Thought

The trail of Althur's mentor's mysterious disappearance seemed to end when he discovered another force at work. It was something that had appeared in the course of history, and was closely watched, because it was also one of the main foes of the Haya church, "Death."

To find clues about Death, he needed to talk to those who had a history of living here. A person marked by death becomes a wandering corpse, absorbing life power from others, often dying before realizing their own fate.

He didn't trust the church, and the only person he could use from there was Mr. Claude, a new and eager priest. As for Winston, he might know a few more things, but he needed to establish a closer relationship with him in the future.

Accidental deaths that were often ignored, a venerable Father who opposed the ground, profiteers, and greed. There were all kinds of things on Althur's mind right now.

It seemed that the room was prepared rather hastily last night. When he entered the room again, it had a faint herbal scent, which was often used to mask the unpleasant smell of coal smoke. A mild rosemary and pine needle aroma.

He took Brahms with him and sat on the bed, glancing at the window, which was partly closed by a few wooden slats, limiting the view outside. On it hung a neat suit and a sailor suit for the boy.

"It's been a long day, Althur."

"Yes, what do you think, since we'll be traveling a lot, how about staying with Mrs. Mable tomorrow?"

"Well, I don't want to, I want to go with you."

"Today, I've seen many things. They're different. "The boy said.

"Tell me about it."

"Different rows of houses." The boy recalled when riding on horse-drawn carriages.

He remembered how different they were from the colorful rows of houses in the port city of Frithestan and the formal buildings of the capital.

"Their windows are always dusty."

"Is that because of the coal, Althur?"

"That's right, if you notice, most people here rarely build or open windows. They're afraid of the cold and the dust flying into their homes."

"That makes sense."

"Everyone is so different. They all wear dull colors, Althur." The boy commented.

"Because they have to work with coal, they don't wear bright clothes like in Frithestan or Phlegoneos."

"Their clothes are also full of patches." The boy seemed to sympathize.

"You were very observant." Althur praised.

"I want to read more books about history, too, Althur."

"I realize I know nothing about history. What's the Battle of the Full Moon, Althur, huh?" The boy wondered.

"I don't think I'm qualified to be a great assistant yet."

"Don't worry, little Bricky. You did a wonderful job today."

"I didn't bring a history book with me. We can learn it when we get back to the capital or the academy."

"We can learn the situation of this battle from books. But I will tell you one more thing, our kingdom seems to have had a big failure."

"How?" The boy's eyes widened with curiosity.

"I don't know. But the advisor hinted that perhaps a holy walker fell at that time. The moon was very bright at that time. It seems that a direct blessing was used on the battlefield."

Althur's voice became tender, he remembered sometime in the past, "You're a young boy, you're only seven and a half years old. You don't have to worry about that.

"Seven years and six and a half months." The boy corrected.

"That's right, a boy of 7 years and 6 months can do amazing things. You also found a bad guy." Althur said.

"And I won."

"That's wonderful, little hero." Althur spoke with an affectionate tone, similar to the past.

"But I also find it strange, Althur."

"How so?"

"When you gave me the gold coin. Um, I wanted to help too, and sadly."

"I don't quite understand, but I feel like I want to help." The boy expressed.

"That is compassion, Brahms."

"Today you have learned compassion. It's when we want to help others and empathize with them."

"It's a valuable aspect of being human."

"So that makes me more like a person, right?" The boy asked for confirmation.

"Not only that, but a little more Bricky."

"And there's something else, Arthur."

The boy hesitated, "It's that messy room, it's awful in there."

"Yes, that's the style of those blessed by the land of war."

"Blessed by clutter." The boy wondered.

"Oh, no, blessed by strife. It's what those people often say that everything around them is prone to conflict. At least that's what they say." Althur did not mention who had said this, his words sounded friendly.

"And what about your job, Althur, is it going well?"

"It's fine, I have some ideas, this city is full of secrets. I really wish I could leave you here. Because we don't know if there is any danger."

"But my power will be very helpful." The boy said. The boy felt braver when he used his powers in the afternoon, he could stir the consciousness of his listeners with vague thoughts to weave them a sweet dream.

"True, but you must promise to be careful. Or I won't take you anymore."

"You also promised to take me to see the ghosts."

"Ah, right, let's see if we have time tomorrow."

"Can I see some dead people, too?"

"It's no big deal. You can't"

"But I want to learn how to cut up a body. I read about it in the newspaper."

"What are you thinking, young man? I don't cut up bodies. That's for doctors. I just touch them. And what is it with the news about the dissection of people like this?"

"It's a story." Brahms muttered, "I want to touch them too."

"That's not cool, young man. A gentleman doesn't let another young gentleman touch a dead person. Unless it's for work, we leave the bodies alone," he sighed. "We got to respect them."

"I'm sorry."

"That's okay. But I can show you the skeletons and the ghosts. They have all kinds, some of them really strange." Althur changed the subject to distract Brahms from his morbid interest.

"Sounds fun."

"Sure is. They're great."

"Have I told you about the ghosts behind the walls of my academy?"

"Nope." The young man shook his head.

"Well, in my academy, there are some people who can talk and connect with the spirits of the dead."

"So, there are some spirits here. They have numbers, but 13 and 17 are troublemakers.

There's a portal spirit that tries to keep them in line. If you pass by, you might hear him whining about those naughty ghosts." Althur said.

"Althur, have you ever wondered if ghosts dream?" The boy whispered, his voice barely audible in the darkness.

Althur looked at the boy sitting across from him, his blond hair shining like the light of dawn. He looked like a porcelain doll from a bygone era, fragile and beautiful.

"Some say everything has a soul. And if there is a soul, there must be dreams. Dreams of what they once were, or what they might have been."

Althur's voice was hesitant, as if he was unsure whether his words were based on reality or illusion.

"You still remember my words, right, Brahms."

"You must never stop dreaming. Your dreams are the only thing that can save you."

"I know, Althur. I always dream."

"This is good. I can't imagine how anyone could give up their dreams."

Brahms nodded quietly, but something inside him was uneasy. He wanted to ask Altur a question that had haunted him for a long time. "Why do I keep dreaming?" he wondered silently.

He felt a wave of fear as he thought of another question. "What will happen to me if I stop dreaming?"