The village was quieter than it should be, once more. Not the silence of peace, but of something lurking. A hush that sat too heavy on the air, pressing against the walls of Ziria’s cottage, seeping through the cracks like an unwelcome guest.


    She and the spirit at her side had spent the night pouring over old texts, marking the floor with sigils drawn in ash and bone dust, whispering the names of the dead. There was a way to force a spirit to reveal itself—if they were reckless enough to try.


    Tonight, they would be reckless.


    The air thickened as they reached the graveyard. The sky was starless, suffocating, the moon hanging low over them staring, like a forever presence. Graves stretched out in the dimness, their stones leaning like watching figures. The smell of damp earth clung to the wind.


    Ziria knelt slowly, slicing the tip of her finger with a dagger. Blood welled up, dark and warm, a welcomed contrast to the cold night air. The spirit beside her—her guide, her cursed companion—watched with hollow eyes, breathing in tune with her.


    "Do not hesitate." Their voice was barely more than breath, slipping between the trees.


    Ziria pressed her blood into the markings she had drawn, the ones from before, and the ground shuddered beneath her knees.


    The shadow bled slowly into the world.


    It didn''t appear all at once—it unfurled, like something trapped behind a veil too thin to hold it back. The darkness around it seemed to breathe, pulsing with an unnatural rhythm. Like it fought to appear, something was holding it back.


    "You again," it murmured, voice like wind through hollow bones. "So eager to seek me out, sweet little necromancer."


    Ziria swallowed against the cold coiling in her throat. Not this time. She had spent hours dissecting the stories, finding the threads between them, pulling them apart until the truth unraveled in her hands. All the pieces were finally coming together.


    "I know what you are," she said, voice steady. "And I know what you did."


    The shadow chuckled. A low, curling sound, like something scraping against stone. "Do you now?"


    "You took his soul. The boy. You twisted it, trapped it in something that wasn’t his own."


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    The laughter stopped.


    The stillness was worse. Deafening, almost choking.


    Ziria forced herself to continue, the cold air clung to her bones. "The stories you told me—it was never about a boy and a man. It was about one soul. One person. You stole his life from him."


    A slow, crawling noise came from the dark. A faint hissing swam across the ground, and on top of it a high shriek.


    "And what will you do with this knowledge, sweet little necromancer?" The voice was too close, though the shadow had not moved. It was inside her skull, under her skin. She could almost feel the breath of the shadow hovering over her skin.


    "End this," she whispered.


    And the night split open.


    Wind roared through the graveyard, pulling at her hair, dragging through the trees with voices she couldn''t understand. The shadow twisted, its form flickering in and out of something almost human.


    Then it smiled, she could hear the lips crack.


    "You think you can end me?" It stepped forward, its edges dissolving like smoke, their voice a loud sound covering everything around her.


    Ziria held her ground. She had expected rage, a fight. But not—


    "I could give you so much more," it said, voice like silk dragged over something rotten. "I could teach you things no other necromancer has dared to learn."


    A cold hand brushed her cheek. No—not a hand. A whisper of something, a breath of shadows that should not touch.


    "You would be magnificent," it murmured. "If you only let me in."


    Ziria''s heart pounded, but she did not move. She would not let it see her shatter. She could feel a pressure growing against her eyes and ears and lips. It tried to force her to open.


    "You failed with him," she said. "And you will fail with me."


    The smile vanished again and the darkness lurched.


    And then—complete silence.


    The shadow was gone.


    The air was still. Deafening, complete silence. All the sounds, every shadow was still.


    The graveyard remained unchanged. But the mark it had left on the world—the thing that had passed too close—clung to her skin like frost.


    Ziria exhaled, and it came out as mist.


    "We don’t have much time," the spirit whispered beside her. "He’s growing desperate."


    Ziria stared at the empty space where the shadow had stood. The cold in her bones had nothing to do with the night.


    She had seen its hunger.


    And soon, it would return for her. She had to find the boy. Now.