The mask was beginning to strain.
Xerces stood before the cracked mirror in the barn's loft, watching his borrowed reflection flicker like a flame in the wind. The illusion showed a man with tired eyes, sunless skin, and weathered features—but beneath it, the truth pressed like bone against thin fabric.
He had to reinforce the spell three times that morning. Each casting drained more of his soul-core than the last.
"If I push this any further, I risk unraveling."
But leaving would mean losing the one thing he hadn't expected to find in this cursed second life.
Mira.
She was a strange presence in his world—warm and unnervingly persistent. She asked questions no one dared. She noticed things others missed. And worst of all, she smiled at him like he deserved to be saved.
He'd raised skeletons, bent wraiths to his will, cracked ancient wards with raw willpower—but he didn't know what to do with kindness.
It was a puzzle without edges.
Xerces turned from the mirror and gathered his things—cloak, dagger, and the poetry book she had given him. He didn't read it yet. He wasn't sure if he could.
Outside, the sky had dimmed—not in color, but in weight. The light still fell from the heavens, but it felt… wrong. Like something unseen had leaned just a little closer to the world.
He glanced toward the forest, frowning. The trees were quieter today. Even the birds held their breath.
He found Mira near the well, bartering with an elderly merchant for spices. She waved when she saw him and offered a small pouch of dried apples.
"You look worse than usual," she said with a grin.
He nodded. "I feel worse."
She cocked her head. "Nightmares?"
"Not exactly."
She studied him for a moment, serious now. "You ever think about leaving this place?"
The question hit him like a dagger between the ribs. Unseen but piercing.
"Why would I?" he said, too quickly.
She shrugged. "People pass through. They don't stay. But you're different. You linger."
He looked away. "I've no reason to run anymore."
Lies. All of it.
He had every reason to run.
The Nocturne Clan still reigned in the mountains to the west. He could feel their stain even from here—their scent in the flow of magic, cold and rich like blooded silk. But he was not strong enough yet. Not even close.
To mask his undead nature was already a struggle.
To face them… he'd need power born of legends and monsters.
Later that evening, Xerces returned to the stream where he and Mira often sat.
But she wasn't there.
He waited. Long after the sky turned dusky blue.
Then, something moved in the grass beside the water. He turned sharply.
A rabbit. Twitching unnaturally.
It took a step, then collapsed—rotting before his eyes.
Xerces knelt beside it, pressing his senses into the earth. The mana was wrong here. Not just tainted—sick. Warped. And something old. Something hungry.
He rose slowly, cloak drawn tight.
There was something beneath this land. Crawling in the underlayers of the world. Feeding on fear and life and hope.
But it hadn't shown itself yet.
And he hadn't told Mira.
Because he still didn't know if she would look at him the same… once she knew what he truly was.