"…Abi, looks like you scared him."
After Edmond fainted in terror, Favia crawled up through the tunnel he had dug in just a few seconds. Slinging the unconscious gray-haired youth onto his back, he carried him back to his own cell.
Although he didn't quite understand why Edmond had reacted that way, when Favia caught sight of the blonde girl glaring resentfully at the boy lying on the bed, he more or less understood.
"But aside from you, big brother, no one else can see me, right? No one can even hear my voice."
"Maybe Edmond's a special case…"
"Hmm? How strange. You didn't even know him before, so how could you call out his name so naturally? That's way too suspicious."
"If I said Moriarty told me, would you believe that?"
"Of course I'd believe it. But remembering him for that long, even without ever speaking to him—and even asking me, Abi, to help him? That's weird." Abigail raised an eyebrow, her temple twitching as she turned her sharp gaze directly on Favia, who was still watching over Edmond. "Don't tell me this Edmond fellow is important to you? Really, really important?"
Then, the girl's voice softened.
"...Abi shouldn't have asked something like that. I'm sorry."
In truth, the moment she saw Favia carry Edmond on his back, the girl who had been with him for ten years suddenly had a thought—
If this strange man intrudes into the world that belongs to me and my brother… can I kill him?
That thought kept echoing in her mind, again and again.
Since she'd been self-aware, Abigail had never dwelled on something for this long. The only reason she voiced the question was out of a sudden impulse—to tease Favia a little.
And she had assumed that whatever he said would match her expectations anyway. After all, Favia had always been the one to share her worries, her pain, her wounds… But the moment she realized what she had said, she knew it wasn't something a good girl should say, and she apologized at once.
"...Abi, that's a hard question for me to answer."
Favia's expression didn't change much as he spoke.
"But you know, maybe you're my angel. The one who's stayed by me to the very end, guarding me all this time."
"Your guardian angel? But I don't have wings."
Abigail tilted her head slightly, puzzled.
"Then maybe it's just my failing eyes playing tricks on me."
Favia chuckled.
"You're not old at all."
Maybe it was because of his smile, but Abigail found herself smiling too.
"You see," he went on gently, "in these ten years, when my back gave out and I couldn't stand straight, you supported me like a cane. And when I couldn't even stand, when only my hands could still move a little… at that time, all I could do was hold your hand."
It's enough if you just rely on me. That was what she wanted to say, but she swallowed it and tried to rephrase it instead.
"Then isn't it the same as now? I've always stayed by your side, listening carefully to every word you say. Don't talk about your 'last moment,' big brother. You'll live a long, long time. I, Abi, will always be with you. No matter how long it takes."
"I hope so."
"Don't say something so gloomy. I'm your guardian angel, remember? As long as I'm here, you'll live for a long, long time."
For some reason, even after ten years, Abigail still looked exactly as she had before.
Favia, on the other hand, didn't seem too different either—still unable to use magecraft, but otherwise seemingly fine. Yet appearances were deceiving. Prison life had left his body weak, and he had discovered something else troubling: he couldn't go above the dungeon level. If he tried, he'd immediately fall ill—
A nervous system disorder resembling what was once called catalepsy.
In modern terms, it would be known as generalized rigidity syndrome, where the body becomes stiff and immobile, leaving the sufferer in a deathlike state. In severe cases, it could even be fatal. The old name, catalepsy, came from how the symptoms made one seem encased in wax, frozen and unable to move.
Favia had realized this during one of the rare occasions when the warden permitted him to walk outside.
Honestly, he could swear he'd never had this illness before. Why it appeared now, he had no idea.
Still, he didn't really mind. What mattered to him was whether he and Abigail could return to the sixteenth century—because he still wondered what had become of Paracelsus, and of Baavan Shee, and the others he once knew.
Of course, he was also prepared for the possibility that they might never go back.
"Yes, you're right. I'll live a long life."
"That's better."
Ten years might have slipped by in a blur, but unseen changes had quietly taken root within the two who seemed untouched by time.
Suddenly, Abigail spoke again.
"Hey, isn't he called 'Number Thirty-Four' by the warden? Why don't you just call him that?"
"In here, I'm Number Twenty-Seven. But you don't call me that, do you, Abi?"
"That's because you have a name."
"Exactly."
Favia looked down at the still-unconscious Edmond and said softly,
"One day, both he and I will no longer be 'Twenty-Seven' and 'Thirty-Four.' Château d'If is a death prison meant for those who've committed unforgivable crimes. They say every sorrow in the world gathers here—rage, despair, grief. In a place like this, if you don't call each other by your real names, wouldn't it be unbearably lonely?"
Favia's words carried quiet conviction. Abigail blinked, pressing her hand over her racing heart and taking a deep breath.
It was almost too much for her—ten years together, and her brother still did this kind of thing, saying such things without warning.
He should really give her time to prepare for these emotional sneak attacks.
But still, when she saw that look on his face, even the fear and trembling surrounding her seemed to fade away, replaced by courage.
Because as long as she was by his side, the golden-haired girl felt she could become just a little stronger.
Favia spoke with the gentle patience of a teacher guiding a student.
"When a simple, kind-hearted man learns that his suffering is born solely of another's selfish desire, how could he not fall into despair and hatred toward the world? That's why I took notice of him."
Jealousy had crushed the weak and the good beneath the cunning cruelty of the wicked. And with that, happiness was destroyed; a beautiful life reduced to ashes.
"Still, no matter what, those nineteen years before were an important part of Edmond's life. He doesn't deserve to be trapped here forever. That alone makes it meaningful, don't you think?"
Favia's gaze softened as he looked upon Edmond.
Abigail fell silent for a moment, then pouted.
"That's so unfair! You gave him the means to dig six years ago, and he never used it! You worked so hard for nothing. How infuriating! And when you gave him food, he didn't even eat it. Ugh, I'm so mad…"
But despite her words, her tone was bright, the darkness once lingering in her eyes completely gone.
"He'll have his chance, don't worry."
"I just hope he can get out sooner…"
"Ugh, what was that sound just now…?"
As the two spoke, a faint, earthy voice suddenly rang out.
It was Edmond—awake at last. The first thing the gray-haired youth saw when he opened his eyes was Favia sitting beside his bed.
"You're the one who was digging, aren't you?"
His voice brimmed with joy, and under the dim light seeping through the iron bars, he finally saw the man clearly.
The old priest was small and thin, yet his eyes shone with an almost divine brightness. He looked to be around sixty, perhaps sixty-five.
"Yes. Are you able to get up now?"
Favia nodded slightly.
"It's nothing serious. I must've just been too exhausted and passed out for no reason. I was wondering what that noise was earlier…"
Propping himself up, Edmond laughed.
"It startled me too, honestly."
"I'm terribly sorry, I must have been hallucinating at the time—I thought I heard strange noises."
Hearing the young man apologize so sincerely, Favia couldn't help but smile.
"So it's true, then."
True? Edmond blinked in confusion.
Favia leaned slightly closer. "Tell me, do you see anyone else here?"
"…I think I'm hallucinating again. There's a dark shadow over there… I must be sick."
Watching his puzzled expression, Favia gave a subtle glance toward Abigail, signaling her to speak.
Though reluctant, the girl still obeyed.
So she half-heartedly muttered, "Hello."
"Huh? That voice—was that you?"
For a moment, the still-dazed Edmond thought the voice had come from the old man before him. But then he noticed—Father Favia's lips hadn't moved at all.
"Hello."
When the voice echoed again, the sailor from Marseille realized that the voice he had heard before fainting wasn't a hallucination. It was real—an existence both terrifying and incomprehensible. That pitch-black shadow beside the old man was the source of the sound.
"Um… this… what exactly is…"
The uneasy Edmond couldn't help but turn to the old man before him, the one who seemed to know everything.
"You can think of it as a kind of supernatural power called magic. I'll explain it to you in detail later," Favia said after a moment of thought. "For now, just know that there's no need to be afraid. Generally speaking, every person has both a good and an evil side, don't they?"
"Yeah… I suppose that's true…"
"Then let's put it this way," Favia continued calmly. "She is my heart—my thoughts, my memories, my lingering attachments. She is the very embodiment of my evil—the darkness I saw beyond prayer, hatred, and sin. She is the part of me forever lost to time, the fragment of malice that I tore away from myself. And that, my friend, is the miracle wrought by what we call magic."
To Edmond, Favia's words sounded like something out of a fairy tale. Yet somehow, he managed to form a vague, tentative understanding of what "magic" was supposed to be. Something divine, perhaps—like the miracles whispered of in old legends.
In truth, Favia's explanation was a blend of Dr. Jekyll's tale and the future legend of "Heidi." He hadn't planned to say it that way; the words had simply slipped out of him—instinctively, almost reflexively.
"So in other words," Edmond asked carefully, "that thing… is the evil version of you?"
"Yes. And because of that, she will always remain by my side."
"I see…"
Upon learning that the dark shadow was merely the old man's "evil" half, Edmond let out a soft sigh of relief. Perhaps it was because his first impression of Favia had been so reassuring that even his "evil side" didn't seem all that frightening anymore.
In his mind, simply being near this man—even if they spoke only of meaningless trifles—felt strangely uplifting. There was a quiet, inexplicable warmth about him.
"It's getting late," Favia said gently. "You should rest for now. The wardens will be making their rounds soon. Once they're gone, we'll have more time to talk."
"Alright, that's fine by me."
After Edmond nodded, the old man before him suddenly extended his hand.
Huh? What's he doing?
As Edmond wondered about the gesture, Favia looked up and smiled softly.
"Ah, I haven't properly introduced myself yet. My name is Faria. I'm a priest—and inmate number twenty-seven of Château d'If. I've been imprisoned here for ten years."
To Edmond, this Faria seemed almost like a con man.
A con man? What could he possibly want to deceive me for?
He laughed inwardly at the thought.
Still, if he was telling the truth—if magic really was something that could separate one's evil from oneself—then maybe…
Even so, the warmth in the old man's hand felt unmistakably real. It was gentle. Comforting. Human.
Maybe…
Maybe this was all real.
Maybe Father Faria had truly come to save him.
And with that thought, Edmond Dantès smiled faintly and said, "Father Faria, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Edmond Dantès, a sailor from the port of Marseille. Inmate number thirty-four of Château d'If. I've been imprisoned here for six years."
"…Nice to meet you, Sailor Edmond," a new voice answered softly. "I am Abigail—my brother Faria's evil side… or Favia, as he calls me. For as long as he's been imprisoned, I've been imprisoned too."