"Well, this is a bit unsettling," Ryn said, staring at the room in front of them.

The ghosts were all standing in a dark room, behind a circle of red-cloaked Monokumaces with hoods pulled low over their faces. In the middle of the circle was a pentagram lined with candles, and in the middle of that, tied up and laying on his stomach, was Flauros.

"He can see us, right? We can do something about this?" Sophie turned towards Stolas, her eyes filled with worry.

Sophie had been quite shaken when Stolas had helped pull her off of the rollercoaster tracks. To be fair, all of them had been shocked when they'd realized Flauros of all people was going to commit a murder. Stolas had been the only one to notice the shock that briefly manifested itself on the medium's face after he'd pushed Sophie. It had taken some explaining to get the digital artist to understand what was going on, but she was happy to see Furfur and everyone else again.

Right now, though, Stolas didn't respond to her questions. She wouldn't like the answer.

"I still don't get it," Rori confessed. "Why'd he help so much? He could've won the trial."

"He never wanted to win," Ryn offered.

"It was a murder-suicide," Stolas said, then turned to Sophie and added, "He found the most painless way to kill you so you wouldn't suffer, while he intended to take the execution."

Sophie's eyes widened. "Oh my god..."

Stolas hadn't shown it at all, but he felt angry. This kid didn't deserve this. Obviously none of them did, but Flauros was fifteen. Yet he'd gone and done something that required more maturity than no one else but him had. Stolas respected that quite a lot.

"Why are they cutting his hair?" Furfur butt in, nodding to where the head cultist Monokumace had just sliced through the teen's long, dark hair.

"They're trying to make a mockery out of him," En responded rather quickly. "Flauros's hair was quite obviously a recognizable trait he possessed, so by cutting it, they're taking away that part of him."

"And we really can't stop it?" Sophie asked again weakly.

Stolas exhaled deeply. "No, we can't intervene with the living."

"Why are you so determined to save him?" En asked Sophie. "He killed you, unless you've already forgotten that."

"He didn't do it for his own benefit, though!" the artist exclaimed. "He's- he's just a scared kid who's giving his life to help the others!"

Stolas turned back to the execution scene just as the head cultist Monokumace raised the dagger once more, this time with killing intent. Flauros stared straight ahead for a moment before squeezing his eyes shut as the knife came down, blood splattering across the pentagram. A stab that had gone straight to the kid's heart. It made him sick. Even though he knew what Flauros had been capable of as a Remnant of Despair. He was still just a kid, and had always been.

"Oh, there he is!" Ryn pointed as a transparent figure slowly got to his feet in the center of the pentagram.

"Flauros!" Sophie called, "Hey!"

Flauros looked up at her, and Stolas caught the guilt in his expression, clear as day. But something else was wrong.

"How odd," En remarked, looking at where the head cultist Monokumace was flipping through an ancient-looking book.

"What?" Ryn snapped at them.

The dealer shrugged. "The title just intrigued me. Exorcisms 101."

It hit Stolas in a flash. This wasn't just an execution for Flauros. It was an execution for his ghost, too. Of course Monokumace didn't care that he was just a child, and they would make it even more unfair for despair's sake.

"Flauros, you have to get out of there!" Stolas yelled to the new ghost.

But as the pentagram began to glow an ominous red color, Flauros shook his head.

"No!" Stolas sprang into action, running forward and phasing through the cluster of Monokumaces to get to the pentagram.

He reached out to grab Flauros's hand, only to be met with excruciating pain.

"I'll... I'll put you out quickly," he insisted.

Flauros shook his head again. Now, Stolas could really see the fear in his eyes as the ghost's figure began to flicker and falter. It wasn't that he didn't want to, it was that he couldn't. At the last second though, Flauros bowed his head in acceptance, and then he was gone.

Stolas stood there, frozen in place. His heart stopped.

"FLAUROS!" he heard Sophie scream from behind him.

He couldn't move. He couldn't think. Maybe he couldn't breathe, too, but he couldn't tell. All he knew was that he was back in that control room again, surrounded by his despair-ridden classmates as he stared at Zeben's severed, bloodied corpse on the screen. First Zeben, now Flauros. He had failed them both. He closed his eyes, forcing the memories back.

"Stolas." He felt a hand on his arm, and he turned to look at Sophie. Her face was streaked with tears.

"...he's not... gone... is he?" she whispered.

Stolas wanted to lie to her. He wanted to tell her that Flauros would be back in a moment. But he had no idea. He didn't even know exactly where they were- some sort of fake or virtual world, most likely. And if it was virtual, did that mean Flauros could still be okay? He didn't like the way this was all making him feel right now. He hadn't felt this uneasy in a long time.

He finally made himself look her in the eye and answer, "I'm sorry, Sophie."

He looked away as he heard her begin to cry, walking away from the scene and out of the execution room. He couldn't avoid the shock in the air, especially when he wound up back in the courtroom near all the living students. All of them were stunned into silence. Even Iris looked like he didn't want such a thing to happen.

"That was quite an execution," En said, their well-polished shoes clicking against the cold courtroom floor.

"Shut up, you cruel son of a b*tch!" Ryn snapped at them, her eyes red with angry tears.

En's lips twitched into faint traces of a smirk, seemingly proud of themself for getting a reaction out of the veterinarian.  It was disgusting for Stolas to watch.

Still, he clearly had to be the strong one here, so he composed himself quickly and shot En a dangerous look as he said, "What's done is done.  And have some respect for the dead, Underson."

That seemed to wipe the grin off of En's face in a matter of seconds, so at least Stolas knew that En must have some respect for him if they took his words to heart.  With that in mind, he followed the living students to the elevator, his fellow deceased ones right behind him.  Who knew how long it would be before they were back here again, having another trial.  He knew for a fact, though, that it wouldn't be stopping until Monokumace could find a way to eliminate the traitor.  Stolas didn't know if he had it in him to watch Zeben die again.  Just the thought made him much too uneasy for his liking- he wasn't used to feeling such strong emotions anymore.  It wasn't that he was an emotionless person, it was just that he'd managed to tame them and use them for strategic purposes to assist him in combat.  And any feelings he felt, he just kept to himself for his sake and for the sake of others.  It was always easier that way.

It had saved him from becoming a Remnant of Despair, too.  Stolas's grip on his emotions was so strong that he'd resisted the pull of despair and been the only student in the class to do so.  It wasn't an achievement he was proud of, though, because it still meant that fourteen other students had suffered and been twisted into something they weren't, forcing them to do terrible things.  Stolas saw those things every night when he fell asleep.  There was never a moment where he didn't wish he could've saved them, too.

He glanced behind him to see Ryn, Sophie, and Furfur all hugging, comforting each other.  He was glad to see they were supporting one another at this time, but a part of him wished that it had been the same back then.  Back when Zeben had died.  He saw it again now- Zeben's severed torso, oozing with blood, his brown eyes dulled to a beige and still glimmering with longing, his hair matted with sweat, dust, and blood.  

Stolas's fists clenched.  It followed him everywhere.  Maybe he didn't feel despair like everyone else, hence the fact that he didn't become a Remnant of Despair, but maybe he hadn't been entirely emotionless, either.  Maybe it was guilt that he'd felt instead.  Overwhelming guilt that he couldn't save Zeben, and the desperation to find a way to make up for it.  

Guilt and determination.  Those words rang in his ears like bells as the elevator doors closed.  But what about hope?  Guilt could provoke determination to change an outcome, and that determination to make a difference could spark the hope that an impact could be made.  Maybe deep down, those two emotions created hope inside of Stolas, and that hope had fended off despair.  

Eh, he was likely overthinking it.  After all, emotions weren't exactly his forte, even if he knew how to navigate them effectively.

He ended up going back to his cottage and reading.  But before that, he removed his sword, removed his belts, his combat boots, his bulletproof vest... he felt comfortable afterwards, like he didn't have the pressure to actively be protecting people all the time.  He looked down at his hands, too.  Stolas had been wearing gloves for a long time- his mentor had suggested them, actually.  He'd had trouble gripping his sword for weeks until she stopped him and wrapped up his hands.  His grip became much firmer after that, and so he'd taken to wearing gloves.  As he grew up, he'd found that his grip wasn't just bad with swords, but with other things.  If he was holding a cup covered in condensation from ice, it was almost guaranteed he'd drop it.  He never fully understood why, but he'd just started assuming either his palms were just unnaturally sweaty or didn't grip as well as most people's did.  Either way, he wore gloves at all times nowadays.  Most of the time when people asked about them, he just said that they just made him look more professional.  He didn't like lying, but he didn't want to expose his weakness.

He hesitated for a moment before removing the leather gloves he'd grown so accustomed to.  He had normal-looking hands, contrary to popular belief.  During his time actually attending Hope's Peak Academy, Will had been the most interested in what was under his gloves.  Stolas hadn't been surprised the young videographer had a theorist streak, and was secretly flattered that he spent so much time trying to prove that his hands were hideously burnt, or covered in scars, or the best theory- that he had ice powers like Elsa from Frozen.  To this day, Stolas wasn't sure if that theory had been a joke or if Will had actually been considering it.  

He smiled at the memory.  He wished that his classmates could still remember those days.  Watching them start over a week ago had broken his heart, just a little bit.

"You?  Getting emotional?" Stolas asked himself, amused. 

He tossed his gloves aside, took a deep breath, and reached for the book on his nightstand- Pride and Prejudice.  He enjoyed the classics, and had decided to take it from the library one night, when everyone else was occupied.  He liked having an air of mystery to him, so he chose to keep his interests a secret.  But a part of him still missed his secret gardening sessions with Evangeline all that time ago.  Now, her lips would most certainly be sealed, as she would never be able to recall those times again.

"Too much," he muttered with a sigh, flipping the book open to where he'd left off. "Too much, Urusa."

***

(2023 words)

no way i think this is the second time i've gotten that number-

anyways this chapter took me a week so that's why it's so iffy and weird, sorry