Damon didn't know how much time had passed, but as soon as he regained consciousness, he felt morning sun flooding in through a nearby window.
Turning his head, he was nearly startled by the sight beside him.
Abel sat slumped in a wooden chair, his head tilted at an awkward angle. The bags under his eyes were pronounced, and a book rested open in his lap, his fingers still loosely gripping the spine.
'They left him here to monitor my condition...?' Damon thought, a mixture of exasperation and fondness flickering through him.
As he sat up, he lifted the covers and noticed the once-bloodied sheets had been changed for fresh linen dyed deep blue. His clothing too, the simple white shirt and black trousers he'd worn before becoming a Specter, had been replaced with a simple dark tunic and matching trousers.
'How many drugs did Keene use to keep me under for them to do all this without me waking?'
Damon was dumbfounded when a dull ache suddenly spread through his jaw.
He moved his tongue, pressing it experimentally against his teeth, and his eyes widened.
Surprisingly, they were all there. Smooth and whole. His new molars were unblemished replacements, yet strangely harder than the originals.
'But teeth shouldn't regrow that quickly...'
The implications of this clawed at the edges of his thoughts, but before he could dwell on them, Abel's head began to droop dangerously.
The book slipped an inch in his lap.
'Idiot. You were supposed to be watching over me, not falling asleep.'
Damon sighed inwardly as he caught it.
He glanced at the title in his hand. The words "Reverend Melancholy" stood out in bold.
Damon couldn't help the snort that escaped him.
"This series was canceled years ago. There's no point trying so hard to read a story that won't ever end."
Abel jerked awake at once, sitting up with a sharp inhale, nearly knocking over his chair as his eyes darted around the room.
"D...Damon! You're awake!" His voice cracked with relief as he shot up from the chair. "I should get the others next door. Vincent will want to—"
"Stop." Damon held up a hand. "I don't want to cause a stir."
"But—"
"It's fine. They're probably in class by now anyway," Damon said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the cool wooden floor.
"What time is it, and what happened with Keene?"
"He left a few minutes ago after healing the last of your wounds. It's Wednesday morning." Abel blinked slowly and adjusted his glasses, fighting to keep his eyes open. "You were sleeping so peacefully he decided to head down the mountain for supplies with Kroche."
Damon paused mid-stretch.
'Keene is gone?'
A wave of relief washed through him, followed at once by confusion. "Hmm, Kroche...? Who's that?"
"You haven't spoken to her before, but she's the girl with twin tails," Abel yawned. "The one always walking around with three other girls circling her."
'Right. Her...'
Damon's memory sharpened as he recalled the fourteen-year-old girl, the one who'd raised her hand during Vincent's lesson on Phantesia Echo. She'd been the first to ask a sensible question.
'I didn't know those two were close...'
Although Kroche was always flocked by others, Damon couldn't imagine Keene being drawn in by her mask of friendliness. They were like water and oil; they just didn't mix. Then again, he didn't know much about either of them beyond these simple observations.
"Damon?" Abel asked, puzzled, watching him.
Damon shook his head and refocused. "Where's Mother?"
"We didn't see her at breakfast." Abel frowned, his exhausted mind clearly struggling to keep up. "Mr. Salamanca said she was busy with work in her office."
'So she was there...' Damon muttered inwardly.
Last night the sensation had been faint, buried under the mania assaulting his mind, but he'd definitely felt an extraordinary pressure two floors above.
Naturally, he was drawn to seek answers from the only person who came to mind.
With this resolve settling in his chest, he stood. "I'm going to see her."
"I'll come with—" Abel started, already moving toward him.
"Don't even think about it!" Damon scolded playfully, knocking the book onto his brother's head. "You've been awake long enough."
Looking down at Abel's stunned face, he added, "You need the rest, and you would've skipped the combat lesson anyway. So just sleep."
"..." Abel's mouth widened as he blinked. Finally, his eyes flickered with gratitude, and he managed a single word. "Okay."
"Good." Damon watched, satisfied, as Abel climbed into bed. With that taken care of, he opened the door to the hallway and stepped outside.
As he shut the door behind him, he was met with a familiar figure leaning against the red wood paneling. Slightly disheveled, Vincent stood in a sweat-soaked shirt with his arms crossed.
"How long have you been waiting?" Damon looked him straight in the eye and asked.
Vincent pushed off the wall with a casual shrug. "Coincidence, really. I was on my way to give Abel a break..."
'Then why do you look so worked up...'
Damon found humor in his brother's appearance as he strode forward.
Vincent offered a charming smile. "Might I tag along, dear brother?"
"It's not like you'd listen even if I said no," Damon grumbled, his back turned. He flipped open the book in his hand as Vincent fell into step beside him.
He wasn't interested in its contents, but it would help dodge whatever questions his brother had planned.
"I thought you didn't like that book?" Vincent noticed the tactic immediately.
'Why is this bastard always so perceptive...'
Damon sighed inwardly, trying his best to conceal his emotions.
"I decided to give it another try," he replied.
Shortly after starting the first chapter, though, they turned the corner past the library doors, and he snuck a glance to the right.
The once-unfamiliar door, the one leading to the room with the dimensional gate, was nowhere to be seen. In its place stood a simple wooden wall, as if the door had never existed.
Damon's brows furrowed, but he caught on quickly. He amplified his sight with spiritual energy, and his eyes took on a subtle crimson.
The world sharpened, and golden symbols appeared across every surface of the wall, covering the ceiling and every groove carved into the wood.
'It's like that old pervert said, I can't see what's hidden with just my physical eyes...'
'I still can't see the door... Those symbols look like they make up some sort of spell in Latin. Maybe to hide it...?'
'I'll need to find Mr. Ying later for books on the language and check other objects for similar symbols while I'm at it.'
Damon withdrew his gaze from the wall and scratched his chin, thinking. He sized up Vincent next, and a small mist of dark blue began to form around his head.
'This is different from the others... It's like spiritual energy, but somehow denser than the usual fog...'
Damon wasn't sure what it was.
But as they reached the foot of the stairs, a thought struck him. Since Vincent had no spiritual energy of his own, the shape of his soul was laid bare!
"Something wrong, brother?" Vincent asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
Before answering, Damon closed the book in his hand.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, keeping his voice casual.
Vincent blinked, then laughed. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? You're the one who just got out of the infirmary."
"Just answer the question."
"I'm fine. Better than fine." Vincent grinned. "Why? Worried about me?"
'If you don't want to answer, I'll wait...'
Damon fell silent for a moment, sensing his brother's reluctance. If something was bothering him, he couldn't force it out.
He shook his head and spoke instead, more reflective. "Could you humor me for a moment and recall any tales people have spread about Mother?"
"Why...?" Vincent looked at him, brow furrowed in confusion. "There isn't much besides the old war stories I've heard from a drunken Diana."
"There was also this one story about a powerful beast terrorizing the residents below the mountain before Mother came to this land."
"Their battle lasted three nights, and on each one the people had dreams of a hazy red fog and ravens devouring a large spider. In the mornings, they'd find their sick had suddenly recovered."
"Then, on the fourth morning, the local shrine collapsed."
"Did any of the attendants see the battle take place?" Damon pressed.
"No, but why does it even matter?" Vincent stared at him, bewildered. "Does this have something to do with the changes to your body...?"
"It's exactly why I need to speak with Mother. I think she might know something about what happened," Damon said simply.
He shot his brother a look that clearly said, "I know you see where I'm going with this, so stop asking."
"Alright…" Vincent relented slowly, though skepticism still lingered in his eyes.
As they reached the third floor, they made their way to the administrative wing and were greeted by the sound of something striking wood.
'What is that...?' Damon wondered, spotting the office door ahead.
The space between his brows suddenly spasmed, and two spiritual signatures condensed beyond the wood.
The first appeared human, though tinted a dark green. The second blended almost perfectly with the darkness, nearly impossible to make out, but he hadn't forgotten that sensation. The cold ghost of invisible fingers pressed against his neck once more.
Then the office door burst open.
A figure wearing cracked glasses stumbled out, clutching a thick book against her chest.
"Ms. Windu?" Vincent mumbled, surprised.
Damon halted, equally caught off guard.
A patch of crimson clung to her brown hair, but it was undeniably the teacher's assistant.
She met their gaze for half a second before the book slipped from her grasp and her body pitched forward.
Bang!
Before either brother could process what was happening, she fell face-first onto the wooden floor.
'It's here... But why is it in Mother's office?'
Damon's pupils shook as a shadowy hand emerged from the open doorway and seized her by the ankle. Its thin fingers yanked her back toward the room.
"Help me! Please!"
Ms. Windu's hands shot out, her voice cracking. She grasped at the doorframe, nails digging into the wood.
Vincent rushed forward without hesitation. He grabbed the woman's hands and pulled with all his strength.
But the unseen force exceeded what he'd expected. His feet skidded across the floorboards as it dragged them both toward the doorway.
"Dammit, really, why is that thing here?!" Damon complained, springing into action.
Doubt flickered through him, whether he could even harm the ghost, but he pushed it aside and grabbed Ms. Windu's right arm, hauling her back toward them.
At this angle, he got a better view of the entity, and his heart skipped a beat.
It was just a wrist. A disembodied hand, with nothing visible below it.
"Vincent, take both her hands, now!" Damon ordered, tossing the book aside.
"What? If I do that, she'll..."
"Just do it! If this keeps up, we might break her spine!"
Vincent snatched both of the woman's arms at his word, and Damon strode forward. He hadn't bothered putting on shoes before leaving the infirmary, but he didn't care.
Bang!
He stomped down hard, barefoot, on the severed wrist, shattering it like glass.
"Close it!" Vincent shouted.
Damon didn't need to be told twice.
He grabbed the edge of the door and slammed it shut, throwing his weight against the wood. His back pressed flat against the panels as he braced himself.
Bang! Bang!
Bang!