The second day dawned. Pale light bled across the horizon, the kind of reluctant light that seemed to hesitate before crawling into the world. It spilled across the stone walls of the academy, climbing higher until it reached the vast woods beyond. The trees stood like ancient sentinels, their dark crowns trembling faintly in the wind. In that gray quiet, the day of the 15th began.
In the academy's front yard, the headmaster stood rooted on the stone path. His posture was as unyielding as the walls behind him, his boots planted as though he were bracing against a storm only he could feel.
His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, knuckles whitening, the tension in his shoulders betraying the weight of his thoughts. His sharp gaze was locked on the distant treeline, eyes narrowed as though he might pierce through the thick veil of forest shadow and drag its secrets into the open.
His thoughts echoed only to him. What exactly is happening in those woods!
His silence pressed heavy against the courtyard until, at last, his voice broke through. "Haldris."
The assistant, waiting a careful step behind, straightened at once.
"Did that musclehead refuse to come entirely?" the headmaster asked, his tone clipped, irritation folded beneath each word.
Haldris drew in a steadying breath before answering. "Yes. I called him, but he hung up before I could explain. He said he wouldn't come, even if we begged."
The name didn't need to be spoken. Both men knew they were talking about Toro.
The headmaster's jaw tightened, his lips pressing thin as the morning air hissed around them.
"And…" Haldris hesitated, his eyes flickering downward, as though afraid to deliver the next piece of news. "I couldn't bring myself to call Mr. Ashenhive. He isn't someone you summon out of the blue. Even if the matter is urgent. He's a busy man and with his wife's illness…"
Haldris' next words remained stuck in his throat, they were too heavy he couldn't bring himself to say them.
The headmaster's stern expression faltered for the briefest moment, his composure cracking beneath the weight of responsibility and the exhaustion he carried. He turned back to the forest, robes tugging and snapping lightly in the morning breeze, as though the wind itself was trying to remind him of time slipping by.
Helplessness pressed on him like an unseen hand.
"Fine then," the headmaster exhaled, "reach out to an Obliva, they might have answers to my questions."
"I already contacted one, sir. And also called your granddaughter, Ms. Oshira over."
---
Elsewhere, away from the academy's looming spires, a red car glided down the empty streets. Its engine hummed softly against the dawn silence, headlights cutting thin beams through the morning mist. In the passenger seat, Grandma Elunara sat with the kettle nestled in her lap, her frail fingers curled so tightly around its handle that her knuckles had turned pale. Her eyes had been fixed on it since she retrieved it the night before. It had scarcely left her sight.
Confusion weighed on her features. It wasn't the ordinary haze of age, but something deeper; worry, dread, the helpless ache of a riddle she could not solve.
From the driver's seat, a voice broke the stillness. "Elunara, you've been staring at that thing since we got in. Same way you stared at it yesterday when I picked you up from the black market. What's wrong with it?" The voice came out steady and calm.
Grandma lifted her gaze slowly, dragging it from the kettle, then studied the speaker's strong hands steady on the wheel, glasses hanging tight on his nose, his eyes darting between the road and the young woman behind him. He was Salin Click.
"Well…" she exhaled, her tone caught between awe and dread. "This kettle contains my little Ash's spirit. But I can't seem to open it, the seal placed on it is invisible to me. That's what troubles me."
Salin's brows arched, surprise flickering across his face. "So this is the thing you went through all that trouble to pull from the black market?"
"Yes." She folded her leg on top of the other, hugging it closer to her chest, as though afraid someone might snatch it even here. Her gaze slipped past the window as she rested her right hand on her right cheek. watching the waking streets blur by. "This is it. And it's more important than you realize. If I don't deliver it to the academy in time, I fear something irreversible will happen."
Salin flicked his eyes back to her, skeptical but not dismissive, "That important, huh?"
Her voice softened, carried by a mix of sorrow and reverence. "You remember, don't you? That ghost boy… the one my grandson always kept close."
Recognition struck Salin instantly. His grip on the wheel tightened. "Him? Yeah, I remember. Your grandson never listened whenever you told him to keep away. He carried that boy everywhere. He was the one who helped your grandson free himself from the merchants after five years lost from the White Unit facility. And later, when they dragged him back, he was their for him until your grandson finally left that place."
At the mention of the White Unit, Grandma's expression soured. Her eyes hardened, mouth drawing tight. That name was a wound, and time hadn't dulled its sting.
The car slowed as it reached a traffic light, tires skidding faintly. Outside, the world had begun to stir morning vendors, pedestrians, the low roar of engines starting.
"Yes," Grandma whispered. "He evolved into a spirit while he lived close to little Ash for three years in Adafio woods. From the time they met, he has been the anchor keeping little Ash himself. Without his spirit…" Her hands trembled around the kettle. "…I don't know what will happen."
Salin glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his red fox eyes glowing faintly, brows furrowed. "I'm curious about something though."
She met his eyes in the mirror, granting permission with a silent nod.
"I get that your grandson is… unusual. His soul can't be fully corrupted since half of it already is, which is probably why he's still human even after bonding with a ghost. But why did it take so long for that ghost to evolve into a spirit? Normally a year is enough. This one took more than ten."
Grandma's lips pressed together. She knew the reason, but the memories it stirred made her chest ache, and sadness tightened her throat until she couldn't speak.
Instead, she said softly, "Could you drive faster?"
Salin's jaw flexed, but he didn't press, he understood. The engine roared louder as the car surged forward, darting past the light the moment it blinked green.
Grandma sank back into her seat, her gaze drifting to the headliner.
Unlike others, little Ash had been forced to suppress his emotions all his life. Anyone who looked at him might think he had none. But if he didn't feel, then he wouldn't be human. Expressing them had always led to pain, so eventually he simply forgot how. So that's basically why this spirit took that long to evolve, the emotions were limited.
Salin's voice cut through again, quieter this time, edged with worry. "So… how is he holding up?"
Grandma didn't answer right away, she let silence linger before finally sighing.
"Well… the night before he left for the academy, while he was asleep, I placed a paper seal beneath his back. I made sure neither he nor Vanik'shur noticed it. That seal is what's been holding him together, keeping him anchored until I could bring his spirit back. But it won't hold forever. And the only one who could tear it off would be Vanik'shur … if he realized it."
That explained why I'd stayed conscious the whole time in the woods, the paper seal was suppressing Vanik'shur's emotions from leaking into mine, and mine from reaching him.
Her eyes dropped to the kettle. "The moment he tears it off, there will be an irreversible storm."
Salin frowned, the words sinking into him like ice. He pressed the accelerator harder. The car lurched forward, urgency thrumming in the engine's growl.
"Let's pray he won't," he muttered. "But with the tests they're running… Who can guarantee something won't tip him off? Still, couldn't you have made him a temporary pact instead?"
Grandma's voice shook. "We tried, but it failed every time, and two spirits died immediately."
The weight of that answer hung between them, filling the car with silence heavier than words.
I wonder what's really inside that kid… If only I'd gotten the chance to study him in my own facility instead of leaving it to the White Unit.
They say he's a demon's vessel and the one responsible for the catastrophe sixteen years ago. But what kind of demon is it? Is it really that powerful?
Salin's thought lingered as he glanced at Grandma through the rearview mirror again, his obsession with science reporting at work.
Elunara has always been this worried about that boy, even though he isn't truly her grandson.
A quiet chuckle of resgnation escaped him as a memory slipped in. He's the reason she and I are no more… That one misunderstanding ruined everything. If only I could've explained better and harder, but it's far too late now.
Salin's expression turned flirtatious, a small smile playing on his lips as his focus returned to the mirror, though his hands stayed steady on the wheel. Grandma remained where she was, hand resting on her cheek, legs folded atop each other, eyes fixed on the window.
Salin and Grandma Elunara had a history they dated long ago, back when I was just a child. But everything fell apart when Salin was caught in a misunderstanding that concerned my safety, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't explain his way out of it.
Then suddenly, Grandma's head tilted, her brow furrowing. "Wait…" she whispered. "I think I heard something."
Salin flicked a sharp glance at her. "What is it?"
"I don't know, it was faint. Like… he attuned to me somehow, calling to me." She angled the kettle, staring hard at its unchanging brass surface. But nothing stirred; no glow, no mark, no voice that wasn't only in her mind.
Her eyes hardened with determination. "Mikko, come give me a hand."
At once, the red silk belt slid free from her pocket. It slithered like a living thing across her lap, coiling neatly around the kettle with a faint rustle.
"Can you hear anything?" she asked, her voice hushed as though afraid of waking something best left asleep.
Mikko did not speak aloud; he never did in that form. His words instead brushed against her mind, clear and steady.
"The kettle is sealed, but not from the outside.The seal lies within, even if you were to try for days, it would never reveal itself on the surface."
Those were Van's words to Grandma, delivered through Mikko. This was one of Mikko's evolved techniques, he had three in total: copying humanoid appearances, transference through a link, and a cunningness far beyond his age.
Normally, these techniques would have belonged to Grandma if Mikko were using her as a vessel. But since his vessel was the silk belt, they remained his alone.
Grandma's eyes widened, a cold weight dropping into her stomach. "Inside…?" Her lips pressed thin, shock flickering across her face. "Who would even manage to perform such a tricky seal technique?"