The sun filtered weakly through the cracked windows of the Salt Manor as Kent—now wearing the body and name of Philip Salt—sat quietly in the dusty study. The silence of the room was disturbed only by the lazy ticking of an old water-clock on the far wall. Outside the heavy door, muffled whispers floated in, the servants still unsure if what they witnessed was a ghost returned or some twisted trick of fate.
Kent looked down at his hands—pale, thin, and trembling slightly. The skin wasn't his. The body felt unfamiliar, weak, like a crumbling shell hastily stitched together. But the soul within? That was his. And the memory of jumping into the ancient well, and meeting the old man with the book, still rang clear in his mind.
"This must be the final test," he murmured to himself.
A knock came.
He turned. "Enter."
A nervous young maid peeked in. Her eyes flicked between terror and disbelief. "Y-Young Master Philip… the Patriarch has summoned you to the main hall."
