Welcome

Peter, who had just returned from the police station, went to see his sister before deciding to look for the strange man. He wanted to go and find the man, but he did not know when the time would be right. He decided to return quickly to check on the safety of his sister, who had to be alone in that place.

The burly policeman was sent away for no apparent reason because of what happened to the gentleman last time. The other manager has been replaced and is a pleasant person. He was allowed to leave early after all the unnamed corpses were quickly cremated.

He knew this corpse from rumors and gossip among the policemen as a rather important person who had appeared to the managers of the towns and mines.

He used his last coins of today to buy some potatoes and a fresh apple, which people claimed was the fruit of life, to feed his sickly sister.

On his way back, everyone fled and shunned him, as usual. When he reached his building, it was falling apart, with smoke still rising from the decaying chimney. He quickened his pace as he got closer. All of a sudden, various noises and voices erupted. Peter hurriedly opened the door to check, and he recognized a familiar voice.

"Why are you back so early, Peter?" The girl was the first to speak. She greeted her brother in a warm tone.

Peter, who had been panicking, heard his sister's energetic voice and felt elated before he could judge what was happening. He recognized the unique gray eyes.

Althur greeted Peter as if he were a long-lost friend who had responded to his invitation to a party. He cheerfully dragged Peter into his house and began to introduce himself.

"We've met before, in the cellar. I'm Althur."

That strange gentleman with strange abilities—he wanted to meet him, but never in this place. Peter sarcastically replied, "What a pleasant surprise!"

"This boy is Brahms; he's my assistant." He pointed to the boy, who was still staring at the blurry, wobbly figure next to him.

"This is Polly, a lovely girl. Your sister. She let us in."

"He said you were friends."

Peter looked doubtfully at the young gentleman in front of him. This guy seemed to have no consistent personality, but whatever he did, he always got on Peter's nerves.

"I suppose you don't bother with invitations to visit someone's home, do you?" Peter said.

"That's right, I don't. Because I don't have a fixed address!" Althur replied.

At the same time, he felt uneasy about the figure in front of him, and he noticed that his dear sister seemed to know him well.

He moved closer, trying to shield his sister from the shadow's view. "Stay with me." The voice grated like bones rubbing together.

Peter looked at the man in front of him, who seemed to be about to introduce this terrifying, faceless figure. Finally, he heard the man speak uncertainly.

"And that is." Althur pauses, searching for words. "An instability of the soul, in need of a hug. And someone who shares a roof with two mates."

"What are you doing here?" Peter snapped.

"To see you, obviously."

Peter disliked the man's suddenness and abruptness. This was not a good place to meet. This was a cursed house to be avoided. His instincts warned him of danger as the man approached.

It was not the danger that came from the man, but from what he already knew, could know, and could uncover.

"I thought we agreed to meet at the inn."

"Yes, but I have business nearby."

"Great. Make yourself comfortable." Althur said.

Polly glanced at her brother and listened to the conversation with relief. It seemed that her brother really knew this man.

She wondered if they were friends, like the man claimed. But she also felt something, like a warm glow in her chest, that comforted her.

Peter was puzzled; he found it hard to keep secrets from this man, who seemed to have amazing and mysterious powers.

He also hoped to learn more from him, which was why he had accepted his invitation. But it did not ease the weight in his heart; he still stared at the figure in front of him.

Peter could see ghosts and more, but as a boy from the slums, he was lucky to have a job thanks to his father's legacy.

He couldn't take his sister with him, and it was even harder to leave her anywhere. He had let her stay here, a cruel choice to watch as his sister's life force drained away day by day that made Peter sink into despair quietly.

Noticing a new clue, he tried to suppress his excitement. He faced the man in a heavy mood. Something must be done about the unstable silhouette in front of him.

He gestured to the young man, whom he found annoying, to handle the shadow in front of him.

"This is a friendly ghost." Althur introduced the mist.

"Why don't you touch it, Brahms?"

The boy perked up at his name and eagerly tried, but he felt nothing but ripples, like a breeze passing by him gently.

Little Polly was also intrigued; even though she thought it was death, she still wanted to touch it before she really died. At least to know who would take her away.

She hoped she would go to heaven or that the kind god of death would show her the way. She was ready to do the rest herself.

Peter relaxed a bit after hearing the man's words. He could only see a silhouette, but for Polly, it was a curse; the clearer it was, the closer she was to death.

"Why don't we have a serious chat?" The man proposed.

"Fine."

"Bring this friend along." Althur indicated the ghost.

"Just snatch him and drag him away." Peter was puzzled, but he followed Arthur's instructions.

The ghost was actually solid in Peter's hands, not a vague mist like the children had felt.

The children gazed innocently at the man in front of them. Especially Polly, who had no idea her brother could touch that thing because he never admitted to seeing the shadow in the corner and always soothed her gently. She felt a bit let down.

Peter sensed his sister's mood. He had always been aware of the shadow, but he had always pretended not to see it.

He knew that his sister took it as a sign of the curse and how hopeless she would feel knowing that her brother could see it too and see it differently.

"Stay here and guard the little girl, Brahms. Tell this friend the stories you've read and seen, even the dreams." Althur ordered Brahms, who behaved like a true gentleman.

"Okay."

Althur looked at Peter, who was holding a foggy mass and clearly in pain.

"The children will be fine." He assured him.

The two walked to the door, and Peter reluctantly closed it. As soon as the door closed, a sudden change occurred.

He felt his body breaking apart and hurting, but before he could grasp the agony of being split countless times, he found himself standing somewhere on the edge of the slums, near rows of blacksmiths' houses.

A thick fog moved down the slopes, shrouding the slum in gray as the sun slowly sank behind the high mountain peaks.

The people suffered in their improvised homes as the frost crept into their bones as night fell.

Their view, once flooded with light and warmth, was gradually obscured by fog. They were on the brink of extinction, feeling abandoned and forgotten.

He felt something a little sinister, like a man's candle. However, without many clues, he could only focus on the man in front of him.

"Let's go to the Cemetery of the Innocents!"