The first rays of pale dawn slipped into the great hall as the elite class slowly made their way back to the hotel. No one spoke.

  The silence was broken only by the shuffling of feet and a quiet sob somewhere at the back. Each of them carried the scar of that night.

  At the entrance to the lobby, they were stopped by Jian.

  Fatigue was etched on his face, but his voice was as calm as ever.

  "Today we are returning in the afternoon," he announced. "Give yourselves time. Rest."

  He added nothing more — he didn’t have to. The students nodded and slowly dispersed to their rooms.

  Anna followed Maja, wanting to say something, but the girl slammed the door right in her face, leaving her alone in the corridor.

  Everyone retreated into their own silence.

  Isaac threw his jacket onto the armchair and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

  The images of the past night wouldn't leave him alone.

  That strange soul... it had slipped into him like a shadow, but something had stopped it.

  It hadn’t possessed him. It had tried to say something, but was destroyed by...

  He closed his eyes, recalling that moment — the figure, the blurred face of a man, his throat slit, and behind him a white tiger, gleaming with blinding light.

  Who was he? What was he? And why did he address that soul as if he knew it?

  Isaac felt a shiver run down his spine. It was all connected, though he couldn't yet understand how.

  He sighed heavily and covered his eyes with his arm, trying to sleep, though he knew he would find no peace that night.

  Outside the hotel windows, the world seemed to pause for a moment.

  The city murmured in the distance with its quiet, unceasing rhythm, but inside their rooms, a dead silence reigned.

  Each of them was reliving the events of the night in their own way.

  Lucy sat on the windowsill, hugging her arms around herself.

  She stared at the gray sky, but there was no fear or tears in her eyes — only fury.

  The thought that her friends from the House of Roses might have been among the summoned souls burned her from within.

  If she truly hadn't been able to save them then, she now swore one thing — she would avenge them.

  "I will find you all... and I will kill you," she whispered, her voice hard as steel.

  No apologies mattered anymore. Only revenge.

  Meanwhile, Cornelius tossed and turned in bed, unable to find peace.

  His thoughts kept returning to the previous night. He tried to make sense of it — possessions, soul explosions, destruction...

  But the harder he tried, the more it all slipped through his fingers.

  Finally, seeing that sleep wouldn’t come anyway, he made a decision.

  Knowing the departure was planned for the afternoon, he got up, dressed, and quietly slipped out of the hotel.

  The morning chill nipped at his cheeks as he walked through the streets pulsing with a calm rhythm.

  Even at this hour, Krakow was awake — cafés were opening their doors, and solitary figures walked the sidewalks, as if the city was breathing to its own tempo.

  After several minutes of walking, Cornelius reached his destination — an old church.

  The building was beautiful in its simplicity. Renaissance arches, richly decorated entrance, tall stained-glass windows through which the first rays of sunlight trickled.

  Up close, cracks in the walls and faded frescoes were visible, only adding to the place’s charm.

  Inside, there was silence, broken only by the rustling of prayer books and the whispers of three elderly women in the front pews.

  Cornelius walked along the main axis of the church, feeling the air, scented with incense and old wood, wrap around him like a soothing cocoon.

  At one of the confessionals, he spotted a familiar figure — Matthew.

  He approached with confident steps and stopped before him.

  "I came just like you said," he said quietly. "Can we talk now?"

  Matthew nodded, motioning to the other side of the confessional.

  "Of course. Take the penitent’s place and kneel. That’s how it’s done."

  "Seriously?" Cornelius frowned. "We could just..." he began, but seeing Matthew avert his eyes, he sighed heavily and reluctantly circled the confessional.

  He knelt down, resting his elbows against the grille, sighing loudly to express his displeasure.

  "Alright then," he muttered.

  "So what did you want to talk about?" asked Matthew, folding his hands as if for confession.

  "About what happened that night," Cornelius replied quietly. "Those souls we saw... they couldn’t have been real souls. It must have been the Guslar’s ability."

  On the other side of the grille, silence fell. Matthew didn’t respond immediately.

  "If you’re so sure, then why did you even ask me to talk?" he finally replied calmly, though coolly.

  Cornelius clenched his hands on his knees.

  He was silent for a few seconds, then burst out:

  "I wanted to hear it from someone else who also plays with summoning souls."

  Matthew sighed heavily.

  "Those souls with the Guslar were not the result of his power," he said quietly.

  "His own soul had the shape of a bell. I saw it. And those black threads... they were something artificial. Implanted, stitched into him."

  Cornelius frowned, trying to imagine it.

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I also summoned a soul then. In another room," Matthew lowered his voice.

  "The soul of Sister Anastasia."

  Cornelius flinched, as if someone had punched him in the ribs.

  "I can’t say everything," the priest continued, "but I’ll tell you this much: she too had her mouth sewn shut, even though she was summoned by me, not by the Guslar."

  Matthew hesitated for a moment.

  "I think all those people were marked while still alive. Maybe by a ritual. Maybe by a curse. And after death... someone captured their souls and bound them."

  Cornelius remained silent for a long moment.

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  He clenched his hands into fists, struggling internally.

  Finally, his voice trembled:

  "If souls exist... if God really created people..." he began quietly, his voice trembling more and more with anger, "then why didn’t He help me when I begged?"

  He gritted his teeth.

  "And it’s not just about me," he added bitterly. "Thousands of people pray, beg, cry... and what? They get nothing."

  On the other side of the grille, silence fell.

  Cornelius felt his heart beating faster.

  He was about to say something more when Matthew spoke in a calm tone:

  "I understand you. Really. I used to think the same way."

  He hesitated for a moment, as if recalling his own wounds.

  "I too asked God for help... and I didn’t receive it."

  Cornelius frowned but didn’t interrupt.

  "But then I understood," Matthew continued, "that help doesn’t always have to come directly from God. Because eventually, someone appeared who saved me.

  Not God. A human."

  Cornelius looked at the grille, surprised.

  "A human?"

  "Yes." Matthew smiled faintly under his breath, though Cornelius couldn't see it. "God gave people free will, remember?"

  Cornelius shrugged, more impatient than convinced.

  "Your suffering," Matthew continued, "was the result of someone else's choice, right?"

  The boy remained silent, then reluctantly nodded.

  "Exactly." Matthew leaned slightly toward the grille. "If God forced man to do good... he would take away his free will. And true freedom also means the ability to choose evil."

  Cornelius bit his lip, furrowing his brow. After a moment, he whispered, "It makes sense... but if man is created by God, who is good... why are people so drawn to evil?"

  Matthew paused before answering, "You see, I could start preaching about original sin or the temptation of Satan." He chuckled quietly, as if amused by his own thought. "But you probably wouldn't buy that."

  Cornelius snorted under his breath.

  "So I'll put it another way. A person isn't born good or evil. As a small child, they don't even understand those concepts."

  Matthew spoke calmly, almost instructively, "Someone else must teach them what is good and what is evil — parents, guardians. But there's another problem."

  He fell silent for a second, giving Cornelius time to think.

  "Because if your parents have a completely different worldview than the rest of society... what is good to them might be evil to others. And vice versa."

  Cornelius furrowed his brows and interrupted Matthew sharply.

  "So what?" he snapped. "People don't have free will at all? Their behavior is just a reflection of what their parents forced on them?"

  Matthew sighed calmly, as if he had expected such a reaction.

  "Parents..." he began slowly, "should teach a child values. Those given by God. The Ten Commandments."

  Cornelius rolled his eyes.

  "Yeah, the Ten Commandments... And how am I supposed to know they're really God's words and not the ravings of some madman?"

  Matthew smiled faintly, without a trace of mockery.

  "That's what faith is, Cornelius." His voice was calm, almost gentle. "We have no proof. Even I am not certain about every commandment and everything else... But I believe those ten were truly given to Moses by God."

  Cornelius shook his head, feeling the conversation slipping out of his control.

  "I don't even know what to think anymore..." he muttered.

  Matthew leaned closer to the grille.

  "You know," he said quietly, "people can be the biggest bastards among all creatures I know. But they can also be your salvation."

  He hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Haven't any extraordinary people shown up in your life lately?"

  Cornelius snorted.

  "You're talking nonsense." But it sounded unconvincing.

  Matthew noticed it. He smiled faintly.

  "Who hurt you so badly, Cornelius?"

  The boy stiffened. He had never told anyone about it. He didn't intend to... Yet somehow Matthew’s tone broke something inside him. He rested his head against the grille and after a moment of silence, began quietly:

  "When I was little... my parents put terrible pressure on me." His voice trembled. "Our family... didn't have much luck with male heirs. My father was one of the Mickiewicz line. Big name, big expectations. And I... I was their only hope to continue the bloodline."

  He swallowed hard.

  "I had to be the best at everything. Learn better. Fight better. Breathe better, damn it." He let out a bitter laugh. "Even when I was the best... it still wasn't enough. I never... never heard a single word of praise from them. Never."

  Matthew listened in silence.

  "The older I got, the worse it became," Cornelius said, bitterness filling his voice. "I kept hearing more and more that I had failed them. That I wasn't worthy of the name. Because I hadn't Awakened. How could it be, that the only candidate to lead the Mickiewicz family... had no power?"

  He sighed heavily, weighing every word.

  "I remember..." he began cautiously, "some doctor. He would come regularly, examine me... I took some medication. It was supposed to help with Awakening." He furrowed his brow. "But after that... nothing. I only Awakened on the night of the tragedy. The Violet Night."

  His voice shook, though he tried to hide it.

  "My parents died." He added quietly. "But I... I don't remember anything from that night. Or from the year before it. As if someone ripped it out of my head."

  Matthew remained silent for a moment.

  "From what I recall, you only showed up for the elite class entrance exam," he said. "So... what happened before that?"

  Cornelius shrugged.

  "I woke up in an old warehouse. I was bandaged." He paused for a moment. "Jacob took me. My mentor."

  His voice hardened.

  "Jacob was a fugitive from the House of Roses. He told me my life wouldn't be easy... and that if I wanted to survive, I had to learn to fight."

  He hesitated but continued:

  "He taught me how to summon a spiritual weapon. And many things the members of the House of Roses would prefer to forget."

  Matthew looked at him carefully.

  "I know you already have blood on your hands."

  Cornelius smirked bitterly.

  "You're observant. It's true."

  He leaned closer to the grille.

  "Jacob worked as an executor. He eliminated Awakened ones who couldn't control their powers and posed a threat."

  He hesitated for a moment, then finished:

  "But... most of them were just mentally broken. Shattered. And I, as his apprentice, helped him with his work. I have more blood on my hands than you think."

  Matthew asked quietly:

  "Do you regret it?"

  Cornelius stared at the floor, deep in thought.

  "I don't know." He answered honestly. "At first, I didn’t want to do it. But later... I got used to it."

  The silence was broken by a familiar smell.

  Cornelius frowned.

  "You really lit a cigarette in a church?!" he asked, stunned.

  Matthew just shrugged. At that moment, they both noticed an elderly lady from one of the pews look at them in outrage and almost run out of the church.

  The sight of her outrage was so absurd they burst out laughing.

  "Alright, Father..." Cornelius began jokingly, catching his breath between chuckles. "What's the verdict? Or rather, Archbishop..." he added with mock seriousness. "Because clearly, you had to hide your true rank from us."

  Matthew smiled faintly.

  "I don't like to flaunt my position. I prefer to remain in the shadows." He paused briefly to exhale smoke. "And as for your confession... I absolve you of your sins."

  Then the church door opened with a bang. An elderly lady returned, leading two officers from the City Guardians Service.

  "Please show your documents," demanded one of them. "This lady claims you are impersonating a priest."

  "And smoking in a holy place, you godless man," added the agitated woman.

  Matthew shrugged.

  "I forgot my documents."

  The officers handcuffed him and began to escort him out.

  Cornelius watched with slight surprise, then burst out laughing:

  "So much for staying in the shadows!"

  Matthew turned his head and called out:

  "As penance, say three 'Hail Marys'! And remember... we're more alike than you think."

  Cornelius watched them for a moment longer, then headed towards the hotel.

  For the first time in a long while, he felt lighter.

  At the hotel, there was a bit of chaos. Students bustled through the corridors, checking their luggage and getting ready to leave.

  Cornelius almost ran into his room, grabbed his bag, and slung it over his shoulder.

  Isaac appeared in the doorway.

  "Where have you been?" he asked, leaning against the frame.

  "I needed to take a walk," Cornelius answered, trying to sound natural.

  Isaac, however, didn’t let it go.

  "Is everything okay?"

  Cornelius nodded.

  "Yeah. That walk... it somehow helped."

  The boy didn’t push the topic, although it was clear from his eyes that he wanted to ask more. In the end, he just shrugged and stepped back into the corridor.

  After a moment, everyone was ready. The class gathered under Jian’s supervision and left the hotel together.

  The group headed toward the nearest metro station, and from there – began their journey back to Rzeszow City.