“What happened?” Siles asked.
Professor Bright said, “I arrived here last night. A young child is staying in the room next door, and every hour or two, he throws a fit and cries like that.”
Siles couldn’t help but frown slightly. He said, “That must really disturb your rest, Professor.”
Professor Bright shrugged, speaking in a somewhat lighthearted tone: “It was just one night, so it was bearable.”
Siles thought to himself that letting this continue long-term certainly wouldn’t do. He deliberated for a moment before saying, “How about having them move you to a different ward?”
“I’ll consider it; don’t worry, my dear student.”
In the pause during their conversation, the child’s crying from next door grew increasingly pronounced, becoming almost piercingly shrill. Professor Bright also couldn’t help but frown.
Siles then said, “I’ll go next door and take a look.”
Professor Bright nodded.
Siles stood up and headed to the adjacent ward. It was also a single-occupancy room. The hallway was completely empty. Siles knocked on the door; the crying inside stopped abruptly, but no one answered him.
Siles hesitated for a second before pushing the door open and entering.
Inside was only a young child, around twelve or thirteen years old. He sat alone on the bed, his face showing no trace of tears. He was swaying back and forth out of boredom, and upon seeing Siles enter, his eyes widened as he asked with a hint of interest, “Who are you?”
“I came here to visit a patient. This…”
Before Siles could finish speaking, he was cut off.
The boy said, “So, are you a family member of that old man next door?”
Siles paused, sensing a subtle feeling of dissonance. If the boy didn’t actually possess such a young and tender face, Siles might have mistaken him for an arrogant, haughty adult.
“…Yes,” he replied, narrowing his eyes with a cold yet polite demeanor. “You are disturbing the rest of the other patients, young gentleman.”
“Oh… but what does that have to do with me?” the child said. “When I want to be noisy, I should speak loudly. Don’t I have the right to do that?”
Hearing the word “right” come from the mouth of such a young child made Siles feel even more bizarre. He sized the boy up.
The other party looked quite small and skinny, but he didn’t seem particularly frail. In fact, he gave off a lively, energetic impression, with a clever, mischievous glint occasionally flashing in his brown eyes.
Hanging around his neck was a small ornament that looked like a tiny abacus—perhaps a hopeful wish from his family.
He wore a hospital gown, and his hair grew somewhat messily. The gaze he directed at Siles was full of keen interest, as if he hadn’t interacted with anyone in a long time and was now excited, eagerly anticipating what Siles might say to him.
Siles hesitated for a brief moment, then asked, “Where are your parents?”
“Oh, they’re dead,” the child shrugged casually. “An old man took me away and brought me to this hospital, saying I had some illness, but I think he had bad intentions. He claimed to be my grandfather, but who knows? I’ve never seen him before.
“I don’t think I’m sick at all, right? He brought me to the hospital and dumped me here… It’s so boring. I hate this place. Though, nobody manages me here either, which is pretty comfortable.”
Siles thought to himself that he sounded like an orphan who had lost both parents.
However, even if the boy’s explanation sounded plausible enough, Siles couldn’t simply take it at face value. After all, this was Darwin Hospital.
“What illness do you have?” Siles asked.
The child’s eyes instantly widened; he froze on the spot, unable to utter a word for a long time. After a while, he mumbled stammeringly, “…Just some… trouble.”
His sudden change was far too obvious, allowing Siles to immediately notice the abnormality. He stared at the boy.
The child curled himself into a ball, hugging his shoulders as if he had withered. He murmured in a low voice, “Mom and Dad are gone, I’m gone too, everyone is gone… It’s so dark… so dark… There’s light, but I can’t touch it… Save me, you can save me…”
Though he said “you,” his eyes were not looking at Siles; instead, his head was lowered, obstinately and intently staring at the pattern on his bedsheets. His eyes were vacant, his entire person exceptionally dazed.
…Mental illness? The option instantly emerged in Siles’s mind.
This was not the first time he had heard of such a thing. Previously, Mike Lampson—according to Louisa Lampson—had also suffered from some kind of mental illness that caused him to talk to himself.
Mental illness, combined with Darwin Hospital?
A sudden flash of inspiration struck Siles’s brain. He thought of those children who, according to rumors, had died at Darwin Hospital…
He looked deeply at the unnamed child before him.
After shivering for a moment, the child slowly calmed back down. His body gradually relaxed, and then he trembled slightly. Following that, he reverted to the state Siles had first seen him in.
Lifting his eyes and seeing Siles, he frowned and asked in a rude tone, “Why are you still here?”
Siles couldn’t help but wonder: was the child’s behavior due to a genuine mental illness, or something else? Had he encountered an out-of-control Time Trace?
However, if it were symptoms of spiritual inactivation, it shouldn’t present as this kind of near-dissociative identity behavior.
…Spiritual pollution?
Siles decided to test him slightly. He said, “A respected elder of mine is in the adjacent ward, but your constant shouting and commotion are disturbing his rest… If possible, could you please be a little quieter?”
His tone maintained its customary politeness and composure, but the child acted as if he had been abruptly offended. He glared, staring fiercely at Siles as he said, “Who are you to order me around?”
Siles stood there, gazing expressionlessly at the boy. This imposing demeanor of his usually terrified quite a few students into shivering like quails, but before this child, it failed.
The child spoke frantically, “I’ll do whatever I want! What does it have to do with you! What does it have to do with any of you! This is my freedom! Whatever I want to do, I’m definitely going to do it!!”
That sharp, ear-piercing voice, combined with the boy’s clear, prepubescent tone, provoked an uncomfortable sensation in Siles’s ears.
The child screamed for a bit, then slowly quieted down. He glared with bloodshot eyes at Siles.
Just as Siles was about to say something, the sound of a dice rolling suddenly rang in his ears. Taken off guard by this realization, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly surprised—why was a check triggered?
[Keeper of Secrets, Nanisal Bryant (Holy Child) needs to perform a Constitution check.]
[Constitution: 17/59, Failure.]
[Things always change when least expected, whether for that child or for you. A trip to the hospital will bring you an unexpected harvest; perhaps you were already mentally prepared for this… Regardless, quickly say thank you to the dice!]
Siles: “…”
Did something seem a bit off with the dice?
And the child in front of him… Holy Child?
As Siles was pondering, he realized his mouth was moving involuntarily: “However, perhaps in the next second, you will lose your voice.”
Nanisal Bryant stared at Siles, frowning in confusion. Angrily, he tried to say something, only to discover in shock as he opened his mouth that he couldn’t make a sound at all.
That furious expression transformed in an instant into astonishment and fear.
Siles said, “Shouting and screaming for extended periods places a heavy burden on your throat. Are you not aware of this?”
The child looked at Siles, the shock in his eyes gradually turning into deep fear. Cautiously and timidly, he nodded—Siles wasn’t sure if his mental trouble was acting up again, or if he genuinely realized his mistake.
They looked at each other in silence for a moments.
In this brief interval, Siles contemplated the significance represented by this check. There was clearly some secret hidden behind this child. But why did the dice insist on executing a check at this exact moment?
This type of check, over which Siles had no control, was like a fork in the road of fate.
Originally, things might have developed into a different situation, but the dice jumped out at this moment to alter the trajectory of fate, or at least ensure fate moved toward a specific outcome—or simply to hint to Siles that something was wrong here.
For instance, when Siles first arrived in this world and discovered the Grenfield Antique Bookstore, triggering a Perception check; or when he was purifying pollution for a Revelator, and the dice let Siles decide the result through a Will check; or when Siles purchased that set of dolls and accidentally triggered a Knowledge check.
Those three checks respectively corresponded to the three scenarios above, all holding significant representative meaning.
However, facing this mysterious boy now, Siles couldn’t tell which scenario applied. It seemed as though all three scenarios existed simultaneously.
To alter the trajectory of fate—making the young boy realize Siles’s power.
To ensure fate developed toward a specific outcome—making the child remain silent instead of continuing to make a scene.
To hint to Siles where the problem lay—this child’s surname was Bryant, and his identity was the “Holy Child.”
…So this check was actually extremely important, Siles thought. But the question was, what kind of situation was such an important check meant to guide fate toward?
The silence in the ward persisted as the child continued to stare obstinately at Siles.
“…It seems you’ve understood the lesson,” Siles said.
At the same time, he silently thought in his mind: Check Nanisal Bryant’s Constitution attribute. By the way, thank you.
[Keeper of Secrets, Nanisal Bryant (Holy Child) is performing a Constitution check.]
[Constitution: 17/…]
Among the numbers leaping before his eyes, Siles selected 15.
[Constitution: 17/15, Success.]
[Oh, what a thoughtful Keeper of Secrets. You’re welcome; this is just what the dice should do. The young child thought he was rebelling against the world, but in truth, he was merely pushing himself toward an abyss. Fortunately, an invisible hand of fate stopped him at this moment.]
Siles narrowed his eyes slightly.
He thought to himself: he had said thank you, and the dice said you’re welcome. Did this mean they had established effective communication?
However, the situation didn’t seem to have changed significantly; he had merely communicated with the dice in the middle of the check, an interaction that originally existed anyway.
Furthermore, the dice’s explanation during this check also seemed to hint at something… “rebelling against the world”?
Before Siles could think deeper, the child before him realized his voice had recovered. Opening his mouth, he was about to speak, but then let out a soft cough.
He said in a low voice, “I won’t shout or scream anymore, so don’t use those weird tricks on me again.”
Siles nodded.
As if reaching an agreement with Siles, Nanisal instantly let out a sigh of relief. Lying back boredly, he said, “This makes things feel even more dull.”
“So you shout and scream just to dispel boredom?” Siles asked.
He wanted to learn the secret hidden behind the child, but Nanisal was clearly a highly vigilant and precocious child. It was impossible for him to open up about his secrets right off the bat.
Siles didn’t expect that either. He could only gradually learn more about Nanisal’s circumstances.
“…Pretty much,” Nanisal said, though his expression made it obvious that the actual situation wasn’t so simple. “Nobody keeps me company. I can only stay in the hospital by myself.”
It sounded somewhat pitiable, Siles thought. Yet judging by the boy’s unruly behavior, Siles couldn’t say he felt overly sympathetic toward him either.
So he suggested, “You could read some books, look at the newspaper, or buy some secondary school textbooks to read.”
Nanisal looked at Siles strangely and said, “How odd. You aren’t a teacher, are you?”
Siles: “…”
“Oh, I guessed right,” Nanisal said. “Sure enough, only teachers say such boring things. Isn’t doing that even more boring? I’d rather… Never mind, I won’t yell anymore.”
He let out a heavy sigh.
Siles remained silent for a moment before saying, “Perhaps you could find something suitable for your age to play with.” Saying this, he also thought of children’s toy shops. “Just to pass the time.”
“Maybe,” Nanisal said with a somewhat listless attitude. “Before being hospitalized, I played cards. But they were quickly confiscated by that strict old man. Luckily, I secretly hid one card myself and take it out to look at occasionally…”
Cards?
Siles almost involuntarily frowned. After a moment of silence, he said, “Fate Cards?”
Nanisal stared at him in surprise: “Are you some kind of prophet?” He paused, then said, “Yeah, Fate Cards. A servant secretly brought them to me, saying his younger brother plays with these cards at school.
“Hmph, some art academy it is—just a bunch of slackers who don’t do proper work. Nobody played with me, so I just shuffled them myself. Too bad they were still taken by the old man; how boring.”
He let out a artificially mature sigh.
Siles said, “Could you let me see that card you kept?”
Nanisal looked at him, hesitated briefly, and then said, “Fine… fine! I’ll show you! But you can’t take it away. I only kept it because this card looks pretty special…”
He retrieved a card from beneath his pillow and handed it to Siles. His eyes locked onto Siles nervously, as if worried Siles might snatch the card away.
Fate Card. Major Suit: Life. An eight-petaled rose in the corner.
…It was that fellow again, Siles thought.
He handed the card back to Nanisal. The latter let out a massive sigh of relief.
Siles asked, “Where did you get this card?” He paused, then added, “It doesn’t seem to belong to the full deck the servant gave you, does it?”
Nanisal froze, looking at Siles in astonishment: “…How do you know everything!”
Siles merely watched him quietly.
Nanisal said, “…Fine! Annoying adult! I picked this card up.”
“Picked it up?”
“On my first day at this hospital. It was around the time it kept raining,” Nanisal explained. “When I changed into my hospital gown and stepped out, I found this card right by the doorway.
“That day, the old man confiscated all my cards, so I thought he had accidentally dropped this one. But when I looked closely, I saw a special mark on it. I felt it was definitely a gift from fate to me, so I kept it safe.”
A gift from fate, Siles thought. The unintentional words of a child.
Yet it genuinely stirred waves within Siles’s heart.
Nanisal looked at Siles guardedly and said, “This is my only source of fun right now. You wouldn’t snatch it away, would you?”
Siles paused, then shook his head. He said, “Siles Noel. That is my name.”
Nanisal looked at him for a moment before saying, “Nanisal.” He didn’t mention his surname. “What is that old man next door to you?”
“Professor Bright was my mentor during my university days,” Siles said. “He is a very amiable person. If you feel bored, you can go chat with him. However, you cannot throw fits and shout like that anymore.”
“…Tch,” Nanisal said sullenly. “I got it!”
Siles then left Nanisal’s ward and returned to Professor Bright’s room.
Professor Bright was chatting with the young care worker. Seeing Siles return, he smiled and said, “Siles! Looks like you had a good chat with that child?”
…It was probably decent, for him, Siles thought.
He said, “That’s a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy who feels bored being alone in the hospital, which is why he kept shouting. I told him to keep quiet, and perhaps he might drop by to chat with you later.”
“Oh! So that’s how it is. His family is truly irresponsible,” Professor Bright said with a hint of dissatisfaction. “Still, twelve or thirteen is indeed a very troublesome age. Kids that age always think the world revolves around them.”
Siles offered a faint smile. He certainly agreed with Professor Bright’s sentiment.
They chatted for a while longer. Seeing that time was nearing eleven o’clock, Siles took his leave. Professor Bright imparted a fair amount of advice regarding course-related matters.
He said, “In any case, Siles, those students are research scholars and might look down on you seeing how young you are. Even if you are only covering my classes for a short while, you must be a bit strict with them.”
Siles was slightly startled, then nodded, saying, “I understand, Professor.”
The young care worker on the side observed them curiously. At this moment, no one gave a thought to how the students would feel—no one.
Leaving the hospital, Siles quickly made his way to 32 Lowell Street. Chendo was already preparing lunch. Surprisingly, cooking methods in Kansas were quite similar to those on Earth, utilizing stir-frying and stewing techniques that gave Siles an overwhelming sense of familiarity.
“Do you like it?” Chendo asked, a little nervously.
Siles looked at the dish in his bowl—which could roughly be described as sweet and sour pork ribs. After a moment, he offered a small smile and said, “I like it very much. I mean, extraordinarily so. Thank you.”
Chendo breathed a massive sigh of relief and said with self-satisfied pride, “I knew you’d like it.”
“Is this a Kansas style of cooking?” Siles asked.
“You could say that,” Chendo said. “However, it also incorporates some internal recipes from the Praia family. As you know, the Praia family inherited the faith of Ligadia, so the cooking habits in the family always bear characteristics from various regions.
“I merely picked a preparation style that differs from Konst for you to try. It couldn’t be better if you like it.”
Siles nodded, feeling an indescribable, comforting warmth.
They quickly finished lunch. Chendo hadn’t cooked too many dishes, but it still stimulated Siles’s appetite. Together, they cleaned up the kitchen, dividing the household chores with unspoken coordination.
Chendo seemed to have a bit of obsessive-compulsive tendency, insisting on arranging the bottles and jars neatly, occasionally tilting his head to evaluate them as though a particular jar displeased him. Siles washed the dishes while telling Chendo about his experiences at the hospital.
Particularly about that boy.
Chendo noted sharply, “Bryant?” He thought for a moment. “If I recall correctly, doesn’t that surname belong to the Minister of Finance of the Duchy of Konst?”
“Yes,” Siles said. “I cannot confirm the boy’s true identity, but he is very likely connected to that Minister of Finance.”
“We’ll know once we investigate,” Chendo said.
Siles pondered for a moment: “However, Nanisal said that old man claiming to be his grandfather only appeared after his parents passed away, and he had never seen the man before. Perhaps there are hidden circumstances.”
“Maybe he’s an illegitimate child,” Chendo suggested.
Siles nodded thoughtfully: “It’s possible. Is this kind of thing very common in noble families?”
“Perhaps,” Chendo shrugged. “There are always nobles doing despicable things. Of course, rest assured, such a thing would never happen in the Praia family.”
Siles was slightly taken aback, then smiled amusedly.
They turned the topic back to the matter of the card.
“It seems someone really is helping or hinting to us from behind the scenes,” Siles said. “Major Suit: Life… Could this matter be related to Personari?”
“Didn’t you mention that little girl to me before… Nona?” Chendo said, not entirely certain. “Didn’t she come into contact with saffron back then? That happens to be the symbol of Personari.”
Siles nodded, but then added, “However, I cannot be sure what role Personari truly plays in this incident… Furthermore, why have underground gangs been collecting Time Traces all this time?”
He thought to himself that even now, he didn’t know how Nona was doing.
…What illness did Nona actually have?
Now, Siles vaguely sensed that it didn’t seem to be the kind of physiological illness he had assumed. Mike and Nanisal—the two children connected to Darwin Hospital—both displayed symptoms that were mental illnesses.
Mental illness…
Siles thought of the “dark room” Nona had mentioned in her dream. Siles had also once appeared in a dark room, which seemed closer to his conscious space.
Also, Nona mentioned hearing many people talking… Did those people really exist? Could it be that, like other children suffering from mental illnesses, she was simply talking to herself?
After thinking for a moment, Siles couldn’t help but sigh, feeling that the mysteries were truly numerous.
He decided to shift his focus to tasks he could currently address. He said, “Perhaps I should write a letter to Alva to ask about the specific details regarding this mysterious card purchaser.”
“Since they signed an agreement, the document must contain that person’s identity details,” Chendo said. “Perhaps that can yield some help.”
Siles agreed with a nod.
After finishing his meal, he quickly returned to Hayward Street, as he needed to write to Alva and also familiarize himself with the lesson plans for substituting Professor Bright’s class tomorrow.
Chendo also needed to go out to look into information regarding the Minister of Finance, so he didn’t follow Siles to Hayward Street. Nevertheless, they shared a lingering, affectionate kiss before parting.
The class Siles was substituting for Professor Bright was a mandatory core course for research scholars majoring in literary history, titled Overview of Literary Development—a title that sounded immensely vast and complex.
And the reality was indeed so. This course spanned an entire academic year, requiring a total of three terms to complete, consisting of a full, two-hour-plus lecture every week.
When Siles was a research scholar himself, he had taken this class, which was likewise taught by Professor Bright.
According to the department’s arrangements, he would likely need to substitute for Professor Bright for about a month, which amounted to roughly four class sessions. Judging by Professor Bright’s lesson plan, the content of these four sessions generally covered issues related to narrative techniques and form in novels.
Regarding this, Siles breathed a minor sigh of relief.
His knowledge system in literature was still not as deep as that of the more experienced professors; if the substitution content were more profound or touched upon areas he wasn’t well-versed in, he might have made a fool of himself in class.
Fortunately, it’s novel narration, he thought. In that case, being strict with the students will be quite manageable.
…Just assign more homework. Professor Siles Noel naturally arrived at this decision.
The next day, after finishing his own specialized elective class in the morning, mailing the letter to Alva, and having lunch, Siles stepped into the classroom for Overview of Literary Development.
There weren’t many students in the room. The literary history major didn’t have many students to begin with, and research scholars were even rarer. A total of eight students sat in the classroom, gazing confusedly at Siles, who had suddenly appeared and stood behind the podium, looking somewhat at a loss.
Among them were Siles’s two apprentices. Jules and Dorothea looked at their mentor, then at each other, a very subtle premonition rising in their hearts.
“Good afternoon, everyone. I am Siles Noel; you may have heard my name,” Siles said. “Something came up for Professor Bright, so for the coming month, I will be serving as your substitute instructor for this course.
“We only have a short time together. In order for me to better gauge your level of knowledge, and to allow Professor Bright to keep track of your learning progress at any time…
“In short, I will assign a small homework task at the end of each class and review it at the beginning of the next.
“These assignments will not affect your final grade, but they will indeed be submitted to Professor Bright, so I hope you will complete them diligently.”
The moment he finished these words, the students below—who had been chatting and laughing earlier—instantly fell dead silent.
An old square left, only for a young square to arrive… and an even stricter young square at that! Their shocked exchanges of glances conveyed this exact sentiment. One or two students even looked toward Jules and Dorothea with sheer shock in their eyes.
The look on their faces seemed to ask… This is your mentor??
Without changing his expression, Siles calmly waited for the students to settle their emotions before adding in a low voice, “Rest assured, the homework isn’t much.”
The students below: “…”
Adding that sentence doesn’t feel comforting at all!
However, Siles was already moving smoothly along: “Now then, let us begin our lesson. I learned from Professor Bright that you are about to cover narrative and form in novels; is that correct?”
The students were quiet for a moment before sparse sounds of agreement echoed.
“Then we shall start from here,” Siles said.
He gave a broad overview of the development of novels, stating, “Beginning in the Age of Silence, the form of the novel tended toward maturity, and writers grew accustomed to discussing various issues within their works.
“The content of novels became increasingly complex and diverse, but simultaneously, more questions regarding creation were placed before writers. One highly crucial question is: between the author and the characters, whose voice is the ‘voice’ that ought to truly appear in a novel?
“For example, when explicit environmental and detailed descriptions appear in a novel, is this what the character sees? Or is it what the author ‘sees’? How close should the author stand to the narrator?”
A student asked in confusion, “But isn’t it the author who creates the world within the book?” He paused, then added, “Just as an Old God determines the beliefs of followers. We cannot defy an Old God.”
Siles looked at the student, and after a moment, he said, “Yet Old Gods have fallen, authors will eventually pass away, while the written novels endure.”
Silence fell over the classroom.
Subsequently, Siles spoke, “Novels originated from theater and soliloquies. In the beginning, those stories existed for Old Gods; characters possessed no mind or consciousness, serving merely as rigid clay figures in the hands of an Old God, acting according to the deity’s desires.
“When theater was born, characters stood upon the stage and began speaking to the audience. From that point on, human storytelling existed to speak to another group of humans. It was the audience that saw the story, witnessing the lives and inner worlds of the characters.
“And now, novels face an invisible yet very real audience. The characters—and the authors who created them—speak across paper and words to countless readers, sharing a story that offers no return.
“…Now, this story is not being told for an Old God to hear, gentlemen.”
Siles delivered this passage in a tone that was nearly gentle.
When the student used the relationship between “an Old God and followers” to metaphorically describe the relationship between “an author and characters,” Siles felt a subtle, mysterious influence belonging to the mystical forces of this world.
This world was deeply stamped with the traces left behind by Old Gods—something Siles had never quite grown accustomed to.
Following that, the class proceeded step by step according to schedule. It wasn’t until Siles announced the end of the class and assigned a small piece of homework—a five-hundred-word reading comprehension on a specific novel mentioned in class—that the session concluded. Combined with the class content, this could hardly be considered a complex or profound ordeal.
The students also appeared to breathe a sigh of relief. They watched Siles leave the classroom first.
After Siles left, one student muttered, “Looking at it this way, the professor is actually pretty handsome.”
“…It’s just that there’s a bit too much homework,” another student remarked. “Jules, how does it feel to be his apprentice?”
Jules thought for a moment and said with utmost sincerity, “He is a very responsible and outstanding mentor.”
Dorothea did not join their conversation, merely staring silently at a section of notes she had taken, particularly a word or two within.
“Novels allow humanity to see self more clearly.”
“Self,” Dorothea softly murmured the word. “…Self?”
She seemed to be contemplating and worrying over something.
Siles was entirely unaware of the students’ discussions and thoughts. His life continued in its ordinary fashion.
On Wednesday, he received the sample copy of Literary Review sent over by the publisher Benton. His paper had been placed right at the front and was evaluated as “Outstanding.”
Siles was well aware that this was simply because his paper argued the concept that “wandering poets held faith in Ligadia.” Purely in terms of his research, the paper had not yet reached the standard of “Outstanding.”
In any case, this allowed him to sigh in relief—his academic task for the year was complete. As for next year’s tasks, those were still a long way off.
At the same time, he also received an internal publication issued by the History Society, which printed his course summary. In truth, that course summary had been drafted by Ms. Aston, though its substance and honor clearly belonged to Siles.
A letter was attached to the publication; Ms. Aston had already begun implementing the “Replicating the Self” ritual on a large scale within the History Society. In this regard, Ms. Aston clearly possessed far more drive and initiative than her predecessor.
Furthermore, Chendo’s investigation into Jonathan Bryant, the Minister of Finance, yielded no results. No one knew whether Jonathan possessed a grandson.
According to the public’s understanding of his personal life, Jonathan seemed to be an old widower. His wife had passed away decades ago without leaving any descendants. Jonathan never remarried afterward. The current heir to his fortune and title was his nephew.
“So Nanisal really comes from an illegitimate child of his?” Siles naturally reached this conclusion. “Or is there no relation between them at all?”
In the dice’s check, the surname provided for Nanisal was indeed Bryant.
This led to two potential outcomes: either this Bryant referred to the Minister of Finance, or this Bryant was someone else entirely. Although the latter seemed more reasonable now, Siles’s intuition pointed toward the former.
Underground gangs. Darwin Hospital. Children. Mental illness.
These keywords flashed through Siles’s mind.
He couldn’t help but think that it would be wonderful if he could contact Nona in a deep-sea dream. From that girl, he could probably gather some information. However, Nona herself didn’t seem to understand her own situation very well either.
Friday, November 27. An unexpectedly cold day.
When he stepped onto the eternally quiet, silent solitary island within the deep-sea dreams, he surprisingly noticed that upon the sapling belonging to Nona Norrison, a droplet of dream water glinted.
Without hesitation, he reached out and touched it, subsequently entering Nona’s dream.
“…Good evening, Nona,” Mr. Ghost said. “Long time no see.”
Nona sat alone at the edge of a wide green lawn, hugging her knees. She opened her eyes. Not far away, the children who had originally existed in Nona’s dream had all vanished. The entire dream was dead quiet; despite the vibrant green grass, it still felt desolate.
“…Good evening, Mr. Ghost,” Nona said gloomily. “I’m a bad child.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because… because…” Nona stammered as if trying to figure out how to describe it. “Because Nona didn’t keep the promise with Mr. Ghost. Nona… Nona got sick. Nona’s head broke.”
Mr. Ghost walked over to her side, squatted in front of her, and said gently in a low voice, “Nona looks very healthy.”
“…It’s the head,” Nona said softly. “It’s… it’s the brain. The brain broke.”
“Is that what Nona heard the doctor say?”
Nona stared blankly at Mr. Ghost, then suddenly asked, “Mr. Ghost, am I going to die soon? Just like… just like Grandpa has been gone for a long time, just like that… Is that death?”
Mr. Ghost thought to himself that, as far as he knew, Anselm Norrison—Nona’s grandfather—was not dead, but merely trapped in a mad mental state, highly likely polluted by an Old God.
Thus, Mr. Ghost said, “Grandpa didn’t disappear. It’s just because Nona hasn’t appeared, so you couldn’t meet him.”
Nona looked at him, the sadness in her eyes lessening slightly, but after a moment, she still said, “But Nona’s head broke.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s… it’s just…” Nona stammered. “Because… someone is talking inside my brain.”
Mr. Ghost couldn’t help but freeze, his voice involuntarily lowering: “Talking?”
“Yes… Mr. Ghost, I told you before. I said I seemed to hear some voices. They were plotting to escape that dark room. I wanted to join their conversation… They said…
“At that time, they said they would act the next day. So I secretly followed them and walked out of that dark room together. Only then did I realize that I wasn’t in a dark room at all.
“I was somewhere else, and those people didn’t exist at all; they only appeared in my brain. I woke up. I was unconscious for a very long time. I didn’t lose my sight; I just… I just… I just had my brain break.
“The doctor said he didn’t expect me to wake up either. I was very happy, but instead, they stopped letting me sleep properly. They said they needed to find those voices… Those were clearly voices in my head; are they going to cut my head open?”
Nona tilted her head, revealing an ignorant expression. She hugged her head and wobbled back and forth.
Mr. Ghost was amused by her action.
“You think it’s funny too, right! Mr. Ghost, they aren’t even as smart as a little girl like me!” Nona said. “So for a period of time, I couldn’t meet you… You only appear once every 21 days, but I kept missing it.”
Mr. Ghost said, “Nona, you are a strong little girl.”
Nona nodded in a serious manner, but then added somewhat confusedly, “But, Mr. Ghost, where did those voices come from? Why did I appear in that dark room?”
Mr. Ghost likewise fell into deep thought.
Those voices Nona heard were very likely symptoms of being sick, just like the other children with mental illnesses… But was that truly a mental illness?
Judging by the manifestations of children like Nona, Mike, and Nanisal, Mr. Ghost felt they seemed more like they had suffered spiritual pollution.
And the dark room Nona mentioned was just like the dark room he himself had encountered when near death. It seemed to resemble an awareness shack upon the dark sea.
…However, he was able to endure there for so long because of his Will attribute. What about Nona? Had Nona truly gone to the dark sea?
Could it be some other reason that caused Nona to be trapped in a dark room?
Thus, after deliberating for a moment, Mr. Ghost asked, “Nona, I want to ask about your illness. When did you start getting sick?”
