Edan's voice is low, steady, yet edged with something I rarely hear from him—true warning.
"Listen to me," he says, standing at the edge of the forest clearing. "You need to be more careful."
Elias tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. "About what, exactly?"
Edan folds his arms, his expression unreadable. "About showing that power. About what you are."
I feel a chill press against my skin despite the warmth of the day.
"Why?" I ask, though the answer is already curling in my mind like smoke.
Edan sighs, rubbing his temple. "You're new to this world, so you don't understand yet. But most people—especially those in power—are not kind to things they fear."
He turns to Elias, his gaze sharper now. "And they fear the Black Spirits."
Elias exhales, crossing his arms. "Yeah, we figured that out."
Edan shakes his head. "No, you don't get it. It's not just a suspicion, not just whispers in dark corners. There are entire organisations dedicated to hunting down people like you. People who are even suspected of having ties to a Black Spirit."
The weight of his words settles into the air, heavy and unshakable.
"And they won't ask questions first," he continues. "They will burn you at the stake, hang you from a city gate, purge you from existence."
Elias doesn't laugh. He doesn't smirk. He stares at Edan for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
Then, carefully—
"Who?"
Edan exhales, glancing at me briefly before speaking.
"The Holy Knights," he says. "The Elionism Church. The Valencian authorities." He counts them off on his fingers, one by one, as if listing the many ways Elias could be executed.
I clench my hands, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"How do they know?" I whisper. "How do they even tell when someone is—"
"Corrupted?" Edan finishes for me. "It depends. Some can sense the presence of a Black Spirit. Others rely on… less reliable methods."
I can guess what he means.
Witch hunts. Baseless accusations. Fear feeding fear.
Elias exhales, running a hand through his hair. "So what you're saying is, if I do anything remotely weird, someone will eventually come along and try to kill me?"
"Not just you," Edan says quietly. His gaze flickers to me.
And I freeze.
Because I know what he means.
Because if Elias is marked by a Black Spirit, then so am I.
Because I am not normal either.
——
We make our way back to the Western Guard Camp, our thoughts weighed down by Edan's warning. The afternoon sun now stretches over the stone walls, glinting off the steel of the guards standing at their posts.
The camp is alive with movement, tension, and preparation.
Weapons being sharpened. Armour fitted and checked. Supplies are stacked in neat formations.
This is not just a place of soldiers waiting for orders.
It is a place preparing for war.
——
Edan separates from us for a while, heading towards the blacksmith's section, where rows of weapons and tools lie under open-air tents.
Elias watches as Edan selects a weapon from a neatly arranged rack—a curved sabre, its surface dark but polished, reflecting the light with a subtle gleam.
"You don't use a staff?" Elias asks, tilting his head.
Edan smirks, testing the weight of the blade. "I do when I have to. But I prefer something a little more… adaptable."
He spins the sabre once, then nods in satisfaction.
"Magic's useful, sure," he continues, "but sometimes a fight comes down to steel meeting steel."
Elias hums, watching as another soldier hauls a massive crossbow-like structure onto a cart nearby. "Are those…?"
"Ballistae," Edan says without looking. "Good for taking down big things. Or breaking through walls, if you fire enough."
Elias whistles, shaking his head. "Damn. So you're really preparing for something serious."
Edan glances at him. "You should be too."
——
We regroup near the command tent, where discussions are taking place. Maps are spread across wooden tables, marked with red and black ink.
Elias leans in slightly, scanning the rough sketches. "What's this?"
"Battle plans," a nearby guard mutters. "The Imp raids have been getting worse. But now, with Red Nose showing up again…"
He doesn't finish.
Because he doesn't have to.
The pattern is clear.
The monsters are changing.
And it is not normal.
——
Edan leans over the table, tracing a line along the mountains bordering Serendia.
"This isn't the first time we've seen something like this," he murmurs.
Elias raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
Edan nods. "Throughout history, there have been… spikes. Sudden surges of monstrous transformations. Creatures that weren't supposed to be intelligent suddenly leading armies. Beasts mutating beyond their natural forms. Civilisations collapsing seemingly overnight."
I shiver. "And the cause?"
Edan's lips press together. "Always the same answer."
He looks up.
"The Black Spirits."
——
Elias tilts his head. "Okay, but here's what I don't get—are they one thing, or are they many?"
I inhale sharply.
Because we had this conversation earlier.
Because it still has no answer.
Edan frowns, tapping his fingers against the map. "That depends on who you ask. Some scholars believe they're like demons—individual entities that feed on hosts."
Elias gestures vaguely. "And the other theory?"
Edan's gaze darkens. "That they're not individuals at all."
A pause.
Then, carefully—
"That they are… fragments."
I shudder.
Because I know what he means.
Because Elias knows what he means.
Because if the Black Spirits are not truly separate beings, but pieces of something greater—
Then what happens when one is removed?
What happens when one becomes human?
I glance at Elias.
And I see the way his expression has shifted.
The way he clenches his hands just a little too tightly.
The way he is starting to realise something he does not want to realise.
——
Outside, soldiers continue their drills, oblivious to our conversation.
Their world is simple.
They prepare for war.
They fight.
They win or they die.
But our war?
It is not simple.
It is a war of secrets, of hidden truths, of things lurking beneath the surface of history itself.
And I know—
That whatever comes next, we are no longer just bystanders.
We are part of it now.
Whether we want to be or not.