, to keep his heart empty. He offered an apology to his father from the deep corners of his heart, for the chaos of his emotions. It was his father who had cautioned him to slow the beating of his heart, to only permit entry to the great serenity. He was guilty; acknowledging it only increased his feeling of guilt, and he proceeded to apologize to his mother, then Tabitha (the Tabitha back home, for having thought of her like that), then Elder Bennett—


    The rain had let up, he suddenly registered. Ratchets and gears clanked noisy peals. Tendrils of eldritch power choked the air. Through the tinted glass on high streamed rays of golden sunlight.


    Betelgeuse could finally discern the image on the tinted glass: yonder was Hierarch Tozen—yellow, orange and golden like the solar rays—stabbing a horse-faced stare down upon his children, his expression severe; around him were small figures, in blues, purples and reds, his officers, the Magis, the Archimandrites, the Cardinals; to his left was Bishop Abelard plowing the ground into raised furrows, to his right was Bishop Mentzer, seeding the ground with grain.


    The object that revealed itself was a bright yellow-gold. It left a trail of glitterdust in its wake.


    Under the illuminating rays of the sun the shifting air swirled golden particles around in Brownian Motion. Random. Chaotic.


    Chrys caught the book with her left hand, her right still grasping the scepter. Pages flipped violently. She looked to the Sexton, confusion apparent upon her face.


    As if suddenly jolted out of his paralysis, Sexton Quine scrambled forward, retrieving the helm and scepter.


    "Incredible…" the Docent whispered.


    Whisper though it may have been, the speakers had transmitted it through the hall, circulating it beneath the buttressed ceiling. The word echoed between Doric columns and penetrated the skulls of the audience.


    "Incredible," breathed Betelgeuse.


    "Ms. Nightingale. This is a rare occurrence."


    Momentary awkwardness gave way to professionalism. The old faces before the altar conferred with looks and nods pregnant with implication.


    Then, the Docent turned back to Chrys, mouthing over a deactivated microphone.


    Chrys moved slowly forward, toward the place that the Sexton and Docent had come from, her gait uneven and unsure.


    Hold on, where is she going?


    He calmed himself. Of course they would take her aside. She was meant for great things—no, she was already great! She was the holder of a Golden Incunabulum; wouldn''t it be stranger if they did not speak with her separately?


    She had reached the threshold. Why had the Docent not moved on to the next name? She turned her head. The Docent stood close behind, his face kindly and avuncular.


    Turning back, she scanned the audience. Everybody''s eyes were so wide.


    She was searching, searching…


    Their eyes locked.


    He knew that she was afraid. She knew that he was anxious.


    Will I see you again? She seemed to ask, sapphire eyes brimming with ambivalence.


    No doubt. Betelgeuse nodded.


    And she was gone.