The small, pulsating sphere of darkness hovers just above Elias's palm, its shape-shifting, warping as if it cannot decide what form to take.
It looks alive.
Not just some formless energy—but something with intent.
Edan watches it carefully, his sharp scholar's mind turning over possibilities faster than I can follow. His fingers twitch slightly, as if resisting the urge to reach out and touch the anomaly floating between us.
"This…" He exhales, eyes narrowing. "This isn't what I expected."
Elias tilts his head slightly, smirking. "Yeah? And what were you expecting?"
Edan does not answer immediately. Instead, he studies the shape, watching how it pulses, and how it responds to Elias's presence.
Then, slowly, he begins to speak.
"Let's start with what we know."
——
"Black Spirits," he says, his voice measured, "are supposed to be bound to individuals—attached like parasites or… perhaps like symbiotic entities. But they do not manifest like this."
He gestures at the hovering orb of darkness, his gaze sharp.
"They do not take physical form—at least, not as far as recorded history suggests. They remain unseen, whispering to their hosts, influencing their actions, feeding on power but never… appearing."
He pauses, considering. "At least, that's how they have always been described."
Elias flicks his fingers, and the sphere wavers, pulsing in response.
"And this?" he asks casually. "What's this, then?"
Edan's lips press into a thin line.
"That's what I'm trying to determine."
——
"One possibility," he begins, voice steadier now, "is that what you're holding is not a Black Spirit itself… but a fragment of one."
I frown. "A… fragment?"
Edan nods. "Think of it this way. If Black Spirits are entities of pure darkness, pure corruption, then perhaps they are not as singular as we assumed. Perhaps they are made up of many different parts—like a swarm, or a collective consciousness."
He gestures vaguely. "What if, rather than being one mind, one will, the Black Spirit is a many-formed thing, breaking itself into pieces and spreading across hosts?"
A beat of silence.
Elias raises an eyebrow. "So you're saying this little thing in my hand is just… what? A baby Black Spirit?"
Edan exhales, shaking his head. "No, not quite. I think it's more complicated than that."
——
He paces slightly, fingers twitching in thought.
"Black Spirits… they corrupt, they mutate. But we've always assumed they act alone. That each one is separate, bound to its chosen host, influencing them and nothing else."
His gaze flickers to Elias.
"But you…"
He trails off.
Elias rolls his shoulders. "What about me?"
Edan exhales. "You shouldn't exist."
A long silence.
Then, softer—"Not like this."
——
He turns fully to face Elias, his expression unreadable.
"Black Spirits take hosts. They don't become them. They don't… turn into something like you."
Elias smirks. "And yet, here I am."
Edan sighs. "Exactly. And that's what's bothering me."
——
He looks at the hovering sphere again.
"You see, the reason Black Spirits are so feared isn't just because they grant power. It's because they take. They consume. Every record we have suggests that when a Black Spirit is bound to someone, it slowly eats away at their essence, their identity, their very self."
He looks back at Elias.
"But you're still here. And you don't seem to be fading."
Elias snorts. "Well, that's reassuring."
——
Edan ignores him. "So what if…?"
His voice trails off, his fingers tapping absently against his belt.
"What if you're not a host at all?"
My breath catches.
Elias blinks, tilting his head. "Not a host?"
Edan's gaze darkens.
"What if you're something… entirely different?"
——
The air grows heavy between us.
Elias exhales, flicking his fingers again, making the dark sphere pulse once more.
"Elaborate," he says simply.
Edan hesitates. Then, with carefully measured words, he speaks.
"If Black Spirits normally attach to a host, feeding off them, guiding them toward something—then what happens when that process is interrupted?"
A beat.
"What happens when a Black Spirit's normal cycle is broken?"
Elias frowns. "I have a feeling you're about to tell me."
——
Edan nods.
"There's an ancient theory," he begins. "That the Black Spirits are not just mindless parasites, but something far older—a force that predates even the ancient ruins, something woven into the very fabric of the world."
He gestures toward the sphere in Elias's palm.
"But no one has ever seen them act independently of their hosts."
He pauses, his eyes narrowing.
"Until now."
——
A slow chill creeps down my spine.
Edan's voice drops slightly. "I think… you interrupted something, Elias. Something that wasn't supposed to be interrupted."
Elias exhales, watching the shifting darkness in his hand. "And what does that mean, exactly?"
Edan runs a hand through his hair.
"It means you may not be a Black Spirit at all."
A sharp silence.
Elias chuckles, but there's no humour in it. "Right. And what else would I be?"
Edan doesn't answer immediately.
Then, carefully—"Maybe you're what happens when a Black Spirit is forced into a new existence."
——
The words hang between us, impossible to ignore.
Elias tilts his head slightly. "So you're saying I'm… what? A Black Spirit that got stuck?"
Edan shrugs. "Or one that evolved. Or one that was never supposed to be on its own. Or something else entirely."
He gestures toward the sphere again. "And that thing in your hand? I think it's proof."
Elias raises an eyebrow. "Proof of what?"
Edan's expression is unreadable.
"That you're not just some random accident."
He pauses.
"That you're something we've never seen before."
——
I swallow hard.
Because I can feel it too.
The wrongness, the difference, the thing that sets Elias apart from everything we understand.
He is not human.
But he is not a Black Spirit either.
He is something else.
Something new.
And that—
That is the most terrifying thought of all.