We sat deeper in the cavern, away from the dripping walls and the restless whispers of the villagers. The glow of torches cast long shadows across the stone, painting each of our faces in shifting amber.
No one spoke at first. The weight of being trapped here pressed on all of us. Finally, Lucian broke the silence, leaning back against a rock with his sword balanced on his knees.
"So," he drawled, his tone rough, "what now? We can't just sit here like caged goats."
Selena's eyes narrowed, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her blade. "We fight. That thing—Charora—it won't stop hunting us. Better to strike first than wait for it to lunge again."
"Strike where?" Amir countered sharply. "It vanished into the waterfall. What do you want to do, swing your sword at water until it bleeds?"
Mie Lin gave a small sigh, shaking her head. "Fighting blindly won't work. We need knowledge, not just muscle."
Her words lingered in the air. She was right.
I turned toward Shahib. His usual calm expression hadn't changed, though his eyes were deep in thought. "Shahib," I said quietly, "you've read about Charora… haven't you? Do you know how to end it?"
Everyone's gaze shifted to him. For a long moment, he said nothing, the crackle of the torch the only sound. Then he exhaled slowly.
"No," he said at last. "I have not seen Charora. But I have read about it."
"Read?" Selena leaned forward.
Shahib nodded. "In the old manuscripts of my family. Our line is tasked with preserving knowledge, even of cursed beings. Charora is not unknown. Its kind… they are spoken of in whispers. I know how to fight it. I know how to resist its curse. But…" His hand tightened on his sword. "I do not know how to kill it."
My stomach sank. "Then what do we do?"
Shahib's gaze swept across us. "The book says one thing clearly: to kill a Charora, you must salvage its vengeance. It must feel that it has taken what was denied to it. Only when it feels calmness… when its thirst for revenge is ended… can it be destroyed."
The words struck me like a stone.
"So…" Lucian frowned. "We have to give it what it wants? Let it tear the villagers apart?"
"No." Shahib's voice was firm. "But to know what it truly wants… we must first know what it truly was. Only then can we decide how to deal with it."
That set the course for us.
The rest of the night we spent among the villagers, speaking to them in small groups. They were hesitant at first, afraid, but gradually stories began to spill—about Charora before. Some said it had once lived among them, others whispered of a soul filled with rage, but no one seemed to know the whole truth.
But then… we noticed her.
A girl, perhaps thirteen, maybe fourteen. Sitting alone at the far edge of the cavern, knees drawn to her chest, staring blankly at the ground. While villagers huddled together for comfort, she sat in silence, shunned, as though an invisible barrier surrounded her.
I frowned. "Why is she alone?"
Before I could approach, an older woman grasped my arm. "Don't."
Lucian raised an eyebrow. "And why not?"
The woman's face paled. "She is cursed. The Charora's first victim. It visits her still, sometimes… stands near her, watches her. She never speaks back. She cannot. She is mute."
My breath caught.
"She is called Mia," the woman whispered, glancing fearfully at the girl. "Stay away from her. If you value your life."
But even as the warning left her lips, I found my feet moving toward the girl.
Something about the way Mia sat there—isolated, abandoned—pulled at me. Maybe it was the way the other children avoided her, or maybe it was the faint shadow in her eyes. Whatever it was, I couldn't leave her there in silence.
"Lie Jun," I said quietly, and he nodded, following me.
If Mia truly was the first victim of Charora… then perhaps she held the answers no one else dared to give.
The MC lowered himself onto the ground beside Mia, careful not to startle her.
"Hello, Mia," he said softly, as though testing the silence. "What are you doing?"
She didn't look at him. Her hands stayed clenched in her lap, shoulders stiff.
He tried again, leaning a little closer but keeping his voice gentle.
"Mia, do you want to talk about it? Look, we're here to help you."
Still nothing. Her eyes fixed stubbornly on the dirt beneath her feet.
"We can help," he pressed on, a flicker of hope burning in his chest. "Not just you… we can help the people close to you as well."
That made her head twitch. Slowly—hesitantly—her gaze shifted toward me. There was a storm in her eyes. Grief, sorrow, loneliness… but behind it all, for the first time, a fragile spark of belief. A fragile whisper saying maybe… maybe she wasn't alone anymore.
Then, without a word, her hands began to move. Fingers forming shapes, gestures flowing with meaning.
The MC's lips curved into the faintest smile. Of course, he thought. One of the perks of being a nerd—you dabble in everything. And among all those "useless hobbies," sign language had been one of them.
So he watched her hands. And he understood.
And that was how it began—the most tragic story Mia would ever tell.
Lie Jun and I walked back toward the others. His face was restless, curious.
"What did she say?" he asked the moment we were out of earshot.
I kept my silence. His question followed again, sharper this time, "What did she say? You understood her, right?"
I didn't answer. Not because I didn't want to—but because the weight of her words still sat inside me, too heavy to share. My throat tightened every time I thought about them.
We reached the circle where the others were waiting. Everyone began speaking at once, trading the scraps of information they had gathered. Their stories were different—fragments of terror, whispers of disappearances, half-truths that only deepened the confusion.
I sat down among them, quiet. Lie Jun kept stealing glances at me, his frustration barely contained. He wanted answers, but I couldn't give them. Not yet.
Because Mia's story wasn't just hers. It was a wound—one that cut too deep, one that could change everything if I repeated it.
So I stayed silent.
And for the first time that night, the silence felt louder than all their voices combined.