"Pure love is a soothing warmth—the gentlest of cradles, experienced upon our mother's first embrace."

A pause.

"Such a great saying, right? Tell me, do you think my mother loved me when she gouged out my left eye?"

These words rang sharply in a room full of ticking clocks, coming from a thin, sickly-looking girl with ash-brown wavy hair, unkempt bangs, and a crude bandage covering one of her gray eyes.

She constantly picked the skin on the sides of her fingers as she spoke in a husky voice, her gaze directed at the youthful psychiatrist listening to her.

"It's hard to say—"

"I can still feel her nails digging inside my socket, clawing mechanically at the remaining strands of flesh," she continued. "After that, she kissed me on the cheek and made me a meat pie. I remember it well, the blood dripping from my face, its metallic stench as it mixed with the beef... I ate it. Every. Single. Bite. I ate it all, not knowing what else to do. It tasted like pain. I hate meat pies."

"I'm sure it was a terrible experience," the young psychiatrist said.

"It wasn't. I'm quite fond of it, in fact. It was the first and last time my mother had given me any attention. Her love had burned ever so brightly, and then... just went out. A quick spark, one might say."

The psychiatrist adjusted his spectacles. "I wouldn't qualify such an act as a product of love."

"Not that it matters now." She rolled her eye. "That witch is dead. I'm happy about it... I think. People told me they had never seen me smile before her funeral, but I somehow forgot most of it. I only recall staring relentlessly at her casket, fearing she would rise again. I even carried a knife just in case she needed a little push to reach the other side."

The girl cackled weakly. "I worried for nothing, though. Once the boundary is crossed, there is no coming back to life. Not even the most skilled Thanaturgist can make it happen."

"You affirm joy at her passing yet look wistfully at the sole time she cared for you. Which is it? Which one is the true display of your emotions?"

"It's... complicated."

"Our work here is to unravel said complication, Helene. We will need to dive deeper into this matter sooner rather than later." He shook his head, checking the nearest clock. "I believe classes will resume shortly."

Helene straightened her long skirt before standing up, her gloomy expression softening with the shadow of a smile. "What about my medication?"

The psychiatrist sighed. "You never take anything I prescribe you. Just don't jump from a window until next week."

"All right, all right."

The moment Helene strutted out of the office, a loud bell echoed across the candle-lit hallway, making its dark stones vibrate. The lunch period is over.

She quickly navigated through a network of asymmetrical corridors and confusing turns, occasionally cursing the absence of Lapis Phylacas to light the way. It wasn't that the school couldn't afford it, but the Department of Thanaturgism preferred the "transient beauty of melting wax" despite its apparent impracticability.

A misplaced devotion to their philosophy, if one would ask her, but Esoterics weren't really known for their rationality. The paranormal directed their way of life, just as it constrained their way of thought... not that she was one to talk.

It took her a few minutes to reach the department's main square, where she was greeted by a bustle of students hurrying toward their classes.

Perpetual moonlight shone over the courtyard, where old sepulchers and crypts littered the road akin to mournful ornaments. Corpses, ghouls, and the vague gleams of passing ghosts could be seen moving between them, herded by amateur Esoterics or qualified Thanaturgists honing their craft.

A dead patch of woods stood on the very edges, letting out a familiar stench as fumes swirled into the false sky. She glimpsed a fountain of bones from between the crooked trees, painted red by the flowing blood of the young men and women staked on top of it.

Thanaturgism was the study of life's ephemerality and the charming lure of its end. Illness, decay, inactivity—everything that led to death was to be observed and revered, and some students took it upon themselves to experience them as part of their rite of passage.

Many found their demise in such risky endeavors, but those who emerged alive gained a much more profound understanding of their sorcery.

This was but one of four doctrines taught at the Croy Institute of Esoterism, located on an isolated campus a few kilometers outside of Pantome.

Thanaturgism, Primordialism, Theurgism, and Goetism—these were the main schools of thought in Hautefoi and the foundation of their respective esoterisms, commonly called the Four Sacraments. Every Hautefoy that dabbled into the supernatural adhered to at least one of them.

Of course, there were countless more outside her country, but Helene had never met a foreign Esoteric before, so she knew nothing about them.

As she finally stepped outside the Department of Thanaturgism, the sun's fierce gleam nearly blinded her remaining eye.

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A verdant, colorful sprawl extended endlessly in front of her, punctuated with activity so chaotic it would make her previous location seem like an orderly procession.

A deafening shootout reverberated overhead, coming from a group of students experimenting with the newest rifles on top of the school buildings. Below them, a couple of botanists unleashed a sizeable force of human-sized carnivorous plants against some poor fellows who got too close to their garden.

While recovering from the sudden shift, Helene was almost trampled by a riderless, mutated horse with eight legs. It was racing against a Lapis Phylaca-powered car, or, more precisely, chasing after its driver. The two appeared to know each other, with the latter screaming in fright every time the hulking beast tried to bite off his head.

The Department of Primordialism never failed to amaze her, not for its messy state but because it hadn't been ruined by a catastrophe yet.

The tenets of Primordialism put priority on the chaotic nature of life. Movement was growth, and humanity's passionate swirl of curiosity was what allowed it to thrive and prosper. It represented the counterpart of Thanaturgism's stagnation, choosing to appreciate the constant evolution of existence—too erratic to be defined by its end.

Obviously, it meant that its students experimented with anything and everything they could grasp, and the institute's usually strict rules were relaxed within the department's bounds. This caused an untold number of deaths, which was nevertheless seen as the appropriate order of things.

Life burned brightly but also quickly. Primordialists merely focused on its beginning rather than its conclusion.

Helene found them particularly dangerous and unhinged, so she seldom associated with them. Unfortunately, her next class was going to take place in their territory.

Sprinting forward to avoid getting caught in a random accident, she circled around a few stray bullets and hastily approached the main entrance.

A red-haired boy awaited her.

"Helene," he shouted. "I love you!"

"Get lost, Leon."

The boy didn't flinch, twisting his handsome features into a happy smile. His blue eyes sparkled with overflowing admiration, and his short curls swayed as he elegantly bowed.

"Your very existence is my guiding light. So long as it shines so vigorously, I shall never be lost."

Helene clicked her tongue, disdain etched on her face. "I'll kill you."

"It seems I have upset you. This won't do." Leon shook his head, unaffected. "What about a nice dinner to apologize?"

She raised her brow, her interest piqued. "You'll cook?"

"Your favorite meal."

"Wine?"

"The finest there is."

She didn't dare to ask how he knew her favorite meal, simply nodding. "Don't expect me to put on cute clothes for you. I'll show up as I am right now."

The boy couldn't help but grin. "Wraps, perfumes, and all those petty things mean nothing to me. You are perfect already."

Chills went down Helene's spine, and not in a good way. She was preparing to run away when she noticed a familiar figure speeding towards them. A girl.

She had absurdly long black hair, with strands coiling around her limbs akin to vines. Her red eyes briefly gauged Leon in disgust as she went past him, stopping in front of Helene.

It was Alice, one of her closest friends.

"Something happened," she said succinctly, meeting Helene's gaze.

Helene immediately picked up on her cue. Her posture must have stiffened, as even Leon sensed something was amiss.

"Do you need help?" he asked.

Helene controlled her breathing. "Nothing. We'll talk later, Leon."

She and Alice moved in sync, retracing their steps out of the Department of Primordialism and nearing the edges of the campus itself. No words were exchanged as they pushed through a yellow-tinged forest, making sure no one followed them every few minutes.

After a tiring, hour-long hike, they saw their destination: a shabby cabin, frail and unremarkable. It stood in the middle of a peculiar, square-shaped clearing, its ground marked by lines and sigils throbbing with esoteric energy.

At its sight, Helene suddenly remembered the saying she had cited earlier in the day.

"Pure love is a soothing warmth—the gentlest of cradles, experienced upon our mother's first embrace."

The continuation flickered in her mind. "True love, however, is a tempering call. It is the forged bond between strangers, the resonance between souls tied by neither lust nor instincts."

They pushed open the wooden door, facing a horrid stench of decay head-on.

"A—Alice...? H... Helene?"

The hoarse voice of a "boy" their age greeted them from the floor, feeble and muffled. No, to call it a greeting was an exaggeration.

It was a simple reflex, perhaps born of a deeply ingrained love for those whose names he uttered... for the "boy" was closer to a corpse than a live human. His scorched skin exuded fumes that reeked of death, with half his body melting in a crude display of putrefaction, and the other half growing black pustules and blood-oozing feathers.

"A—Alice...? H... Helene?"

His name was Luca, the second and last of Helene's closest friends.

"It hasn't spread faster than usual." She glanced sideways, incapable of looking at Luca's state for too long. "What's the problem, Alice?"

Alice's curls silently snaked across the cabin's interior, heading for a darkened corner. They dragged another person from the obscurity—a girl, her wrists and ankles tied by thick strands of hair.

"I found her exiting the cabin this morning," Alice explained. "We share some classes. She must've followed me when I came to check up on Luca."

"Oh... so you know her."

Alice bit her lip in frustration. "Sorry. I'm acquainted with her siblings, too. That's why..."

Helene shushed her with a faint smile. "Don't worry. I understand."

"It can't be helped, right?" Despite Helene's reassurance, Alice's eyes were moist. "If they find out about this... about Luca... they will... We can't let that happen."

"Of course. Luca is our friend. Abandoning him is not an option."

Their talk seemed to have woken up the girl, who started struggling against her shackles. Her pigtails danced to the same tune as her panic while she tried to pull and tear out the curls imprisoning her, in vain.

Helene slowly squatted in front of her, taking a knife from under her skirt as she held her trembling head. A snap echoed once she cut the hair wrapped around her mouth.

"P—Please! Let me go! I won't say anything! I swear! I swear it on the Others! Please," the girl shrieked, begging to be freed. She looked pleadingly at Alice, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Aren't we friends? I bought you lunch yesterday. My little sister admires your hair. My brother is even in love with you. Please. Why are you doing this?"

"No," Alice replied, her head down and arms crossed. "We're not... friends."

The girl's eyes widened in shock, stunned to the point where she failed to notice Helene's blade digging into her throat.

Once, twice, thrice—Helene stabbed her repeatedly, unfamiliar with how many blows it took to kill one person.

This wasn't her first murder for Luca's sake, but neither was it her hundredth. The only thing she had learned was that she needed to keep going until her victim stopped breathing.

The sound of grating flesh continued for a while, ending with the girl's last twitch. By then, Helene's clothes were completely covered in blood, and gruesome splatters similarly stained the walls and floor around her.

She contemplated the grisly aftermath of her resolve, barely aware of Alice's sobs behind her.

The final line of that famous saying invested her wits:

"There is no stronger love than that of friends, bound to each other by nothing but the willingness to brave through life's cruel hurdles... together."