Chapter 32
The night was far from over—still a few hours until morning, judging by the color of the moonless sky. But Arthur's condition couldn't wait.
So, Oswin and Arthur walked through the quiet streets of the settlement, heading toward Ignis's hut. She was the one Arthur trusted most—his mentor, after all.
A lantern swung gently from Arthur's hand, its wooden frame wrapped in plant fiber, a lump of pork fat burning dimly inside. The weak light barely lit the path ahead. Oswin didn't need it—he could see in the dark. But Arthur couldn't. He needed the light to recognize the huts.
Throughout the walk, Arthur's voice trickled into Oswin's mind—one word at a time, each spaced out by a few seconds. If you weren't paying close attention, it was impossible to follow.
Oswin wasn't paying attention.
He didn't know what Arthur was saying, and honestly, he wasn't trying to. They had already tried puzzles, riddles, games—none of it helped.
So here they were, walking under a dark sky, on a quiet little quest for a solution.
Arthur stopped walking.
"We… are… here," his voice rang slowly in Oswin's mind.
But Oswin wasn't listening. Not to the words, anyway. He blinked and looked around, confused.
"How far is Ignis's hut?" he asked aloud.
Arthur's mental voice came again—this time a little sharper.
"I… just… told… you… we… had… arrived… Did… you… not… pay… attention… to… what…"
There was a faint sting in the tone not anger, just… a bit of hurt.
Oswin winced internally. Right. He'd been ignoring Arthur's blabber again.
They had arrived.
Arthur knocked on the door of Ignis' hut.
Moments later, it creaked open.
Ignis stood in the doorway, backlit by the faint orange flicker of fat candle from inside.
Her expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of surprise behind her eyes. If Arthur and Oswin had come this late, something must've happened.
Still, neither of them looked panicked. Oswin seemed tired. Arthur just looked… Arthur.
Whatever it was, it didn't seem urgent.
Ignis gave a small nod and stepped aside, silently motioning them in.
Both settled into the chairs already laid out near the small table. Ignis dragged another from the corner, placing it down with a quiet scrape against the floor.
She took the burning pork-fat candle—lit just before she opened the door—and set it between them.
The dim flame danced in the drafty silence.
Then, without a word, she raised her hand.
Palm up, fingers slightly spread, lifted to her chest with a subtle shrug.
The universal gesture-Why?
Oswin stayed quiet for a few seconds, staring at the flickering candlelight before finally speaking.
"Arthur explained how the Spirit of Mind's influence works," he said slowly. "It amplifies habits. Urges. Things that someone already leans toward—it just… pushes them further."
He glanced at Arthur, then back at Ignis.
"Arthur likes to talk. A lot. Buthe can't physically talk now. So instead, he uses hymns—telepathy—to get the words out. And that's where the problem starts."
He leaned back slightly, rubbing his fingers together as he thought.
"The more he uses telepathy, the more the influence builds up. The more it builds, the more he wants to talk. And the more he wants to talk… the more he uses telepathy."
Oswin exhaled sharply through his nose. "It's a loop. A feedback loop, it's accumulating inside him, slowly and constantly."
He looked at Ignis directly.
"It might not seem urgent right now… but if it keeps going unchecked, I think it could really drive him crazy."
Ignis snapped her fingers sharply.
Arthur flinched, his wide eyes instantly locking onto her. It wasn't anger on her face—just focused authority, the kind that left no room for disobedience. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, silent.
Then, Oswin heard Arthur's voice in his mind again—slow, one word at a time.
"Ignis… told… you… to… hear… me… for… tonight…"
A pause.
"And… tomorrow… we… will… run… some… tests…"
Another beat passed. Then more words trickled in, hesitant.
"And… to… go… back… and… rest… for… tonight… or… not…"
A longer pause. Then the last part arrived, tired and dry.
"She… doesn't… care… it… will… be… morning… in… few… hours… anyway…"
Oswin was the first to stand, his chair creaking as he pushed it back. Arthur rose a moment later, slower, head bowed just slightly.
"Thank you," Oswin said, giving Ignis a small nod. "We'll meet again tomorrow."
Ignis didn't respond with words she couldn't even if she wanted too just a simple, firm nod.
With that, they stepped out into the night once more.
In the darkness of the moonless night, the two walked side by side, guided only by the faint glow of a single cloth lantern.
***
In a quiet cottage far from the heart of the settlement, within the warmth of a dimly lit bedroom, three women lay entwined under a thick blanket. The air was heavy with the scent of wine, sweat, and the lingering touch of Spirit-bound indulgence. Beneath the covers, bare skin met bare skin, but modesty was preserved by the drape of the blanket.
One of them, radiant with youthful beauty and tipsy from the night's pleasures, turned toward the woman with long, flowing red hair. Her words came out in a soft murmur, breath warm against her ear.
"The power granted by the Spirit of Flesh… it's versatile, to say the least, Caro," she whispered with fascination, fingers trailing lazily across Caro's arm. "No matter how much I observe, no matter how many times I experience it… it still surprises me—how easily you take on the forms of flesh, even the man you were moments before."
Her voice dipped into a curious hush.
"Is there a story behind that form?"
Caro let out a soft breath, barely a laugh, eyes half-lidded as she turned her head on the pillow to meet Depri's gaze.
"Depri," she murmured, voice tinged with dry amusement, "you've seen that form thousands of times now. And now you're asking about it?"
But the playfulness faded as quickly as it came, and something more wistful crept into her tone.
"Yes," she admitted softly, "it belonged to someone I liked… back when I was still human. But that's a tale from thousands of years ago. Dust on dust."
She closed her eyes for a beat, then opened them again, gaze drifting upward.
"I use that form to remember, To carry the shape of what we lost, to remember the people I once knew."