Soul Corridor

The moment the familiar sight of the hospital ward came back into view, Amosta's body suddenly swayed. The exhaustion welling up from his soul made him desperately want to lie down and fall asleep on the spot. Just as he staggered and was about to collapse, a strong, weathered hand caught his arm.

"Oh, thank—"

Amosta blinked with difficulty and looked toward Dumbledore, who had somehow already finished his share of the "work." "Frank is a wizard. Completely wiping everything from his inner world was more difficult than it was for that Muggle, Pastore. It required more soul power. My soul is not as resilient as yours."

"No need to be modest, Amosta. At your age, I could accomplish far less than you can."

Weariness once again surfaced between Dumbledore's brows, making him appear several years older than he had just moments ago. Still, compared to Amosta's weakness, he looked much better. He panted softly and smiled at Amosta. "Besides, just like the inactive magic power stagnating in my body, a resilient soul does not mean I can cause more destruction than you."

"I'll return those words to you, Headmaster Dumbledore."

Amosta took out the Potions he had prepared from his pocket, handed one to Dumbledore, and smiled. "No need to be modest."

In the wrecked hospital ward, Alice and Frank were still asleep.

But their sleeping faces were now utterly different from before. No longer were they plunged deep into nightmares, their gaunt faces etched with inescapable pain. They looked as peaceful as infants, their breathing steady.

What struck Dumbledore as strange was that Alice and Frank's complexions had actually improved considerably. It seemed as though some invisible force was nourishing their decaying bodies.

"...After breaking free of their mental nightmares, the power of their souls can establish a