The pale moonlight crept into the shack, silence spreading in slumber.
Faint whispers traveled with moonbeams through branches, transforming into rhythmic snores. Tattered clouds drifted between sparse starlight, casting shadows over the camp before the gold mine. Spine-chilling shadows silently spread through the camp as the surrounding snores gradually dimmed.
Creak—
The old bedframe creaked with movement, and a vengeful glow flickered briefly beneath the dark bed.
A veil-like ethereal silhouette rose from under the bed, lingering around two sleeping figures. Just as the cold spirit was about to touch the living beings it hated and envied, moonlight streamed through the cracks into the shack, illuminating shoes hanging off the bed and papyrus paper stuck to their soles.
The ethereal figure's edge lifted the papyrus, revealing blurry characters in the moonlight:
[To... dearest spirits... welcome... hope... come again]
The veil-like shadow hesitated, swirling several times around the sleeping figure before snatching the note and slipping out of the shack.
The papyrus was blocked by the wooden door, floating down, only to be caught again by the returning ethereal veil and pulled through the door crack.
Three veil-like silhouettes emerged from the quiet camp. In the moonlight, they resembled pale dancing dresses, floating, spinning, gathering, before diving into the unknown depths of the gold mine.
Dense darkness spread as ghostly shadows and rustling sounds arose, echoing with evil, horrifying conspiracies that occasionally transformed into malicious laughter.
At some point, one silhouette raised the papyrus, only to have it snatched away and torn apart by its companions amidst questioning.
After a long while, darkness and silence returned.
...
Sunlight is the best medicine for those in slumber.
An Nan was first awakened by the commotion outside the shack, followed by the thunderous knocking on the wooden door.
Throwing on a linen coat, An Nan removed the door bolt and opened it.
The sudden clear chaos flooded in. Old Zoren's face, etched with tension, relaxed upon seeing An Nan. After An Nan woke Martin, Zoren told them about last night's events.
All miners in the camp claimed they had horrifying nightmares. The apprentice mage said they were cursed by spirits, but everything was fine now.
The miners didn't believe it. A mage apprentice without magic or magical items clearly couldn't contain the chaos. Now the camp was engulfed in disorder with people fleeing, demanding wages, and clamoring for food.
"Why weren't you affected?"
An Nan felt fine, and Martin was merely drowsy - they seemed unaffected.
Realizing something, An Nan looked at the door panel. The note that had been stuck there was gone.
"Seems my message worked," An Nan thought excitedly.
This not only meant they were spared but also marked An Nan's first achievement in communicating with non-humans.
Old Zoren was equally excited, believing it was the blessing of the Goddess of Fortune - all miners were cursed by spirits except them.
An Nan stopped Martin from agreeing. Though spirits could communicate, risking their lives for 30 copper coins seemed unwise...
"Forty copper coins each, plus a share if you find ore!"
"I accept," An Nan quickly agreed before Old Zoren could change his mind.
Old Zoren, limping like a windmill, hurried off to prepare breakfast.
"An Nan, you're amazing!" After the praise, Martin fidgeted, "Could we... tell our families we only got 30 copper coins...?"
An Nan thought of how Martin surrendered his wages to Aunt Susan, how he barely received tips at the tavern, how he always sold firewood at the lowest price, and agreed.
While waiting for Old Zoren to bring food, An Nan scanned the chaotic camp and found the half-minotaur sitting at the forest edge, holding a thin wooden board.
The broken morning light filtered through the tree shade. The half-minotaur leaned against a tree, holding charcoal that seemed tiny in its hands, sketching increasingly clear outlines on the thin board.
The pale ghosts had no definite shape, appearing like shrouded silhouettes.
"Are these the spirits that infiltrated the camp last night?"
An Nan recognized what it was drawing. The half-minotaur looked up, its brown pupils reflecting the figure wearing dirty linen clothes but bearing a clean, clear face and eyes.
"Why don't you carry the curse's aura?"
"My friendliness infected it."
The half-minotaur didn't elaborate, instead explaining why it wasn't affected: "Tainted blood makes me immune to tricks."
"Making so many people have nightmares was just a trick?"
"No one was hurt." The half-minotaur realized An Nan, despite his noble-like appearance, understood less about the world than a child.
"Aren't you going to tell them?"
Then, An Nan heard the half-minotaur rattle its ankle chains.
"I'm a slave," the half-minotaur said, dropping the charcoal and handing the thin wooden board to An Nan before standing up.
"Is this for me?"
An Nan gladly accepted the charcoal drawing, "Thank you."
The half-minotaur's steps briefly paused at An Nan's gratitude before walking into the continuing chaos of the camp.
Its situation reminded An Nan of himself a week ago. If not for Aunt Susan, he wouldn't have been much better off.
This sense of shared misfortune almost made An Nan want to buy the half-minotaur's freedom, but someone barely surviving themselves had no right to help others.
Carrying the drawing board back to the shack, An Nan found Martin already crouching by the basket, eating.
It was still black bread and sour salted peas.
Though mining paid twice as much as the tavern, the food was so poor it reminded An Nan of his begging days.
Swallowing breakfast, An Nan and a proudly strutting Martin entered the gold mine under astonished gazes.
However, as soon as they entered, An Nan pulled Martin into a side tunnel only dozens of meters from the exit.
The intermittent clanging of pickaxes continued from morning until afternoon before An Nan and Martin emerged with their baskets.
The good news was they hadn't encountered any ghosts; the bad news was they hadn't found any gold either.
"One last day... just one more day..." Old Zoren muttered like an obsessed gambler.
An Nan didn't mind; he even prepared to write another letter, despite knowing few characters.
[To:
Lovely spirits, I yearn for your ○, hoping you'll allow me deeper inside—from a miner wanting ○○]
Checking the completed papyrus, the circles made him blush, but he really didn't know those words and couldn't write them ambiguously.
He stuck the papyrus to the door, extinguished the oil lamp, and slowly drifted to sleep.