# BO**
After Mei's death, Amelia stopped speaking to spirits. Stopped acknowledging them. When they appeared in her peripheral vision, she'd look away. When they called her name, she'd ignore them. When they begged for her help, she'd pretend not to hear.
It didn't make them go away. Nothing could do that. But at least if she didn't engage, she couldn't be blamed when people died.
At least, that was the plan.
She was seven now, and Greenhill Orphanage had reluctantly kept her after Matron Wu decided that passing her to another institution would only spread the "curse" elsewhere. Better to keep the cursed child contained, isolated, where she could hurt as few people as possible.
Amelia slept in a corner of the dormitory, separated from other children by several empty beds. She ate her meals alone at the end of the table. During lessons with the traveling teacher who visited weekly, she sat in the back row by herself.
The isolation should have bothered her. Should have made her lonely. But after Mei, Amelia had decided that lonely was safer. For everyone.
Then Kai arrived.
He was eight years old, brought to Greenhill after his parents died in a fire that destroyed half the lower district. He had burns on his arms and legs—angry red scars that would mark him for life—but his spirit was somehow intact. When other children stared at his injuries, he'd smile. When matrons clucked their tongues in pity, he'd make jokes.
"At least I don't need to worry about getting cold in winter," he'd say, gesturing to his scarred skin. "Pre-warmed, you see?"
No one laughed. But Kai kept smiling anyway.
Amelia noticed him immediately—not because of his scars, but because of what she didn't see. Unlike Mei, unlike so many others she'd encountered, Kai had no death-shadow clinging to him. His life force burned bright and clean, unmarred by the gray fog that preceded death.
Maybe that's why she allowed herself to watch him. Just watch, nothing more. Certainly nothing as dangerous as friendship.
Kai, however, had other ideas.
"You're Amelia, right?" he asked on his third day, sliding onto the bench beside her at lunch despite the visible gap between her and the other children. "The one everyone says is cursed?"
Amelia stiffened, waiting for the inevitable fear or mockery. But when she glanced at Kai, he was just… smiling. Genuinely smiling, like he'd asked about the weather.
"Yes," she said quietly.
"Cool. I'm Kai. I'm apparently lucky to be alive, which makes for an interesting contrast, don't you think? The cursed girl and the lucky boy. We should be friends."
Amelia blinked at him, speechless. No one had offered friendship so casually since Mei. Since…
"No," she said firmly, moving to stand. "I don't need friends."
"Everyone needs friends," Kai said cheerfully, following her. "It's literally impossible to be happy without at least one person who likes you. Scientific fact."
"I don't think that's a scientific fact."
"See? You're already arguing with me. That's basically friendship step two. Step one was me sitting down. Step three is when you tell me something personal. Step four—"
"I don't want friends!" Amelia's voice rose sharper than intended. Several children looked over, eyes wide. "Everyone I care about dies. That's what happens. That's what I do. So no, we're not going to be friends."
She fled the dining hall, leaving her barely-touched meal behind.
But Kai, being Kai, didn't take the hint.
Over the following days, he appeared beside her constantly. During lessons, he'd slide into the seat next to her, commenting on the teacher's droning voice. During chores, he'd work alongside her, chattering about nothing and everything. During the rare free hours, he'd find her in whatever corner she'd hidden in and settle nearby, content to sit in silence if she wouldn't talk.
"You know you're not very good at ignoring people," he observed one afternoon, finding her in the orphanage's small garden where she was pulling weeds.
"I'm excellent at ignoring people."
"Then why do you keep answering me?"
Amelia paused, realizing he was right. She'd been responding to his constant commentary for days now, despite her resolution not to.
"I'm just being polite."
"No, you're being friendly. There's a difference. Polite is what you do with matrons. Friendly is what you do with people you secretly like."
"I don't like you."
"You don't not-like me, which is basically the same thing." Kai began pulling weeds beside her, his scarred hands steady despite their damaged appearance. "Why did you say everyone you care about dies?"
Amelia's hands stilled. "Because it's true."
"Want to tell me about it?"
And somehow, against every instinct of self-preservation, Amelia found herself talking. About Chen Wei, who died when she was barely one. About the children at Stone Creek who suffered misfortunes after being kind to her. About Mei, who she'd tried to save and failed.
"So you see," she finished, voice flat, "everyone who gets close to me suffers. That's just how it is."
Kai was quiet for a long moment, unusual for him. Then: "Or maybe you've just had really bad luck, and you're assuming causation where there's only correlation."
"What?"
"Causation means you caused it. Correlation means it happened at the same time but wasn't necessarily related. Like, the rooster crows and the sun rises, but the rooster doesn't make the sun rise. It just seems that way because they happen together."
Amelia stared at him. "Where did you learn that?"
"My father was a scholar. Before…" He gestured vaguely at his scars. "Before. He taught me lots of things. Including that people often blame themselves for things beyond their control because it feels better than accepting that bad things just happen sometimes."
"That's…" Amelia struggled for words. "That's very wise for an eight-year-old."
"I'm mature for my age," Kai said with mock seriousness. Then his smile returned. "So, does this mean we're friends now? Because that was definitely a step-three conversation. Very personal. I'm counting it."
Despite herself, Amelia felt the corner of her mouth twitch. "You're very annoying."
"I prefer 'persistently charming,' but I'll take it."
Over the next weeks, Amelia felt something she hadn't experienced in years: happiness. Kai made her laugh with his absurd observations. Made her forget, sometimes, that she was supposedly cursed. Made her feel almost normal.
She showed him the garden's best hiding spots. Taught him how to avoid Matron Wu's patrol routes. Shared her extra portion of rice when he was particularly hungry.
And she didn't see spirits around him. Didn't have visions of his death. Didn't feel that familiar dread that warned her to pull away before it was too late.
Maybe, she thought, Kai was right. Maybe she'd been assuming causation where there was only correlation. Maybe she could have a friend without bringing disaster.
She should have known better.
It started small. Kai mentioning a headache one morning. Nothing unusual—children got headaches all the time. But Amelia felt a flutter of unease.
The next day, he complained his neck was stiff. The day after, he felt feverish.
"It's nothing," he insisted, smiling even as sweat beaded on his forehead. "Probably just a cold. You worry too much."
But Amelia had seen this pattern before. Seen it with Mei. And when she looked at Kai—really looked—she saw what she'd been refusing to see.
The death-shadow. Faint but growing. Wrapping around him like a slow-moving fog.
"No," she whispered. "No, not you. Please not you."
"Amelia? You okay?"
She grabbed his shoulders, desperate. "You need to tell Matron Wu you're sick. You need medicine. A real doctor. Promise me you'll tell her!"
"I already did. She gave me herbal tea. I'm fine, really—"
"You're not fine!" Amelia's voice cracked. "You're—" She couldn't say it. Couldn't speak death over him like she had with Mei. "You need help. Real help."
Kai's expression softened. He took her hands gently. "I'll be okay. I promise. A little fever never killed anyone."
Three days later, Kai collapsed during morning chores.
The fever had escalated overnight into something fierce and consuming. His skin burned to the touch. He drifted in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherently.
This time, Amelia didn't ask Matron Wu for help. She demanded it. Screamed it. Made such a scene that the matron had no choice but to send for the village doctor.
The doctor came, examined Kai, and shook his head grimly. "Infection in the blood. It's already spread too far. I can try, but…"
"But what?" Amelia demanded.
"But you should prepare yourselves. The boy has perhaps three days. I'm sorry."
No. No no no no no.
Amelia sat by Kai's bed day and night, refusing to leave. She held his burning hand. Whispered to him constantly—telling him stories, reciting lessons from their teacher, reminding him of their friendship.
"You have to fight," she begged. "You have to stay. Please, Kai. You said everyone needs friends. I need you. Please don't leave me alone."
On the third day, Kai's eyes opened. For a moment, they were clear, focused. He saw Amelia sitting beside him, tear-stained and exhausted.
"You stayed," he whispered.
"Of course I stayed. We're friends, remember?"
"Best friends," he corrected, managing a weak smile. "You completed all the steps. Even the ones I didn't tell you about."
"Then you can't die. Best friends don't die and leave each other. That's the rule."
Kai's expression turned sad. "I don't think I get a choice, Amelia. But I'm glad… glad I knew you. Even if it was short."
"No. No goodbyes. You're going to be fine. You have to be fine because—" Her voice broke completely. "Because you're the only person who ever chose to be my friend. Not out of pity or obligation, but because you actually wanted to. And I can't lose that. I can't lose you."
"You won't lose me." Kai's grip on her hand tightened fractionally. "Even when I'm gone, you won't lose me. Because you can see spirits, right? You'll be able to see me."
Amelia's blood ran cold. She'd never told him about that. Never mentioned her ability to commune with the dead.
"How do you know about that?"
"I've been watching. I see how you look at empty spaces sometimes. How you react to things no one else notices. I figured it out."
He coughed, and blood flecked his lips. Amelia wiped it away with shaking hands.
"So when I die," Kai continued, each word an effort, "I'll still be around. You'll still see me. Still hear me. We'll still be friends. Just… different kind of friends."
"I don't want different," Amelia sobbed. "I want you alive. I want you here."
"I know. I'm sorry."
His eyes began to close.
"Kai, no. Stay awake. Please stay awake!"
But his breathing was slowing. Becoming shallow. The death-shadow that had been growing for days suddenly solidified, becoming real, tangible.
Amelia felt something crack inside her. Felt power surge through her veins—the binding ritual straining, weakening under the force of her grief and rage. Energy crackled in the air around her, making the candles flicker and the room's temperature drop.
"You can't have him!" she screamed at nothing and everything. At death itself. At the universe that kept taking everyone she loved. "You can't! I won't let you!"
Light and shadow exploded from her hands, power she didn't understand and couldn't control. It slammed into Kai's still form, trying desperately to pull him back from death's edge.
For a moment—just a heartbeat—it seemed to work. Color returned to his face. His breathing steadied.
Then the power collapsed, the binding ritual reasserting itself, slamming Amelia's abilities back into suppression. She fell backward, gasping, as the backlash of attempted resurrection tore through her.
And Kai… Kai slipped away.
His last breath left him with a sigh. His spirit rose from his body, translucent and glowing, looking down at himself with wonder.
"I'm dead," he said, sounding surprised. "I'm actually dead."
Amelia couldn't speak. Could only stare at his ghost, at the body that no longer housed his spirit, at her own hands that had failed to save him.
"Hey," Kai's spirit said gently, kneeling beside where she sat on the floor. "Don't cry. I'm still here, see? Just like I said. Different, but still here."
"I tried to save you," Amelia whispered. "I tried so hard."
"I know. I felt it. That light—that was you trying to bring me back, wasn't it?"
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
"Thank you," Kai said simply. "For trying. For caring enough to try. That means everything to me."
"It wasn't enough. I wasn't enough."
"Amelia, look at me." When she did, his spirit smiled—that same bright, genuine smile he'd always had. "You gave me three weeks of friendship. Three weeks of feeling like I mattered to someone. After losing my family, after everything, you gave me that. That's not nothing. That's everything."
Footsteps approached—matrons coming to check on the sick boy. They'd find his body, find Amelia beside it, and they'd blame her. They always did.
"I have to go," Kai's spirit said, looking up at something Amelia couldn't see. "But I meant what I said. I'll still be around. Whenever you need to talk, I'll be there. We're still friends. Best friends. Death doesn't change that."
"Kai—"
But he was already fading, drawn toward whatever came next. His last words echoed in her mind:
"Don't stop caring about people, Amelia. You're not cursed. You're special. Someday, you'll understand the difference."
Then he was gone.
The matrons burst in to find Amelia kneeling beside Kai's body, her eyes empty, her face a mask. When they questioned her, she said nothing. When they accused her of bringing her curse upon another child, she didn't defend herself.
What was the point? Kai had been right about one thing: she did care about him. And caring had killed him, just like it killed everyone else.
That night, locked again in the contemplation cell for "disturbing the natural order," Amelia made a decision. A vow.
She would never care about anyone ever again. Would never let anyone close enough to be killed by her curse. Would live alone, apart, separate from all human connection.
It was the only way to keep people safe.
It was the only way to survive.
And if that meant a lifetime of loneliness, so be it. Better to be alone than to watch another friend die.
In the spirit realm, Noctis and Aurelia wept for their daughter. Wept for the walls she was building around her heart. For the vow she'd just made that would shape her entire childhood.
"We have to find a way to reach her," Aurelia pleaded. "To tell her the truth. She's destroying herself with guilt over things she cannot control."
"The binding prevents it," Noctis said bitterly. "Everything we did to protect her is now torturing her. The very gifts that should bring her joy—the ability to see souls, to ease their passage—are instead convincing her she's cursed."
"Then we break the binding."
"That would expose her to Solarius. He'd sense her immediately. He'd kill her."
"Is this any better? Watching her break piece by piece?"
They had no answer. Could only watch as their seven-year-old daughter huddled in darkness, building walls around her heart that would take years to break down.
And in the celestial realm, Solarius—though he knew nothing of the specific child—sensed the despair, the suffering, the spread of fear and grief.
The Primordial Chaos within him fed on such things. Grew stronger. Spread further.
Everything was proceeding exactly as it wanted.