The minimal, hard-won tallow bought Alex a fragile stability. For four days, he maintained his rigorous, calculated routine: precise leatherwork for calories, and silent observation for knowledge. Theron, content with the improved margins on the finished goods, remained a hostile but predictable variable.
Alex's focus was entirely on the subtle, pervasive cold pressure—the sign of Elian's taint, which he now understood was the Death Energy of this world. It wasn't energy he could store; it was a torrent trying to rush through him, and his body was a sieve, barely slowing its passage.
As his mind sharpened, he began to decode the sensation. He realized the cold wasn't uniform; it was structured. It intensified to a painful, humming density around certain people.
He used his trips for water and waste to observe. The sickly boy, the one who had mocked him in the market, was surrounded by a cloud of thick, cloying cold, confirming the village's fears. An old woman, bent double with age, radiated an aura so dense it was like looking at her through opaque glass.
The field senses illness. The intensity of the chill corresponds to the proximity of the individual to death. It's an early warning system.
This gave Alex a terrible, secret power: the ability to peer beneath the skin and see the invisible vulnerabilities of Oakhaven. This sensing ability was intoxicating, a high-value skill in a world governed by disease.
On the evening of the fifth day, with Theron safely drinking ale at the dilapidated common house, Alex risked his trip to the Graveyard. It was the nexus of the cold pressure—the place where the energy should be the most concentrated.
As he crossed the threshold of the crumbling stone wall, the air dropped ten degrees. The cold pressure didn't just cling; it pressed in, threatening to overwhelm his weak body. He gripped the black rabbit corpus under his shirt, the core acting as an anchor that allowed him to endure the raw power.
He walked past the mossy stones, each grave a point of humming cold. He turned a corner and stopped, his breath catching in his throat.
There, leaning against an unmarked grave, was an entity.
It was indistinct, like an impression of light seen through running water—a translucent, shivering outline of a small man in tattered clothes. It wasn't terrifying in a monster-movie way; it was terrifying because it was real. It was a ghost, a silent, ephemeral ripple of stillness that only Alex could see.
The entity didn't move or acknowledge him. It was focused entirely on the earth, seemingly trying to merge with the cold of the grave. Alex's mind, despite the panic, immediately categorized the discovery: Ethereal Being detected. Interactability: Unknown.
He took a slow, calculated step forward. The ghost didn't react. Alex risked a whisper, the word thin on the freezing air. "Hello?"
The ghost shivered, and a tiny, almost inaudible chime resonated in the air, a sound like frozen glass. The cold pressure around Alex momentarily intensified before dissipating again. The ghost was reacting to the death energy flowing through Alex, but not to him as a person.
It doesn't see me. It sees the energy I'm channeling. It's a beacon.
The final test came when he reached a large, recently dug pile of upturned earth beside a freshly filled grave—a massive source of passive, cold energy.
Alex knelt, pulling the rabbit core out. Its stillness was immense. He knew the rabbit wasn't for decay; the instant-rot effect he had calculated was incorrect. The core, with its unnaturally intact structure, was clearly designed for retention.
He pushed his mind into the flow of Death Energy passing through him—that cold, continuous current—and channeled it directly into the rabbit. He wasn't stealing the energy, he was priming the core, making it a powerful magnet, trying to see what it was supposed to house.
The energy surged into the core, and instead of decaying, the rabbit began to hum. The preserved corpse became a perfect, cold vessel.
And then, with a horrifying rush, the cold pressure in the nearby ghost suddenly collapsed.
The entity detached itself from the grave with a sudden, silent speed and moved, not toward Alex, but directly toward the humming rabbit core in his hand. The translucent figure condensed, flowing into the small black carcass like smoke drawn into a vial.
In an instant, the rabbit gained weight. It was no longer just a preserved body; it was a dense, incredibly cold object that pulsed with a faint, internal, terrifying presence.
Alex snatched his hand back, staggering to his feet. The ghostly figure was gone, replaced by a sense of profound, alien consciousness now locked inside the rabbit.
The core isn't a weapon; it's a cage. It's primed to hold a spirit. And I just trapped one.
The debt was paid. The power was confirmed. Alex had secured his anchor, but the terrifying implication was clear: the rabbit was not a simple tool; it was a deadly, occupied artifact, and he was its keeper. His escape had to happen tonight.
Alex now understands the complex, spiritual mechanics of his power and has accidentally trapped a ghost, which makes his need to flee Oakhaven urgent