A week later…
Faust lay sprawled on his bed, eyes locked on the ceiling.
"Finally… a metaphor. Finally, the silence I wanted."
He let the thought linger, heavy.
"Is that it?"
"No spirit gear,no purpose,its just… quiet."
Faust had been focused on gaining a metaphor and not ending up like Casper that he had never imagined his life after.
Now, sprawled up on his bed, the thought hit him grimmly in reality.
He rolled onto his side, muttering to the empty room.
"Now I'm left with only one option,hunt a lesser spirit."
A dry chuckle escaped him.
Last week, when the plaited hair girl laid down the two choices, he'd tried to manifest his spirit gear on the spot.
In front of the club members and his friends.
He hadn't wanted to. Not really. He'd already tried countless times before his Seventeen Ceremony, always in secret, always failing.
Back then, he had convinced himself it was because he didn't have a metaphor yet. That once he had one, the gear would come.
It didn't.
Manifesting ones spirit gear wasn't complicated. No sacred ritual like the Seventeen Ceremony.
Just release your spirit energy and let the image of your gear come to you not imagine it, receive it.
He'd stood before the Midnight Parade, pouring out his energy until his vision blurred and the ground greeted him.
Faust had lost consciousness.
But instead of forming, his spirit energy bled away into the air.
The soft, wet sip… sip… told everyone present exactly what happened.
A sipper had stolen it.
These where lesser spirit that lived in the atmosphere, they where mostly harmless.
Except that they sipped away the slightest trace of spirit energy in the atmosphere.
Their existence had led to the death of vegetations totally transforming some forests to desert.
Plaguewalkers where said to have dealt with them, but clearly not all of them.
Uriel's voice still rang in his ears.
"Those pesky lesser spirits… they took it all."
***
Faust stood up from his bed.A sudden conviction coursing through him.
"It doesn't matter. I have my metaphor now all I need to do is hunt down a lesser spirit, and I'll be able to join the Midnight Parade."
He rubbed his temple, thinking.
"Hopefully Galatea and Uriel will help me hunt the lesser spirit I need."
With a snap of his fingers, two messenger butterflies formed from faint, glowing script. They drifted in the air for a moment before shooting out the open window, each carrying his request.
***
Five days later ,the first Monday of June .
Faust spotted Uriel and Galatea boarding a ghost train. He caught up and slipped inside, finding a seat near the rear where the noise was thinner.
Galatea looked uneasy. Her dresses always bore her family crest, two stylized wings stitched in silver thread, the insignia of the Wisterio Family.
Here, that mark was like a beacon.
A few passengers cast lingering stares, the kind that tried to hide their meaning but never could.
She kept her head up, though Faust noticed the subtle shift of her shoulders. She'd been through this before,every time she came down to hangout with him and Uriel.
For a while, none of them spoke. The train rattled along. Somewhere near the spot the trio sat, a group of strangers laughed too loudly.
"Hey, I heard Abba was found dead by Catter Flump," one woman said.
The second woman covered her mouth with both hands. "What happened?"
The only man among them, delicate voice, wrists held loose, an air that blurred toward the feminine, gave a short scoff.
"The old drunk? Wife beater? Violent goon? Please. Save your sympathy, Anna."
Anna lowered her hands, shaking her head.
"But how?" the man asked, leaning forward.
The first woman's voice dropped to a hush, which only made it easier to hear.
"Found in an alley after a whisperstorm. Mouth stuffed with a strip of his own shirt. Hands clasped in some kind of prayer."
Another passenger, not part of their group but clearly listening, piped up.
"Black paint smeared over his face too. Plaguewalkers think it's either revenge or a cult thing."
The three at the back of the car, Faust, Uriel, Galatea , stayed quiet, pretending they weren't paying attention while every word slipped into their heads.
The stranger leaned in, sensing the attention.
"There were two murders, actually. The other was a fourteen-year-old boy, a paper boy to be exact. Found kneeling in the Whispering Church, head resting on the altar like he'd fallen asleep. No wounds. Cause of death was suffocation, but the means missing. Shoes too."
That made the trio shift in their seats. Galatea shut her eyes like she was trying to keep the image of the murders out.
"No motive, no enemies. The boy wasn't trouble. That's what scares the police, it feels ritualistic," the stranger went on.
The feminine man snorted. "Cult, obviously."
Cult killings weren't rare in Asperbone, until they'd nearly vanished in the past three months.
"Some say the boy used to steal from the donation box at the church," the stranger added, almost gleeful.
The man chuckled. "Guess the whispering one finally whispered."
"Have a heart," Anna muttered to the feminine man.
Galatea's voice cut through their section of the train, sharper than usual. "Enough of that, right?" Her hands trembled slightly.
Uriel and Faust just looked at her.
"You know," she said after a moment, "a sanctum was just sent to my house this weekend."
Faust frowned. "And?"
Silence.
She held his gaze.
Then Uriel broke into a short laugh.
Faust raised a brow, grinning a little. "What? She's from a noble family, that's nothing new."
"You get sanctums like other people get servants," he teased.
"Yes," Galatea said with a faint chuckle, smoothing her dress. "But this one, from what I overheard my father saying ,is a Chastefōl."
Uriel's eyes went wide. Faust's stayed flat, confusion hidden behind them.
"A Chastefōl?"
She nodded.
" I can't believe you now have such a rare sanctum, where do you guys plan to hang the frame". Uriel asked with high interest.
Faust's blank look earned him a stare from both of them.
"Frame? Is it a picture? " Faust asked in confusion.
At this point the ones who discussed about the murders in asperbone had alighted the ghost train. Leaving only the stranger who had tried to join in with the additional info.
Uriel turned to Faust as if to pounce on him.
From an upper class family Uriel had knowledge of many things about the world unlike Faust who was from the lower class with his father being a plaguewalker: a detective to be exact.
Even at that compared to Galatea, Uriel even from an upper class family still only heard some things not even see them.
That was the difference between a noble and the regular class division of the world.
They were only 7 families called "noble" In the world.
"It's not just a picture," Uriel said, leaning in.
"It's a sanctum shaped like a picture, it had been banned for years. Only some noble families have started to get them again. This will boost her advancement speed like crazy, not to mention all the other… advantages."
He turned to Galatea. "Your family's standing just climbed above the others. You do realize that, right?"
Faust only shrugged, half-smiling. He knew what a sanctum was,but Chastefōl, noble standings… that was a world away from his father's work as a common detective.
"Congratulations, Galatea." Faust added as if forced.
He still didn't get it, even with the explanation.
The train screeched to a halt.
They stepped out into a stretch of flawless green. The air was soft, sunlight spilling across fields of flowers in between a roundabout with paths leading to other directions.
It should have been paradise. The faces of the other passengers pale, tight-lipped told another story.
They'd arrived at Eden.
It sat at the midpoint between Asperbone,therefore being a connecting point between a lot of places,hence being a usual train stop.
People passed it often but never stayed. Too many children, warped by whisper effects, had ended their lives here. Too many executions,cultists, criminals had been carried out in this beauty.
The other passengers turned back without a word. They saw the three young figures walking straight toward the garden and said nothing only watched, with worry, fear and pity.
After a while, Faust glanced sideways at Galatea.
"You lied to me."
She tilted her head. "About?"
"I've got my metaphor now, and I still have these dead eyes." He widened them dramatically for effect.
She just laughed softly,turning away from Faust's odd eyes, then pulled back a fold of cloth she'd been carrying.
"Here. For you."
A small dice lay in her palm.
Faust froze. Not a toy. Not something you rolled for fun.
"A memento?"
She nodded once.