The World of this Fantasy Novel is in Crisis

While Satin kept the mad old man distracted, Cain slipped down into the Confessional. Most of the children were outside playing, while the rest stayed in the library or their rooms, studying.

“What good does self-improvement even do?”

Cain was skeptical.

It wasn’t just Cloverland—wherever you went, there was no shortage of parentless children. If you’d at least spent some time in an orphanage before ending up on the streets, you were considered one of the lucky ones. Plenty of kids were already out there by the time they were old enough to understand their own situation.

If you could read and do basic math, maybe you’d have a better shot at finding work. But unless you were particularly smart or had some kind of talent, no one would treat you any better. You’d still be earning the same meager wage as the illiterate kid who couldn’t count past two digits.

“We’re nothing but spare parts.”

When there’s a surplus of replacements, why would anyone bother treating you well? The more you knew, the more you’d be crushed by your own helplessness.

And yet, despite thinking like this, Cain often found himself in the library. The human mind was a complicated thing. People did things they believed were pointless, and for Cain, that thing was reading.

“If you’re dumb, you won’t even know when you’re being used.”

Muttering half-heartedly in self-justification, Cain stepped down into the basement.

According to Satin, the old man had killed Tim in the innermost room. Cain figured this probably wasn’t the first time.

“He was too quick with the cleanup.”

From whatever he did to Tim, to realizing he’d failed, to covering it up—it had all gone down way too smoothly. Maybe the Confessional was built for this very purpose from the start.

“So then Satin could’ve been killed too.”

Satin had always been the one who sometimes slipped into the old man’s lab at night. But that last time was different—he didn’t return by morning.

Back then, Cain thought maybe Satin had just woken up first and left. They weren’t close enough to bother waking each other, so his absence hadn’t seemed like a big deal.

Then came breakfast. Cain went to the dining hall and noticed Satin still wasn’t there. One of the kids asked where Satin was, and Tim replied,

“He’s in the Confessional.”

It wasn’t something Tim had witnessed himself. He was probably just parroting what the old man told him.

Tim had always taken an interest in the old man’s research. Maybe he believed that if he got on the geezer’s good side, he could become a magician. He was constantly snooping around the west hallway on the second floor.

“Locked him up all night and finally brought him out.”

Satin made it out alive. Tim didn’t. What made the difference?

They said sometimes the kids got locked in the Confessional after fights, but Cain didn’t trust things he hadn’t seen for himself.

“If what Satin said is true, this is where they get rid of the bodies. There’s no way they’d send kids in here casually.”

All the children had arrived at the school at different times. Even the ones who acted like they knew everything about the place turned out to have only heard secondhand stories when pressed for details.

“Either way, there might be something here.”

Cain inspected the first room. Nothing stood out.

Same with the second. No signs of anyone ever having been there.

It wasn’t until he reached the final room—the one Satin had mentioned—that he noticed something strange. There was a faint smudge of soot on the door. Judging by the shape of the fingerprint, it had to be left by either the old man or Satin.

“Better wipe it off.”

That old man wouldn’t leave a clue like that behind so sloppily. It was probably Satin, rushing out in a panic.

Cain wiped away the handprint with his sleeve and stepped inside. The room was dim. Light came in through a small window, but not enough to illuminate the whole space.

He didn’t bother poking around unnecessarily. Instead, he focused on the floor. It looked ordinary at first glance, the surface uneven but unremarkable. Feeling around, his fingers brushed against a handle.

He gripped it and pulled.

Dust rose immediately—thicker than expected. Upon closer look, it wasn’t just regular dust. He rubbed at a spot, and it left a pale smear.

“Ash.”

The dust and ash eventually settled, revealing a hidden space. It was just large enough for a grown adult to curl up in. A small child could easily fit.

Staring down at the ashy pit, Cain remembered what he’d seen before coming here.

Every winter, corpses of vagrants would turn up all over the place. No one bothered cleaning them up. After enough time passed, the city sent out cleaners.

Those workers hauled the bodies to a pit outside Cloverland’s west gate. People would also sneak in the corpses of frozen stray dogs or cats, leaving them there too.

Once the pile was big enough, the pit became a cremation site. Burning all those corpses took a long time. Sure, a magician could incinerate them in seconds—but who would waste magic on homeless people or dead animals? Certainly not the mages, and definitely not the city office. They wouldn’t spend a dime on something like that.

The ashes left after cremation were buried right there on the spot. If a body was brought in late, it wasn’t burned—it was just buried as-is.

Watching those scenes, Cain once thought: if a soul really does linger where a body was last laid to rest, then that pit must be tethered to thousands of souls.

And now, looking down into this room, he figured—there were probably a few lingering here too.

***

During dinner, Satin and Cain sat apart. Since they shared a room anyway, there would be plenty of time to talk later. There was no need to draw attention to themselves by looking suspicious in front of the other kids.

Once the meal was over and everyone scattered off to their own rooms, the two quietly returned to theirs. There was no lock on the door, but neither of them was too worried. After a few days of observation, it was clear—none of the kids ever came knocking at night.

“Looks like the others are afraid of Cain.”

It probably wasn’t because of his age. More likely, it was his demeanor. He rarely smiled, and his way of speaking was far from warm.

“Makes me look more approachable by comparison.”

Satin knew he wasn’t a kind person. If he ever seemed gentle or sweet, it was just a façade. You shouldn’t judge people by their attitude alone, but saying that to a bunch of kids wouldn’t get through. How could they guess at the things they couldn’t see?

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Cain snapped, clearly uncomfortable with Satin’s gaze. Satin shook his head with a smile.

This room wasn’t as poorly soundproofed as the library, but it wasn’t exactly quiet, either. They kept their voices low.

“I went down to the basement earlier. You were right.”

Satin didn’t chide him for doubting—it was worth checking out.

“Those kids who ‘ran away’… they definitely died down there. That crazy old bastard.”

Cain cursed under his breath and sighed, then turned to Satin with a question.

“What did the old man say? Did you tell him you wanted to be his student?”

“Yeah. From the way he reacted… it felt like he thought it was only natural.”

“You mean he just assumed you were trying to win him over?”

“Yeah.”

“And then?”

Satin hesitated, and Cain pressed him impatiently. Satin gave a sheepish grin.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“What do you mean, ‘didn’t do anything’? You just left?”

“He told me to go for now. Said he understood how I felt.”

Cain frowned, clearly unsettled by the answer. Satin understood why.

“I thought he’d have me do something. At the very least, test me somehow.”

Assuming the old man knew that killing a child—whether as a goal or a step in the process—had to be kept secret, that is.

Satin had a few ideas about how things might go. People like that tended to test loyalty in similar ways: they made you complicit.

They say sorrow shared is halved—but with crime, sharing it definitely halves something: guilt. Not prison time, but the emotional weight. Assuming, of course, there was any guilt to begin with.

But the teacher didn’t give such an order. He hadn’t even hinted at it.

“Maybe it means he still doesn’t trust me.”

Cain didn’t answer. He just rubbed his chin, brow furrowed. Then, out of nowhere, he spoke.

“Maybe he doesn’t think he needs to test you.”

“What do you mean?”

Satin tilted his head, puzzled, and Cain took a moment before replying.

“Because you seem too normal.”

“Too normal how?”

“You lost your memories, but you’re living like nothing happened. Even the other kids don’t seem to notice anything off.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It’s not about good or bad. It just doesn’t feel real.”

Satin stared at Cain, not immediately understanding. Cain sighed and pushed his bangs back.

“I know you’ve lost your memories, but watching how you act… it doesn’t feel like anything’s changed. It’s like the core of who you are is still intact. Like it has nothing to do with memory.”

“So you’re saying the teacher thinks I’m the same as before?”

“Yeah. A conniving opportunist, through and through.”

Was Cain trying to offend him, or had he always thought that way about the old Satin?

Either way, it didn’t bother Satin much. He thought of his past self as a completely different person.

“Not wrong. I really was a conniving opportunist.”

Come to think of it, the teacher had said something similar. That even after losing his memory, parts of him hadn’t changed. If Cain was right, maybe the teacher didn’t feel the need to test Satin at all.

“Well, that works out for me. Means I don’t have to go out of my way to earn his trust.”

“If my guess is right.”

You need hope to keep going. But too much expectation could be dangerous.

Even as he thought things were turning in his favor, Satin never fully let down his guard around the teacher. Cain didn’t seem particularly relieved either.