Shall we roll?

Knock. Knock. Knock!

The sound echoed sharply through the quiet house. Faust, still drying his face after washing up from dinner, paused by the mirror above the basin. His damp, jet-black hair clung to his forehead, framing a face marked by sharp cheekbones and a faint scar running along his jawline—a relic from an encounter he'd rather not recall. His pale complexion and piercing blue eyes gave him a stark, almost spectral appearance under the dim light of the oil lamp.

Another knock followed, louder and more insistent this time.

"Hold on!" Faust called, grabbing a towel and running it through his hair. He tossed it carelessly onto a chair before heading towards the door.

The evening air greeted him as he opened it, along with the familiar faces of Gelatea and Uriel.

Gelatea, ever vibrant, stood at the forefront. Her fiery red curls danced in the breeze, and her green eyes sparkled with excitement. She wore a loose, colorful dress that swayed as she moved, a stark contrast to the muted tones of the evening.

Without warning, she leaped forward and enveloped Faust in a tight hug. "I'm so glad you've finally gotten your Spirit Gear and metaphor!" she exclaimed, her voice as lively as ever.

Before Faust could respond, Uriel, taller and more composed, stepped forward. His brown turtleneck and sleeveless jacket gave him an air of casual confidence, his dark eyes scanning Faust with a hint of curiosity. "Let's see it," he demanded, his voice calm but firm. "Summon it for us."

Faust sighed, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "I still wonder how you guys received your metaphors?"

"Sorry we couldn't come for your seventeen ceremony,my mom doesn't really fancy the ceremony and you know Uriel is scared of the dark" Gelatea said, grinning as she stepped inside. Uriel followed without waiting for an invitation, his hands tucked into his pockets.

---

The three settled into Faust's modest living room,Faust's parents were at the cathedral for a mass.

Gelatea flopped onto the couch, her energy filling the space, while Uriel leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he studied Faust.

"So," Gelatea began, leaning forward, "what's it like? A dice for a Spirit Gear is… unique, to say the least."

Faust shrugged, sitting on a chair across from them. "Unique is one way to put it. Unpredictable is probably more accurate."

Uriel raised an eyebrow. "Have you tested it?"

"No," Faust admitted. "I barely understand it. Father Maximus said it's tied to probabilities—dangerous outcomes depending on the roll."

Gelatea's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's test it!"

Faust hesitated. "Here? Now?"

Uriel pushed off the wall, his tone laced with quiet determination. "Not here. Outside. We'll find a secluded spot."

Gelatea clapped her hands together. "Perfect! Come on, Faust. You've been holed up here since the awakening. It's time to stretch your legs."

With a reluctant sigh, Faust stood. "Fine. But if this goes horribly wrong, it's on you two."

---

The trio stepped into the cobblestone streets, the city bathed in the soft, fading light of dusk. Gas lamps flickered to life, their warm glow casting long shadows across the buildings. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint hum of the Spirit Realm—an ever-present reminder of the world's strange, intertwined nature.

"You know," Gelatea began, walking ahead with a skip in her step, "I've been wondering if your dice reflects you in some way. Spirit Gears usually do, right?"

"Reflect me?" Faust asked, his tone skeptical.

"Sure," she said, turning to face him as she walked backward. "Maybe it's about taking chances or embracing the unknown."

Uriel chuckled. "Or it's just chaotic. Like him."

Faust rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

The group ventured further from the bustling center, where the streets grew quieter and the mist thicker. The boundary between the physical world and the Spirit Realm seemed thinner here, the air tingling with an otherworldly energy.

Gelatea suddenly stopped, her playful demeanor fading. "Do you feel that?"

Uriel nodded, his eyes scanning the shadows. "Lesser spirits. Close by."

Faust frowned. "Shouldn't they be staying in the Spirit Realm?"

"Not always," Uriel said. "Sometimes they wander. Especially in places like this."

A low, guttural sound echoed from an alley ahead, sending a chill down Faust's spine.

---

The spirits emerged from the mist—twisted, semi-transparent humanoid figures that defied natural form. Their elongated limbs moved with a disjointed, almost insect-like rhythm, as though caught between the fabric of two worlds.

Where faces should have been, there was only an abyss—dark, bottomless voids that seemed to draw in the faint light around them. These entities radiated an unsettling hunger, their hollow, glowing eyes flickering like dying embers. Every movement, every twitch of their warped bodies, carried a single, chilling purpose: to possess a vessel.

The air around them thickened with malevolence, each step they took eroding the fragile boundary between the Spirit Realm and the physical world. They were not merely wandering spirits; they were predators in search of prey.

Uriel took a step forward, his voice steady. "Entwine."

With the word, his Spirit Gear manifested—a spectral tree that seemed to grow from thin air, its gnarled branches reaching outward as thick vines extended toward the spirits.

Gelatea turned to Faust. "Now would be a good time to roll that dice."

"Roll the dice"? Faust looked at her with uncertainty written over his face.

Faust hesitated, pulling the die from his pocket. It felt heavier than it should, its surface cold to the touch. "What if—"

"No time for what-ifs!" Uriel shouted, his vines missing one of the spirits as it darted toward them.

Gritting his teeth, Faust hurled the die with a flick of his wrist. It spun rapidly, its edges glowing faintly with an otherworldly light, before coming to a stop mid-air, hovering ominously.

"It seems the dice doesn't even need the ground to settle," Faust muttered, his voice laced with a mix of sarcasm and unease. "Guess that's one less thing to worry about." His attempt at humor was thinly veiled, masking the tension in his chest as he stared at the floating die, now displaying the number 2.

The world shifted.

The cobblestones rippled like water, and the buildings warped, their edges melting into surreal shapes. The spirits multiplied, their distorted forms flickering as they surrounded the trio.

"What the hell?" Faust muttered, his voice echoing unnaturally.

The dice causes an illusory effect when it gives the number 2,i should note that immediately, Faust thought.

Gelatea grabbed his arm. "It's an illusion. The dice created it."

Uriel's vines flailed, unable to grasp the spirits as they seemed to fade in and out of existence.

"Stay close to me," Gelatea said, her voice firm. She raised her hand, and with a commanding word—"Shade! "—her Spirit Gear materialized.

An elegant umbrella appeared in her hand, its silver patterns glowing faintly. She twirled it, and a dome of shimmering light surrounded them, pushing back the illusion slightly.

Uriel regrouped, his tree extending its roots to anchor the trio. "We need to break the illusion," he said.

The illusion slammed into them, distorting the world around Faust like a twisted reflection in broken glass.

Eldritch tentacles of shadowed flesh surged from cracks in the stone, their slick, segmented bodies writhing toward him and his companions. Faust's heart hammered in his chest. What is this? His breath caught in his throat as the ground beneath his feet began to shift, bending and twisting like it was alive. The air grew thick, suffocating with the putrid scent of rot and decay, and the light above flickered and died, plunging the world into a suffocating darkness. He felt himself caught in it, as if the very ground beneath him was clawing at his legs, trying to pull him under.

As the illusion deepened, Faust's senses twisted, his thoughts becoming muddled. His legs felt heavy, like dragging through thick mud. Focus… I can't let it consume me. His hands trembled as the tentacles scraped across the cobblestones, their oily touch seeping into his skin. He couldn't tell if they were real, just a trick of the mind or deja vu from the whispers he had been hearing for most of his life. His vision blurred, flickering like a dying candle. The air grew thick and oppressive, as if it were pressing against his lungs, choking him with every breath.

Beside him, the lesser spirits trembled, its form flickering like a flame caught in a draft. Faust could feel its unease, its spirit fractured and fragile under the weight of the illusion.

The once-stable form of the spirit began to flicker uncontrollably, shifting between forms, like a mirror cracking and distorting with every heartbeat.

It's losing itself,clearly the illusion affects all equally… Faust realized, panic rising in his chest. The spirit's movements became erratic, each flicker of its form weaker than the last, caught in a cycle of disorientation. The spirit's essence seemed to twist with the illusion, its ethereal body torn between realities, unable to maintain coherence.

Faust's own thoughts became slippery, each one harder to grasp. Focus… I can't lose myself too. The sense of time distorted, as though moments stretched and folded in on themselves. His pulse quickened as he tried to force his mind to stay anchored, but the illusion pulled at him relentlessly. The darkness of the illusion threatened to swallow them all, each of their senses breaking down, the lines between the real and the unreal growing fainter with every passing moment.

Gelatea nodded. "Leave it to me."

She stepped forward, spinning the umbrella faster. The light grew brighter, slicing through the warped reality. Shapes twisted and dissolved around her as she pushed deeper into the illusion.

"Faust, stay behind me!" she called.

---

Gelatea's umbrella emitted a final, blinding pulse of energy, shattering the illusion. The spirits shrieked as their forms dissolved, leaving only faint wisps of mist in their wake.

Uriel's vines ensnared the last lingering spirit, its glowing eyes dimming as the tree's roots tightened.

The street fell silent, save for the distant murmur of carriages and the curious whispers of onlookers who had paused to watch.

Gelatea closed her umbrella with a soft click, her breathing heavy. "That was… something."

Uriel dismissed his Spirit Gear, the tree vanishing into ethereal smoke. "Your dice," he said, turning to Faust. "It's dangerous. You need to learn how to control it."

Faust quickly stuffed the dice in his pocket, his hand trembling.

For some reason,unlike others Faust's spirit gear did not vanish and reappear at his will.

"I'm starting to think it's not worth the risk."Faust added.

Gelatea placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Every Spirit Gear has risks. But they also have potential. We'll figure it out. Together."

The trio began making their way back, their bond strong as ever but questions lingering—about Faust's dice, its strange powers,the number 2 caused illusions.What would the other numbers do?

Unbeknownst to them, a faint shadow lingered in the mist, watching their departure with hollow, glowing eyes.

---

The trio walked in silence for a while, the sounds of their footsteps mingling with the faint rustle of wind through the quiet streets. The mist had thinned, leaving behind a damp chill that clung to their clothes. Gelatea broke the silence first.

"You know, Faust," she began, her voice light but tinged with curiosity, "your Spirit Gear is... strange. Not just because it's a dice, but because of how it works. It's almost like it has a mind of its own. You didn't seem to use it—it just acted."

Faust nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It's not like I asked for it to roll a two. It just... happened." He paused, glancing at the die still nestled in his palm. "And the illusions... they felt so real. What if it could've hurt you two?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Uriel interrupted with a smirk. "Your gear's interesting, sure, but I handled those spirits just fine. If anything, your dice just made things... chaotic."

"Chaos isn't necessarily bad," Gelatea chimed in, twirling her umbrella Spirit Gear, which had since returned to its dormant state. "It forced us to think differently. The illusions tested us, sure, but it also revealed something about you, Faust."

"And what's that?" Faust asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That deep down, you're just as curious as your gear seems to be," she said with a teasing smile. "You didn't hesitate to roll the die. Most people would've hesitated—or worse, frozen in fear."

Uriel snorted. "More like reckless than curious."

"Call it what you want," Faust said, shrugging. "I just wanted to see what would happen. I wasn't exactly thinking it through."

The conversation shifted as they neared the crossroad where they would part ways. Gelatea and Uriel exchanged glances before turning back to Faust.

"Listen," Uriel began, his tone serious now. "The spirits tonight—they weren't ordinary. I've heard rumors about lesser spirits being more active lately, especially near residential areas. It might be tied to something bigger."

Gelatea nodded. "Be careful, Faust. Your gear is powerful, but it's also unpredictable. You'll need to learn to control it, or at least understand it."

"Thanks for the advice, Mom and Dad," Faust quipped, smirking.

Gelatea rolled her eyes. "We're serious, Faust. Just... take care of yourself."

---

When Faust arrived at his house, the warm glow of the gaslights greeted him. The scent of myrrh lingered in the air, wrapping the home in an almost sacred ambiance. As he stepped inside, he found his parents in the sitting room. His father, Dominic, was seated in his usual armchair, poring over a stack of papers while his mother arranged a collection of dried herbs in a bowl.

"You're late," Dominic said without looking up.

"I was with Gelatea and Uriel," Faust replied, dusting off his gloves.

Dominic's expression darkened as a small orb of light-a sprite floated into the room, carrying a whispering message only he could hear. He listened intently, his face growing more stern with each passing second. Finally, he turned his gaze to Faust.

"You'll be leaving for the Spirit Academia the day after tomorrow," Dominic announced.

"What? So soon?" Faust asked, caught off guard.

"Yes," Dominic said firmly. "Say your goodbyes to your friends before then. The academy doesn't tolerate tardiness or distractions."

Faust nodded reluctantly. His mother gave him a small, encouraging smile but said nothing.

---

Later that night, Faust lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had removed his gloves, and the faint glow of the die sitting on his desk cast strange shadows on the walls.

Why does it stay in its physical form? he thought, flexing his fingers. Most Spirit Gears only manifested when summoned, yet his dice refused to disappear.

He turned the question over in his mind, recalling the events of the evening. The whisper he had heard before rolling the die... a single word that resonated deeply: Why.

"It's not just the dice," he murmured to himself. "It's me. The metaphor is tied to Curiosity. That's why I followed Gelatea and Uriel without hesitation. It's like... it's compelling me to seek answers, no matter the cost."

At that moment of epiphany, Faust felt a tingling spiritual sensation course through his body, a mixture of ease and unrestrained spiritual energy resonating deep within his soul. Even the die on his desk emitted a dim, ethereal glow, as though responding to his revelation.

For the first time, the Spirit Gear didn't feel foreign to him. It wasn't just a tool—it was a part of him, an extension of his very being, reflecting his deepest desires.

A shiver ran down his spine as a soft, silent whisper echoed in his mind, clearer than before: "To know why."

The phrase struck him with the force of a revelation. His heart raced as he sat on the edge of his bed, gripping his hands tightly. This is it, he thought. The key to my Spirit Gear, my Metaphor, is curiosity.

But as his thoughts spiraled, a faint unease settled in the back of his mind—barely noticeable, yet persistent. The glowing die pulsed faintly, its dim light flickering in the shadows.

"This is the first step," he murmured to himself. "Understanding what drives me."

Yet, in the silence of the room, something unspoken lingered. His epiphany, while exhilarating, carried the weight of a deeper truth—a truth just out of reach.

The more you uncover, the more you realize there is to uncover. Each answer leads to a dozen new questions, an endless spiral of knowing and unknowing.

Though he didn't realize it yet, what he felt wasn't an understanding of his Metaphor—it was the awakening of his Echo. Curiosity wasn't just a drive; it was a curse. A relentless hunger, gnawing at the edges of his soul, whispering promises that grew louder with every revelation.

In his mind, he believed this was clarity. But in truth, it was the beginning of a labyrinth he might never escape.

Without a second thought, Faust got out of bed, grabbed his gloves, and slipped out of the house. The Spirit Library wasn't far, and he knew the caretaker often fell asleep at his desk.

The night air was cool against his skin as he made his way to the library, his heart pounding with anticipation. He spent the entire night poring over books, scrolls, and manuscripts, devouring every fragment of knowledge he could find.

By the time dawn approached, Faust's eyes burned with exhaustion, but his mind buzzed with newfound insights. He was beginning to understand his Spirit Gear, his metaphor, and perhaps even himself. Yet deep down, he knew this was only the beginning of his journey.