The Dantes arrived home in silence. The ceremony had drained them. There were no words left to spend in the carriage.
Dominic cleared his throat as he flicked on the ghost lamps in the living room.
The bluish glow spilled across the furniture, casting eerie shadows over the walls.
"Faust."
Faust paused mid step, halfway to his room. He turned.
Dominic didn't look at him directly. "Get some rest. Don't overthink it. We'll talk later today."
Faust's brow furrowed. He nodded slowly, then turned toward the kitchen hallway and took a left toward his room.
"Discuss?"
Dominic exhaled, watching his son disappear. He turned to Claire, but she avoided his gaze and quietly slipped into their room.
Dominic sank into the old rocking chair. Thoughts churned beneath the still surface of his face.
"Faust... a Listener."
He glanced at a photograph pinned beside his evaluation desk. A quiet whisper slipped past his lips.
"Rest now, Casper."
***
Faust entered his room like he was trespassing.
He ran his fingers along the edges of familiar furniture. Dusty shelves. A pile of clothes that had collapsed into a chair.
Like a child learning to walk again, he tried to get used to the silence.
He sat on his bed. Muttered.
"What happens now?"
His father said to rest. He closed his eyes, smirked faintly, and sighed.
Then shot upright.
"Wait."
He scanned the room, breath quickening.
"How do I know I'm not dead right now?"
He stood up, walking about the room in circles, in thought.
"This could be a dream. A delusion. Father would never be that brief with words, and this... this silence how do I know this is real?"
He stormed to the window, jaw clenched. His lips trembled.
"The whispers are gone. I can't hear them. I can't...what if this is like Casper? What if I'm dead and this is just some fading imagination...?"
He gripped the windowsill.
A ceramic sculpture on the edge of his desk tipped over and crashed to the floor.
Faust flinched but didn't move.
After all it maybe a dream.
He just stared out the window. Frozen. Eyes wide and vacant.
The door creaked open.
He staggered back, startled.
Claire stepped in. Her eyes went straight to the shattered ceramic, then up to her son.
"Faust, What's wrong?"
He turned to her, confused. Desperate.
"The silence. The silence. Did I really survive? Or did I end up like Casper?, Am I dead?"
His words landed like stones.
Claire stepped forward slowly. Her voice gentle. Careful. Fragile.
"It's alright. You gained a metaphor, remember? It just takes time to adjust. I know it feels strange... but this silence...it's what you always said you wanted."
Faust met her eyes. He searched them for an answer. Any answer. But he only looked more lost.
Claire reached for him again.
"Faust, it's alright. Just..."
She stopped.
Her eyes flicked across the room. Something hit her.
Tears welled instantly. She stepped back.
"No. No, what if this is my imagination? What if you're dead and this is just... I can't go back there. I can't go back to that place."
Her voice cracked as she stumbled toward the door.
"Not again. Not again..."
Faust stared, stunned.
Dominic burst into the room to find his wife collapsed on the floor, weeping.
"Not again... not again... not again..."
He looked at Faust,shaking, unblinking, trembling like a leaf.
"He's disoriented," Dominic said, as much to himself as to her. "The whispers are gone. The silence is unfamiliar."
Dominic moved to the window,he closed it and with a flick of his hand.
A black cloud, like an octopus escaped from him,swallowing the room in shadow.
Faust and Claire collapsed instantly into sleep.
Dominic laid Faust on the bed, then lifted Claire gently from the floor and carried her to their room.
He placed her softly on the bed, returned to close Faust's door, and finally retired back and lay beside his wife.
His eyes drifted up to the ceiling, lost in thought.
Shaking his head as if to escape the thoughts, the same black cloud enveloped his head. And then blackout.
***
Dominic gave Claire a gentle pat on the back, then left her at the dining, cup in hand.
She parted her lips to speak, but said nothing.
Dominic knocked once before entering Faust's room.
Faust was still asleep.
Dominic considered letting him rest, but something pushed at him. A quiet worry.
He walked to the bed and tapped Faust's leg.
Faust stirred, stretching. His eyes blinked open, squinting, then widening.
"Did I sleep... without the whispers?"
He sat up slowly, piecing things together. Then noticed his father standing nearby.
"Good morning, father," he muttered.
Clearly he could not remember the incident from the night.
Dominic gave a nod, then turned and made his way to the dining room where Claire waited.
Faust stood, muttering under his breath.
"Nothing. It's gone."
"Is this what silence feels like?"
His steps were strange,like someone relearning gravity as he walked into the room.
He would normally be woken from sleep by ravings in his head but now it was just, quiet.
Claire and Dominic looked up. Her expression was uneasy. His, unreadable...but guilty.
"Good morning," Faust said, taking his seat.
Dominic nodded and began. "You've gained your metaphor. The whispers are silent now."
He paused, sipping from the steaming cup in front of him.
"They're not gone, though. Just... distant. You may still hear them, but never like before."
Faust leaned forward slightly, listening closely.
Dominic continued. "And sometime soon, you'll hear a voice. It'll explain part of your metaphor."
Claire's brows raised. Faust blinked.
That must've been what happened back at the altar.
Claire chuckled softly and covered her mouth, embarrassed by the memory. "Sorry about that…"
Dominic glanced sideways, chuckled dryly and asked. "Want to say anything to Faust?"
She turned to Faust, curious. "So... what is it? What's your metaphor?"
Dominic perked up too, realizing he hadn't heard it clearly back then in the cathedral and had failed to ask.
Faust hesitated for a moment. "Why."
"What?" Dominic frowned.
"Why," Faust said again. "That's the name of my metaphor."
Claire laughed,surprised by her own amusement. Dominic's face finally relaxed as he understood.
"Of course," Dominic muttered and repeated."Why."
He straightened in his chair. "Alright. Listen closely. You may start feeling strange impulses. That's normal. But don't act on them yet. Not until you understand your metaphor better."
He rose to his feet. "We'll talk more soon. I need to get to the bureau."
Faust interrupted. "I want to try manifesting my spirit gear."
Claire's head snapped toward him. Her eyes jumped from Faust to Dominic.
Dominic cleared his throat. "Too soon. You don't have the spiritual energy for that yet. You need rest first."
Claire's expression was stiff with worry as Dominic left to prepare for work, she knew Faust too well.
***
Later that afternoon, Faust sat by the window.
The neighborhood outside buzzed with life. Adults laughed and mingled. Children, not so much.
Many of them looked haunted. Still plagued by whispers.
A boy stood on the edge of a rooftop across the street.
"How'd he even get up there...?"
Faust watched, heart in his throat.
Someone managed to sneak behind and grab the boy in time, pulling him back.
The boy screamed, "They told me to jump! They told me to jump!"
Faust exhaled.
The deja vu hit hard, but the day itself was beautiful. The sky was clear. The sun bright. Flowers bloomed along the fence.
He remembered something.
Galatea!!!
He hadn't contacted her.
He summoned a messenger butterfly ,a networking spirit entity. It flickered into existence, glowing faintly.
He whispered his message, then sent it fluttering into the air.
Strangely, it did not vanish but just went around the room.
A knock followed almost immediately.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Another knock, louder this time.
"Hold on!" Faust called, making his way to the door.
He opened it to a burst of wind and color.
Galatea stood at the forefront, practically glowing with excitement. Her fiery dark brown curls bounced with each movement, green eyes alive with energy. Her loose dress danced around her as she launched herself at Faust in a full embrace.
"I'm so glad you finally got your metaphor!"
Before Faust could breathe, Uriel stepped forward. Taller, calm, and composed. His dark eyes studied Faust carefully, his brown turtleneck and sleeveless jacket giving him the look of someone who always knew what he was doing.
His voice was calm. But not casual.
"Let's hear it."
"What did you hear?"