Ethan almost jumped from shock.
He turned to face an old man — wise, his glasses large and brown. Yet despite the wrinkles and fading hair, you could still tell he'd once been a fine gentleman in his early years.
"We're no different from them, young lad," the man said. "We all have a core, a will to live — whether I'd be a curse, a spirit, or a Persona of the Awakened."
He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carries a hundred years of quiet sorrow.
"What are they like?" Ethan asked.
"The Anomalies?"
"No, the Cursed. Why are they different from us? Why don't they have Personas?"
The old man chuckled softly.
"Oh, they do. It's just another name for it — Anathema."
Ethan tried the word on his tongue.
"Anathema…"
"We, the Awakened, rise for a greater good — or so they say. But the Cursed rise from vengeance, hatred, greed. That's why they're called Anathema. They detested something — someone — so much, it refused to let them die."
"What happens if they achieve their goal? Do they become like us — Volumes?" Ethan pressed.
"I'm afraid not," the man said gently. "Some say they turn to dust, finally at peace. I've never met one who became a Volume. Perhaps we never will."
Ethan looked down.
"Will they really be at peace… when it's all over?"
"Achieve what?"
"Vengeance," Ethan murmured. "Won't they feel empty once it's done? All that rage... just gone?"
A whisper stirred in his head — faint, jagged, crawling through his skull.
"…an…a…r…c…h…y…"
He flinched. The old man's hand landed softly on his shoulder.
"Whatever their path, Ethan, they still have a choice — to do or not to do. Some may even Awaken when they find a will of their own — for good, or something close enough."
He smiled again.
"Now, settle down, lad. Class is about to start. I'm Mr. Ivor, by the way."
"I'm Ethan. Ethan Von Claude."
"Ah! The new pupil. The one with the black goo. Millie and I were quite surprised when that thing started healing you. Welcome to my class."
Ethan took a seat beside Mycroft just as the students began filing in through the sliding doors. He chuckled faintly at the memory of his earlier panic — but his thoughts still lingered on Mr. Ivor's words.
Were they really all the same?
He sighed and glanced at Mycroft, who was quietly reading.
"You're pretty stoic, huh," Ethan said.
"Maybe," Mycroft replied, eyes never leaving the page. "I just feel like I can't… feel. Emotions are so hollow."
"Hollow, huh. Yeah, I get that. Anyway — what's got your eyes glued to that book?"
"Ancient coffins and funeral rituals."
"What made you so interested in that?"
Mycroft turned a page.
"Maybe because when I Awakened, I was buried six feet under one."
Ethan froze.
"You were buried alive?!"
He half-stood, startling everyone, then sank back down.
"Yes," Mycroft said simply. "I was accused of something they couldn't prove. So they buried me alive."
"Then… how did you get out?"
"I didn't," Mycroft said, eyes distant. "Master Grimoire dug me up and said I was Awakened."
Ethan frowned. Why does he sound disappointed he was saved? he thought.
Before Ethan could ask, two identical blond girls approached. You could only tell them apart because one wore a headband, the other a clip.
"Mycroft," said the one with the headband.
"Can you…" The other, with the clip, added, her voice softer.
"Help our pets — Scourge and Morgue — please, please?" they said in perfect unison.
They opened their hands. Resting on their palms were two horn beetles, both large — one a vibrant blue, the other an emerald green — each with twin sharp horns. But both were still.
"We left them in their container," the clip twin sniffled, "but they fought and killed each other again."
"Don't be such a baby, Claudette," said the girl with the headband.
"Well, you're the one who left them together, Claurine!" she retorted.
"Don't fight, you two," Mycroft said calmly. He took both beetles in his hands and closed them gently. For a moment, there was only silence — then, faint twitching. The shells shifted, legs moved.
The twins gasped, smiling as the beetles slowly stirred back to life.
"Thank you, Mycroft!" they said in perfect harmony.
Claurine then turned and pointed directly at Ethan.
"You're the one with the black gooey goo!"
"Claurine, don't point at people," Claudette scolded.
"It's him, Claudette! The one we had to put a barrier on because some black goo was healing him!" Claurine insisted.
Claudette tilted her head, analyzing Ethan like a curious scientist.
"Yeah, it is you. Can you show us the goo again? Please?"
"Umm…" Ethan hesitated.
Before he could answer, Mr. Ivor's voice echoed through the room.
"Everyone, take your seats. Recovery class is about to start."