Nelipots! How could they live so openly?
Faust thought, his brows furrowing as Father Maximus's warning echoed in his mind.
The atmosphere grew heavier as the group moved forward. The path ahead was steeped in an eerie quiet, and the Spirit Academia loomed in the distance. Its towering spires pierced the skies, their tips shrouded by a perpetual veil of fog, as if the building itself sought to remain hidden from prying eyes. Shadows curled around its edges, giving the impression of a living, breathing entity.
Am I truly safe here? The thought gnawed at Faust as his gaze lingered on the ominous structure. The air was dense with illusory whispers, faint yet persistent, scratching at the edge of his consciousness.
Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "Don't get worked up!" His voice was sharp, cutting through the silence as though he sought to convince himself. This is the Spirit Academia, he reasoned. A sanctuary for students like me... surely there's no reason to worry.
Still, unease coiled tightly in his chest, refusing to let go.
---
Dominic paused in front of the house, his gaze lingering on the door as if lost in thought. With deliberate slowness, he slipped his cane onto his left arm, bending slightly to adjust the cuff of his trousers near his shin, his movements precise and measured.
The creak of the door broke his reverie.
"You're back!" Claire greeted warmly as she opened the door, the familiar scent of myrrh incense wafting out, curling into the cool air like a silent invitation.
"Welcome," she added, her voice soft as she reached out to take his cane, her gesture both habitual and affectionate.
Dominic straightened his posture, a faint smile gracing his lips as he stepped inside, the warmth of the house enveloping him like an old embrace.
---
In the Wister house...
I wonder how Faust is doing right now?...
"My lady, Duke Wisterio has been looking for you," said a maid dressed in a soft cream gown embroidered with a sigil resembling a moth or butterfly. She stood with her head lowered—a sign of respect—but her voice carried a familiar warmth. She was the head maid of the Wister household.
"Father's looking for me? I thought I told Sandra to let him know I went for a stroll," Gelatea replied, keeping her face straight as if the lie were true. Did the journey really consumed that much time?
"Yes, Lady Gella," the maid replied with an almost maternal tone. She had served Gelatea since birth and had been by her side through all her struggles, especially before her seventeen ceremony.
Before Gelatea gained her metaphor at her seventeenth ceremony, she suffered from one of the rarer negative effects of whispers: personality fragmentation. Most people experienced paranoia, restlessness, or insomnia—ailments that were at least understood—but Gelatea's condition felt as though her identity was splitting apart. Each fragment took form in the whispers she heard, leaving no clear solution for her ailment.
Mira, the head maid, had stayed by her side during those difficult years. After Gelatea's seventeenth ceremony, Mira taught her mental exercises that helped banish the affliction, allowing Gelatea to regain control of herself.
"Aunt Mira, what does he want?" Gelatea asked, cutting off Mira before she could continue. "And I'd like to speak with Sandra."
"Lady Gella," Mira began, her voice calm, "Sandra did inform him, word for word, what you said. But he's insistent. He mentioned a ball you were supposed to attend."
Gelatea's eyes widened as realization struck. "I completely forgot about the ball."
Mira gave her a knowing look, one filled with the patience of someone who had raised her. "Your father is with Baroness Victoria now. Speak to him once you've freshened up. You look a bit exhausted, my lady." She stepped back slightly, lowering her head to excuse herself.
"Thank you, Mira. I'll do that. You may leave," Gelatea said, her tone softening. Mira left quietly, leaving Gelatea to her thoughts.
What do I tell father now? She sighed, making her way through the curved hall towards her room, the arches casting long shadows along the walls. Lost in thought, she nearly bumped into Baroness Victoria, who was walking arm-in-arm with the Duke.
"G-Good evening, Father. Good evening, Baroness," Gelatea stammered, quickly lifting the hem of her gown in a formal gesture.
An awkward silence followed. The Baroness adjusted her blonde hair with an elegant motion before returning the greeting with a smile. "How do you do, Gelatea?"
"I'm fine—" Gelatea began, but her father's sharp voice interrupted her.
"Where have you been?" Duke Wisterio's eyes bore into her, his presence commanding the hall.
Gelatea hesitated, lifting her gaze to meet his. "I went..." The lie she had rehearsed vanished from her mind, leaving her flustered. Closing her eyes to steady herself, she finally confessed, "I went with Faust to the Spirit Academia."
"Spirit Academia?" the Duke asked, his tone cold.
The Baroness raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "Faust, is it? And what business did you have there, Gelatea?"
Gelatea swallowed, forcing herself to speak. "I saw the Berrik family there," she said quickly, hoping to shift their focus.
Both the Duke and Baroness exchanged looks, the air suddenly heavy. The guards in the hall grew tense, their hands subtly moving to their weapons.
"Continue," her father said, his voice even but demanding.
Gelatea pressed on. "The Berriks were there too. They brought a boy, and he was wearing their formal attire. He seemed to be having trouble with his Spirit Gear—or maybe his metaphor."
The silence that followed was almost deafening.
"That's enough," the Duke finally said. "This information is important. You may leave for now. I'll send the informant to you tomorrow."
Gelatea lowered her head respectfully. "Yes, Father."
The Baroness gave her a small nod before linking arms with the Duke. Together, they walked away, their figures vanishing beyond the curved hall.
Exhaling deeply, Gelatea muttered to herself, "Thank goodness he didn't ask for more."
"But the informant might... I'll have to filter what I say. They need to know about the rift, but I'll leave out the part that nearly cost me my life."
She shook her head, muttering as she continued toward her room. "Maybe I'll say the Plaguewalker assigned to the carriage dealt with the lesser spirits quickly."
Humming a familiar tune to calm herself, Gelatea passed by an open door. She paused, her gaze drifting inside. Her expression softened, and she whispered, "Alis."
With that, she closed the door gently and continued on her way.
---
Standing before the gates of the Spirit Academia, the group froze, their breaths caught in their throats. The twin suns had sunk low on opposite horizons, painting the world in twilight hues, yet the foreboding structure before them seemed untouched by light or time.
"Is this the Academia?" Faust thought aloud, his voice barely a whisper. Why does it look so different up close? The others mirrored his thoughts, their eyes wide with disbelief.
From a distance, the Academia had resembled a singular spire stretching endlessly into the heavens, its peak lost in the embrace of clouds and swirling miasma. Now, as they stood at its iron gates, the true form of the building revealed itself—a cloaked figure of stone and shadow, exuding an aura that seemed alive. The intricate patterns adorning the gate twisted unnaturally, their eldritch designs whispering secrets better left unknown. Twin lanterns flanked the entrance, their ghostly blue flames flickering defiantly against the suffocating mist. Beyond the gates, the Academia rose in sharp arches and intricate windows, its presence both haunting and alluring, as though spirits of ancient knowledge watched them from the shadows.
Faust couldn't shake the sensation of disconnection, as though the city they'd journeyed through had vanished into the recesses of his memory. Had it all been a dream?
The man leading the group turned to face them, his voice calm yet laden with an unsettling edge. "Welcome to the Spirit Academia. Make sure you're holding onto the stones given to you as we step through the gates."
Before anyone could respond, his tone shifted, becoming eerily sharp. "Brace yourselves."
With that, the gates creaked open, a sound that seemed to ripple through the air like a distant scream. The man stepped through without hesitation, his figure vanishing into the mist. The two women in the group exchanged glances before following behind him, their expressions unreadable.
"Brace ourselves?" Faust's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the warning. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shove, urging him forward as the rest of the group began to move. Reluctantly, he stepped through the gates.
The air inside was colder, biting at their skin like icy needles. A chill zephyr swept past them, carrying with it faint, dissonant sound that seemed to burrow into their minds.
A sudden scream pierced the uneasy silence. The group turned to see a girl trembling, her hand pointing upward. Rents and tears began to form in the very fabric of reality, glowing faintly as grotesque creatures emerged.
The beasts varied wildly in form—some were humanoid yet misshapen, others bore monstrous, bestial features. Their grotesque shapes moved with an unnatural fluidity, their gazes fixating on individuals within the group. Panic erupted, and the newcomers scattered in fright.
"Echoes! "
Faust, found his attention drawn elsewhere. The Berrik boy stood firm amidst the chaos, his expression calm, almost indifferent.
What's with him? Faust's mind raced. Doesheknowsomethingwedon't?Or… canhefightthem?
His spiraling thoughts were interrupted as he noticed a pattern: the creatures didn't move at random. Each monstrous Echo seemed to hone in on a specific individual.
They're targeting us… individually? His heart pounded as he scanned the space above his head.
But there was nothing. No tear in space, no creature drawn toward him. His chest tightened. Where's mine?
A flutter of wings broke his frantic thoughts. A bat-like creature emerged, its golden-edged wings glistening ominously in the dim light. Two large stigmata marked the base of its wings, their presence radiating a dreadful aura. The creature's gaze locked onto Faust, and his breath caught.
"My Echo?" he muttered, his voice trembling. Despair flickered in his eyes as the bat flew past him, its interest seemingly elsewhere.
The man leading them turned back, his gaze sweeping over the group. "Hold onto the stones," he instructed, his voice steady. "This ground intensifies your spirit energies, so it's natural for some of your Echoes to materialize. They are harmless for now—this is their first appearance."
Despite his reassurance, the group remained on edge. Faust's gaze shifted to the lone girl standing apart from the others. Her brows were furrowed in irritation as she hissed a single word. "Hush."
Some of the students turned to her, startled by the command. She ignored their stares, her eyes fixed on something unseen. She repeated the word, this time softer, almost reverent. "Hush."
Faust followed her line of sight, his attention drawn to nothing. "Is she speaking to the air or is her Echo invincible."
Slowly, the rifts in the air began to close, and the Echoes retreated into the void. The oppressive tension lifted, though the newcomers remained shaken.