The silence was absolute.
I stood in the middle of the ruined house, breathing in the heavy stench of decay.
The walls were bleeding mold.
The windows were cracked and dirty, allowing only slivers of pale light to penetrate the gloom.
Everything about this place spoke of abandonment, of things left to rot and fester.
I closed my eyes.
No heartbeat.
No warmth.
Yet I lived.
Or something close to it.
I opened my hands slowly, watching how the fingers moved — familiar, but not entirely mine.
There was strength here, tempered by years of study and quiet resilience.
The body I now possessed was that of Professor Ethan Voss — historian, archaeologist, and obsessive seeker of hidden truths.
Fragments of memory floated inside my mind like broken glass.
Lecture halls.
Dusty libraries.
The smell of old parchment and ink.
The bitter taste of black coffee late into sleepless nights.
All of it was his…
and now it was mine.
A strange merger.
I was not Ethan.
But I was also not who I had been before.
"Forget the past."
The words slipped from my mouth, soft and bitter.
Vengeance?
Regret?
They were heavy chains I had no interest in carrying.
Whoever had ended Ethan's life — or mine, before possession — no longer mattered.
Survival mattered.
Power mattered.
Knowledge mattered.
Everything else could burn.
I flexed my hands again and focused inward, willing the fragment of power to awaken.
A sharp, cold pulse stirred behind my brow —
and the world shifted.
The Appraisal Eye opened.
At first, it was subtle — a faint shimmering overlay on everything around me, tiny glyphs hovering in the air.
I turned slowly, letting the Eye drink in the surroundings.
Cracked Window (Structural Integrity: 18%)
Mold-Infested Wall (Toxicity: Minor)
Rusted Chandelier (Break Risk: 92%)
It was beautiful, in a cold, clinical way.
Not omniscience.
Not prophecy.
Just pure, ruthless analysis.
It categorized the world.
It revealed what was hidden — flaws, strengths, dangers.
A scholar's dream... and a hunter's weapon.
The Eye, I realized, could grow.
It was primitive now, barely a tool.
But with time...
with practice...
It could become so much more.
I moved through the house, familiarizing myself both with it and with myself.
The body's weight distribution was slightly off — an old injury to the right knee, minor but present.
Strength in the forearms, built not from combat but from years of lifting heavy tomes and artifacts.
A mind sharpened by obsessive study, now humming with a hunger that matched my own.
Good.
No wasted strength.
No emotional baggage.
Just raw potential.
The hallway stretched out before me, narrow and suffocating.
The Appraisal Eye whispered its findings as I moved:
Residual Summoning Energy: Weak
Bloodstains (Human, Age: ~3 months)
Minor Spirit Activity: Intermittent
My new instincts prickled.
There was something here — something beyond the decay.
Something watching.
I stopped.
The house exhaled — a long, low creak of settling wood.
From the corner of my vision, I caught movement.
A shape.
A smear of white against the shadows.
I turned my head slowly.
There.
A specter — barely more than a tattered memory.
It drifted between broken furniture, its form translucent and frayed.
The Appraisal Eye locked onto it instantly.
Entity Identified: Residual Spirit (Fragmented)
Aggression Level: Low
Stability: Deteriorating
Recommended Action: Caution Minimal
I watched it move — no purpose, no malice.
Just a whisper of sorrow and fear, trapped here long after death.
It didn't even seem aware of me.
I took a step closer.
The spirit flinched, recoiling from my presence.
Interesting.
Some trace of my power must be visible even to the dead.
Or perhaps they simply recognized something alien wearing human skin.
Either way, the spirit faded into the wall and vanished.
I exhaled, tension bleeding away.
Not every ghost needed a fight.
Not yet.
At the end of the hallway, a door hung ajar.
Beyond it — a room that felt different.
Alive, somehow.
The Appraisal Eye pulsed hard against my brow, warning of energy concentrations ahead.
I pushed the door open.
It had once been a study.
Now it was a grave.
Collapsed shelves spilled rotting books across the floor.
A massive oak desk sagged under the weight of debris.
The air was thicker here, harder to breathe.
And at the center of the desk...
it lay waiting.
A book.
Bound in cracked, black leather.
It pulsed faintly, a heartbeat made visible.
The Appraisal Eye flared, its verdict cold and immediate:
Object Identified: Grimoire of Bound Whispers
Condition: Sealed (Damaged)
Danger Level: Moderate
Primary Effect: Spirit Binding and Release (Restricted)
Secondary Effect: Knowledge Storage (Fragmented)
I stepped closer, heartless curiosity driving me.
The Grimoire was ancient — older than the house, older perhaps than this very town.
Its pages whispered promises of secrets forgotten and powers forbidden.
And dangers, of course.
Always dangers.
I reached out, fingers brushing the worn cover.
The house responded instantly.
The walls groaned.
The air thickened.
The whispering rose to a scream just beyond the threshold of hearing.
Shadows moved at the corners of my vision.
I grinned.
Let them come.
Knowledge demanded sacrifice.
And I had already paid far more than most.
I tucked the Grimoire under my arm, ignoring the way the room trembled in protest.
The Appraisal Eye fed me constant updates —
shifts in air pressure, cold spots forming, energy signatures condensing.
Something was coming.
Something that didn't want me leaving with its prize.
Good.
It had been too long since I'd felt a real challenge.
I turned toward the door, the Grimoire in my grasp, the Eye wide open, and my new path unfolding before me.
Not as Ethan.
Not as the nameless soul I'd once been.
But as something else entirely.
A seeker.
A hunter.
Bound not by fate or vengeance,
but by my own ruthless will.
The darkness outside beckoned.
And I stepped into it without hesitation.