'Well, I don't have any methods to counter the Tubed Freak's arrangements. It is also impossible for me to determine if it is Jyorta or someone else. The fact that Ancestor Light spoke implies that one of the three should have been the one. But, Laila is definitely not it. That leaves only George and Jyorta to the question.' Heima's lips curled up, looking like she was enjoying the comedy-drama aired on the TV.
"I guess I'll go back for now and arise only when necessary. I can't have this ego gaining too much independence." She stretched her arms, leaking out a yawn. Her expression turned normal while a change occurred in her demeanour. As if nothing had happened, she switched off the TV, heading to her room to rest.
"Are you really my brother, Jyorta?" She muttered, occupying her bed, feeling the softness of the cushion seep into her, giving her a feeling of comfort. Her body relaxed, slowly falling asleep. A droplet leaked out of her eyes, her brows scrunched up. She opened her mouth, her voice leaking out, shivering like a leaf caught in a storm.
"Mother…"
…
7:00 AM, Heima woke up under the sounds of the alarm, rubbing her eyes as she tried to freshen up. She went to the washroom, brushed her teeth, and had a bath.
7:30 AM, she wore a set of cotton fabric, walking towards Jyorta's room, planning to wake him up. She opened the door, gazing at a figure wrapped under a layer of bedsheets, an aura of laziness emanating from him.
"Jyorta, wake up. You have classes today." She nudged his shoulders, applying pressure in increasing intensity. Seeing that he showed no signs of waking up, Heima lifted him, taking him to the bathroom.
Switching on the tap, feeling the cold water that fell into the bucket placed below, she made him sit, his face a couple of inches away from the water. The sounds of the falling water, the increase in the humidity, and a feeling of chillness that crept into his face; Jyorta's eyebrows twitched, his face looking uneasy.
After 15 seconds had passed, he finally opened his eyes, the sense of discomfort having washed away his sleepiness. He looked at the water stream falling down like a thin pillar, very close to his face. He blinked his eyes a couple of times, feeling perplexed at the changed scenario.
He shifted his face, looking at the familiar surroundings, noticing a faint moist feeling coming from his lower garment. The water in the bucket had been filled to the brim, overflowing as they soaked his clothes, spreading on the floor of the bathroom.
"Sister!" Jyorta shouted, exiting the bathroom, wincing in pain after his muscles felt the strain due to the rapid movement. Droplets of water dripped on the floor, forming a trail from the bathroom to the kitchen where Heima began to cook breakfast.
"What?" She turned her head, looking at him with anger, "You're getting late. Get ready soon."
"Okay," Like a deflated balloon, the stare of Heima dissipated his anger, making him drag his feet to the bathroom. On the way, he noticed the time displayed on the wall clock, gritting his teeth.
7:35 AM!
"I could have slept for another 30 minutes and still be ready on time," Jyorta mumbled, entering the bathroom to freshen up. He picked up a toothbrush, and squeezed out some toothpaste on its bristles, annoyance etched on his face. With a snort, he began to mechanically brush his teeth, gazing at his face in the mirror.
'Did she buy yesterday's performance? Starting today, I have to be extra careful. But, it came as a surprise that I could use Jyorta's persona in such a manner. Restricting the persona's access to the brain, segregating a collage of memories, and making the persona believe it to be true; the outcome turned out a lot better than I had expected.' Jyorta thought, his mouth filled with the paste, the sounds of his brushing being rough to the ears.
'Though, it would be difficult to imitate a similar scene the next time. But, I could still influence Jyorta's persona, feeding it memories, cues, and instructions, slowly morphing it into my persona over the years. This will make it safer for me, also stabilising my persona, ensuring a conflict between mine and Jyorta's wouldn't occur. I don't want to end up as a mentally retarded patient with a split personality over a slipup.' The brushing action of his turned soft for a couple of seconds, returning to its previous state. The switch was flawless, making sure Heima wouldn't notice anything different if she had been standing behind him.
8:10 AM, Jyorta opened Heima's cupboard, picking out a set of tracks that was his size. The tracks looked old, judging by the small traces of tear in the ends.
'I should buy underwear today, without fail. It is embarrassing to wear her's…' He thought, looking at his appearance in the mirror, noticing his hair that reached his shoulders. His lean frame, his clean face lacking any facial hair and his long eyelashes; none of his features emitted a masculine vibe.
"I should get a haircut and put on some weight." He mumbled, walking towards the dining table. The smell of aroma tantalised his olfactory senses, making his stomach grumble in protest while saliva was secreted in his mouth in excess. He gazed at the kitchen with anticipation, wondering the breakfast that Heima was preparing.
8:30 AM, the bell rang, the figure of Rishinik Walta entered after the door opened. With a confident gait, he sat on the sofa, occupying the same position he sat the previous day. Situated atop the glass table was the mathematics textbook, opened to the designated chapter. Jyorta gazed at the book with anticipation, his eyes filled with interest.
Seeing his expression, a smile automatically crept upon Rishinik Walta's face, giving him some motivation. He began the lessons with gusto, making Jyorta reciprocate it in return, creating a harmonious atmosphere.
10:30 AM, engrossed in his lessons, Jyorta suddenly noticed a shadow looming from behind him. Turning his head, he noticed Heima dressed in formal attire, carrying a bag with her.
"Sister?" Jyorta looked at her with surprise.
"I have work. I'll be back by evening." She replied, heading to the door.
"What about dad?" Jyorta spoke aloud, his expression one of concern, "He hasn't returned home since yesterday."
"He's…just busy. Don't worry," Heima replied, "Behave obediently and don't create trouble for Sir Walta."
Seeing her exit the house, Jyorta mumbled, "Since when have I created any trouble?"
…
Heima boarded the lift, exiting when it reached the ground floor. She crossed the road filled with pedestrians walking to and fro, some in a hurry, some in a relaxed state. She entered the opposite building, heading underground through the stairs situated in a secluded spot, one protected by heavy security.
She first passed by a large room, one surrounded by walls made from the bones of Frenzy Beasts, leaking out a suffocating aura that made her legs tremble. She then passed by another room that was radiating waves of heat despite being shielded under many layers.
The room situated next made her apprehensive to approach the area, making her change directions, taking another route. The aura and the very air itself had a feeling of insanity, seemingly as if it would make her lose control within a couple of minutes should she stay there, exposed to it.
After changing directions plenty of times, coming across numerous rooms, each being more bizarre than the other, she finally reached an inconspicuous room, located at the depths of the mansion.
'The Bone family has accumulated their strength to such a terrifying degree in a span of 5 years; as expected of an aristocratic family.' She mumbled, her expression changing for an instant, looking decades older than she was supposed to. She then entered the room, gazing at the figure of Hancent.
Holding a small urn that was enclosed by a cloth lid, Hancent bawled like a madman, his body shivering like crazy. If not for having already consumed a Cleansement Fruit, he would have long lost control and turned into a monster.
Heima walked towards him, her shadow looming over his face. She crouched down, her hand propping his shoulders, her trembling fingers showing her support.
"Dad…" She muttered, her voice choked, suppressing the sounds she wanted to produce. She touched the urn in his hands, feeling an electric shock pass through her mind, making her clutch her head in pain. Memories screened past her consciousness, one after the other, cracking the emotions she had bottled up.
"Mother!" Tears streamed past her eyes, her legs having lost their support, trembling. She kneeled on the ground, touching the lid with her forehead, her hands surrounding its sides, the sounds of her cries reverberating through the air. She and Hancent, the father and daughter cried, not sharing a single word between them.
There were 80 people in the room altogether, each shedding tears. Jyovic Bone nudged Heima, telling her to follow him. The two of them walked out of the room, heading to a secluded spot among the hallway, away from prying eyes.
"Can you…" Jyovic Bone trailed off, his expression looking like he had swallowed a fly, "Can you stay away from the ceremony that happens next? I don't want an outsider lingering in our presence in such times, despite me being the only one knowledgeable about you."
"Grandpa," Heima muttered, her eyes tearing up, "Nothing has changed after that. I am still Heima Bone."
"Please stay away," Jyovic Bone walked back, leaving Heima standing in her spot. She immediately broke down, crouching on the floor as she began to cry.
"I am Heima Bone. That is a fact." She muttered, her voice strained, filled with pain as she covered her face. A couple of seconds later, her shivering body stopped, regaining a strange calm. Heima stood up, her back slouched, her eyes red. She sniffed her runny nose, wiping her tears on her sleeve.
She gazed up, eyes focused on the blank ceiling, her expression vacant, "It would have been for the best if I had a method to destroy a persona. I guess this will be next on my to-do list. Emotions stemming from my subsouls are a real pain." She muttered, her eyes shedding tears once again, making her body tremble.
"This is a pain," Her trembling voice resounded, turning silent, replaced by the sounds of sobbing.