Cale's gaze turned to the girl.

  She was still covered in soot, her clothes torn and clinging to her small frame, her hair tangled and streaked with ash. But it was her eyes—those silvery, moonlit eyes—that made him pause. There was something in them that reached inside him, stirring a feeling he couldn’t quite name. It was like an itch beneath the skin of his soul, something he couldn’t reach no matter how hard he tried.

  "What’s your name?" he asked, his voice gentle as his eyes searched hers.

  The girl looked up, her expression guarded. After a pause, she shook her head.

  "You don’t have a name?" he asked, frowning.

  She nodded slowly.

  He hesitated, confused.

  'Why wouldn’t she speak?'

  "Can you talk?" he asked carefully.

  Again, she shook her head.

  A spark lit in his chest. But it wasn’t warmth. It was fire—hot and angry.

  "Are the villagers responsible for this?" His voice came out sharper than he intended, the usual softness stripped away. It startled even him.

  Tiana, sitting nearby, raised an eyebrow at the change in tone. "Maybe she was born mute," she offered calmly.

  The girl gave a small, hesitant nod.

  Cale turned to Tiana, something urgent in his gaze. "Could you heal her?"

  Tiana stood from the bench and walked over, crouching down in front of the girl. She moved slowly, as though approaching a wounded animal.

  "I’m going to touch your neck," she said softly, raising her hand.

  The girl flinched, her body tense.

  "It’s alright," Cale said, his voice once again gentle. "She won’t hurt you."

  Tiana whispered a soft incantation, her hand glowing with a faint green light. She held it against the girl's throat, her brow furrowed with focus. A moment later, the glow faded, and she withdrew her hand.

  "I can’t heal her," she said quietly. "There’s nothing physically wrong. And no trace of a spell or curse."

  Cale’s frown deepened.

  "Some people are simply born this way," Tiana continued. "It’s rare. But it happens."

  He looked back at the girl, her expression unreadable but her eyes never leaving his. A part of him ached at the thought. To never speak. To never sing. Especially now, when he had only just begun to understand what it meant to have a voice.

  Perhaps sensing the shift in him, the girl slowly reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. Her fingers were small and delicate, but the touch was steady. Comforting.

  He looked down at her in surprise. Then, a faint smile touched his lips. Not forced. Real.

  They spent the next hour communicating through gestures and slow, patient nods. Tiana asked the questions, and the girl responded with movements—a shake of the head, a tilt, a pause. It was like assembling a puzzle with pieces made of silence.

  She was an orphan. She didn’t know her parents. She had been traveling alone for as long as she could remember. When they asked why she traveled, she only looked away, confused by the question.

  She didn’t even have a name.

  Cale sat beside her then, his voice soft as falling snow. "You have no name... no voice... no home."

  He paused, then glanced at her eyes again, catching his reflection in their silver depths.

  "Do you mind if I call you Moon?" he asked.

  The girl blinked, surprised. A light shimmered in her gaze, and slowly—ever so slowly—a smile broke across her face. It was faint, unsure, but radiant in its own way. She shook her head.

  No protest.

  "Nice to meet you, Moon," Cale said warmly. "I’m Cale."

  She nodded, more relaxed now.

  And in the quiet hush of the barn—where dust floated like motes of light and the wind whispered through the old wooden beams—a name had been given.

  "Let’s get you cleaned up," Tiana said, her voice soft.

  Cale and the girl turned to her.

  "There’s a river nearby. We can head upstream and take a bath," she offered casually.

  Cale blinked, then turned slightly, his cheeks beginning to color. "We?" he murmured.

  Tiana raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Me and Moon," she teased. "You, Cale, will stand guard."

  He gave a small, embarrassed nod. "Right. Got it."

  They stepped out of the barn, the heavy wooden doors creaking behind them. As they walked through the quiet village, the world seemed wrapped in slumber. Most of the homes were dark, windows shuttered, only the occasional flicker of a dying lantern illuminating the silence. Crickets chirped gently in the distance, and the wind whispered between the rooftops.

  That was the life of a villager—rest when the sun set, rise when it returned.

  They passed beyond the last fence and followed a narrow path that twisted between wild grasses and old, forgotten stones. Soon, the sound of running water met their ears—a soft, melodic murmur that grew louder with every step.

  The river was a silver ribbon beneath the moonlight, threading through moss-covered rocks and tall, swaying reeds. The surface sparkled with starlight, disturbed only by the occasional ripple as frogs leapt or fish darted below. The scent of damp earth and fresh water filled the air, crisp and clean with a faint trace of wildflowers growing along the banks. A night breeze carried the scent of wet stone.

  They found a secluded bend in the river, shielded by leaning trees and a curtain of low-hanging willow branches. The canopy above allowed slivers of moonlight to spill through, casting long, dappled shadows across the water’s surface.

  Tiana turned to Cale with a mischievous glint in her eye. "No peeking," she warned playfully.

  Cale’s face flushed deeper. "I-I wasn’t going to," he stammered, quickly turning away and marching off to perch on a large, flat rock nearby. He sat with his back to the water, facing the forest. The cold stone pressed through his clothes, grounding him as he listened to the distant splashes behind him.

  Tiana gently took Moon’s hand and led her to the riverbank. Together, they stepped out of their clothes and waded into the cold water. It wrapped around them like glass turned liquid, shockingly cold at first, but gradually soothing. They washed away the ash and dirt in silence, the only sounds the current and their breath.

  Cale sat in stillness, trying to be respectful, but something began to stir at the edge of his awareness.

  A spirit was approaching.

  He closed his eyes and reached out, trying to feel its presence—trying to resonate with it.

  But this spirit was different.

  It didn’t feel like the others he’d known. Not even like the twisted spirit of Erel, whose cursed presence had chilled his bones.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  This was... wrong.

  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t establish resonance. It was as if the spirit was distant, cold, alien.

  Then he saw it.

  It moved between the trees—slow, deliberate, and silent.

  An elongated figure, humanoid in shape but deeply unnatural. Its limbs were too long, its fingers stretched into impossible lengths that trailed the earth as it walked. Its body was wrapped in ragged cloth, fluttering like whispers on the wind. But its face—

  There was no face.

  Only a void.

  A pit of blackness where eyes should have been. No mouth. No features. Just a shadow-drenched hollow that pulled the light around it.

  It moved as if it were gliding rather than walking, each step barely disturbing the ground beneath. The air grew cold. The trees around it swayed though no wind blew. The world seemed to hold its breath.

  Cale’s heart pounded.

  It was heading straight toward him.

  His right arm shifted with a metallic groan, morphing into a barbed, serpentine whip of darkened steel. The surface shimmered faintly in the moonlight. With a sharp flick, he swung it—a blur of razor edges tearing through the air.

  The tip slashed clean through the spirit’s form.

  But it did nothing.

  The attack passed through like smoke, like mist caught in moonlight. The spirit flickered, then recoiled into the shadows as if slipping into water. It vanished.

  Cale’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes scanned the dark trees, darting from shadow to shadow. The night had grown too quiet, like the world was holding its breath.

  Then—

  He felt it.

  Not in front. Not behind.

  Below.

  Instinct screamed.

  He leapt back, just in time to avoid the spirit as it surged upward from his own shadow, clawed hand poised to strike.

  It had emerged from beneath him like a nightmare made flesh.

  Cale’s boots skidded across the mossy ground as he regained his footing. His mind reeled. Physical attacks were useless. Foolish, even. He should’ve known—something like this couldn’t be harmed by metal.

  His thoughts sharpened, locking into place.

  If he couldn’t harm it—he would contain it.

  Cale closed his eyes, drawing in a slow, deliberate breath. The chill in the air pressed in around him like a shroud. He focused, diving deep into the spiritual current within him.

  The spirit, sensing weakness, glided forward. Its movements were silent, its limbs barely brushing the ground. Its right arm rose like the bough of a dying tree, long fingers twisting into jagged claws.

  As it brought its hand down in a savage arc—

  A ring of blue-white spectral fire burst to life beneath it.

  With a screech that tore through the air like tearing silk, the spirit recoiled. The clawed hand slammed into the fire and sparked violently, ghostly embers scattering like stars across the night.

  It shrieked again, a sound that wasn't just heard, but felt—like nails scraping across the inside of Cale’s skull.

  The fire ring flared, anchoring the spirit in place. Shadows curled around it, writhing, desperate to flee, but bound.

  Cale opened his eyes.

  Now that it was contained, he reached for the next step. He extended his hand, fingers glowing faintly with ethereal light, and attempted to dive into the spirit’s essence—to find the echo of its memories.

  But there was nothing.

  No voices. No images. No pain.

  Just a void.

  The spirit was hollow.

  He frowned, his voice a whisper.

  "What... are you?"

  The spirit let out a piercing shriek that clawed at his ears, forcing him to stagger back. It surged forward, desperate, hurling itself toward the edge of the ring.

  Its body made contact—

  —and was instantly engulfed.

  The spectral fire roared like a sudden windstorm, consuming the spirit in a cascade of radiant blue flames. For a brief second, Cale saw its shape twist and stretch, as though something inside it was unraveling.

  Then, silence.

  The fire dimmed. The shadows settled.

  The spirit was gone.

  Cale stood there, breathing hard.

  The night returned to stillness—but the chill lingered, burrowed into his bones. He stared at the spot where the spirit had been.

  It had no memories.

  No past.

  Just hunger.

  He had seen many spirits.

  But nothing like that.

  Cale turned his gaze to the river.

  Tiana and Moon had emerged from the water, the moonlight casting a soft glow over their silhouettes. Moon now wore a fresh set of clothes—Tiana’s. They hung loosely on her small frame, the sleeves trailing past her wrists. But they were clean, warm, and whole—a world apart from the charred, threadbare dress she had worn before.

  Cale stepped forward, opening his mouth. "Tiana—"

  She raised a hand, stopping him before he could say more.

  "I saw it," she said, her voice steady but quiet. "You fought a shadow. A hollowed spirit—something created through a process so cruel it strips a soul of everything it once was. Memories, identity... essence."

  Her words lingered, heavy in the night air.

  She continued, her voice lowering into something grim:

  "They’re amorphous. They can slip through spaces no wider than a finger without resistance." She held up her hand, pressing her thumb and index finger close together to demonstrate. "In darkness, they vanish like mist and strike before you even realize they’re there. But sunlight—it weakens them. It burns and drains them."

  She met his eyes, her expression unreadable.

  "You did well not to let it touch you. Their claws drain strength. One touch can begin to unravel you. And if die from that... another shadow rises in its place."

  Cale’s fist clenched. The idea of such creatures spreading, growing like a plague—it made his stomach turn.

  Moon glanced nervously at the treeline, her silver eyes wide, scanning the shadows that seemed to press closer now.

  "Let’s go back to the barn," Tiana said, her voice returning to a calm, matter-of-fact tone. "Only a fool would try to explore the woods now."

  She turned and started walking.

  Cale followed in silence, Moon clinging to his sleeve, her grip spoke of quiet fear.

  The walk back was slow and silent. The peaceful air of the evening had vanished. Every tree looked like a looming figure, every rustle like a whispered threat. When they reached the barn, Tiana moved with quiet precision. She retrieved a carved cube inscribed with glowing runes and placed it in the center of the room. A whispered incantation brought it to life, and soft light spilled out, pushing back the dark.

  She went to the sack Cale had carried and pulled out dried meat and cheese. She offered some to Moon, who nibbled at it hesitantly. Her hunger was clear, but she held herself back, refusing to devour it as though she were afraid it might be taken away.

  When Tiana offered Cale a share, he gently raised a hand.

  "I can go a few days without food," he said quietly. "It’s no problem."

  After their quiet meal, Tiana murmured a soft "Good night" and made her way to the pile of hay in the corner. Elden had kindly provided them with blankets earlier, and three had been laid out in advance.

  She sank into the bedding with a soft sigh. Within moments, her breathing slowed, and sleep embraced her.

  Moon lingered by the glowing cube, glancing toward Cale.

  "You can sleep," he said with a gentle smile. "I don’t feel tired."

  She nodded and crossed the room quietly, curling into a fetal position beneath one of the blankets. Her body barely moved the straw. A minute passed—and then her breathing steadied.

  Cale turned to the bench and sat down slowly. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gazing up at the rafters overhead.

  The barn creaked softly as wind moved across its roof. A lone nightbird called in the distance. But the shadows outside remained still.

  He sighed.

  There were still so many questions.

  What created that spirit? Why send it now? Who was behind the slow, creeping corruption poisoning this land?

  He didn’t know.

  But he would find out soon.

  He had to.

  Cale had spent the night in quiet conversation with Xentar, the old spirit who appeared seemingly out of nowhere once again, flickering into view beside the bench as if he had never left. The two had shared the silence like old companions.

  Xentar regaled Cale with some stories from his life—tales of reckless adventures, embarrassing failures, and more than a few moments of absurd hilarity.

  "There was this one time," Xentar said, his voice rich with mischief, "when a dog stole an entire roasted chicken from the Lui's window. He chased that dog barefoot through the whole hamlet, tripped over a cart, and landed face-first in a puddle of horse dung. His pride took longer to heal than his sprained ankle.”

  Cale chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like something out of a bard’s tale.”

  “Oh, it was,” Xentar said with satisfaction. “Someone even turned it into a drinking song.”

  Before dawn, Xentar had faded again.

  The first to awaken was Tiana.

  She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, padded softly to the sack, and retrieved the waterskin. After taking a slow drink, she crossed the barn to where Cale still sat at the bench. He hadn’t moved from his post. Though he trusted her rune cube to keep the shadows away, he’d stayed up through the night—just in case.

  Tiana yawned, then gently leaned her head on his shoulder. Her eyes stared off into nothing, her presence grounding, warm.

  They remained in companionable silence.

  Then she spoke, voice soft.

  "What do you think about Moon?"

  Cale glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his lips.

  "She seems like a nice person," he said simply.

  Tiana didn’t respond, but her quiet lingered with thought.

  The creak of the barn door broke the moment.

  Carl stepped inside, carrying a woven basket in both hands.

  "Good morning," he greeted cheerfully as he approached.

  Cale raised a finger to his lips and pointed to where Moon was still curled in the hay. She was beginning to stir.

  "Sorry," Carl whispered, lowering his voice. He knelt beside them and removed the cloth covering the basket. Inside were wooden bowls filled with fresh cheese, dried sausages, and a pot of steaming stew.

  "This is my wife’s special stew," he said proudly. "Best I’ve ever had."

  The aroma rose into the air—rich, meaty, and full of herbs. It was the scent of home and warmth, and Tiana’s eyes lit up at the promise of real food.

  Carl served them each quietly. Cale accepted his bowl with a nod of gratitude, and Tiana cradled hers as if it were precious. Moon, now awake, sat up slowly and took her bowl in silence. The way she held the stew—cupped close to her chest like a treasure—spoke volumes.

  They ate quietly for a few minutes.

  Then Tiana spook.

  "Carl," she said, her voice gentle, "has Elden... been acting differently lately?"

  Carl’s hands stilled. The cheer faded from his face like light beneath a storm cloud. He looked down into his stew, then gave a slow, heavy nod.

  "Yes," he said quietly. "He has."

  The barn seemed to still.

  "Elden lost his son last year," Carl began, voice tight with memory. "His boy worked aboard a trade ship headed north. They sailed into a brutal storm—the kind that makes your blood run cold just hearing the tale."

  He paused, swallowing hard.

  "They searched for days. Elden paid men from three towns over to help. Would’ve hired the king themselves if he could’ve. And when they finally found the wreck..."

  His voice faltered.

  Tiana’s eyes narrowed slightly, watching his face, searching the truth beneath the grief.

  "They found his son tied to the mast," Carl whispered. "Still lashed to the wreckage."

  He took a shaky breath.

  "Elden buried him with his own hands. Didn’t let anyone else touch the body. And after that... he changed. The Elden you know—the quiet man who watches from a distance, who speaks only when needed—that’s what’s left. The rest of him... it never came back."

  Outside, the first rays of morning crested the horizon. Golden light spilled through the barn’s old wooden slats, warming the hay and casting long beams across the floor.