Chapter Text
The Spectre of the Mist had no name. Not anymore. She had many titles - Guardian of the Sleepers, Keeper of Memories, Taker of Regrets - but a name was something she’d left behind so long ago. One did not need a name in the Chapel of the Mist. Nor did they need a face.
A weapon, though, was almost practically required, as regrets tended to get unruly. The Spectre favored a pin-lance, the largest form of Pharloom’s traditional weapon, for the times when music no longer sufficed. Which happened more and more often, as more bugs were forced to the Citadel and had to be stripped of their regrets.
Once, there was a time when she had assisted bugs with confronting their regrets. When the Sleepers had been awake, and the Chapel had been a place of second chances. Now, it was nothing more than the place where the emotional refuse of the Citadel was stored.
The Spectre missed those days.
“Lady Spectre?” a voice asked from behind her, and she sighed. Another victim of the Citadel no doubt, come to add to my workload. Turning around, she was about to begin her usual greeting, but paused. Perhaps her ears were failing her, as regrets had no voice with which to speak. Only to scream.
Though, this regret was different from the rest. It was darker, more… defined. A grey ghost.
“Torment me not, grey ghost. There is much work to be done,” she said, rising to her full height and towering over it. It stared back up at her, fearless.
“I have not come to torment you. Rather, I wish you to take me as your student,” it said. The Spectre sank back down in surprise. “And what would a grey ghost be interested to learn from me, hmm?” she said, leaning in.
“Many things. I seek an instructor in music and combat, as well as knowledge of the unique work that takes place within these walls. Every other bug I have approached has considered themselves unworthy to teach someone of my status.” The ghost met her gaze with its own.
The Spectre choked back a laugh. “Status! Hah! Very well then, I shall do my best. It’s been far too long since someone besides myself dwelled in this chapel, and the regrets don’t count. Speaking of which…”
The shrieks of coalesced regrets sounded from deeper in the chapel. “How much do you already know of combat?”
“Very little, I fear. I’ve been imprisoned for my entire life up to this point, so -”
She grabbed a spare pin-lance from the wall - she kept one in every room, in case regrets crept up on her while she was unaware - and shoved it into the ghost’s claws. “Did I ask for your life story? No. I did not. You may tell it to me if you wish, but save it for a time when we are not beset by regrets.”
Gripping her own pin, she turned her attention to the far door. “Prepare yourself. They have arrived.”
An entire six regrets flew out at them, their forms spun of Mist and silk. Each one shrieked and lunged, not at the largest target in the room - herself - but at the grey ghost. Now what would cause them to do that? The Spectre didn’t have time to ponder, though, as she had to protect her student. Leaping between the Mist, she appeared in front of the first regret and let it impale itself on her pin. She ripped it to the side, destabilizing it, then jabbed swiftly at a second. A shriek sounded from behind her, and she spun to see one nearly on top of the ghost, which was holding its pin in a frankly odd position. Pin-lances were not meant to be held that way.
The regret crashed against the pin, and the grey ghost became a flashing blur, tearing through it and scoring against her shell. They landed a moment later, stumbling in surprise. The Spectre leaned forward again, squinting at them, before jabbing at a fourth regret. It shrieked, lunging for her, and she struck it several times in quick succession until it dispersed.
“What was that? I thought you told me you couldn’t fight. Did you lie? Hmm? Did this grey ghost lie to me?” She leaned closer, her shell almost meeting their face. Two screams sounded from one side, and both of them turned slightly to see the final pair of regrets diving at them.
The Spectre reared back, holding her pin in a throwing stance. “ITA HU!” she shouted, and launched it forward, pinning both of them to the wall where they burst into a cloud of threads.
The ghost looked down at the pin they held, then back up at her. “Truthfully, I have no idea what I did. I simply… reacted.”
She leaned back. “If that is how you ‘react’, then I think I shall have quite a time of training you. Ha! Whoever locked you up, they were keeping the world of a great fighter.”
Standing up, she pulled her pin-lance from the wall. “You may keep that. I have more than enough spares.”