Svet had no idea what he was doing. Two days after his family house exploded, his father had left him in the care of other exorcists, who all seemed ordered to answer all his questions with “wait until your father returns”. He had no clue what happened while he was out, and the blank emptiness of that time left his mind stirring.

It didn't help that his spirit-like companions, good and bad, were avoiding him like the plague. “You'll eat us,” they’d stutter. And even worse, they said his mere presence made their manifested bodies erode.

Was this the effects of eating all those souls? Was he just sucking the life out of the dead?

Svet sighed and plopped down on his bed, his arm slinging over his face. It was quiet. So deadly silent that it reminded him of his mother and how happy she was.

But I ruined it, Svet thought.

A tight frown pulled at his lips and the lump in his throat gripped around his dry swallow. He hoped his mother didn't see him. He hoped she managed to get away before she-

Like the crack of a whip, his bedroom door slid open. The teen shot out from the bed with a gasp, reaching by the dagger on his nightstand. But once he realized it wasn't a spirit, Svet balked.

“Father?!”

Svet recoiled and shielded his face, stepping back until his back met his chair. He nearly tripped over himself after hearing Kane step further into the room.

“F-Father..! I don't have my charms on. You shouldn't-”

“None of that matters right now,” Kane said, his voice cutting through with authority. “We’re leaving.”

Five exorcists stormed into his room. Two men walked up to Svet’s dresser while the rest of them gathered up his books and journals, gathering them into stacks. Svet peeked through his fingers and  bristled at the way they so callously grasped at his things, but he reeled back his possessive inclinations and faced his father.

“… W-Where?” Svet asked, peering through his fingers.

Kane’s shoulders remained stiff and firm. “Where you're needed.”

“Wh…”

An exorcist walked past Svet with a bundle of magazines and cut-outs. His cheeks flushed and he lunged at the man, taking the basket out of his hands. “B-Be careful with those!”

Svet hugged the basket against his chest and frowned almost petulantly, eyeing the exorcists and his father with guarded scrutiny. He made a quick scan of what was being packed before it dawned on him that he didn't really own much.

“What will happen to my things?” Svet asked.

“They’ll come with you.”

Svet glared suspiciously. “Where?”

Kane tilted his head and flexed his back, the narrow slits on his mask almost glaring down at his son. He might as well have been too.

“We talked about this. We are no longer able to contain you in this house. You will be placed under the protection of someone who can.”

“Who?” Svet immediately shot out.

Svet could have sworn he saw his father roll his eyes underneath his mask. Before he could say anything, Svet’s father grabbed him by the back of his collar. The teen yelped as he was dragged out the door like a puppy. The basket in his hand fell to the floor and cut-outs of faceless women, men, and children scattered across the room.

Svet staggered out the door. He clenched the doorframe and tug-o-warred with the taller man. “Wait! Father! My things…!”

“Let them take care of it,” Kane said gruffly.

Kane yanked the teen off without effort, much like peeling a sticker off a vegetable. The exorcists paused their packing, and they craned their necks toward the sight of their leader struggling. They listened closely to the fading stumbles and heavy boots. And Svet continued his tirade of questions while he was led out of the building.

Svet never thought he’d find himself even more scared and worried in his life. Being possessed by spirits, having dreams plagued by torture, and waking up in a pool of blood: He’d experienced horrors that were unimaginable to young men his age. But nothing could have prepared him for this.

Shakily looking  through his fingers, Svet found himself in a train with his father. Instead of his usual clothes, Svet donned a grey suit and tie, his long hair tied with a blue ribbon. His father wasn't wearing his uniform or mask, and the silent car bustled with murmurs. It was the first time he had ever seen his father’s face. And it was the first time he had ever been outside of the manor since he was a child.

“Father. I really think you should put a talisman on me. Those… Those elderly women are defenseless little things,” Svet whispered.

A particularly pale woman coughed into her hand and Svet flinched. He shrank into his seat and drew his knees up onto the seat with him.

“See? She’s dying! Quickly..!”

Kane sighed and shook out the wrinkles in his newspaper, loose strands of brown hair falling over his face. There was at least six other passengers in the car. It was an early-morning route. Though he would have just left his son to take the train himself, he recalled how directionally challenged Svet was.

He was a smart boy, but he had been sheltered.

“Have the spirits attached themselves to you as of late?” Kane asked.

Svet’s lips pulled into a pensive line. He gave a reluctant and drawn out, “N… No.”

“Then you don't have to worry about cursing anyone. The spirits that were attracted to you were the ones harming others,” Kane said. His voice lowered into a dark murmur and he returned to reading. “If you’re worried about another blackout… you had your fill during the accident. It will be a while before you hunger for another soul.”

Svet slowly peeled his fingers from his face, his chest clenching. As vague as his father made it, the teen saw some truth to it. He still felt “full”. And each passing day, the faces of the children he consumed blinked out like dying stars. He wondered where they went. All he got was the sense that they were happy.

He slowly turned toward the window. He watched buildings pass in a blur and he could barely make out the signs. Svet had an overwhelming feeling he shouldn't be enjoying the sights, shouldn't let his guard down. It was this same moment of gaiety that was ripped from his grasp when he blacked out, reminding him that he was a tool for a greater purpose he didn't understand.

“Are you ever going to explain what happened? What’s… happening to me?” Svet asked.

The train chugged under a tunnel and Svet was met with his own reflection. The blue marks on his face had faded until it looked like subtle bruises on his cheeks. Even his eyes, mismatched and eerily alien, had turned into the earthy hue of his father’s brown eyes.

Kane turned a page. “You're not ready.”

I didn't think cherry trees grew this tall, Svet thought.

A wondrous adventure through the train station and a car ride later, Svet was staring up at a Japanese-style house. The gate around the premises loomed above him and cherry-blossom petals scattered at his feet. It resembled his own home, but the craftsman had to have been a more skilled artisan. The spiritual barrier around the premises, too, had a sturdier strength compared to his father’s.

He felt small, and a foreboding gust of wind brushed through his clothes.

“Is this where I’ll be staying?” Svet asked, turning toward his father.

Kane had just talked into a call box beside the wooden door. He nodded.

“It’ll be a few months here. Then, you will have other options,” Kane said.

He didn't give Svet time to ask anymore questions and pointed at the spot where Svet stood.

“You will wait here until I call for you.”

Svet frowned again. He was doing that so much today. Frowning. His muscles were starting to hurt.

He crossed his arms. “Fine.”

“Good.”

The teen huffed and pulled his hair over his shoulder. He fretted with the bow and adjusted it before the wooden gate opened. A woman, wearing a black and white suit, peered through the gap.

“Thank you for your patience, sir,” she said, opening it wider.

Svet stopped his fretting and tilted his head, observing the woman. The space behind his eyes buzzed and burned, and Svet stared at the guard. She wasn’t human. She looked just like them, talked like them. But she wasn't one. She was almost like the spirit who possessed him many years ago, if it even was a spirit.

Nearly pouting, Svet knew asking his father would lead to nowhere. Kane seemed hellbent on leaving him in the dark for some reason. So, when his father disappeared behind the looming gate, Svet sighed and leaned against a nearby tree.

“A protective barrier, mysterious bodyguards, and a new home that reeks of old money. I have an odd feeling about this,” Svet murmured.

He stood against that tree for what felt like an eternity. The sun had drifted over the horizon, and he had forgotten how many times he had changed positions. Svet worried he looked like a mischievous loiterer, waiting for an opportune time to cause some trouble.

Svet sighed. “He can't expect me to wait like this for the whole day, does he?”

He stepped away from the shade and walked up to the callbox. No ghosts came to his rescue and told him what to do with the strange contraption, so he squinted at it like if he stared at it long enough, it would come to life.

Come on, intuition. Help me pick a button, Svet thought before poking out his finger and-

“You’re not Breri,” a man’s voice drifted from the call box.

Eyes widening, Svet flinched and tucked his finger back into his palm. He hadn't even touched it and someone was already answering. Had he been watched this whole time?

He scrunched his face once he gathered his bearings. He had a curious sense of déjà vu, wading in a fog that felt ancient. Where had he heard that voice before?

Before he could question anything, the voice spoke again, “I thought you were them but you’re not.”

Svet cleared his throat and straightened his back.

“Um, no. I'm not Breri. I came here today with my father,” Svet said. “I was hoping to be let inside and find him.”

The stranger'a voice pitched up with curiosity. “… ‘Your father’? Are you a relative?”

“No. I don't think so.”

“Then you’re a human.”

“What else would I be?”

The stranger chuckled, low and static-y. Svet’s face burned. Did he say something funny?

“I see. You’re not from around here,” the stranger said a matter-of-factly, spot on yet again. “I’ll let you in ahead of schedule, only if you grant me one favor.”

Svet pressed his lips into a worried line. The woman in the suit had opened the door without an issue with his father. And this stranger was more relaxed, more casual than a bodyguard. Svet hated being treated different but he had a gut feeling this person was far more likely to let him in than the woman.

“And what would that favor be?”

With a click, the wooden gate opened. No one was behind it once Svet tilted his head and nudged the gate ajar.  

“Circle to the garden on the west side and retrieve a book with black binding," the stranger said. The voice faded in and out, clipping and stuttering before Svet was given his last instruction. "Don't get caught.”