I walked toward the cat, then crouched slowly, reaching its level with care.
"Hey, Clara," I said softly, placing a gentle hand on her head. "Why are you so quiet? You're always so full of energy… aren't you happy to see me?"
Her ears twitched at my touch, but she didn't move. She didn't even lean into me the way she always used to.
"Wait," I whispered, narrowing my eyes. "Why haven't you transformed back yet? Don't you want a hug from your best buddy?"
Clara wasn't just Grandma's spirit companion. She was mine, too. My partner-in-crime when I still lived under this roof. Together we caused chaos daily. Clara's a shapeshifter with a playful energy of a fox, and the stubbornness of a cat, she could take the form of nearly any animal. And she always chose the one that annoyed me most. And she also called me Pickle brain because I never thought before acting.
But right now… she only looked scared. Her small body quivered like a leaf in a storm.
"Why are you shaking like that?" My voice dropped lower. "Did I… scare you somehow?"
"Va… va…" she stammered, paw lifting shakily, pointing upward toward the ceiling.
I followed her gaze, noticing she was talking about Van, "…You're scared of Van?"
She gave a tiny, hesitant nod.
Nooo… she looks too scared. Is it because they were never that close? Or… is Van really a threat to her now?
But I could feel him, Van wasn't doing anything, he was just sitting on the roof, his usual favorite spot. So whatever scared her about him wasn't what he was doing, but maybe what he had become.
My heart sank. Apart from Grandma Elunara, Clara was family, my best buddy. "Don't worry, he's a good guy. He won't hurt you, I promise. You can now transform back."
But Clara didn't believe me. She totally refused to take her human form.
Behind me, Grandma chuckled, her chin resting in her palm. Her expression was calm, but her amusement sparkled through.
"He must be really strong if Clara's this scared of him. This is the first time I've seen her afraid of another spirit." Her lips curved into an enchanted smirk. "But where is he? Won't he say hi to me? That idiot, he used to call me Gee thinking it meant loser."
Yeah… Van used to call Grandma Elunara 'Gee,' which means someone who's always smiling in spirit language, thinking it meant loser.
I turned to her, urgency creeping into my tone. "There's a problem, though."
Her eyebrow rose. "What is it?"
"Van and I… we formed a blood pact. But we still can't fully sync, no matter how many times we try something always fails. It's all bothering him, he keeps saying we should make another one."
She tapped her chin thoughtfully, then smiled; that mischievous, knowing Grandma smile. "That's not a problem. If he can't use your body as a vessel, then just find him another one."
I blinked. "You mean, like… another human?" My voice trembled. "You know I can't do that to him, Grandma!"
She shook her head, smirking. "Not that, idiot. I mean a weapon; maybe armor, a sword, anything that can house his spirituality. There's more than one way to fight with a spirit, don't you know that?"
I leaned closer, curiosity biting. "And how would I convince him to merge with it instead of me?"
She stretched her palm open, then a long red silk belt approached from where I didn't see, winding itself around her hand and forearm like a living thing.
"You won't need to bark orders at him," she said with a shrug. "You just… speak to him gently and convince him. Spirits respond to intention."
Of course knowing Van, he would listen, trusts me. And besides… my body is already claimed by another force as its vessel. So that's just something he has to understand, we can't share it
My gaze dropped to the belt in her hand. "What is that, though,?"
She loosened her grip and the silk belt floated toward me, coiling around my chest and neck in a warm, deliberate embrace.
"That guy is Mikko, I'm sure you don't remember him because I never let him stay home. But I got him while you still lived here."
It clicked: she made another pact.
Clara had been my babysitter, so Grandma couldn't take her on hunts. That meant she'd needed another spirit partner—Mikko.
The silk belt's movements felt intentional, almost tender. Like Clara, it wrapped me in a hug, brushing against me with familiarity, as if remembering.
"He still remembers you though," Grandma muttered.
I had no idea who Mikko really was, or why a silk belt could feel like an old friend.
—
Outside, the street had fallen into a rare quiet, the kind that makes a whole city feel like it's holding its breath, nothing like when we first came. Windows sat black and square; doors were shut, the air itself seemed to tuck in its noise and wait.
Van sat on the rooftop, one knee pulled close to his chest, an arm draped lazily over it while the other leg folded beneath him. His gaze wandered across the skyline, his expression unreadable, as though listening to something only he could hear.
From that vantage point, he spotted movement of someone soaring across rooftops, white robes distorting their figure, headed toward the bright heart of the city. He dismissed it.
But just as he turned, his eyes caught two figures clashing, locked in battle, darting in another direction. His expression hardened.
A trap… huh.
He almost ignored that too until a third figure appeared: a man cloaked in black, hood shadowing his face. The figure flickered in and out of sight, each reappearance farther away, always just beyond reach.
Van's lips curved into a grin. "Now you have my attention," he muttered, and in the next instant, he vanished, dashing after the vanishing figure.
—
Inside, I felt the ripple of Van's presence moving farther away, like wind tugging at a tether between us but I didn't panic, I knew he'd be fine.
Suddenly, a knock echoed against the door, sharp and hollow. Grandma shuffled to it without hesitation.
On the porch stood a man in a gray suit. His face was blank, expressionless, as if carved from stone. In his hand, an envelope. He gave no greeting, no word of courtesy, simply held it out, then dissolved into nothing, vanishing like smoke in a sudden draft.
My brows furrowed. "What was that, some cool technique?" My eyes stayed fixed on the empty space where he had stood, half expecting his body to reassemble itself out of shadow and dust.
Grandma closed the door with a soft thud, her lips tight as she approached with the envelope "What are you, some dude living in the sixties?" She barked, "Don't you have a television in your house or a phone? Her tone was sharp, barking, and I blinked at her in confusion.
"Do you only think of techniques?" she suddenly lowered her voice. "That was a shadow, they're called 'Umbralis Shadows.' They deliver written messages, they don't talk, and they move by vanishing."
"How come it looked so human?" I asked, unbothered by her sudden scolding.
She studied me for a long moment. Grandma wasn't the type to shout, especially not when I hadn't done anything. Even when I did annoy her, she usually spun it into humor. So, she was probably just testing my reaction, but my expression didn't even flicker.
They are more like clones, they mimic a human form born from their master's shadow. They are mostly used by the government; you won't randomly find them on the streets.
The idea thrilled me: clones of shadows, messengers that vanished like air. My mind clung to how they moved; vanishing, reappearing, vanishing, like doors opening where there are no walls "Can they make a shadow clone of any other person
Grandma's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes, all they need is your shadow. But don't get any ideas, those shadows are government treasures. You're not likely to cross paths with their masters."
She handed the envelope to me. "Here. I'm sure this one's for you. I still have a lot of questions starting with the seal on your mark. I want to check how it's been holding up."
She handed the envelope to me. "Here. I'm sure this one's for you. I still have questions, especially about that seal on your mark. I need to check if it's holding."
"Sure." I peeled the sticker back carefully, but my heart skipped a beat the moment I saw the paper inside.
At first glance, the letter looked formal; black wax seal, bold serif lettering across the top:
From Wilsons; Exo-Hunters
Grandma was already moving into the kitchen, the sound of pots clattering and the smell of spice and broth rising into the air. But my eyes were fixed to the page.
Subject Classification: #Grade 1 evil spirit
Name: Classified
Status: Threat
Direct Order: Exorcise Immediately
I stared at the paper, confusion spreading all over my features.
Why would I be sent an exorcism order!
I flipped the envelope to check the name on top, it was Silverblade. Of course it had been sent to my grandmother, after all she was the exorcist.
I folded the letter slowly and slid it back inside the envelope, careful not to make a sound. Beneath it, tucked neatly as if waiting, was another envelope. This one had my name on it.
Oh… there's one more.
I stared at it, my fingers trembling slightly as I tore the flap open.
I hope they are not rejecting me from the academy again.
The moment I did, the rich aroma of food from the kitchen filled my nose, savory, sweet, and undeniably warm. A moment of life. But the letter in my hands wasn't warm.
—-
Dear Fiel Ashenhive,
You are requested to appear at Wilson Castalis Academy on Thursday evening with your pact spirit.
Bring what you can, the rest will be provided.
Please note: your being informed in time, you may not see your family for a while and the academy won't tolerate homesickness.
—-
"Huh." I squinted at the last line 'homesickness.' "Is that a general advisory or a personal attack?"
So once I step foot at the academy I won't return home. Fine I get that part, but who said I was the 'homesick' type.
I sighed as Grandma set down steaming dishes on the low table beside me, the metal clatter pulling me back.
"So…" she said, eyeing me from across the steam. "What is it about?"
"It's from the academy," I replied, folding it back, "I have to be there in two days. Oh… they were two though, one was meant for you, something about exorcising a Grade 1 classified evil spirit."
"Are they for real? Sending a Grade 2 exorcist after a Grade 1?!" she muttered, heading back to the kitchen. "I'm taking the day off."
Yeah… that was a real concerning question. But I didn't know what those grades meant and, I wasn't gonna ask either, not until I was done dueling my partner on my plate.
---
Somewhere across the city, in the collapsed shell of an abandoned hospital, the air stood still. The halls, riddled with shadows, groaned beneath their own weight. Ceiling tiles sagged. Cracks crept along the floor like spiderwebs drawn by ancient hands. Not a single bulb lit the place. No warmth remained here, only memories of suffering.
Van stood facing a figure across the ruined courtyard, a man shrouded in age and mystery. His attire black like someone going to commit robbery, and two giant metal rings clenched in each hand. Flames flickered around the rings, casting shadows like slashing claws, with a huge scar running from his nose across his cheek almost to the ear.
Van's eyes narrowed. "Hey, old man," he called, voice cool but sharp. "What's the big idea?"
The man didn't flinch, he raised his head slowly. "So… you do know him, don't you?" he muttered, almost to himself. Then called out louder: "Vanarion."
The call of his full name caught him off guard, almost no one called him that anymore not even me his Master.
The man stepped forward. "You may call me Drewman, I am an Exo-hunter and also a famous scientist."
I remember you, Van's thought echoed in his mind. "So, are you here to capture me?"
"No… I'm just here to talk."
"About what?" Van asked unfazed.
"About your master, Fiel Ashenhive." The rings in his hands spun slightly as flames rippled up their edges. "If your master turned rogue or became a threat, would you eliminate him?"
Van didn't blink nor did he say a word, he was calm like he saw that question coming.
"Then, what if you became the threat? Would you allow your master to end you?"
Van's answer was immediate. "Yes."
"Vanarion the Goldensky! That is your surname right?
Van's eyes widened, a cold dropping into his stomach. His surname wasn't something he thought anyone would know or manage to dig out.
Drewman stepped closer from the darkness, eyes sharp. "In real life, your master is fifteen years younger than you. But here you are, stuck in that fourteen-year-old form."
Van's fists clenched, the old man knew a lot about him and his master. "What are you getting at?"
"How far does your loyalty go for a child?"
Drewman stepped forward, his eyes burning behind the flickering ring-light.
"You know what he is, don't you? The one they whisper about, the boy who summoned the Unknown into our world, the reason you don't have a home or family."
The words were acid to Van.
"He's the reason you're trapped, frozen at that age. And now he wants to use you to exorcise and slay Netherkins."
—
A memory hit in Van's mind like a recording pressed to play, his chest tightened violently as a flood of cold swept through his body. He was no longer on the hospital yard but somewhere else, back in time. He was back in the cold cell he once was. Dim light filtered in through a grated ceiling, his young sister held his hand tightly, trying to keep from crying. She was so small her body was barely bigger than the blanket they shared.
Then the world began to scream, and rumble. The ground trembled beneath them, then a groan followed by a screech. The sound of the world tearing apart: screams echoed, metal crashed, tires screeched.
Then suddenly the wall behind them exploded with a monstrous pale fist bursting through it. The sound alone shattered something inside him. He turned just in time to see the wall crash over his sister, her small fingers slipped from his hand.
His heart stopped, his mind went black, his ears seemed to whistle. A loud sky shattering scream burst from him, a raw and endless cry, the kind that rips the soul.
He didn't remember how he got out but he did. He crawled through the torn rubble, eyes wide with blood and tears. But out slithered a nightmare he would never forget.
The world was burning, creatures roamed; towering beasts with skin like bones and glowing eyes, some like animals, others humanoid and some like insects.
Twisted hounds tore into the bodies of the fallen, children screamed for their parents only to be silenced, some were dragged away. Others… devoured on the streets.
And the world he found waiting was worse.
The streets burned. Shadows twisted in the smoke. Beasts towered against the flames, things with bone-white skin and eyes that burned like hollow lanterns. Some walked upright like men, others skittered like insects, and some moved with the prowling gait of wolves.
The hounds struck first. Twisted, skeletal things that ripped through the fallen, their jaws clamping down on flesh that screamed but could not fight back. Children cried for their parents, only for the sound to vanish in blood and silence. Some were dragged into the dark. Others… devoured on the streets.
Van couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, his whole body numbed by the terror, his eyes darting to every creature.
As he stood frozen a bus whistled through the air from the smock. It smashed into his face with such force it tore his skull off his body. The bus slammed into the wall behind him, rebounded and came crashing down crushing him beneath its wreckage.
Then all he could see was darkness.
—
Van snapped back to reality, gasping, eyes blazing with rage. "That's enough," he said through clenched teeth. "You want a fight? I'll give you one."
He charged forward, but Drewman leapt backward, body flickering into the air.
"I didn't come to fight," his voice echoed faintly. "At least not today."
And then he was gone.
Van stood there alone, fists shaking, teeth grit, breath shallow. The fire in his veins hadn't faded. But Drewman was right about one thing. Vanarion Goldensky had never truly left the ruins. And something inside him… was still burning.