It's not a corridor. No orange lamps with crystalized spirals. No ceiling made of darkness and footprints. I've never been here before. It's a medium-sized room with stone walls, the only furniture is a large, round marble table in white with no chairs. There's no doors nor windows. The gate that Clover created now lies in the form of a stone in his pocket. In Blomst's personal room the door had still been there on the wall, it seems like the only way to get here is through the gate stones.

In front of us aren't just Blomst but two other guardians. In the air hangs a thick, forceful atmosphere. The male guardian looks to have an African ethnicity, while the woman looks south Asian. Her well-maintained, wavy hair is pearl-white and she's a tad shorter than me. On her forehead she has a mark of a spiral, right above the space between the eyebrows. The other guardian has a mark of a wine-red rhomb at the same place, but what catches my attention the most is the large scar where one of his eyes should be.

"You're here," says Blomst and she is staring straight at my aching throat. "How could you let her run off by herself?"

Before Clover can answer, the female guardian marches over. She grabs my chin and forces my head up to study the throat. While her free hand touches the blisters I can feel the burning sensation spread through me in away I haven't felt in a long time. She pushes one of her finger into the hole where the wraith's nails dug into my skin. I have to push my lips together and bite down to not scream. Once she pulls away I take a step back. It's like I can feel the wraith's long nails deep in my throat again.

"You were lucky," the guardian says. "It almost reached into the core."

She takes a step back.

"Couleur," Blomst begins and points her whole hand – with the palm upright – at the woman, she moves it towards the man who stands further back and watches us from a distance, "and Cerberus."

I can see something gentle in his gaze. Cerberus bows with his hand against one of his shoulders. He won't let go of us with his only eye. It has a shine to it and the color reminds me of the liquid floating down the well in the Eleven.

I force myself to break eye-contact with Cerberus.

"You'll have to excuse us, we've been through a lot in a very short time," says Blomst and gives Couleur a glance with a hint of a warning.

Couleur takes a few steps to the side, the dark and judging feeling is still present in her eyes. Of what she judges us of I haven't the faintest clue.

"We can get you a salve. For your throat," Cerberus says, the words seem carefully thought out.

"Your hand," says Blomst.

I extend it and she carefully put her hand over mine but leaves a small space between them. A small, round box falls down in my open palm.

"Lubricate your throat every time it starts burning and stinging. Until it completely disappears."

"Thank you."

The box is wine red with a symbol of a chamomile flower on its lid.

Clover takes a step forward. "We're not here so you could give her the ointment while the other guardians watch, are we? What are we actually here for? You wouldn't take us here for only this. You had us wait for almost two days."

Clover stands with his back straight and his hands in his pocket, but his posture looks unnatural. He's not as confident as he likes to seem.

"That is true," says Couleur and grimaces. "The fact that you saw, spoke with one of the Fractured is the reason you're here."

"That's it? That's why we're here? I asked Orchid, and it sounded like the creature only..."

Clover stops in the middle of the sentence, like she ordered him to be quiet with her very gaze. I don't blame him, the whole room is filled with a heavy air with an ancient wrath, it feels like the room will split into two parts.

I clench my teeth. I don't notice that Cerberus has approached us before he puts a hand over Couleur's shoulder. The uncontrolled wrath becomes smaller and when we barely can feel it anymore Cerberus lets go of Couleur.

"An item was stolen from Arkaros, and we have our suspicions that the Fractured ones are involved," says Cerberus.

"Arkaros?" I ask.

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It takes some time for Cerberus to answer, most likely cause he was thinking on how to articulate his words. "Arkaros is the realm of the dead's core. You humans would see it as a country's capital."

He called it the realm of the dead. I've always known that this place was a world after death, but to hear it literally being called that makes me want to flee this room. But there is nowhere to go. No doors nor windows. And even if it was, where would I go?

"What was stolen?" asks Clover.

Couleur takes a step forward. "You have no right to know that."

"Couleur is right," Blomst says; he looks at her with tensed lips. "Let us deal with this and you can continue to reap souls."

"But you still want our help?"

Cerberus nods once firmly. "We do need your help."

Clover neither moves nor says anything. It's obvious that he doesn't like this conversation at all, but he isn't stupid enough to argue too much.

"We need to know what the Fractured One said to you, Orchid," says Cerberus.

I clear my throat. I don't even know where I should start or what they want to know. I didn't feel that the Fractured One – or Sixxteen that he had jokingly and annoyingly called himself – was dangerous. Or rather, I'm sure that he didn't want to hurt me. That's a big difference. I also know that the guardians' fear of the Fractured Ones has to come from somewhere.

"He... it didn't say much. It mostly seemed to annoy me."

"Did it say why it was there?" Blomst asks.

I shake my head. "Or... It said that it could feel the soul shatter before it happened. I think it was there to harvest it."

Couleur scoffs at the thought. "The Fractured Ones don't harvest. They feed."

"It said the soul was so damaged that it was unusable to both of you. I don't think it was there to feed."

"So it was there for the small part of the shattered soul that was edible."

I don't say anything when I realize they care more about their own version of the situation than mine. I have a feeling they won't listen to me unless it's exactly what they want to hear.

"It did help you, Orchid," Cerberus reminds me.

I don't know what he wants to achieve with that, what he wants me to answer, and I guess he notices that. He moves his mouth slightly and frowns.

"Do you know why it helped you?" he asks.

"No." I hesitate. "It called me a disappointment when I failed to handle it myself. It had to intervene and catch the wraith."

"It wanted you to handle everything?" Clover asks.

I look questioningly at him when I notice the puzzled expression. "Yeah? It explained how to catch the wraith and watched me try it."

"What did it want to achieve with that?" Clover asks.

The guardians exchange curious gazes, leaving me with an uncomfortable feeling in the depth of my stomach.

"It said it was entertaining."

Clover shakes his head. "There has to be something more than that."

"This doesn't help much, now we have more questions than answers."

Couleur sounds calmer now and the air in the confined room doesn't feel as heavy.

"Orchid, Clover. If you run into it again, come to us right away," says Couleur and turns to the other guardians. She isn't expecting an answer from us.

It looks like Clover wants to say something. But he doesn't. He takes us from the rounded room with the three guardians and drops me off in my room before he continues through the gate. He never said anything about it the last time he was here, didn't even sweep his eyes over it. Maybe he can't see what's in front of him if it is created on my memories, maybe it's the same darkness that hides behind the doors, or he just doesn't care.

My throat burns violently. It looks like the water-filled blisters are moving slowly under my red skin. I open the lid on the box and move my fingertips in a circular motion. I carefully pull them over the frozen part of my throat. When I move on to the other side it feels like the blisters will burst when I touch them. It takes a few minutes before the burning and stinging feeling disappears. Once I'm done it looks like I've smeared Vaseline all over my throat.

There are three flower-patterned ink pens placed in a light pink plastic mug, once I chose the green one I sit down. I pull out a page out of a notebook and lay it neatly in front of me. Wolf told me that it'd help me remember if I wrote down the names. I don't know if I should. Sometimes I think that things would be a lot easier if I didn't fight it. It's unavoidable, eventually I'll forget them and who I am. If I let go of everything, let myself forget it will go quicker. How can it hurt if I can't even remember what I've forgotten? It would have been easier.

I hit the pen against the paper and stare at it for a few seconds before I write.

I – Jonna. Sister – Emma. Dad – Mikael. Mom – Kristina.

I write the names over and over again. Once there is no more space I tear away another page from the notebook. I fill each corner and repeat them in my head. I don't dare to say them aloud, but I listen to every vocalization in my thoughts.

And I write it down again. And again. And again.

And when they no longer feels like names, but more like words without meaning that I'm pounding into my memory I stop. I put the lose pages in the notebook and sit quietly on the chair, staring into nothing. I used to be good at shutting things out, pretending that things were okay even if they weren't. Now I don't know how to push everything away and make it seem like I have a grasp on things. This darkness creeps forward and for the first time I understand Emma.

And for the first time I feel ashamed.

Dad once told me that most people have trouble sympathizing with people's situation if they have never been there before, and if it doesn't go along with their principles. That it's always easier to go after their own experiences. I couldn't understand Emma. Neither of us were alright, I pushed everything away while she carried her problems in a way that made them visible.

Sometimes I don't know if I wanted her to be alright or if I wanted her to push everything away like I did. It would have been easier to handle. I wouldn't have to felt that every step I took was for her. When she was not okay it was more obvious that she needed help. At those times I couldn't leave her alone. Every time I tried to help her she pushed me away.

I know that it's a selfish thought, one that I've hidden away the other times it has come forth from somewhere deep. It's foul and harmful and it doesn't make me feel better, rather the opposite. Despite that I let it stay.