You glanced around the hall. Other monster students—werewolves, vampires, a drowsy gorgon—showed no reaction. Only you and Morgan.

Morgan nodded, their chain-rattle sigh fogging the air. “Version 0.8.6 of my existence, huh? Great. New patch, new trauma.” You snuck out after midnight, past the whispering portraits of former deans (one of whom, a banshee, shrieked “CURFEW!” but let you go after you promised gossip). The East Wing basement hadn’t been opened in decades. The door wasn’t locked—it was warded with flickering violet sigils that smelled of ozone and regret.

You laughed. The scar on your palm pulsed once, warm now, not cold.

“You feel it too?” a voice crackled beside you, cold as dry ice. Morgan flickered into view, their translucent form wearing a rare expression: unease. “That’s not a hex. That’s a resonance cascade . Someone’s trying to pull a ghost’s anchor out of the physical plane.”

“Ah, the human and their anchor ghost,” Hollow said, smiling thinly. “You’re right, Morgan. This machine doesn’t just trap ghosts. It amplifies their worst memory into a broadcast frequency. Once I tune it to your pain, every monster on campus will feel what you feel. The sorrow, the rage, the loneliness. They’ll lose control. And I’ll finally prove that emotions are just chemical noise to be… optimized.”

Inside, the infirmary was a museum of broken magic. Iron-framed beds with leather straps. Cages lined with silver for “volatile phantoms.” And at the center, a glass cylinder filled with swirling, black-static energy—the same texture as Morgan’s bad days.

You grab a silver-lined bedframe and smash the cylinder. The static explodes outward—every ghostly fragment of Morgan scatters. For five heartbeats, Morgan vanishes entirely. Then, slowly, a single spark reforms. “You absolute fool,” they whisper, voice softer. “You threw away the map of my old self. Now I have to build new memories from scratch. With you.” Outcome: Morgan’s past trauma is gone, but so are some powers. New route unlocked: “Rebuilding.” Slower burn, more domestic scenes. Epilogue (Version 0.8.6 End Card) The infirmary collapsed behind you in a shower of rust and violet sparks. Morgan walked beside you—not floating, not flickering—their feet actually touching the ground.