Between Courage and Regret (3)
Selos Abaran crouched by the door, clutching a heavy sword that was entirely ill-suited to his light nightwear, his eye pressed flat against the keyhole.
It was a pathetic sight for an imperial prince, but Selos was in no position to care about his dignity. It was happening again tonight. Once more, a massive shadow was pacing down the hallway.
He knew all too well how that limp, puppet-like thing moved. The silent entity would soon linger in front of his bedroom door before vanishing without a trace. Or perhaps, tonight would be the night it finally broke inside.
That pest of a Seventh Prince had casually told him to just ignore it because it couldn't physically do anything anyway, but if it were that easy, Selos would have been sleeping like a baby from the start. Selos ground his teeth as the infuriating face of his half-brother flashed in his mind.
How was he supposed to sleep peacefully when an unknown entity, which might burst in at any second, kept hovering right outside his door?
Even the priests at the Temple had claimed that the most they could do to turn them back was pray to Sierra the Great. They insisted that a devout prayer was all it took to drive away the Fugitives. What a load of bullshit.
To look at that thing with his own eyes and offer up a prayer—Selos couldn't comprehend why they would propose such a useless solution. They should have come up with a way to slash it with a sword or beat it with a club. Idiotic priests.
Selos threw a silent, irrational tantrum. Having been raised to believe that his own bloodline was divine, there was no way he possessed the devout faith that the priests spent years cultivating.
Still, he had secretly tried to pray just to go through the motions, but it hadn't done a damn thing. The ghost continued to linger outside his room, leaving Selos to spend his nights shivering in terror.
While Selos was distracted blaming the innocent priests, the dark shadow had crept all the way up to the very door he was leaning against.
"Ah!"
Selos gasped. Though his view was limited through the tiny keyhole, the figure stood right before his door, swaying with a limp, unnatural motion that no human could replicate. Wrapped entirely in black cloth, its tattered, faded garments fluttered.
Cold sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes, but Selos didn't dare blink. Please, just pass by. Just keep going. Vanish down the hallway like you do every other night. Why are you lingering so long tonight, damn it!
Sierra Abaran was undoubtedly a cruel god to his own descendants. As Selos cursed inwardly, he watched in slow motion as what appeared to be the dark shadow's arm slowly began to rise.
The shock was enough to stop his heart, and Selos fell backward onto his rear. He desperately hoped he had misseen it, but a harsh, merciless sound echoed into his room.
Rattle. Rattle. Rattle. Rattle. Rattle. Rattle. Rattle.
It was neither a nightmare nor an illusion. It was reality. A horrific reality.
Clatter.
Selos dropped the sword he had been desperately clutching and scrambled backward on his hands and knees. The claim that ghosts couldn't do anything was a flat-out lie. He didn't know what it wanted, but the creature was going to open that door and harm him.
With death staring him in the face, a flurry of thoughts rushed through his mind. He had been taught that when members of the Imperial Family died, they went to Sierra Abaran's side to serve him. But would an ambiguous, half-baked royal like himself just be cast aside and ignored even in the afterlife?
If that's the case, I'd rather become a ghost myself and hunt down the bastards who spread those lies. Even as terror paralyzed his reason, Selos squeezed his eyes shut, his mind spinning with dark thoughts. The rattling of the doorknob grew increasingly violent.
"Caw—!"
It was at that exact moment. A loud crow's caw shattered the silence of the hallway. Instantly, the frantic clatter of metal against wood ceased. In its place, the faint sound of flapping wings and rustling cloth drifted through the door.
The Eighth Prince managed to open his eyes and stare at the still-closed door. He heard a few more frantic flaps, but before long, the hallway fell completely silent. By the time he could finally force his trembling legs to move, the quiet had returned.
Dragging his shaking limbs, Selos crept back to the door. Peering through the keyhole, the hallway looked perfectly ordinary, as if nothing had happened. Slowly unclenching his white-knuckled fists, he quietly unlocked the door and stepped out.
It was silent. A refreshing breeze swept through the corridor where the seemingly endless nightmare had just unfolded. What just happened? Still unable to believe his senses, Selos cautiously scanned the hallway. Then, his eyes caught a small, glinting object lying right in front of his door. He bent down and carefully picked it up.
"..."
It was... a small, shiny acorn.
Do ghosts really exist? I suppose I used to be quite terrified of them once. I still have faint memories of leaving the lights on in the dead of night, wrapping myself tightly in a thin blanket, and shivering in fear that something might come for me.
But it didn't take long for me to stop worrying about whether they existed or not. With the next month's electricity bill constantly looming over my head, I couldn't afford to sleep with the lights on anymore. I had to pinch every penny.
Besides, shivering under a blanket in a brightly lit room wasn't much different from shivering in a dark one. Nothing ever came to attack me in the deep of the night anyway. Slowly but surely, I realized that utility bills were far more terrifying than any ghost.
Once I grew up, got a job, and became consumed by the daily grind, the fear faded entirely from my mind. In the end, the only ghosts I knew of were the ones from the pages of Dark Header.
And that thing over there was definitely a far cry from the ones in the novel. None of the ghosts I knew of went around wrapped in filthy black rags. Honestly, it was a bit creepy.
"Squeak."
The little creature perched beside me let out a soft squeak, as if agreeing with my thoughts. No wonder the Eighth Prince was jumping out of his skin. Sitting on the sill of a small window in the castle hallway, I stared at the humanoid mass of black cloth swaying in front of Selos's bedroom door.
He was right. That thing was indeed capable of harming someone. Far from being a ghost, it didn't even look human, yet it was moving with a completely solid, physical form. The ghosts described in the novel couldn't even walk, let alone pick things up.
Rattle. Rattle. Rattle. Rattle. Rattle. Rattle. Rattle.
Yet this bastard was aggressively rattling the doorknob with two perfectly functional hands. What on earth made the Eighth Prince think this was a ghost? I decided to postpone mocking the kid—who was probably wetting his pants on the floor right about now—because this was far more complicated than a simple misunderstanding. It wasn't a ghost from the original story.
What is that thing? The timeline of this novel was already subtly warped. Was this some kind of trauma trigger buried in the Eighth Prince's past that had never been mentioned in the book?
Though he survived longer than I did in the original plot, the Eighth Prince was still just an extra. If he had been a more prominent character, the author would have fleshed out his life's ups and downs with a few interesting side stories. But neither he nor I received that kind of detailed treatment in the book.
So, was this something that was always meant to happen, or was it another anomaly spawned by this world's twisted timeline? Honestly, I hadn't expected it to be anything this serious when I came here.
"Ugh..."
It was then. A faint, whimpering sound drifted into my ears as I pondered. The kid inside was clearly terrified out of his mind. Well, his pale, bloodless face from earlier today was proof enough of just how much Selos feared this thing.
Having made up my mind, I spread my wings. Whatever that thing was, I needed to figure out its identity. According to the Eighth Prince, it fled once a certain hour struck, and having an unidentified entity roaming the imperial palace was hardly in my best interest.
"Caw—!"
At my cry, the creature that had been violently rattling the doorknob froze. It slowly turned what appeared to be its head toward me. At the same time, the Squirrel perched beside me shot me a look that clearly asked, What the hell do you think you're doing?
It didn't speak, but I was certain it was swearing at me with its eyes. Hey, I asked if you wanted to tag along before we left.
Contrary to its tattered appearance, the rag monster seemed to possess some semblance of reason. Seeing only a single crow perched on the windowsill, it turned back toward the door. I cawed once more, flapped my wings, and began to circle directly above the creature's head.
It flailed its arms wildly at me. It wasn't slow, but it wasn't fast enough to catch me either. I dipped lower, easily dodging its clumsy swings. The reason I could approach so fearlessly was partly because it didn't seem to have any special abilities beyond flailing around, but its size also played a part.
It was on the larger side, but it wasn't monstrously huge. Since I was capable of turning into a bear if needed, I had no trouble flying close to observe it.
It wasn't just a pile of rags. Beneath the cloth fluttering in the wind from my wings, there was a distinct, solid frame. If there was a human inside, I could write them off as a lunatic, but if it was something else, it would be a monster.
The black cloth draped over its face—or what I assumed was its face—fluttered. If I could just blow it back a bit more, I might be able to see inside.
I'm going to need bigger wings.
Coincidentally, I had encountered a magnificent eagle in the forest earlier today. The warm energy gathered in my core quickly surged to the tips of my wings. My black talons grew sharper and larger, and my black wings expanded, filling with immense power. Ooh, this feels pretty good.
The powerful downforce of an eagle's wings was incomparable to that of a mere crow. Right on cue, a sharp autumn breeze swept through the hallway window. The two currents of air collided, violently whipping back the rags shrouding the creature's head.
Revealed beneath the cloth was neither a skull nor a monster, but a perfectly ordinary human face. It was my first time seeing him in person, but I recognized him instantly. The navy hair and familiar features immediately brought a certain family to mind.
Why is Yigo Crysa, who is supposed to be locked up in prison, here?
Deciding it was best to lay low for a while after the carriage incident, Tollin was strictly limiting the Young Duke's outings. Furthermore, the number of tutors visiting the ducal residence had dwindled, leaving the Young Duke with an overwhelming amount of free time without ever knowing the reason why.
Tollin and Pale told him he could just relax or play with his toys, but that only worked for a day or two. Having never cared much for playing in the first place, the Young Duke found himself at a loss.
The maids and his nanny told him he was free to spend his time however he pleased, but whenever he tried to read a book or study, they would look troubled and gently mention that Lord Tollin had requested he try doing something else instead.
Left with no choice, the Young Duke would hesitantly pick up his toys, only to set them down shortly after. There was no fun in playing with toys all by himself. He preferred being alone in his bedroom. Just like right now.
Staring out at the clear sky through the window, the boy clutched a small, worn piece of wood in his hand. It was a lost item he hadn't been able to return to the children he met in the alleyway. They still hadn't found those children.
Whenever he asked Pale, he only received the same answer: that Tollin was searching diligently. Knowing how busy Tollin already was—often going without sleep—the boy had asked if there was anything he could do to help, but Pale had only looked at him proudly and said he was already doing more than enough.
It was heartwarming, yet frustrating. In times like this, his sleek, black friend would always listen to his worries. Missing his little friend, who hadn't visited in quite some time, the Young Duke paced restlessly by the window.
"Oh?"
Today was undoubtedly the Young Duke's lucky day. As if by magic, his friend was flying toward him from the distance.
"Kamang!"
Overjoyed, the Young Duke cast aside all decorum and rushed to throw the window wide open. He was far too excited to notice the crow flinch slightly at the enthusiastic welcome and the sound of that unfamiliar name.
"Where have you been all this time? Look, I saved up so many walnuts for you!"
Brimming with energy for the first time in a while, the Young Duke bustled about, bringing over a box from the table. Seeing the walnuts piled so high they were practically spilling over, the crow—otherwise known as Kamang—wore a look of silent distress. Unbeknownst to the Young Duke, his black friend didn't actually care for nuts.