"The dead do not speak, but they are never truly silent."
The road stretched endlessly before them, winding through a forest that had long since forgotten what sunlight looked like. The moon hung low and heavy, casting silver threads of light through the thick canopy. Shadows stretched across the dirt path, shifting too fluidly, like living things moving just out of sight.
Rei's breathing was steady. Measured. Controlled.
But inside?
Something was wrong.
The air around him still felt heavy, like the memory of Aya was clinging to his skin. He could still hear her voice, still feel the weight of her gaze on his back—except when he turned, there was nothing.
Just the trees. Just the night. Just the endless sound of his own footsteps.
He exhaled slowly.
This wasn't the first time he had seen her.
And it wouldn't be the last.
The first time he had seen Aya after her death, it had been just a flicker—a passing shadow at the edge of his vision.
A trick of the mind, he had told himself.
A side effect of exhaustion.
The weight of grief manifesting as something his senses couldn't shake.
But then it had happened again.
And again.
Until it was no longer just fleeting glimpses.
Until she started appearing where she shouldn't be.
Standing among the ruins of a town he had never visited before. Sitting on the edge of a riverbank, her feet brushing against the water. Watching him through the crowd of a nameless village, where no one else could see her.
Never speaking.
Never moving.
Just watching.
And every time, Rei would force himself to look away.
Because the second he acknowledged her—**truly acknowledged her—**he knew he would break.
And right now?
Breaking wasn't an option.
There was a rule in this world.
A rule that had existed long before Rei was born, long before he had ever picked up a sword.
When someone died, they either ascended to the Divine or were consumed by the Abyss.
That was how it worked.
There was no middle ground. No wandering souls, no lingering echoes.
The dead did not stay.
And yet—Aya was still here.
Which meant something was wrong.
Something had gone against the natural order.
And the worst part?
Rei wasn't sure if it was because of her… or because of him.
"You've been quiet for a while."
Ren's voice cut through the silence, breaking the steady rhythm of their footsteps.
Rei didn't respond right away.
Because for the past hour, he had felt something behind them.
Not a person. Not a monster.
Something else.
Something he didn't have a name for.
He had felt it since the fight with the Abyssborn.
Like a pair of invisible eyes resting on the back of his neck, following, lingering, waiting.
Ren slowed her pace slightly, falling into step beside him.
"You keep looking over your shoulder," she said. "Expecting someone?"
Rei exhaled.
Not someone.
Something.
But he wasn't sure if saying it out loud would make it worse.
So instead, he shook his head.
"It's nothing."
Ren didn't believe him.
He could tell by the way she studied him, her gaze flicking over his face, searching for something.
But whatever she found—or didn't find—she didn't push further.
Instead, she rolled her shoulders, adjusting the weight of her sword.
"If you say so."
Rei didn't answer.
Because if he did, he might say the wrong thing.
And right now, he wasn't sure what the right thing was.
They walked for another mile before stopping at a clearing just off the main road.
Ren set down her pack, checking the straps on her armor, before glancing at him again.
"You planning to sleep?" she asked.
Rei huffed a quiet breath.
"Probably not."
Ren snorted. "Didn't think so."
She tossed a bundle of dried kindling into the dirt, pulling out a flint stone from her belt. A few quick strikes, and a fire came to life.
The flames flickered against her face, casting sharp lines across her features—the faintest trace of an old scar near her temple, the way her amber eyes reflected the light almost too well.
She leaned back against a tree, crossing her arms.
"You always like this?" she asked.
Rei raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
She tilted her head slightly. "Like you've got one foot in this world and one foot in the next."
Rei stilled.
Not because of her words—but because of how close they were to the truth.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached into his coat pocket, fingers brushing against something cool, metallic.
A coin.
The one he had left for Alistair.
The one that had somehow ended up back in his possession.
Rei turned it over between his fingers, watching the firelight reflect off its surface.
And then, quietly—almost too softly—he spoke.
"Have you ever seen someone after they've died?"
Ren didn't respond right away.
She studied him carefully, her fingers tapping lightly against her sleeve.
Then, finally—
"Once."
Rei looked at her. "And?"
Ren shrugged.
"And I never saw them again."
Her voice was casual, almost flippant. But Rei caught it—the small hesitation, the slight stiffness in her shoulders.
She wasn't lying.
But she also wasn't telling the whole truth.
Rei let out a slow breath, tucking the coin back into his pocket.
"Must be nice," he murmured.
Ren tilted her head.
"You're saying you have?"
Rei didn't answer.
Instead, he glanced past the fire—into the darkened woods, where the shadows stretched too far.
For a second, just a second—he thought he saw her again.
Standing between the trees.
Watching.
But when he blinked—she was gone.
Ren shifted, adjusting her position. "Well," she said, leaning back, "I don't know who you think you're seeing, but if they're still following you—"
She tapped the hilt of her sword.
"—they should know I don't like company."
Rei smirked.
Not because he believed she could do anything against a ghost.
But because for the first time tonight—he almost believed she would try.
And somehow, that made him feel just a little less alone.
Even if the past was still following him.
Even if Aya wasn't done with him yet.