Marion awoke from her stupor with a sharp gasp.
Her memory froze at the moment consciousness snapped—human soldiers armed with weapons searching nearby, survivors of the Wanderers' camp panicking in the collapsed cavern. Back then, Marion had been riddled with gaping wounds, her mind a hazy fog—and now it wasn't much better. Panicked thoughts fluttered through her head like a startled flock of bats. How is everyone? Did those people leave? Where am I? Am I still alive? That ghost? Oh God, Grandpa Oak was left outside!
Marion scrambled upright, realizing not a single wound touched her skin. She began to think she was dreaming—when had it started? Marion wished the Wanderers' camp had never burned, but this dim cavern clearly wasn't out in the wilderness. Her necklace still hung around her neck, both daggers lay on the bedside table—that calmed her considerably.
Marion sheathed her daggers and felt her way cautiously toward the entrance. Someone was dozing with their back to her. If this was the guard, security here was woefully lax. She circled around and saw a familiar face. The person was snoring loudly, slumped against a stone table, drool dripping onto their arm.
"Ella?" Marion nudged her gently, calling softly.
It took several pushes to rouse Ella. The petite woman blinked sleepily at her, all drowsiness vanishing instantly. "Marion!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "You're finally awake! Quick, I'll take you to get something to eat!"
Ella's cheer was so loud Marion almost wanted to cover her mouth. Among the vagrant camp, Ella and her kind were the ones Marion got along with best. These little people sharing the same surname were said to be the camp's earliest residents, all short in stature but warm-hearted. Marion suspected it was thanks to them that the camp later became a peaceful haven for all kinds of wanderers. After all, most of the displaced people drifting about weren't exactly easy to get along with.
But these little folks also lacked any sense of danger. If not for the Old Man of the Oak and Marion desperately stopping them, they'd probably have carried every last possession with them when leaving the Wanderers' Camp. Meeting at the stream's source was a risky idea—best avoided until pursuers were confirmed lost—yet they'd gathered there early. Marion's heart nearly stopped when she heard their screams from afar.
"It's fine, it's been two days," Ella said. "We've settled in. That ghost gave us a room and food—such a kind soul! It's just a bit dark in here—not many brought candles. Yesterday we gathered some glowing moss nearby, so we can manage for now..."
A faint glow illuminated the room's corners, emanating from luminous moss and fungi. Marion scanned the room hastily, quickly dismissing these insignificant details. Two days! The reminder made her stomach growl in protest, but now was no time for eating. Marion could feel the presence of the contract, its surface flickering with unfamiliar text or symbols. The ghost had provided them with lodging and food? What did it want? Alarm bells buzzed in Marion's mind, the hairs on her ears standing on end.
"Where is that ghost?" she grabbed Ella's arm. "I need to speak with it."
"You should eat something first!" Ella objected, hands on her hips.
"I have something very important to say!" Marion insisted anxiously.
She employed her most persuasive expression, finally convincing Ella to show her the way. Marion raced through the dim tunnels, passing many people—all from Emma's faction. Each greeted her without a hint of urgency, nearly driving her mad. Then again, it was probably only these optimists who'd ventured here; the other exiles likely hadn't.
She navigated the long, labyrinthine passages, asking for directions several times, yet still lost her way. The glow moss was gone here. Frustrated, she scanned left and right, trying to spot differences between these tunnels, but saw nothing. Her night vision could guide her home through moonless forests, but the lightless underground was another matter. Were it not for the occasional luminous stones lining the passages, she might as well have been blind.
A rustling sound came from the shadows, not like that of a human.
After throwing her dagger, she caught a glimpse of its outline—a terrifyingly large rat. The blade bounced off its body, drawing not a single drop of blood but only scraping off some powder. At this close range, Marion realized the rat didn't resemble a living creature; it looked like a moving statue.
The statue-rat scratched the spot on its back where it had been struck with its hind paws, as if the touch had tickled it. It croaked at Marion a few times before turning and dashing back into the darkness.
Marion hesitated for a moment, then gave chase.
They traversed a long passageway. Marion lost count of how many turns she took, following only the dark silhouette ahead. After another bend, the darkness suddenly gave way to light. In a vast cavern, a ghost floated weightlessly, its feet never touching the ground.
Marion swallowed nervously.
This was the ghost, the spirit, the demon that had bound her in contract. The pact was complete, yet Marion couldn't grasp what she'd truly lost. She dared not think about it. If she was already the spirit's slave, what authority did she have left to warn it against targeting others? Marion recalled the slaves she'd seen before—nameless, futureless, crawling before their masters, curled within chains. Now she too had no name. The realization sent a chill through her, slowly dawning on her what she had done.
"You don't look well," a soft voice said.
It belonged to an adult woman—obviously, given only Marion and the ghost were present. The voice sounded... unexpectedly ordinary. Not the hoarse, rasping screams of legendary specters, nor the strange whispers she'd heard before. Just a slightly husky female voice, sounding almost indifferent.
"I'm fine!" she stammered, then hurriedly added, "Thank you!" Marion hastily tacked on the last part, realizing her injuries were likely healed by the other party. Ghosts truly possessed incredible power. "Thank you for saving us."
"My pleasure. We had an agreement," the ghost chuckled softly, reminding Marion of that pact and making her heart sink.
Her thoughts on her fate caused her to momentarily zone out. By the time she snapped back, the ghost had already drifted before her, its bone-white glow illuminating her face. Marion steadied the knife in her hand, unsure whether she should stare directly at the featureless face or bow respectfully before it.
"You're hungry," the ghost said. "You should eat something."
Its voice was soft and detached, its calmness devoid of any discernible emotion. Marion instinctively wanted to protest, but her stomach growled so loudly it made her blush. "I will bring you some food," the ghost declared, its tone leaving no room for argument. Then the giant rat that had brought Marion here scurried away.
Silence fell again. After such an interruption, Marion didn't know how to begin. Her hands and feet were far more nimble than her tongue; no one had ever expected her to be the negotiator, especially when facing someone who held their fate in their hands. Just as she gathered her courage to speak, the other preempted her.
"You have a special name," the ghost said. "It looks like a painting."
"All descendants of the Wolf God have totem names," Marion explained. "Before birth, our parents choose one, and the Grand Elder divines its form for us at birth." She hesitated, then added, "I like my name."
"It is indeed beautiful," the ghost said.
"May I keep it?" Marion blurted out. "I mean, you may continue to call me by it. If you wish."
The slave trainers would have smashed her mouth for such audacity, had they heard her. But Marion cherished her name—besides the necklace, it was the only thing her parents and clan had left her. "You've sold your name to the devil!" her grandmother's voice thundered in her mind. "You gave the name your parents chose, the name blessed by ancestral spirits and the wolf god, to the devil! You will never be blessed again!" She could only silently apologize over and over, looking at the ghost who had taken her name, clinging to a faint hope.
At least she had tried.
The ghost didn't answer Marion immediately. Those few seconds of silence made her palms sweat as she clenched her fists. After what felt like an eternity, the ghost said, "Agreed."
Marion exhaled a sigh of relief so deep she nearly collapsed. Only then did she realize how tightly her body had been coiled. The wounds had vanished, but her body still bore the exhaustion of a fierce battle, and she was ravenously hungry. Then Marion caught an incredibly enticing aroma. Her mouth watered, and her gaze instinctively followed the scent of roasted meat. The giant rat had returned to the room, carrying a tray on its back.
The Ghost reached out to pat the giant rat's head, gesturing for Marion to take the tray.
She said thank you, then couldn't help but devour the food greedily. The plate held deliciously fragrant meat—crisp on the outside, tender within, evenly seasoned with spices and salt to cut the gaminess. Marion couldn't identify the cut, but it was perfectly marbled, so delicious she could have eaten her own tongue. It certainly wasn't the sour, bitter mountain rats common in these parts. She dug in with her hands and teeth, devouring the entire plate. The ghost stood watching her eat, seemingly amused.
Though perhaps it wasn't watching her at all. Marion couldn't tell where the ghost's gaze was fixed—it had no face. Maybe it was distracted, maybe it was looking behind Marion, maybe its eyes could see the entire room, focusing on whatever lay behind her head. Thinking this, Marion instinctively glanced behind the ghost. The room was vast, with few light sources; she couldn't make out anything there.
"Fifty-one bodies," the ghost said suddenly.
Marion froze, the food in her mouth tasting utterly bland.
"Fifty-one dead—their people and yours," the ghost continued. "The rest favored cremation. I told them I burned the bodies, but that wasn't true."
Marion nodded blankly.
"I didn't separate them—enemies or your people. Sorry, resources are scarce now," the ghost continued in that same casual, calm voice. "I had to use these bodies to help the survivors."
The meat burned in Marion's throat. Her hands shook violently, but at least she set the plate down carefully. Her newly filled stomach suddenly felt as if it were soaked in acid, and Marion couldn't help but bend over and vomit.
"You shouldn't have eaten so fast," the ghost said, sounding almost concerned. "Ah, you haven't eaten in so long. Perhaps you shouldn't have eaten meat."
She didn't vomit it all up, though she wanted to. She wanted to rip out her stomach, cut it open, and burn it to ashes, offering endless apologies to the dead. Marion's eyes burned, her body trembled with the urge to lunge forward and tear that ghost to shreds. She knew she was overreacting. They had to survive. But... but...
The humans would take away the sick and dying outsiders, and later that day, the other slaves would be fed thin meat broth. Marion never understood the connection between the two. At first, her mother refused the broth and wouldn't let Marion drink it either, until she collapsed from hunger—those damned guards gave them so little food, far too little for a growing girl. So her mother stopped pouring out their soup. She fed it all to Marion, silently, her face etched with sorrow.
The day she bit down on her mother's teeth at the bottom of the bowl, Marion understood everything.
She had been so hungry then, eating with such joy. She was just as hungry now, having devoured her meal mere minutes ago. She hadn't learned a thing—greedy, ignorant, helpless, powerless. Wolf God!
"What are you thinking?"
The ghost crouched down. Marion would have been startled by this human gesture had she not already collapsed in the shadows of the past. Through her tears, she gazed ahead and saw a layer of silvery mist.
"Your imagination runs wild," the ghost said, its tone different now, tinged with resignation. "It's not what you think, Marion. Do you really believe fifty corpses could feed you both for two days? This is magical food—bread and fruit. I just assumed you'd want meat... given your kind."
The ghost's hand passed through her cheek, cool to the touch. Marion's fevered mind cooled at the contact, slowly registering her misunderstanding. "Huh?" She opened her mouth, only managing a foolish sound.
"My mistake, bringing this up while you were eating," the ghost said. "I just assumed you saw them."
It drifted backward, illuminating the nearby space. There were neatly arranged mounds of earth—fifty-one, if counted carefully.
Marion blinked rapidly, a thunderclap echoing in her head, feeling her cheeks burn.