The morning sun is high now, stretching golden rays across the rolling hills and distant cliffs that border the Western Guard Camp. The camp itself is bustling—soldiers sharpening blades, blacksmiths hammering metal, traders unloading goods.
Yet beneath the hum of daily life, there is an undercurrent of unease.
Because Red Nose is back.
Because we do not know why.
——
We leave the busier sections of camp, following the narrow dirt paths that lead toward the outskirts, where the land is wild, untamed. The grass here is taller, swaying in the gentle breeze. Small creatures rustle through the undergrowth, skittering away at our footsteps.
For a while, no one speaks.
Edan is deep in thought, his brows furrowed.
Elias walks beside me, hands in his pockets, his gaze distant.
I, too, am lost in thought.
Because Red Nose—
Because the Imps—
Because the Black Spirits—
Everything feels like a pattern we should already recognise, but cannot yet grasp.
——
We eventually stop in a small meadow near the treeline. The sun is warm here, the earth damp with morning dew. Scattered among the grasses are clusters of wild herbs—some familiar, some foreign.
Edan crouches near a patch of violet-coloured leaves, inspecting them with practised ease.
"Blue Fennel," he murmurs, running his fingers along the delicate stems. "Good for easing fevers. Poor for deep wounds."
I kneel beside him, tilting my head. "How do you tell the difference?"
He plucks a single leaf, rolling it between his fingers before holding it up to the sunlight.
"The veins," he says. "See how they shimmer faintly? That's the oil inside. The more pronounced the glow, the stronger the medicinal properties."
I nod, tucking that knowledge away.
Nearby, Elias is plucking small, round berries from a low-growing shrub.
He pops one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
Edan glances up, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn't eat those if I were you."
Elias pauses mid-chew, then swallows with a lazy shrug. "Tastes fine to me."
Edan sighs. "Crimson Barrowberries. Not deadly, but they'll give you stomach cramps if you eat too many."
Elias flicks a berry at him. "You could've said that before I swallowed it."
I suppress a laugh, despite the tension that lingers over us.
For a moment, in this quiet place, we are just people, doing ordinary things.
And yet—
Even as we gather herbs and inspect plants, the weight of the conversation we have been avoiding presses down on us.
Because it is not just Red Nose we must understand.
It is the Black Spirits themselves.
——
Edan finally breaks the silence.
"You realise, don't you?" he murmurs, standing and dusting off his hands.
Elias glances at him. "Realise what?"
Edan turns to face us fully. "That we still don't know what a Black Spirit actually is."
I freeze.
Because he is right.
Because even after all we have learned—after all we have seen—
The Black Spirits remain a mystery.
——
Elias exhales, crossing his arms. "I thought they were parasites."
Edan tilts his head, considering. "That is the common belief. But is that truly what they are?"
A pause.
Then, carefully—
"We assume they attach themselves to individuals, corrupt them, twist them. But have you ever wondered why they do it? What they gain from it?"
Elias taps his fingers against his arm, thoughtful.
"Power," he says. "They feed on power. Or maybe ambition."
Edan nods slowly. "Perhaps. But then why do some grow larger? Why do some vanish? Why do some—like the one that latched onto Red Nose—leave their host entirely?"
A chill runs down my spine.
Because that is the real question, isn't it?
Red Nose was warped by his Black Spirit.
But that means—
At some point, the Black Spirit left him.
And that?
That should be impossible.
——
I swallow, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Are they individuals?"
Elias glances at me. "What do you mean?"
I hesitate.
Then, softly—"Are the Black Spirits separate beings? Or are they… connected?"
——
A long silence follows.
Even Edan does not immediately respond.
Because it is a thought none of us have considered before.
Elias exhales. "You're asking if they're one mind or many."
I nod.
Edan's expression is unreadable.
"In legends, they are referred to as spirits," he muses. "But in ancient texts, there are passages that describe them as a force rather than individuals."
He pauses.
"As if they are fragments of something larger."
——
Elias stiffens.
I turn to him, frowning.
"Elias?"
His jaw tightens, his gaze darkening slightly.
Then, voice low—
"If they're all connected… then what am I?"
——
The words hang in the air.
Heavy.
Unsettling.
Because he is not asking it as a joke.
Because he is asking it as a man who is not entirely sure he exists the way he once did.
Because if Black Spirits are not individuals, but pieces of something larger—
Then what happens when one of those pieces is removed?
What happens when one of those pieces is turned into something else?
What happens when that piece—
Is him?
——
Edan closes his eyes, exhaling slowly.
"It's just a theory," he murmurs. "We don't know anything for certain yet."
Elias laughs, but it is not amused.
"Yeah," he mutters. "But wouldn't it be funny if I wasn't even a whole person anymore?"
I flinch.
Because I do not like that thought.
Because I do not like the way he said it.
Because I have felt him change—subtly, slowly, in ways he does not even realise.
And now—
Now I am afraid.
Not just for what he is.
But for what he might become.
——
A breeze stirs the leaves around us, rustling through the tall grass.
Birds call in the distance, the world moving on as if it does not care for our revelations.
For a moment, none of us speak.
Then Edan straightens, brushing dust from his sleeves.
"We should move."
Elias nods, forcing an easy grin. "Yeah. Before I start having an existential crisis."
I watch him carefully, but he does not meet my gaze.
And I know—
This conversation is not over.
Not really.
Because we still do not know what Elias is.
Because we still do not know what the Black Spirits truly are.
And because—
Somewhere out there, Red Nose is waiting.
And we are running out of time.