Amelia made it to the temple gates before her legs gave out.
The walk across town had taken hours. Every step was agony, her fever-weakened body protesting the effort. She'd had to stop multiple times to rest against walls, to catch her breath, to remind herself why she was doing this.
*Survive. Just survive. One more day.*
The Temple of the Three Paths rose before her like something from a dream. White stone walls, peaked roofs with curved edges, gardens that even in winter held a austere beauty. Incense smoke drifted from somewhere within, carrying scents of sandalwood and sage.
It was beautiful. Peaceful. Safe.
Amelia dragged herself up the temple steps—there were so many steps, why were there so many steps—and collapsed at the top, her vision swimming.
The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was a figure in brown robes approaching, his weathered face creased with concern.
Then nothing.
-----
Amelia woke to warmth.
Real warmth, not the fever-warmth that burned and consumed. This was gentle heat from a brazier, soft blankets tucked around her, a roof overhead that didn't leak or creak.
She was indoors. In a bed. Clean.
"Easy now," a kind voice said. "You've been quite ill."
Amelia turned her head—even that small movement took effort—and saw an old man sitting beside her cot. He wore the brown robes of a temple monk, his bald head reflecting lamplight, his eyes gentle behind deep wrinkles.
"Where—" Her voice came out as a croak.
"The Temple of the Three Paths. You collapsed on our steps three days ago." He offered her a cup of water. "I'm Brother Kang. Can you tell me your name?"
Amelia hesitated. Names meant questions. Questions meant lies. Lies meant being cast out when the truth eventually emerged.
"It's all right," Brother Kang said softly, as if reading her thoughts. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't wish to. I just thought it might be nice to know what to call you."
"Amelia," she whispered, then took the cup with shaking hands.
The water was cool and sweet. She drank it too fast, coughing.
"Slowly," Brother Kang advised, steadying the cup. "Your body needs time to remember how to accept nourishment."
"How long—" Another cough. "How long can I stay?"
"As long as you need to heal." He refilled the cup from a pitcher. "The temple welcomes all travelers, no matter their circumstances."
Amelia studied his face, looking for the lie, the catch, the moment when his kindness would curdle into suspicion or fear.
But Brother Kang just smiled, his expression open and genuine.
"I should warn you," Amelia said, her voice still rough. "Bad things happen around me. People say I'm cursed."
"People say many things." Brother Kang set the pitcher down. "I prefer to form my own opinions."
"You might die."
"We're all dying, child. From the moment we're born, we're walking toward death. It's what we do with the walk that matters."
Amelia didn't know what to say to that. In her experience, people weren't philosophical about death. They were afraid of it. And they blamed her for bringing it near.
"Rest now," Brother Kang said, standing. "We'll talk more when you're stronger."
"Wait—" Amelia reached out instinctively, then pulled her hand back. "Why are you being kind to me?"
The monk paused at the doorway, considering. "Why shouldn't I be?"
"Everyone else—"
"I am not everyone else." His smile was sad and knowing. "I've seen enough of the world to recognize suffering when I see it. And I've seen enough cruelty to know that kindness is the harder path—which makes it the only path worth walking."
He left, and Amelia lay in the warm bed, surrounded by safety she didn't deserve and kindness she didn't understand.
For the first time in months, she slept without shivering.
-----
Over the next week, Amelia slowly recovered.
Brother Kang brought her simple meals—rice porridge, steamed vegetables, weak tea. Nothing rich enough to upset her starved stomach, but enough to rebuild her strength. He never asked questions, never demanded explanations, never looked at her with suspicion or fear.
It was unsettling.
"Why don't you ask?" Amelia said on the fourth day, when she was well enough to sit up and eat on her own.
Brother Kang, who'd been reading a scroll near the window, looked up. "Ask what?"
"Where I came from. Why I was dying in the street. Whether the things people say about me are true."
"Would you tell me if I asked?"
Amelia considered. "Probably not."
"Then why should I ask?" He returned to his scroll. "Your past is your own. What matters is what you do moving forward."
"But aren't you… afraid? People die around me. I see things. Spirits. Death."
"Ah." Brother Kang set down his scroll. "You have the sight."
Amelia blinked. "The sight?"
"The ability to perceive what others cannot. The dead who linger, the spirits who walk between worlds." He spoke matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather. "It's rare but not unheard of. My master had it. It troubled him greatly in his youth."
"Your master?" Hope flickered in Amelia's chest. "Did he… did he teach you about it?"
"Some. Enough to know it's a gift, not a curse, though it rarely feels that way to those who possess it."
"It doesn't feel like a gift," Amelia said bitterly. "It feels like being slowly driven mad."
Brother Kang nodded. "I imagine it does. Seeing death everywhere, knowing things you shouldn't know, being blamed for tragedies you didn't cause." He met her eyes. "But the sight itself isn't what causes suffering, Amelia. It's how others react to it—and how you've learned to react to yourself."
"I don't understand."
"You've been taught to fear your ability. To see it as something wrong, something that makes you dangerous." He poured them both tea. "But what if it's simply a different way of perceiving reality? What if the spirits you see are truly there, and you're simply more aware than others?"
Amelia accepted the tea with trembling hands. "Everyone says I bring death."
"Or perhaps you simply see death approaching. There's a difference between witnessing an event and causing it."
The words struck something deep inside her. A tiny crack in the wall of self-hatred she'd built over twelve years.
"I tried to save people," she whispered. "Warned them. Used my power. They still died."
"Death comes for all of us, child. You cannot stop it, only delay it." Brother Kang sipped his tea. "But in trying, in choosing compassion over indifference, you proved you have a good heart. That matters more than success or failure."
Amelia felt tears burning behind her eyes. "I don't feel like I have a good heart."
"Few good people do. It's the cruel ones who are certain of their righteousness." He smiled gently. "Your doubt, your pain, your desperate desire not to hurt others—these are proof of your goodness, not evidence against it."
The tears spilled over. Amelia tried to stop them but couldn't. Twelve years of holding everything in, of never being allowed to be weak, of never having anyone tell her she wasn't a monster—it all came pouring out.
Brother Kang said nothing. Just sat with her while she cried, his presence a quiet anchor.
When the tears finally stopped, Amelia felt… lighter. Emptied out, but in a good way. Like poison drained from a wound.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"For what?"
"For not being afraid of me."
Brother Kang's expression was unbearably kind. "I've spent my life studying the nature of suffering and compassion. I've seen true evil, Amelia. You are not it."
-----
The spirits in the temple were different from those she'd encountered elsewhere.
They were peaceful. Calm. Some were monks who'd died here and chosen to remain, continuing their meditation in death as they had in life. Others were travelers who'd found peace at the temple and stayed.
None of them were twisted or dark. None of them whispered terrible things.
"The temple is consecrated," Brother Kang explained when Amelia mentioned it. "Sacred ground repels malevolent spirits. They cannot enter here without invitation."
"But I can see them. The good ones."
"Because you're not malevolent. Just gifted." He was teaching her calligraphy, guiding her brush strokes. "The temple recognizes the difference."
Amelia wanted to ask more—about the sight, about spirits, about whether she could learn to control her abilities. But Brother Kang's breathing had become labored in the past hour, his movements slower.
She saw it before he said anything.
The spirits gathering near him. Not dark ones—never in this place—but death nonetheless, patient and inevitable.
"You're dying," Amelia said, her voice flat with terrible certainty.
Brother Kang didn't deny it. "Yes. I've known for some time."
"How long?"
"A few weeks, perhaps. A month if I'm fortunate." He set down his brush. "I'm old, Amelia. My body is tired. This is natural."
"I could—" She stopped. Could what? Save him? She'd tried saving people before. It never worked.
"You could be here with me," Brother Kang finished gently. "Could make my final days less lonely. Could learn what I have to teach before I go. That would be a great gift."
Amelia looked at this kind old man who'd asked nothing of her, who'd shown her compassion when everyone else showed fear, who was dying and knew it and still chose to smile.
"I'll stay," she whispered. "If you'll have me."
"I would like that very much."
And so Amelia learned her next great lesson: not all death was tragedy. Some was simply… completion. The natural end of a life well-lived.
Brother Kang taught her to read and write properly. Taught her meditation to quiet the voices of spirits. Taught her that seeing death didn't make her death's servant.
When he died six weeks later, peaceful in his sleep, Amelia grieved—but she didn't break.
She sat with his body, watched his spirit rise gentle and ready, saw him smile at her one last time before moving on to whatever came next.
"Thank you," she told his departing spirit. "For everything."
And though the temple monks asked her to leave after Kang's death—gently, kindly, but firmly—Amelia walked away with something she'd never had before.
The knowledge that she could witness death without causing it.
The beginning of understanding her gift.
And the seed of hope that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't cursed after all.