Dereth Hollow loomed in the distance—quiet, unimpressive, yet carrying the weight of unseen tension. From afar, it looked like a typical outland settlement: a handful of cottages, a broken windmill, grazing goats. But Liora could feel it before she saw it. The wrongness. A crawling sensation at the base of her skull, as if something underneath the surface was watching her through soil and shadow.
They arrived at twilight.
Elias scouted ahead while Sahria, newly recovered but still quiet since the last skirmish, walked beside Liora. The younger girl hadn't spoken much, but Liora didn't mind the silence. After all, she too had things stirring inside her—things she didn't yet have words for.
A crow perched on the fence post cawed once before flying off. Ominous, but not unusual.
What *was* unusual were the villagers.
They watched from behind curtains. No children played outside. No fires crackled in hearths. Only the tavern at the square offered a hint of life—dim, but still warm. Liora motioned for the others to follow.
Inside the tavern, the scent of old ale and smoke clung to every surface. A few men sat at separate tables, heads low, mugs untouched. An old woman rocked slowly in a corner, muttering to herself. And behind the bar stood a wiry man with sunken eyes who gave them a tight-lipped nod as they entered.
"Evenin'," he said, drying a mug that was already clean. "Passing through?"
"For now," Elias replied. "Looking for rest. Maybe answers."
"Rest I can give you." He nodded toward a stairway in the back. "Answers cost more."
Liora stepped forward. "We heard there were disappearances. Spirits. Shadows walking where they shouldn't."
The man's hands froze. "You heard wrong."
"No," said Sahria suddenly. "We didn't."
The barkeep stared at her, then turned back to Liora. "Whatever you think you're looking for, girl, it's best you don't find it."
Too late, Liora thought. She could feel the whispers again—low, garbled voices threading through her mind like oil in water.
They ascended to their rented room, a modest space with two beds and a window that rattled when the wind blew. Elias took the first watch, leaning against the door with his blade unsheathed. Sahria curled up and was asleep within minutes.
Liora, however, sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at her hands.
The voices had grown louder since she stepped into Dereth Hollow. Not in words, but in impressions. Anger. Grief. Something else—something cold and ancient.
She reached inward, focusing on the well of energy pulsing in her chest.
She was no longer just a summoner of dead things. Her connection to the Veil—the space between life and death—had shifted. It was thinner now. Breathing. Responding.
"Show me," she whispered.
A flicker of blue fire sparked across her palm.
And then a presence bloomed into the room.
It was not like the soldiers or beasts she had raised before. This one was different.
It hovered above the wooden floor, faintly visible—a shimmering silhouette of a young girl, maybe eight years old. Her dress was torn. Her hair floated as though underwater.
Liora's breath caught. "Who are you?"
The ghost didn't speak. Instead, it reached out a hand and touched Liora's shoulder.
A rush of memory surged through her—images not her own. Running through the fields at dusk. Screaming. A flash of steel. And then… silence.
Liora flinched, the contact burning cold. The girl faded from view, but the feeling remained.
"She was killed here," Liora whispered aloud. "And she's not the only one."
Elias turned sharply. "You saw something?"
Liora stood. "This village is haunted, yes—but not by accident. Someone is binding these souls. Feeding off them. Something necromantic."
"You think it's the White Circle?"
"I think it's worse," she muttered.
She moved to the window. From here, she could see the center of the village. A strange shimmer hung over the well in the square, visible only through her soulfire vision.
"That's where we start."
***
They returned to the square just after midnight. The village was dead quiet. No owls. No dogs. Just wind, and the faint rustle of something unseen.
Liora approached the well and extended her hand. The shimmer intensified. Lines of power—twisted, unnatural—coiled around the stone like veins.
"This is a soul trap," she said. "They've been binding spirits here. Using the grief in the village to keep it fed."
Elias's hand gripped his hilt. "So what happens if you break it?"
Before Liora could answer, the ground cracked.
A geyser of shadow erupted from the well.
From it emerged a figure—half-human, half-wraith. Its face twisted between features, flickering like a candle in wind. It had no legs, only smoke and bone.
It let out a shriek that shattered the stillness, and the windows in nearby cottages cracked.
"Behind me!" Liora shouted, calling her staff to her hand.
But this time, she didn't raise a summon.
This time, she *invited* one.
The ghost girl appeared again—this time brighter. Stronger.
Liora pointed toward the wraith. "Bind it."
The ghost shot forward like an arrow, wrapping spectral arms around the creature. The wraith screamed again, struggling, but the girl held firm.
Liora stepped forward, raising her palm. A rune ignited beneath her feet—one she hadn't studied or learned, but felt in her blood.
"*Ashar Vel Lumina!*" she chanted, channeling energy through her veins.
The wraith let out a final shriek before imploding, collapsing into a burst of smoke and silver ash.
The soul trap cracked. Then shattered.
And with it, dozens of spirits rose—translucent figures blinking in the moonlight. Some looked angry. Others simply… relieved.
One by one, they faded, moving toward the sky.
The last to go was the ghost girl. She turned and smiled.
Then she mouthed something.
*Thank you.*
And vanished.
***
Back in their room, Liora lay awake as the wind died down.
Elias sat nearby, sharpening his blade. "That thing… it wasn't just feeding. It was growing."
"Yes," Liora said. "And it won't be the last."
"You handled it like someone born for it."
She glanced over, brow raised. "Compliment or warning?"
He smirked. "Bit of both."
She looked back up at the ceiling. "The voices are getting clearer. Not just commands now. Feelings. Memories."
"That scares you?"
She was quiet for a long moment. Then, "No. It makes me feel… closer. To something I've always been missing."
A pause.
Then Elias asked, "What about your father? If he's alive, do you think he'd recognize you?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "But I'll make sure he remembers."
And beneath her skin, the whispers began again.
Not haunting.
Not screaming.
But guiding.
She was changing—and the world would soon feel it.