Emory was back in his dormitory and sat next to Francine. His other roommate, Siole, wandered off somewhere else. It was just him and the young lady in the dimly lit dirt room.
"How was the talk with the Mourners?"
Emory shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."
Francine riveted her eyes. "Sorry." She then asked, "Have you taken the bath yet?"
It seemed her question ignited an annoyance within Emory. "Do I really have too? My talk with the Mourners didn't last long, I swear."
Francine shrugged. "I don't make the rules."
"At least tell me it's split off by gender?"
"No."
Francine eyed Emory. "No one does anything inappropriate, Emory. We are all under the eyes of the Phantom, we bathe in his blood. Just the thought would make anyone sick."
Reluctant, Emory tried one last time. "Please."
"Emory. . ." Francine muttered. "If you're not purified, it could contaminate us."
"Alright, fine."
"Would you like me to come with you?" she perked.
"N–No! I'm okay! I'm okay."
Moments like these should be saved for one's wife.
As he walked to the dormitory bath, Emory's mind began thinking of ways to get home. I can't leave this place until I hear my Specter, which should happen at seventeen years old. Curses, that's way too long. I need to see Papa. Is he okay? Is Simonis okay?
He didn't know how he'd ever live with himself if either were to disappear.
Until then, I'll have to stay here. Maybe I can strength train, so I can be a better help to Papa when I come back. He'll definitely find it useful.
His mind circled back to the Mourner interrogation.
Julius Bersebus, I wonder who that person is and why the Mourners cut the interrogation right after.
He remembered how Fifth Mourner Elocien and Fourth Mourner Behedet appeared quite on edge after a sudden darkness loomed over him.
He also thought about the sandy dune nightmare from days ago.
Sylphossia Telantes. I'll try to speak to her again and ask her for something. But, oh, what could I give in return? Shoot! It looked like she had powers over imagination, 'cuz the second thing he told me to do was to imagine that I had clothing on. . .
Could she maybe. . . be able to speed up time? That would be really useful. Then I can hear my Specter and leave this awful space that has no regard for modesty!
Sylphossia reached out to me after I said I wanted to die in my dream. I'll try that out again tonight. Yes! It's a plan!
Papa, Simonis, I'll be home soon. Really soon!
. . . .
Emory reached the fountain raining down blood and shyly took off his clothes. He looked around. Sigh. . . There are people here.
One of them did not have Emory's bits. In fact, she had nothing at all.
A g-girl! I'll avoid her for now. Please, please, don't come next to me. He dipped in the blood, letting the slimy, medium thick liquid reach every part of his body. Am I supposed to pray. . or something?
Emory decided praying to an Entity he had zero familiarity with wasn't the best choice as of now. Instead, he opted for waiting.
The girl on the far side of the fountain stood up and licked the blood off of her body. She stepped out and quickly put some clothes on. Her hair wasn't gray like other girls Emory's noticed, it was black.
She said in a clear voice, "Mourn the Phantom."
Following that, many others emerged from the bath and licked the blood off of their bodies.
Emory did not do as they did.
He searched for an undergarment and used that to remove any blood. Then he quickly left the place and headed back to his room.
On his way, Emory heard a kerfuffle taking place next to one of the minimalistic shops of the Abolition Mandate. That sounds rough. . .
He turned to walk the other way, but was stopped after hearing a familiar voice.
"You don't know anything about me, stop speaking nonsense!"
Siole.
Someone else replied, "Quit your jabbering. You belonged to a family of killers. Cold hearted, brutal killers. And they say the apple doesn't fall from the tree. What's to say you won't snap and kill me? I hafta make sure this place is safe, you know."
Slap!
Footsteps loudened. Gasps escaped the mouths of the crowd.
The same boy shouted, "Now you're really going to get it!"
Emory finally realized they were fighting.
I should go help him, Siole is my roommate. . . He pushed through the congregation and saw Siole and another boy wrestling on the ground. The lad was much bigger than Siole and didn't have a hard time shoving Emory's roommate's head to the floor.
He jumped on Siole's back and twisted his arms. "Ngh–" Siole grimaced in pain.
The boy continued twisting Siole's arms. "Should I just kill you right now? Heh, not even the Phantom would accept your filthy corpse."
The crowd erupted in laughter. Mockery laughter.
Emory's eyebrows furrowed. Who in the hell does this guy think he is? Unfortunately, Emory was smaller than Siole, which meant the other boy would topple him if need be.
Siole's face reddened. Emory hated looking at this. He's my age and getting bullied like that. What a scumbag.
Without warning, the boy on top of Siole was pushed away. His face was kicked and his groins were punched. The boy howled in pain, but was abruptly stopped with another hit to the groin.
And another. Another. Again. Again.
His eyes watered and his face went red.
All the bully saw was a child with wavy long black hair and red eyes standing before him. The red-eyed devil leaned in and slapped his face.
"I did this world a favor, your children will never see the light of day."
Emory turned around and glared at the audience. They shuddered and scrambled away.
The bully wobbled to his feet and whimpered to the dormitory.
Emory looked back at the silent and red-faced Siole. "I won't tell anyone about this, including Francine."
Siole nodded.
. . . .
"It's getting late, we should sleep now." Francine's merry voice dwindled in tone. She yawned, "Goodnight, Emory. Goodnight, Siole."
"Goodnight," the boys replied.
Click!
The light shut and the room quieted.
Emory lay in his straw bed and stared at the tomb embedded in the roof directly above him.
Please, Ms. Sylphossia, answer me this one time.
He said in a tone neither Siole nor Francine would hear. "I want to die."
He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
. . . .
It was the same sandy dune as before. However, Emory was fully clothed this time. He stood at the rift of death, gazing far at the thousands of dead bodies underneath him.
Emory did not touch them like before; he didn't want to ignite mass laughter.
"Ms. Sylphossia?"
"I'm here," a voice said. Then their body followed suit. The same towering woman. "Your protector, here for whatever ails you, my friend." Sylphossia dramatically bowed.
Emory's lips twitched. Is she okay? Sylphossia smiled as if she did nothing wrong. But memories of Emory crying her name when the Abolition Mandate Hierarch's kidnapped him resurfaced.
"You said you would help me, didn't you?" Emory said. "I called your name many times, Ms. Sylphossia, yet you never came. They took me away!"
Sylphossia summoned the same table as before and forced Emory to sit. "Like I said, your pea brain won't understand. But, to explain simply, Master wanted you to go to the Mandate. That's why I didn't help." She convened the glasses once again and filled them with a mysterious liquid.
Her master wants me to stay in the Mandate? But why?
Gulp! Gulp! Gulp!
Emory watched the lady drink in awe. "Oh. . ." He wanted to know more, but judging by Sylphossia's carefree look, the answer wasn't going to be told.
He shifted to the main focus. "Ms. Sylphossia, I have a request."
The tall lady put the first glass down and chuckled, "I would guess so."
Alright.
"There's no escaping the fact that I have to stay in the Mandate until I hear my Specter, which should happen at seventeen," he held his breath. "Do you have the ability to speed time up, so that I can hear it faster?"
For the first time ever, Emory saw Sylphossia with a blank expression. She paused. "Speed time? Why would you think I'd have an ability like that?"
Emory tilted his head. "I assumed so because of the 'imagination' key you gave me during our first meeting. If I can imagine clothes from thin air, maybe I can imagine a time period when I'm seventeen?"
This was all to get home quicker to Papa.
Sylphossia snickered. "Imagination? Time? Heh, heh. You're quite smart and dumb." She drank the second glass. "You're doing this because you want to see your dad, right?"
Emory nodded. "Yes." He added in his heart, And Simonis.
Sylphossia clicked her tongue. "I can speed time, but only for you. Your body will age and your mind will mature, but the people and world around you won't." She narrowed her eyes.
". . ?"
"Do you want me to spell it out for you?" she groaned. "You can't go back to your father and little wife, they'll still be at the same age. Everyone will. Emory, you'll be the only one in the globe to have aged by eight years."
How couldn't I think of that? Emory riled. He was too foolish in thinking.
Should he stay in the Mandate for six years, risking the emotional losses of his loved ones, but having that slight chance of success when he does leave? Or should he speed time for himself, leave the Mandate, but never speak directly to Charles or Simonis.
He could indirectly converse with them. Nonetheless, it wouldn't give him the same satisfaction.
"Why can't I just tell them I've aged?" Emory protested. That would solve all his problems.
Sylphossia shook her head. "No can do. The trial to age yourself is heavy in magic, and if you tell them, some of the weight will shift to their consciousness. Those unprepared would die immediately."
Die immediately?
She materialized the bone-like key from days ago. "Remember your promise to Master, and the fact that the Lesser Emperor's lackeys will come for you and anyone you acquaint yourself with."
". . ."
"If you choose yes, all you must do is turn this key sideways and imagine yourself aged."
What should I do. . .