In the city of Sheol, home to over half a million inhabitants, ancient history blended with an air of mysticism and whispered spiritual legends that had survived generations. Yet amidst this bustling metropolis lay a tranquil neighborhood, where time seemed to slow and every corner exhaled a quiet secret.
Outside, the sky was heavy with thick gray clouds, and a strong wind began to pick up, swaying the trees and carrying away the last leaves of autumn. Young Agnes walked slowly toward the school gate, her steps weighed down by a fatigued body while her thoughts drifted far from the present.
She was stopped by her friend Roza.
"Agnes… are you okay?" she asked, her voice carrying above the gusting wind.
Agnes turned slowly. Roza froze for a moment—her friend's eyes were almost unrecognizably tired, dark circles beneath them casting shadows too deep for any human. There was something in them otherworldly, something that sent a shiver down the spine.
Agnes exhaled and forced a faint smile. "Oh, Roza… of course I'm fine," she said softly, though the words felt hollow. Fatigue and exhaustion weighed on her body and soul, yet her words made little sense.
"Still having those bad dreams?" Roza asked quietly, her eyes filled with concern. "You really should see someone…"
Roza sighed. "Yes, yes… Natty from fourth grade told me she went through something similar. But she found help in the city… so maybe you should ask her."
Agnes only nodded and lowered her gaze, while the wind howled more fiercely between the rooftops, as if the city itself was holding its breath over their quiet conversation.
Agnes and Roza met at school, but Roza had to keep a careful eye on Agnes, who nearly tumbled down the stairs in the locker room. Even there, things weren't much easier—Agnes struggled with her jacket and shoes, every movement demanding immense effort.
During class, it was as if Agnes weren't even present. She tried to catch some sleep, but the strict routine of the girls' school only seemed to bring her more trouble.
During breaks, Roza attempted to reach Natty, hoping for advice that might help, but she was unsuccessful. Natty was either not in the classroom or in another building due to a division of specializations.
Eventually, Roza locked herself in a stall in the girls' restroom, seeking a brief moment of solitude.
"Agnes looks more and more on the verge of collapse… if this continues, who knows what might happen," Roza murmured to herself, her heart pounding with worry for her friend.
Just as Roza was about to head back to class, she bumped into someone at the doorway. The person pressing against her side wasn't anyone else but Natty Shielberg.
"I… I'm sorry, I didn't hear—" Natty began, but her words faltered as she noticed Roza. "Roza? Shielberg?" Roza exclaimed, immediately grabbing Natty's hand and pulling her toward the classroom.
At first, Natty looked puzzled, unsure of what was happening, but once Roza explained that it was about her friend, she quickly joined in.
"Wow… she really looks terrible," Natty said, her eyes scanning Agnes with concern.
"I think I know what she meant," Natty continued after a pause. "There's this man who might help. He runs a little shop between Hruzka Street and Chmurov. It's small and old, but he can definitely help her." She scribbled down the full address carefully and handed it to Roza, her expression firm with reassurance.
Natty paused in the doorway before leaving. Her gaze met Roza's for a brief moment, and there was an unexpected chill in it.
"It's better if you go alone," she said seriously. "Only you can explain to him what's happening. He… will know if you're telling the truth."
Before Roza could respond, Natty turned and disappeared into the crowd in the hallway.
---
The end of the school day was a relief for both girls. Agnes and Roza climbed onto the bus, phones in hand, searching for the address Natty had written down. The narrow street between Hruzka and Chmurov appeared on the map, but the phone seemed hesitant to pinpoint the exact location.
When the bus finally stopped, Roza glanced at Agnes. She stood at the door, trembling all over.
"Roza…" came a hoarse voice, scraping like a rusty knife. "It's better if you go home. I… I can handle this myself. Thank you… for everything."
Roza clenched her jaw and shook her head. "It's fine, Agnes. I can go home anytime. But you? From the way you look and talk… you don't have much time left."
Agnes didn't answer. She gave a faint smile, but there was not a drop of strength in it.
---
Finally weaving through the winding alleys of Sheol, they arrived at a place where no shop should have stood anymore.
Before them crouched a small, old store, wedged between two crumbling apartment buildings. Its façade was cracked, the windows dull and grimy, yet the building possessed a strange, almost aesthetic charm—it seemed timelessly clean, even though everything around it appeared gray and decayed.
Above the door hung a sign, paint peeling from the edges, yet the letters remained legible:
"Klein's Pawnshop"
A shiver ran down Roza's spine. The place felt as if it had been waiting for them.
"So… we're here," she breathed.
Agnes nodded weakly, but a strange shadow flickered in her eyes as if she recognized something in that little shop that Roza could not yet see.
The shop door closed behind them with a soft chime of the bell. From the outside, the store looked dark and empty, but inside stretched a wide room whose walls dissolved into shadows. Old shelves were filled with a strange assortment of items—from dusty books and porcelain figurines to small glass jars containing unknown substances. Among all this, there were also quite ordinary things: boxes of candy, wooden toys, school supplies—as if someone wanted to disguise the true nature of the shop beneath a mask of trivial trinkets.
The air smelled of incense and aged paper. Agnes had to hold onto Roza's shoulder to keep her knees from giving out.
Behind the counter stood a man. Tall and slender, with long blond hair tied into a low ponytail. He wore an old, worn hat, and fine lines framed his face. Though he appeared unassuming, something about him immediately commanded respect—perhaps it was his eyes. Dark, deep, as if a fire from an unknown world danced within them.
When he lifted his gaze, the girls froze. It felt as if someone were peering straight into their very souls.
"Welcome to Klein's," the man said in a calm voice. Then the corners of his lips curved into a faint smile. "How may I help you?"
Roza opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the man leaned over the counter toward Agnes.
"Well, well…" he examined her carefully and let out a brief laugh—not mocking, but as if greeting an old acquaintance. "What a specimen you are. You don't get much sleep, do you?"
Agnes shivered. There was no ridicule in his voice, only a peculiar calm, as if his words were merely stating a fact he understood far better than she did herself.
Roza clutched the piece of paper with the address Natty had given her and swallowed nervously.
"Y-you are Klein?"
The man raised the corners of his mouth again and bowed theatrically, tipping his hat.
"Klein. Faust Klein," he introduced himself. "And if this is your friend, then you've brought me a problem that will require more than just tea and a few sweets."
Faust Klein kept smiling as he studied Agnes carefully, who was barely able to stand. Roza was about to speak, to explain why they were there, when a door slammed in the back room, followed by an irritated curse.
"Master, do I really have to sort these damn candles? There are five boxes, and half of them are moldy!"
From behind the curtain stepped a boy barely older than Roza. Tall, with black hair falling into his eyes, wearing an unbuttoned school uniform as if he wore it only out of obligation. In his hands, he carried a dusty box, which he tossed onto the counter beside the trembling Agnes.
Noticing the girls, he raised an eyebrow.
"Well, what do we have here? Another customer for sweets?" His voice dripped with boredom and disdain.
Faust only laughed and looked at the boy. "On the contrary. Looks like our shift today is going to be more interesting than usual. This young lady," he nodded toward Agnes, "has a problem that cannot be fixed with caramel or a carnival charm."
The boy rolled his eyes and leaned against the counter. "Sure, another story about bad dreams and ghosts under the bed. Master, do we really have to waste time?"
Faust turned to him, and his smile darkened for a moment. "Rowan, remember: no soul comes here by accident."
For a moment, silence fell. Agnes and Roza looked at the boy with surprise—his attitude was arrogant, yet a spark of curiosity flickered in his eyes.
Rowan sighed and folded his hands behind his head. "Fine… since you've crawled all the way here, show me what's bothering you. But if it's just a nightmare, I swear, I'm going back to the candles."
Rowan reluctantly stepped closer to them, but when he saw how Agnes was barely standing, his irony vanished for a moment.
"Come on, you're not going to last much longer," he muttered, reaching out his hand. Agnes looked at him weakly, her eyes glassy, as if something beyond mere exhaustion shone through them. Without hesitation, Rowan took her arm and in a single motion slung her over his shoulder.
Roza immediately flushed.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing? You don't even know her!" she snapped, clenching her fists.
Rowan only gave her a lazy glance.
"Consider yourself lucky I'm the one carrying her, because judging by how much you're shaking, you'd drop her in five steps."
Anger twitched at the corner of Roza's mouth, but before she could say anything, Agnes gave a faint, exhausted smile.
"Let it go, Roza… he's right." Her voice was soft and hoarse, but calm.
Rowan held her a little tighter and led her past the counter, where Faust was already gesturing toward a small door.
"Alright, alright, save the drama for later. Come on back."
He guided them down a narrow corridor into a small room. Unlike the cluttered shop, this space was clean and orderly—low table, a few worn chairs, and a wooden cabinet full of books. The atmosphere was soothing, almost as if the room itself had cut off the noise of the outside world.
Rowan set Agnes gently into a chair, letting her sink into the cushions. Then he took a teapot and poured tea into three porcelain cups, the aroma strong and bitter.
"Here. Don't pretend it's fancy, but at least it'll wake you up a bit," he said, handing a cup to Agnes.
On the table was a bowl of candies wrapped in paper that looked like relics from another century. Roza stared at them suspiciously, while Rowan, with cold composure, popped one into his mouth.
"Well, still alive," he shrugged.
Meanwhile, Faust sat down across from Agnes, his gaze fixed directly on her.
"So… are you going to tell me what brought you here, or should we let it speak for itself?"
Agnes gripped the cup tightly, her hands trembling. In the heavy silence, every word seemed harder to speak than the last.
Agnes tried to take a sip, but her hands shook so violently that the hot tea only clinked dangerously against the porcelain. Without a word, Rowan reached out, steadied her cup, and helped her drink in small sips. For a moment, it seemed as if color was returning to her cheeks, as if life itself was flowing back into her.
"I haven't slept for days," the girl whispered when she finally dared to speak. "And when I try… to fall asleep… I feel someone there with me. I don't see them, but they touch me. The most…" She hesitated, swallowing, her eyes reddening with shame, "the most… on my thighs, waist, and chest."
Roza gasped, "What?!"
Rowan froze, gripping his cup so tightly that the tea spilled over the edge. His face darkened—not because he didn't believe her, but because it instantly enraged him.
Faust, however, did not flinch. He raised a hand and calmly stopped the girl.
"That's enough. I already know what we're dealing with." His voice hardened, his eyes glinting with a strange mixture of compassion and experience. "We're talking about a phantom. A dream specialist that attacks sleep and gradually connects to both the body and soul of its host. When you say 'a few days,' I'd guess it's closer to a week, maybe two. That means…" Faust paused briefly, his expression darkening, "that it's already feeding nicely on you."
Rowan swallowed, but before he could say anything, Faust looked up at him.
"Rowan," he said with a seriousness that instantly made the room feel heavy, "tonight you will sleep at this girl's house."
There was silence.
Roza jumped to her feet as if struck by lightning. "What?! No! That's absolutely unacceptable!" Her face blazed, her eyes glaring at Rowan. "He?! At her house?!"
Rowan straightened as well, casting an incredulous look at Faust.
"If you think that—" he began, but stopped, because even his own voice trembled. It was a mixture of shame, resistance… and yet an acknowledgment that Faust had a reason for saying it.
Faust didn't move. He simply placed his hat calmly back on his head and lit his long pipe.
"Phantoms reveal themselves best in dreams. They must appear. And to appear, they need someone nearby who can see. Rowan is the only one who can keep you between sleep and wakefulness, Agnes. Otherwise, that thing will consume you entirely."
Rowan clenched his jaw, Agnes blushed, and Roza looked ready to explode. Yet all three knew that Faust had just passed judgment
"Wait a minute!" Rowan snapped, clenching his fists, his eyes flashing. "Why can't it be here?! Why at her house of all places?!"
Faust lazily rubbed his chin, the corners of his lips curling into a teasing smile. "Because, my dear apprentice," he said, as if stating the obvious, "that phantom has been feeding for a long time. If we don't hunt it in its own territory, we risk losing it even here, in my shop. And let's face it—if that happened, it would ruin my display window. And I don't like that."
"This is nonsense and you know it!" Rowan exploded. "You're hiding behind some 'rules,' but really you just want to send me there because—"
"Because you need practice," Faust interrupted him.
The silence that followed was sharp as a blade. Agnes flushed, Roza nearly leapt from her chair, and Rowan looked as if Faust had just stabbed him in the back.
Faust lifted his hat and tilted it back, revealing his gaze—eyes darkly glowing, with a spark that said more than words ever could.
"Trust me, Rowan. If you can't handle this tonight, next time it will be too late. The phantom grows with each passing night. And if we lose Agnes…" He paused briefly, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet, "…then no one will ever get her back."
Roza gripped Agnes's hand while Rowan furiously lowered his gaze. His heart pounded in his chest. He felt that Faust didn't even fully believe half of what he said. But on the other hand… what if this time he was right?
"Damn it…" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Fine. But if we survive this, Faust, I'm settling this with you."
Faust merely smiled, calmly drew from his pipe, and exhaled a ring of smoke.
"You better believe it, boy. You better believe it."