Giona stirred in Mumu's arms, her head jerking slightly as Saa'ir's words echoed in her ears. "Soul…" Her voice cracked. "S-Soul…" Her fingers twitched, clutching tighter to Mumu's fur as she felt a cold sweat start to form. "...S-S-Soul…"

Each repetition came with a trembling breath, her wide eyes glazing over as panic set in. Mumu looked down, alarmed, while Nini slowed slightly, casting a worried glance toward her. Dama stirred as well, barely lifting his head from Saa'ir's shoulder at the sound of her voice.

"Giona?" Dama whispered, but she wasn't listening.

"D-D-Dama…" Her voice shook with dread as she began to shiver uncontrollably in Mumu's arms, just like she had during that time one time—that word dragging her into a spiral.

But then, deep in her chest, she felt the faint memory of a softer voice—Tsubasa's.

She remembered a few months back, when Tsubasa was at Dama's cabin teaching her like usual. That word came up during speech practice, causing Giona a panic attack. However, Tsubasa went straight to work easing Giona—curling her tail around Giona, pulling her close, and affectionately rubbing her hair.

When all was said and done, Tsubasa said these words: "I'm sorry dear, truly. I have forgotten the effect some words have on you. When you hear those words again and you have another panic attack, my dear, just remember to breathe. Deeply. Slowly." Giona then remembered Tsubasa demonstrating, with Giona copying it soom after. "You don't have to be afraid of that word—nor of anything ever again. With me, Dama, Mumu, and Nini, I can guarantee that. You're safe here, you're okay."

So she tried. One inhale. Two. A stuttered exhale. Again.

She clutched her chest with one arm as she focused on her breathing, gripping the fabric of Mumu's fur for grounding with the other. "Y-You are okay," she whispered to herself, "you're okay…"

Saa'ir, having overheard her spiral, glanced over his shoulder as he ran, his voice steady despite the rush of air. "This place isn't real—not in the way the outside world is. It's all in your mind, Giona. A reflection of your thoughts, your feelings," he looked ahead again as the corridor shifted around them, "and your soul."

That word again—but this time, there was no spike of terror in Giona's chest. Just a tight ache.

"Think of your mind as a canvas," Saa'ir continued, "your heart as the colors—and your soul as the painter."

Giona blinked, her lips parting slightly, the metaphor cracking through her panic.

Meanwhile, Dama slowly raised his head from Saa'ir's shoulder. His body was still heavy, but the fog in his mind beginning to clear. "The thing that attacked me and Mumu…" he rasped. "It's part of her mind too…?" He didn't want to believe it—but the thought had been gnawing at him.

Saa'ir didn't hesitate. "No. It's not." His tone sharpened before continuing. "It's something else. Something that doesn't belong here—just like you. Just like me."

Looking down in thought, he paused for a beat, then added, "But…unlike us, it's connected to her in some strange way. Too strange."

Looking back up, Saa'ir's eyes narrowed. "And that's what worries me most."

Meanwhile, Dama let Saa'ir's words echo in his own mind. "A separate entity?" His fingers twitched weakly as he pondered on the thought, images of his previous encounter with the creature flashing in his head. "Just what are yo—!?"

Dama's eyes then widened, as he remembered the fact he had already asked that question. He was already given the answer. "...The Curse of Hatred..." he murmured to himself.

Saa'ir's stride faltered for half a second. "What did you say?" He asked, his voice low but tight with urgency, his widened eyes flicking over his shoulder to Dama.

Dama blinked, his vision still slightly blurred, but he managed to raise his head a little more, his voice hoarse. "The Curse of Hatred," he repeated, "it told me…right before it...it tried to kill me."

Saa'ir's breath hitched for a brief moment, but his eyes narrowed, sharp with alarm and something deeper. The name rang out through the corridors of his memory like a tolling bell, shaking something loose, but not unbidened, that had long been buried. He clenched his jaw, saying nothing for now.

But behind them, Giona stirred again. She blinked. The words "The Curse of Hatred" echoed in her. Not as something foreign, but familiar—warm, even.

Images flooded her, ones no one else could see. A cell just like the one Saa'ir and Nini had saved her from. Cold. Filthy. The iron stench of blood and metal. Pain.

Then, one night, emerging from the shadows was… it.

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A small, shapeless mass of black. Soft void eyes. A grin as wide as it was hollow. Comfort, when nothing else was. Laughter. Teachings. Games. The soundless echo of a voice that spoke to her when no one else would.

"Curse." That's what it called itself and what she learned to call it. Her first—and only—friend.

It had taught her words she wasn't taught by the bad men. It taught her what a "friend" was. It taught her what "kindness" sounded like.

And when everything was at its worst—it reached out a shapeless hand and said: "Take my hand." She did, leading to her escape, then meeting Dama. To Giona, Curse wasn't just her first friend, Curse was the closest thing she had to family, to a parent figure, to any semblance of safety in that damned cell—it was her hero.

"Curse!" Giona beamed suddenly, pumping her little fists with childlike joy. "Curse!!"

Her voice broke the tension like a pebble dropped in a still pond. Dama blinked, visibly baffled while Saa'ir glanced back in confusion.

"Wait—Giona, what?" Dama said as he too looked back at Giona, but his expression changed as realization dawned.

"No way…" he whispered, his eyes widening. He remembered—last year.

He had asked Giona to draw the things that made her happy. She had doodled Mumu and Nini, their forms playful and lines very abstract to say the least.

But below them, in straight and clear strokes, was a shapeless dark blob. White voids for eyes and its wide mouth. Nothing else.

Dama had asked her what it was, but the moment he did—his neck had gone cold. Tight. Like invisible claws had wrapped around it—poised to tear him apart.

He remembered the dark and suffocating pressure. The unspoken threat.

Mumu and Nini had felt it too—ears back, tails and bodies alike trembling.

Later, when he told Tsubasa, she had gone quiet. Then said she'd felt something too before that the first time she met Giona. Something dark, something powerful—something angry.

Now, that same oppressive fury, that same hatred, clicked into place in Dama's mind. It was the exact same presence as the thing that attacked him.

"It's the same..." Dama whispered, eyes wide with horror. "That…thing…is Curse...!"

Dama's vision swam as he rode on Saa'ir's back. He swallowed past the ache in his ribs and lowered his head back on Saa'ir's shoulder. "Mr. Saa'ir," he rasped, voice raw with fearful realization, "it's...it's trying to take over her body."

Saa'ir's gait faltered for the briefest moment, then he adjusted his grip on Dama's legs without slowing his stride. "You're sure?" He pressed, eyes staying sharp.

Dama nodded, jaw clenched. "It told me so. It said it...it was close to getting it, but...then I showed up." His heart thundered. "I won't...let that...happen...!"

Dama's world then faded to black. Mumbling something unintelligible, his head lolled against Saa'ir's shoulder. Within heartbeats, he collapsed into unconsciousness, limbs going limp.

Saa'ir secured Dama in his hold, feeling the boy's quiet surrender against him. He could feel a surge of determination and something warmer—hope—seeping into him. Dama's love for Giona, his fierce protectiveness… it shone through even in sleep.

Saa'ir glanced back at Giona. "Giona," he called softly, "what do you remember of this…'Curse'?"

Giona's small form stiffened in Mumu's arms. She took a trembling breath, as though wading back into a nightmare. "W-Well… Curse appeared to me in my cell," she whispered, "the...b-bad men locked me in the dark, hurt me all day." She sniffed as her eyes got watery.

Saa'ir meanwhile connected the dots. He confirmed that this place, this labyrinth, is most definitely where she was being held captive. The cell he found her in must have been hers while she underwent years of torture, scarring not only her body, but also mind. As a result, this is her mindscape, reflecting how deep her trauma has been ingrained into her psyche.

"But at night…Curse came." Giona continued, her voice growing steadier with each word, as if recalling a bittersweet lullaby. "It was small, like me. White eyes and, um...uh, m-mouth, yeah! Cute, it was." She then swallowed. "Unlike the bad men, it never hurt me. It talked to me, taught me things. Words, Games, its name, Curse. How to say 'friend.' How to feel safe." Her gaze drifted to Dama's bacl. "Just like Dama."

Nodding to herself with a faint smile, Giona finished her confession, eyes brightening despite the nightmarish experience so far. "It was…kind. Even if it was strange."

"Giona," Saa'ir replied softly, "what you remember as 'Curse' may not be as friendly as you recall. It may be trying to hurt you."

Confusion flickered across the girl's features. "H-Huh? B-B...But... Why...? Curse is my friend...Curse said so!" Her voice quavered, uncertainty creeping in.

Saa'ir halted at a fork in the corridor they were running in. To his left and right, winding hallways lost themselves in shadows. Straight ahead though was a narrow stone staircase spiraled upward into darkness. "Sometimes," he whispered, "things, including people, aren't what they seem. People who are nice to you—people you trust—can be the same ones that cause your demise or hurt the ones you care about. Believe me, I've experienced that before..."

Giona's brows knit together. Her arms tightened around Mumu's neck. "I…I don't believe that. Dama, Mumu, Nini, and Granny would never. Curse would never..."

Saa'ir nodded at Giona's childish ignorance, then shifted the weight of Dama on his back. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, reaching out with his soul-sense. The faint pulse of Giona's essence shimmered not above, but straight ahead, like a lantern in fog. "Interesting, not up the stairs," he thought, "but ahead—straight ahead."

Before he could move, a blur of green shot past him.

"Nini, no!" Saa'ir called, but it was too late.

The stitched fox bounded toward the staircase and vanished through the first step—her form rippling the stone like water disturbed.

Mumu yelped and lunged forward, but remembered he still had Giona in his arms, skidding to a stop. He stared at the cascading ripples, eyes wide, ears flat in shock.

Saa'ir's eyes widened. "Another fake!" He said, urgency sharpening his tone. "Follow me," he ordered, gesturing at the stairs' threshold whilst securing Dama's unconscious body, "Nini should be all right."

Mumu's eyes darted from Saa'ir to the spot on the stairs, then he nodded once and bounced Giona a bit in his arms—causing a surprised, but elated yelp from the girl—securing her in his hold.

-

Next: (Chapter 66) Saa'ir vs. The Curse of Hatred

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