The Monks Have Questions, The Spoon Has Visions, and Kael Definitely Isn’t Okay (Again)

Let's just say this upfront: if you ever find yourself in a haunted monastery full of masked monks who refuse to speak above a whisper, your emotionally deranged talking spoon is having prophetic seizures, and you're being followed by a shapeshifting rodent with a sacred scroll in its mouth—leave. Immediately. Don't do what I did. Don't stay.

But no.

I, Kael of House Sort-of-Important-but-Now-Increasingly-Confused, decided to stay.

Because growth or whatever.

The monastery bells didn't ring. They hummed.

It was unsettling, like hearing a whale chant Gregorian hymns into your inner ear. The sound vibrated through the bones of the ancient stone corridors, reverberating against stained-glass windows depicting Echo Saints in various stages of madness: one screaming at a mirror, one laughing inside a coffin, one doing interpretive dance with a goat. You know. The usual.

I shuffled through the corridor barefoot—because of course, no shoes allowed in sacred inner sanctums—with the sacred Spoon dangling from my belt like an increasingly judgmental charm.

Fluffernox trotted beside me, tail flicking, a sacred scroll clutched like a war prize in his slobbering void-mouth. The monks trailed behind us silently, their masks unnervingly serene: gold leaf, shattered porcelain, black velvet sewn with thorns. Not one of them blinked. I'm not even sure they had eyes.

"Where are we going?" I whispered to the Spoon.

"You're asking me? I'm having recurring visions of a seven-eyed duck screaming about inevitability."

"...You're not joking, are you?"

"I never joke about ducks. They remember."

We entered what the monks called the Hall of Silent Inquiry, which turned out to be a room shaped like a spiral—spiraling down. The further we walked, the darker it got, and the more I felt like my soul was being shrink-wrapped in existential regret.

The monks finally stopped in a circle of dim candlelight. One of them stepped forward. His mask was stitched with red silk tears.

He extended his hand—and dropped a memory crystal into mine.

Spoon muttered, "Oh no. Memory quiz time."

Memory Dive: Unscheduled Chaos Edition™

I expected a vision. A gentle playback of childhood trauma, maybe a flashback of my first crush. You know, the usual existential montage.

What I got was an Echo Reverb.

Suddenly—I was standing in the robes of a Saint. My body not my own. My voice ancient.

"Do you believe in fate?" I asked a crying boy. A younger version of me.

He shook his head. "No. I believe in accidents."

I—the Echo Saint—smiled. "Then you will do perfectly."

Flash.

I saw myself again—older. Different world. Different timeline. Surrounded by fire. Holding a broken mask. Whispering, "I'll come back. Even if they break me again."

Flash.

This time, I was in a courtroom. The Reincarnation Tribunal. Seated in judgment over me.

"This vessel is unfit. The glitch cannot stabilize."

"Then let him burn. He'll learn faster."

"Send him to the Academy. Let the harem sort him out."

FLASH.

I returned to myself gasping, kneeling, clutching my head.

The monks bowed. As if this chaos confirmed something.

Spoon sat on my shoulder, blinking wildly.

"Kael," it whispered. "I think I just remembered my birth."

"...Excuse me?"

"In a forge of collapsing prophecy. Surrounded by a thousand dead timelines. My mother was a whisper. My father was sarcasm."

"Okay. Deep breaths. You've been dropped too many times."

The monks spoke for the first time. In unison.

"What is the name you left behind?"

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

They repeated. Louder.

"What is the name you left behind?"

And just like that, I heard it. In my own head.

A name. My name.

Not Kael.

Not the name the nobles used.

But something older. Pre-glitch. Pre-life.

It echoed in my mind, burned like static behind my eyes, and the Spoon suddenly hissed, "DON'T SAY IT OUT LOUD."

So I didn't.

Instead, I said, "Jeff."

The monks blinked. I swear they blinked.

One leaned toward me, confused. "Jeff?"

"It's a metaphor," I said, with all the confidence of a man making it up in real time. "For… rebirth."

The monks went silent.

Then they nodded.

Spoon whispered, "I hate how often that works."

Back in the sleeping chambers—a room filled with exactly one stone slab, a rug that might've once been a bear, and a window overlooking the Valley of Rejected Prophecies—I collapsed into something resembling a fetal heap.

I was exhausted. Shaking. I'd just seen fragments of myself I didn't even know existed.

The Spoon curled beside me.

"You okay?" it asked, oddly gentle.

"No," I croaked. "I think the monks just made me remember how I died. Again. Maybe twice."

"Normal Thursday," Spoon offered.

I stared at the ceiling. "Am I still me?"

"Define 'me.'"

"Not helpful."

"You're still sarcastic. Still panicking. Still flinching at emotional vulnerability. Seems consistent."

I laughed. Then hiccupped. Then laughed again.

The Spoon sighed.

"Sleep. Tomorrow we do the Maze of Inner Judgments."

I whimpered. "Why is everything in italics here?"

"Because you're in training. And trauma gets extra flair."

Somewhere deep in the monastery, a masked monk watched a crystal float above a basin of starlit water.

Within it: Kael, fractured. Glitching. Burning.

The monk whispered to no one:

"Soon. The mask will remember its maker. And the vessel will have to choose."

Next Time on Yes, I Was Reborn. No, I Don't Want a Harem. Stop Looking at Me Like That:

Chapter 56 – "The Mask Cult Moves"

Kael is invited to a secret masked ritual. Mirielle follows him. A mysterious Echo Candidate appears, says, "Only one of us survives the prophecy," and promptly sets the forest on fire. Spoon disapproves. Romance chaos ensues.