Karl found a brand new reason to hate being miserable: as strong as misery was, it could do nothing to stop embarrassment. The shame was salt in Karl’s wounds, as was the fear he’d seen in Bever’s eyes; as was the face-full of grout and tile Karl had gotten when, in his foolishness, he’d reached out to hug the burly axeman.

That really hurt.

Karl didn’t know how to feel about the fact that he’d been so hapless and clumsy that Bever’s fear had melted away in an instant.

So, he just defaulted to feeling miserable about it.

Was he really that hopeless?

Karl was too scared to answer the question. He already knew the answer to that question, and didn’t want to dwell on it any longer.

Bever kept trying to help him up, only to swear in frustration as his arms phased through Karl’s body.

“Damn it!” he yelled. “What’s happened to me!?”

“Karl,” Dr. Rathpalla said, reaching out with a helping claw, “what happened?”

Karl pushed himself off the floor with his arms. Shards of broken tile had found their way into his mouth, where they’d opened up cuts, though, by the time Karl spat out the gritty stuff—or tried to—they’d already been dissolved in his spit, and his wounds had stitched themselves shut from within.

He looked to Dr. Rathpalla. “Another spirit has appeared.” Slowly, Karl turned his gaze back to Bever.

“Spirit?” the axeman asked. “Am I…”

Shoulders slumping, Bever held out an arm and looked at his hand. His face turned grave.

“It wasn’t a dream?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “I…” he struggled to form the words. “Did I die?”

Biting his lip, Karl nodded.

For once, Karl decided not to be a fool; he turned to Dr. Rathpalla for help.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Did you take care of that spirit who attacked us in your mind?” Dr. Rathpalla asked.

Karl nodded.

“Then do what you did there. It’s the same conversation, just with a different recipient.”

“But… this is different.” Karl looked Bever in the eyes. “It’s someone I know.”

Dr. Rathpalla lowered his head and sighed. “Can the spirit…” he closed his eyes for a moment, “…Bever. Can Bever hear me?” he asked.

“I can,” Bever replied.

“He says he can,” Karl said.

“Alright then, Bever,” Rathpalla said, “here’s what you need to know.” He glanced at Karl. “And, for Karl’s sake, I hope you pay attention.”

Karl was too upset to feel mortified.

— — —

Things got worse before they got better, especially when Ichigo decided to introduce himself to Bever. Karl hadn’t heard that much screaming outside of Markus’ office, when his father berated delivery men for failing to transport goods on time. The tension quickly spiked, leading Karl to lose control of his emotions altogether and sliced the half-ruined car down the middle with a blade of psychokinetic force. Though Karl was embarrassed to admit it—it made him look like such an idiot!—things might have gotten violent, were it not for Dr. Rathpalla’s quick thinking.

The psychiatrist had wrapped his arms around Karl in a hug that was more than just a hug, and without any warning or announcement at all. It happened so suddenly that Karl hadn’t realized anything else was afoot until the odd, slightly ticklish sensations of his and Dr. Rathpalla’s bodies plunging tiny fibrils into one another told him that a link was being initiated. The next thing Karl knew, he was in a small, well-furnished future-room. And he wasn’t alone. Then, one thing led to another, and… well…

Karl let his head hang glumly between his shoulders. “I don’t understand my life anymore. Maybe… I never did…”

“And if you didn’t, that’s okay,” Dr. Rathpalla said. “It’s the rare person who does feel like they understand their life.”

“It’s perfectly normal to feel lost, Karl,” Dr. Rathpalla said. “Depression is not common.”

“I don’t like it,” Karl said.

“No one does,” Ichigo quipped, crossing all four of his arms.

The group of four—Karl, Ichigo, Bever, and Dr. Rathpalla—sat in their chairs, one at each corner of the compass, atop a sumptuously patterned Dalusian rug that stood between the door and Dr. Rathpalla’s wooden desk, which was of lovely craftsmanship. There was a large, comforting chair behind the desk, and behind that, a window which gave a sunny view of Elpeck Bay. A glass-covered frame on the wall held a board pinned up with dozens of small pieces of cloth or paper, each covered with brusque ink drawings. The walls also had images of Dr. Rathpalla’s travels around the world, along with some of the relics he’d brought back with him. Karl was astonished to see some of the places the psychiatrist had traveled, from the jungles of the Costranaks to the mountains of the lands far across the sea, things he’d only ever heard of in sailor’s tales.

While Karl and Dr. Rathpalla had returned to their human forms inside Rathpalla’s “mind-office”, as he called it—with Karl wearing his favorite vest, breeches, and tunic, plucked straight from his memories—Ichigo had kept his oni form.

“It’s strange,” Dr. Rathpalla said.

“What do you mean?” Ichigo asked.

“When you first transformed into an oni,” the psychiatrist explained, “well… when I saw it, I swear, it was exactly like what Genneth told us would happen if and when the spirits in our care became corrupted by Hell and turned into demons. No offense, but… you certainly look like you’ve turned into a demon.”

Bever raised one of his fingers. “I second that.”

Ichigo sighed in slight bemusement. “Munine demons are better than Trenton demons, anyway. My family kept hold of my great-grandfather’s shoes, and as a kid, I was fucking terrified of them. I was sure they’d kill me in my sleep.”

Karl didn’t know what to say in response to that.

“Still,” Dr. Rathpalla continued, “it’s interesting that you’re still completely yourself, Ichigo, despite your appearance.”

Ichigo flexed his lower pair of arms. “I happen to enjoy this form. I’m stronger, nimbler, and more capable than I ever was before.”

Dr. Rathpalla glanced at Karl. “Karl… thinking back to when Ichigo first transformed, I wonder if you might have triggered it subconsciously.”

“Subconsciously?” Bever asked. “What does that mean?”

“Hmm, I suppose you wouldn’t have had the concept back in your day,” Dr. Rathpalla said. “Though,” he chuckled, “I’d have to ask Genneth to be sure.”

“What is this sub-conscious of which you speak?” Ichigo asked.

The psychiatrist launched into an explanation by way of a story. “Once, I had a patient who would get nauseous whenever he smelled cherry pie.”

“Why?” Karl asked.

“As it turned out, when he was a young man, he and his family were on a trip across the country when they stopped for food and had some cherry pie. Though they hadn’t realized it at the time, the pie was spoiled, and they soon became horribly sick. While my patient had forgotten this story, one of his siblings remembered, and told us about it.”

“I could understand why he would feel sick at smelling the thing if he remembered eating the pie,” Ichigo said, “but if he didn’t, why would it bother him at all?”

Dr. Rathpalla nodded. “Because of his subconscious mind. Even though my patient wasn’t actively aware of it, his body and mind remembered the incident, which was why he reacted to cherry pies the way that he did. That’s the subconscious. It’s what your body and brain think about and remember without you being actively aware of it.”

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“Like… a battle instinct?” Bever asked.

Dr. Rathpalla nodded again. “Yes, a lot like that.”

“But what would that have to do with me and Ichigo?” Karl asked.

“Karl, would you say you saw Ichigo—or, his people, in general—as demons? Were they things to be feared?”

Bever slapped his thigh and laughed. “Of course! Everyone does—erm, did. The damn Mewnees were all foreign devils. Uh…” The axeman glanced at Ichigo. “…present company excluded, of course.”

Ichigo crossed his arms and frowned.

Karl nodded. “I… think you might be onto something, Dr. Rathpalla.”

“Interesting,” the psychiatrist said. “We already knew that ghosts’ forms could be affected by how they thought about themselves, especially if their wyrm had yet to master their mind-powers. But if the wyrm’s subconscious can also affect the process, that would… hmm…”

“What is it?” Karl asked.

“I’ll just have to ask Genneth—Dr. Howle—about it when I next see him,” Dr. Rathpalla said.

From there, it was a simple matter of getting Bever and Ichigo to agree to let Dr. Rathpalla take the lead, for Karl’s sake. To Karl’s discomfort, they changed the topic to him.

“Bever, do you have anything to say about this?” Dr. Rathpalla asked, after having made several observations.

Bever crossed his arms. His axe stood on the floor, leaning against one of his wooden chair’s legs. “You mean about how Karl doesn’t like being miserable? How can I blame him for that?”

A bit earlier, Dr. Rathpalla had proclaimed the axeman “remarkably well-adjusted”. On the one hand, of course Sir Bever would be “well-adjusted”. He was a remarkable person, as strong in body and character as the blue plate armor he preferred to wear. On the other hand, having the psychiatrist point that out only reminded Karl of just how weak he was compared to Bever, not just as a soldier, but as a person.

“I wouldn’t put it so bluntly,” Dr. Rathpalla replied, “but… yes.”

“I… well.” Bever stumbled over his words. “No one likes being melancholy, but… Karl’s a special case.”

“Why?” Ichigo asked.

Karl was somewhat surprised to see the Mewnee taking such interest in this.

“I don’t think I can remember any time I’d have said Karl looked truly happy.” Bever looked Karl in the eyes. “You’re like the fog, kid, you know that? You just… hang around.” He turned back to Dr. Rathpalla. “Karl’s troubles have never surprised me. It can’t be easy dealing with sorrow when you can hardly ever feel the sunshine yourself.”

Karl blushed like mad. This was so embarrassing! He didn’t know which was worse: that Fink wasn’t here to support him, or his worries that the horse would have thought less of him if he had been.

“Dr. Rathpalla,” Karl said, “I don’t agree. Why do you keep trying to make this about me?”

Ichigo stared, grinning wryly. “That’s… the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.”

“No, it just isn’t!”

“Why not, Karl?” Dr. Rathpalla asked.

“Because it’s not about me,” he said. “It’s…” His voice broke. “It’s about Geoffrey. Damn me! Look at me, all this time, I’ve been trying to make myself more like Geoffrey! I’m so stupid! Why would I want to do that? Geoffrey is a monster! Look at what he did!”

Bever looked down in dismay. “You don’t need to bring the console out again, lad. Knowing what Geoffrey devised, it’s no wonder the man was so gloomy all the time. His schemes might have ultimately brought us victory, but I can’t say I envy him.”

But Karl brought the console out anyway, materializing it in his hands.

Leaning forward, Dr. Rathpalla put his hand on top of Karl’s, exerting just enough pressure to keep Karl from lifting the console up. “Karl, I think Bever is right. You need to stop.”

“Me? What? Dr. Rathpalla, why do I need to stop? Geoffrey is the one who needs to stop! He… he…”

Karl started crying again, and hated himself for doing so.

Ichigo crossed his arms. “And this, Karl Prestingham, is why you are a coward.”

Dr. Rathpalla glared at the oni. “Why would you say that?”

Ichigo scoffed and grimaced. “Maybe I’m more of an oni than I thought…”

Sighing, Dr. Rathpalla shook his head, only for Karl to speak up. “No, Ichigo’s right. I am a coward.”

The psychiatrist slapped the arm of his wooden chair in frustration. “Listen to me, Karl. Look at me.” He pointed two fingers at his eyes.

Karl begrudgingly complied.

“You’re right, Karl,” the psychiatrist said. “What Geoffrey did was monstrous. But… he’s not here right now; you are.”

Karl sniffled.

“You care a great deal about Geoffrey.”

Karl nodded. “He was showing me how to be a man. How I could rise above my father’s disapproval. Before I met Fink,” he said, “I had no reason to be happy. Before I met Geoffrey, I had no reason to like myself.”

“Why not?” Bever said.

“Because I’m nothing.” Karl shook his head. “Certainly nothing that anyone else would want to be.”

“How did Geoffrey change that?” Dr. Rathpalla asked.

“He was a Light I could follow,” Karl muttered. “But that Light was just a lie, so now, I’m back to having nothing. Being nothing.”

“That’s not true,” Dr. Rathpalla said. “If you had nothing, how could you know that what Geoffrey did was wrong? If you had nothing—if you were nothing—why would it hurt you to learn Geoffrey’s dirty secret?”

“I…”

Dr. Rathpalla turned to Bever. “Bever, how do you feel about Geoffrey, knowing what you do now?”

The axeman’s expression fell. His cheeks drooped. “I wish I’d known.” He shook his head. “Damn it! I had a gut feeling darkpox striking where it had, right where we needed it, was too good to be true, but… everyone kept calling it an act of providence.”

“We were lying to ourselves,” Karl said. “Geoffrey knew it, and did nothing to stop it. As my father liked to say, hiding sin is no better than the sin being hid,” Karl added, lowering his head in shame.

“Not to defend the man,” Bever said, “but… what else could he have done? Darkpox is unholy. People think House Athelmarch is unholy; that’s why Archluminer Fawkes tried to get Geoffrey stripped of his military rank, remember.”

“I remember,” Karl said.

“Good, now imagine what those same soldiers would have done when they learned our great leader was doing a Norm’s work, dabbling in plague and death!”

“What would you have done?” Karl asked.

“I…” Bever paused to think. “Well, I would have given him a good whopping, that’s for sure!” There was no mirth in his words, only bitterness and resentment.

“Karl,” Dr. Rathpalla said, “the fact that you feel hurt by Geoffrey’s actions shows that you’re not nothing. It shows you still have a sense of right and wrong! Yes, Geoffrey taught you much, but he also helped awaken convictions that were already there inside you, waiting to come out.”

Karl’s voice became terribly quiet. “But…” He wept. This was the hardest part. “Then why do I still miss him? His actions have killed so many people, but… I still miss him!” He cried. “That’s…” Karl wiped his tears on his sleeve. “That’s how I know I’m broken. A decent person would want nothing to do with a man as evil as that, but… I…”

Karl lowered his head in defeat. “Curse me, I give up.”

“Karl…” Dr. Rathpalla sighed.

To Karl’s surprise, Bever sniffled. “You’re not broken, boy—and I should know!”

Karl looked Bever in the eyes. “Bever?”

The axeman nodded. “I’ve seen you grow. You hardly talked to anyone when you first enlisted. For Lass’ sake, you ate your meals all alone! You’d flinch when anyone so much as touched you. But… you grew.” His lips trembled into a wet-eyed smile. “You got to know the boys. You helped me make meals at the mess hall, and even made a few of your own. And you learned how to muster a gun.”

“Karl, he’s right,” Dr. Rathpalla said.

“But…”

“We might not get to choose how we feel,” the psychiatrist said, “but we do get to choose what we do with those feelings. Geoffrey was your hero, the first positive male role model in your life. It’s natural you’d look up to him, just like it is natural that you’d both feel hurt by his betrayal, but want to repair that wound, regardless. You’ve got no reason to keep berating yourself. This is just how people are. And you… you’ve done more than most. A lot more. You traveled through time, and you’re in the process of becoming something other than human. Even so, you’ve made something of yourself, and you’re still doing so. Your story hasn’t been written yet; it’s still being told. So don’t let it pass you by. Add to it, Karl! Make it your own. Take what you learned from Geoffrey and use that to be better than he was.”

Ichigo, who had been quiet for a while, finally spoke up.

“I…” There was barely any of his usual verve. He was sunken and doleful. “…I’ve felt the same way,” he said. “Before Lord Uramaru took me under his wing, I wanted nothing more than to make my father and brothers proud. I wanted to be like them; I wanted to be strong, and I’d do anything to reach their heights. But Lord Uramaru showed me their dishonor. Truthfully, my family was nothing more than a kennel of lapdogs, waiting to dole out violence at Sakuragi’s beck and call.”

The oni wept.

“You speak with great wisdom, Dr. Rathpalla. Lord Uramaru gave me nearly the same advice you just gave Karl. I… I miss him terribly,” Ichigo said. “I will never be able to repay him for his kindness and wisdom, nor will I ever be able to atone for my failure to protect him. I worry I failed him as a retainer, and that I have… regressed in his absence.” He shook his head. “I have so many… unbecoming habits. But… however angry he might be with me now, he would be far angrier if I gave up. Giving up is the one thing you must not do.”

He bowed his head in shame, first to Karl, then to Dr. Rathpalla. “I should not have called you a coward, Karl,” he said. “And, to you, Dr. Rathpalla, I should have never raised my sword.”

“Th-thank you,” Karl stammered. He looked Ichigo in the eyes. “Lord Uramaru,” Karl said, letting his voice trail off. “He was the older man with you when we first arrived in this time period, wasn’t he?”

Ichigo nodded. “One of your comrades cut him down.”

Karl shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Bever bowed his head as well. “Myself, as well. When we arrived, we’d just come from a battle at Lightsbreath. We did not know where we were, nor what had happened to us, and there you stood, looking like demons fresh out of Cranter Pit.”

Ichigo pressed one of his arms on the armrest. “It pains me that Lord Uramaru will never hear this. It… it would have pleased him greatly.”

“They might still be out there, you know,” Rathpalla said. “Geoffrey, and Lord Uramaru.”

Ichigo bolted up from his seat. “What?”

Dr. Rathpalla nodded. “Yes. With any luck, a wyrm has picked up their souls and kept them safe.”

“Does that mean I might be able to see Lord Uramaru again?” Ichigo asked, eyes wide.

“Look at us now,” Dr. Rathpalla said, gesturing at the scene, “you certainly aren’t one of my spirits, but, linked to Karl as I am, you and I can interact with each other as if you were one of the spirits in my care. Granted, if you want to talk to somebody, you’ll first have to find the wyrm housing their soul but, beyond that,” he pressed his palms together, “it’s entirely within the realm of possibility.”

“What about Geoffrey?” Karl asked. “How could I ever see him again? His soul must have been taken away to Hell.”

Dr. Rathpalla leaned forward in his chair. “What makes you say that?”

“The creature that absorbed Count Athelmarch and the others… I absorbed it, but,” the boy glanced at Bever, “other than Bever, none of them are with me.

“Geoffrey was in the fungal creature?” Dr. Rathpalla asked.

Karl nodded.

“You should have told me that earlier!” Rubbing his fingers over his eyes, the psychiatrist sighed.

“Why?” Bever asked.

“Genneth told me he’d gotten Nina’s soul from that creature. It’s not a stretch to assume that any ‘missing souls’ that should have been in it have, in fact, already been transferred to Dr. Howle.”

Karl’s eyes narrowed with determination. “Then that’s what the next chapter of my story will be. I’ll find Dr. Howle. I’ll see Geoffrey again; I have to.”

“You’re barely in control of your body, Karl,” Dr. Rathpalla said. “First, you’d—”

“—Then teach me,” Karl said.

Both Ichigo and Bever were pleasantly surprised by Karl’s newfound resolve.

Meanwhile, Dr. Rathpalla grinned. “This is why I love my job,” he said.