"Stop!" I said, my voice harsher than I intended.
"Ugh, for crying out loud…" Aria sighed dramatically, turning to look at me as though dealing with a spoiled child. "Ignis, I know you're itching to throw yourself into investigating, but I already told you: tomorrow, we're checking in with the church first before you go off punching evil again." Her sarcasm hit harder than I expected.
I crossed my arms, trying to maintain composure.
"No, listen. This is serious. I swear I saw something—a person. They were walking weirdly, like they were hurt, and they said something strange… that they were waiting for me."
Her expression shifted from exasperation to skepticism in less than a second.
"Ignis, don't be ridiculous. It's late, you're tired, and your mind is probably playing tricks on you."
I tried to argue back, but before I knew it, I was already inside the inn.
After unsuccessfully convincing Aria that I wasn't suffering from schizophrenia, I had no choice but to surrender—or rather, accept her thinly veiled threat of divine punishment if I didn't "behave."
That's how I found myself standing before the massive doors of the village church. It was an enormous structure, completely disproportionate to the humble homes surrounding it. Carved gargoyles seemed to sneer at me, while the cross at the top loomed like a silent challenge.
"Hurry up, Ignis!" Aria scolded, her tone back to its usual mix of irritation and condescension.
I muttered a curse under my breath and quickened my pace.
Inside, an altar boy led us to an office in the farthest wing of the building. I couldn't shake the feeling that the eyes of the religious figures painted in the stained glass windows followed my every step.
"Father Francisco will see you shortly," the boy said, motioning for us to sit in the office. It was surprisingly cozy, with polished wooden furniture and the faint aroma of incense hanging in the air.
"Thank you," Aria replied politely as I slouched into a chair across from the desk.
"What punctuality from the good father," I muttered sarcastically, fiddling with one of the books on the desk.
"Ignis, behave," Aria snapped, giving me a look that could have stopped a demon in its tracks.
Before I could retort, the door opened, and Father Francisco entered. He was an older man, his tired but piercing gaze seeming to see straight through you with a single glance.
"Welcome, travelers. I'm glad you've come. We have much to discuss," he said, taking a seat behind the desk.
"Father, we're here to—" Aria began, but the priest raised a hand to stop her.
"I know you're seeking answers about the problems in the village. But first, let me ask you something: have you heard of Lira?"
Silence filled the room as Aria and I exchanged glances.
"Lira?" I asked, confused. "No, I've never heard that name before."
The priest nodded slowly, as though expecting that answer.
"A long time ago, this village was home to a young woman named Lira. She was… different. Smarter, more curious, but also lonely. And as is often the case with things people don't understand, they began to fear her."
He paused, his eyes distant, as if reliving the story in his mind.
"They accused her of witchcraft. She was tried and condemned to die at the stake. But before the flames consumed her, she made a pact—a promise that she would return… and bring darkness with her."
A chill ran down my spine at his words.
"Wait, Father," Aria interrupted. "Are you saying the 'evil' the villagers mention is… her?"
The priest nodded slowly.
"We believe so. Although we don't know how, all evidence points to Lira's spirit having returned."
"And what does that have to do with us?" I asked, a mix of unease and curiosity brewing inside me.
The priest fixed me with a grave stare.
"That is something we don't yet understand. But last night, some villagers claimed to have seen a figure… searching for someone."
My heart skipped a beat. The strange figure I had seen the night before immediately came to mind.
"Do you think it could be… looking for me?" I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
The priest didn't answer immediately, but the heaviness in his expression was answer enough.
Before I could say anything else, my eyes landed on a painting across the room. It depicted a young woman with dark hair and eyes filled with rage.
"Is that her?" I asked, pointing at the portrait.
The priest nodded.
"That is Lira."
Suddenly, the eyes in the painting seemed to shimmer, and a faint, almost inaudible laugh echoed in my ears.