Black Mist woke up closer to midday when he felt a chill in the pit of his stomach. He got up urgently and barged out of his room to see what was possibly going on.

"Master," a Shadow Creature hissed. "More are sick."

Mist stopped dead in his tracks. More were sick? How could that be, and what caused it?

The curse.

He shook his head. No! That was not a possibility! If it was, then that meant that these illnesses were caused by him and not by choice. The thought alone was enough to make him reel.

No. The "curse" didn't cause it. Something else did.

He made his way to the infirmary to see what he could do for the children. "Papa!" he called. "Is everything alright?"

Hope looked up from administering care to one of the children. Anuenue was already up and around, helping Hope with the children even though she arrived just that morning. "Some fell ill. I can't pinpoint what it is, though."

This sent another chill down his spine. "Something unknown?" To Anuenue, he said, "Shouldn't you be resting?"

Anuenue shook her head. "I can't just lay around while these kids are suffering."

Black Mist shrugged. "Your choice then." But though he feigned nonchalance as he helped, he couldn't help but think that somehow, this was tied to the deaths of the children he couldn't remember. If it was...

He shook his head. He refused to acknowledge the "curse." They were just coming down with something.

"But you know it's the curse."

Shut up, Black Mist replied, furrowing his eyes as he pressed a cool cloth on a child's forehead gently. That's not i-

"It is. You'll see soon."

Black Mist tried to call him back, but there was only silence on the other end. Huffing, he moved on to the other children.

Hope couldn't help but see how worried Black Mist was, though he didn't think it was for the children. There was something in his gaze, as though he was worried about something deeper. The 39 had been doing his research all this time, and he found what was probably torturing his son.

It was a curse, though it didn't have a name. It was diverse in its effects, but it stemmed from the same idea: take what someone desperately wants away and punish them for reacting in any way to it. That seemed exactly like what was happening to Black Mist. Hope noticed that slight realization was dawning on his face, but that realization seemed to be pushed down.

"He looks like he's thinking of something," Anuenue whispered beside Hope. "Do you know what he's thinking about?"

Hope shook his head. "I'm not sure," he lied. "He's worried about his siblings, I'm sure. They're all dear to him."

"I see." But she wasn't all that convinced. She could tell Hope was hiding something, but what it was she wasn't sure. While she wanted to pry, she didn't want to overstep her boundaries.

Soon, Black Mist left the infirmary. He felt a cloud hanging over him, and from that cloud, small voices.

"It's happening again," one voice said. "It's happening because of you, you know."

"Shut up," Black Mist growled, but he couldn't help but find some truth in those words. He pushed that thought to the furthest reaches of his mind. "It's not because of me."

"Yes it is!" another voice chimed in. "Because of you, brother dearest!"

"Because of you!"

"Because of you!"

"Because of you!!"

"Shut up!!" Black Mist screamed, covering his ears. With a giggle, the voices faded away. Breathing shakily, he glanced around the hall to make sure no one was around.

Miraculously, he was alone.

He breathed a sigh of relief and headed in the direction of the music room. Maybe there, he'd find his usual peace.

The room was filled with some small orphans who were messing with the instruments, playing around and happily playing their own tunes. Seeing them only gave him a headache, though, so he quietly took his leave and made his way to his own room, where he'd be able to have some peace and quiet without worries or distractions.

The door clicked softly behind him. Black Mist breathed a sigh of relief as soon as darkness enclosed the room. Sweet darkness made him feel better, no matter where he was. He wandered over to his desk and plopped down on his chair, pulling out his trusty flute and holding it to his lips.

Something kept him from playing, though. A sneaking feeling. It felt...wrong. Like someone was in pain.

Screaming. Terrified, pain-filled screaming filled his ears. High pitched shrieking, like that of a child, pleading for mercy, for help, for the torture to end. What in the world was going on...?

Four figures now stood in front of him. They were giggling and shifting their weight from foot to foot.

"What did you do?" Black Mist whispered, dropping his instrument.

"He's dead," they whispered in sync. "He was too weak, so he died forever. No coming back!"

The implication of this was immediate. Black Mist's eyes widened. "You killed him?"

The only answer he got was giggling as they disappeared.