Pao walked down the muddy trail leading into the woods.
He was seventeen years old. A bit shorter than most boys his age, with lean arms and a wiry build from years of traveling. His skin was light brown, his face sharp and narrow, and his eyes were dark—so dark they sometimes looked black. His black hair was messy and tied into a short, loose knot behind his head. He wore a brown coat with a high collar, patched in places, and thick dark pants tucked into old boots that squished slightly in the mud.
His blade hung at his left side, plain but well-used. A satchel sat against his hip, packed with the few tools he had left—most burned or broken from his last mission.
He moved with quiet steps, always looking ahead.
The forest path was wet. It had rained the night before, and puddles covered the trail. The trees were tall and silent. There were no birds. No animals. Only the sound of Pao's boots hitting the ground and the faint creak of leather.
It had taken him two days to reach Drevos Hollow.
The Guild had sent him a week ago. Reports from the town said strange things were happening. Animals found dead in circles. People falling sick. One man claimed his daughter spoke in a voice that wasn't hers.
The signs were clear.
Possession.
Normally, a ranked exorcist would've gone. But there were fewer of them now. The Guild had shrunk since the collapse. Fewer towns. Fewer posts. Fewer people who still believed in the old ways.
So they sent Pao.
He wasn't ranked.
But he was the only one nearby—and his mentor, Solon, had trained him well.
At least, that's what they hoped.
By late afternoon, he reached the edge of the village.
Drevos Hollow looked quiet. Too quiet.
There were fifteen or twenty small homes, most made of stone and dark wood. Thin chimneys rose into the cloudy sky. The streets were empty. A wooden fence surrounded the town, half-broken in places.
He walked past a well and toward the center, where a small statue stood. The face of the statue was worn away. It might've been a priest. Or a warrior. He couldn't tell.
He looked around.
No signs of life. No smoke. No movement.
Not even a dog barked.
He stepped toward the largest building—a church.
Its door was cracked open.
He pushed it wide and stepped inside.
The inside of the church was dark. Dust covered the benches. Cobwebs hung from the corners. One of the stained-glass windows was broken.
There was a symbol on the floor in front of the altar.
Drawn in dark ink.
Two sharp curves crossed through a circle. It wasn't a Divine seal.
It was something else.
Something older.
Pao crouched beside it and opened his satchel.
He pulled out a black manual with a worn leather cover. The corners were burned, and some pages were missing, but it was still readable.
He flipped through until he found the section on summoning marks.
One symbol matched.
Not exactly.
But close.
It came from a banned section—signs used by cults who followed the Seven Devils. The mark in front of him was sloppier, but it had the same shape. A twisted circle. Lines that led nowhere.
His hand moved to his chest.
Under his shirt, the skin burned faintly.
The Lanternbrand Solon had carved there still reacted to nearby curses.
Then he heard a sound.
A footstep behind him.
He turned fast, drawing his blade.
A woman stood in the doorway.
She looked to be in her early thirties. Tall and thin, with pale skin and long brown hair that was tangled and wet from the rain. Her eyes were wide open—too wide. They didn't blink. Her hands were clenched at her sides.
She wore a white dress, stained at the bottom. The fabric clung to her arms, showing scratch marks on her skin.
Her voice was flat and calm.
"Are you from the Guild?"
Pao didn't lower his blade.
"Yes."
She tilted her head slightly.
"You're too late."
Her voice cracked—and then her neck did too. It bent sharply to the side with a sickening pop.
Then she rushed at him.
Pao didn't think.
He shouted the first spell that came to mind.
"Verun Kaa!"
The blade in his hand pulsed. A wave of force shot forward.
The woman was thrown back against the doorway. She hit the frame and crumpled to the floor.
He ran to her and knelt down.
She wasn't dead. But she wasn't awake either.
Her eyes were still open. Still staring.
And something inside them was… wrong.
She looked like she had been hollowed out.
Pao backed away, chest heaving.
The burning under his shirt was stronger now.
Then the mark on the floor lit up.
Faint red light spread across the wood.
And a voice—deep and heavy—spoke in his head.
"You spoke the word. You opened the door."
Pao dropped to one knee.
The brand on his chest burned like fire.
He gasped, grabbing at it.
And then he heard another voice.
Familiar.
Solon.
"Never say the names, Pao. Never say them aloud. Not even once."
The mark in the floor cracked down the center.
Something groaned beneath it.
Pao screamed.
Then everything went black.
When he woke up, it was darker than before.
He lay on the church floor. His head ached. His back was sore.
The woman was gone.
The mark was no longer glowing.
But the floor where it had been drawn had changed.
The ink was gone.
Burned into the wood was a scarred shape. Like someone had clawed through from below—but never made it out.
Pao sat up, slowly.
His blade was still nearby. His manual, too.
He picked them up.
He looked at the broken glass window and the silent statue at the altar.
Something had started.
And it wasn't finished.