"Alright, kid. Tell me—what's this secret Linn's hiding under her shack?"
I sat across from Rowan in the hidden cellar beneath the Shack, with Linn standing behind him, arms crossed. The air was thick with tension—this wasn't a light topic.
"Uh… I'm a necromancer."
Rowan glanced at Linn, his expression a mix of disbelief and suspicion. He had dark stubble along his jawline—too young to carry it like true ruggedness, but still handsome. Everyone knew he and Linn were together, a perfect pairing that only emphasized how small and fragile I looked in comparison.
"... How long have you been keeping this from us?" Rowan asked, turning back to me. "And how did you even learn this?"
"I—I didn't hide anything! I found out today! I just… somehow knew how to do it!"
"She's telling the truth, Rowan," Linn confirmed.
"But天生的灵能法师根本不存在啊," he muttered. "I mean, theoretically possible—but never documented."
"Well, she is. Or maybe there are more than we know, just not recorded. But I saw her do it, Rowan—it wasn't some ritual or spell. She just… did it."
Rowan tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"Damn." He exhaled after a pause. "I don't know what this means, but if the Church finds out, it won't end well. It throws their whole doctrine into chaos—maybe not total upheaval, but enough to make them dangerous."
"Why?" I asked. "I don't understand the Church's stance. Why outlaw soul magic?"
He leaned forward.
"There are two reasons. First, the Church's belief: souls are gifts from the Mistwatcher. To tamper with a soul isn't just meddling with human nature—it's interfering with the direct will of the Mistwatcher himself. And whatever happens when you mess with that? They say it never ends well."
I frowned, thinking.
"That makes some sense. What's the second reason?"
"Basic common sense. The Church and government are tightly intertwined. Even without that alliance, any rational government would regulate or outright ban soulbinding. The potential for abuse is limitless—mind reading, altering thoughts, changing beliefs, even inducing love. And unlike other magics, soulbinding leaves almost no traceable evidence. You said you're a necromancer, right? Sure, death magic doesn't manipulate minds the way cognition magic does—but a powerful necromancer could raise an entire undead army loyal to them alone. That's why it's forbidden knowledge."
I nodded. Got it. Terrifying and dangerous. Check.
"So it's the worst kind of magic. Great. What else is out there?"
"Haha." He shook his head. "You really ask the right questions, don't you? In theory, there's elemental magic—magic that influences natural forces. But we haven't fully mapped it yet. Magic is studied through observation and reverse-engineering. For example, kinetic magic—the branch dealing with movement—was derived from observing the force that keeps the islands floating. There are dozens of branches: thermomancy for heat, vitamancy for bodily functions, metamagic about magic itself—just to name a few. Oh, and chaos magic—that's raw magical energy thrown without forming a proper spell. Don't ever use it. It can kill you. Learning magic is dangerous. But if you're a natural-born mage, instinctive magic is usually safe—for your immediate health, at least. Long-term consequences are another matter."
"What about necromancy and soulbinding?"
"Oh, right. All necromancy falls under soulbinding, but not all soulbinding is necromancy. As a necromancer, you deal mainly with dead souls or detached ones. Cognition magic manipulates living souls to influence thoughts and behaviors. Though technically speaking, these categories are more academic than precise—if you unify—"
"Stop with the scholar talk," Linn interrupted. "Can you help her or not?"
Rowan frowned.
"How? If she gets caught using necromancy, it's either execution or imprisonment. My advice? Don't use it."
Linn rolled her eyes.
"Don't be ridiculous, Rowan. That's like telling me not to run. This is part of her. You can't take that away! Besides, the Church is full of idiots."
Part of me? I wasn't sure I wanted necromancy to define who I was.
"They may be idiots," Rowan muttered, "but they can still kill her. Fine. Vita, what exactly can you do? Be honest—I don't know much about necromancy, since it's, y'know, extremely illegal."
"Uh… I can pull someone's soul out of their body. If I take a bit of my own soul and mix it with theirs, then put it back, I think I made a revenant? I did that once. Also, uh… I can consume souls. It makes me stronger."
Rowan blinked.
"A revenant? And soul consumption. This—" He leaned back in his creaky chair. "How did you even discover this? How many people have you killed?"
"Just—one!" I rushed to clarify. "The revenant listens to me. He didn't attack anyone, uh—not unless you count Gregor being an asshole before he died, not because he was a revenant."
Rowan let out a slow breath.
"This… I don't know what to do with this. If your power requires killing to work, best not to use it."
I slumped.
"Yeah… makes sense. I haven't figured out what I want to do with my life, but 'mass murderer' isn't on the list. And I'm basically a death mage, so… am I doomed to be a monster?"
"Have you tried animals?"
I blinked.
"What?"
"Animals," Rowan repeated. "They have souls too—just weaker than intelligent beings. Testing on them might be more ethical."
I swallowed.
"Wouldn't that still be risky?"
"Of course it's risky. You're a necromancer. Either don't use your power or get used to danger. But if you want to wield it, animals are your safest bet. Avoid Temple Knights, kid. If they catch you and find out we helped, everyone here is dead. And don't tell the other kids anything."
"I won't," I promised quickly.
"Good. Come on. Let's see what you can do. What pest do you want to play with?"
I hesitated. What animal should serve in my undead legion?
"Crows?"
Rowan grinned knowingly as he stood.
"Crows? Why crows? They're not easy to catch."
"I just… like crows," I mumbled.
"So you want to kill them and play with their souls? Should Linn and I be worried?"
"No—no! I didn't mean it like that!"
He laughed, ruffling my hair.
"Crow feathers are good practice. More intelligent than most pests. But I wonder how long a crow-zombie lasts…"
"But nothing we create can wander around freely, got it? That'd be bad."
I nodded, following him out. Linn went to fetch food, leaving Rowan and me to slip through Skyreach's back alleys. His fingers twitched faintly in the air, and suddenly the city noise vanished.
"Sound barrier," he said. "Now we can talk freely."
"Quick question," I asked. "When I pulled Gregor's soul while he was still alive, that was affecting a living soul, right? Isn't that cognition magic? So does that mean I'm both? Or does that prove your unification theory?"
Rowan raised an eyebrow.
"It proves nothing. Our labels are based on observation—we named things to describe what we saw. Magic wasn't created to fit our names. There are always gray areas. Unified theory is just one hypothesis among many about how magic works. Fascinating to discuss, but far from proven. Practically speaking, current classifications will guide magical study for decades. Some innate powers lie beyond our incomplete understanding. But if you suspect you're more than a necromancer—if you're also a general soulbinder—tell Linn and me immediately, okay, kid?"
I nodded.
"Good. We're here," Rowan said. "This place is good for luring crows."
We entered a secluded area littered with garbage. Rowan traced invisible symbols in the air again, and soon phantom scraps appeared nearby. We wore illusionary disguises as makeshift trash bags.
"Wait here. You'll need to be quick catching them."
I nodded. Illusion magic—perfect for con artists. After a while, several crows landed and pecked at the fake food, confused when their beaks passed through. As one turned to fly—
I reached out…
...and missed. They were faster than I expected, scattering instantly. I flushed with shame. Rowan chuckled.
"Alright, alright. I'll help. Don't tell anyone I did this. I have a license for kinetic magic, not thermomancy."
The next bird burst into flames mid-air, falling dead. Something remained—a tiny soul I couldn't see but could feel. I extended my hands over the corpse.
"Got something, Vita?" Rowan asked, peering at my empty-looking palms.
"... Yeah," I confirmed. "A crow's soul."
"Hmm. Alright, if you say so. I can't feel anything. I heard souls aren't composed of the same material as spells."
I nodded.
I understood now—I could sense floating souls but not Rowan's magic. And I couldn't sense souls inside bodies until they left.
"I'll try something," I warned.
He nodded.
I grasped the soul. It merged into my arm, anchored within me. As expected—though I didn't know why I expected it—it didn't dissipate, joining Gregor's soul as another stored fragment.
It felt different from Gregor's soul—closer to the piece I took from myself. Small, sharp, fractured. A soul shard.
Thinking of shards, I pressed my hand to my chest and pulled out another sliver of my own soul. Strangely intuitive—like walking, even more natural. A subtle pleasure came with wielding this undeniable power.
I placed the shard into the crow's corpse. Threads extended from the soul, weaving through the body. My zombie crow twitched, flapped—and lived.
"Fascinating," I whispered.
It struggled in my grip, trying to escape. It wanted something! Curious. I liked holding it. Still, I released it, curious what it would do. It lunged at Rowan!
"Stop!" I ordered. It froze mid-lunge. I smiled—obedient. Time to test its greatest ability.
"Fly," I commanded. It stumbled, clumsily flapping wings. Even undamaged, it seemed unsure how to fly.
"Hm…" I mused.
"Learning a lot?" Rowan asked, amusement mixed with unease in his eyes.
I nodded, instinctively wondering what happened if I gave it both its soul and mine—would it remember how to fly, like Gregor remembered himself?
"Open," I ordered. The crow obeyed. I tried inserting the soul shard into its throat—but nothing. Frowning, I removed my weak shard, letting the body collapse. Like with Gregor, I fused both fragments and returned them to the corpse.
The crow rose, lunging at Rowan again. This time, it flew.
"Stop," I murmured. It dropped to the ground.
"Damn, Vita, you nearly gave me a heart attack," Rowan grumbled.
"Sorry," I replied. "But it can fly now."
"... Yeah. It can fly now. You learn fast, kid."
"I'm not a kid. I killed a man today."
Rowan's face darkened.
"Killing doesn't make you an adult, Vita. It's tragedy, not a coming-of-age ritual."
Silence fell. I picked up the limp crow.
"Don't attack Rowan. Move freely."
The bird chirped, and I stroked its back. Its feathers trembled, still warm.
"Wait—I forgot to mention, Gregor's son saw me when I revived him."
Rowan blinked.
"Great. Did you tell Linn?"
"Yes."
"What did she say?"
"Stay away from the bakery. Hope they think Gregor ran off with me."
"... That's a terrible plan, Linn. But I've got nothing better. We can't kill the boy too."
"I feel sorry for him. Gregor beat his family often. Without Gregor, their business will fail."
Rowan shrugged.
"Vita, if I could fix every child's problem in this city, I would. But I've got no money, no power. Keeping the kids we already have fed is hard enough. Now adding you…"
He trailed off, not needing to say you're another burden—but it still hurt. Linn and Rowan had gone above and beyond for me, hadn't they?
"Sorry," I whispered.
He ruffled my hair again.
"Hey, don't say that. This isn't your fault. We'll keep you safe."
I leaned into his hand, clutching the bird. A terrifying thought surfaced.
"Rowan? Are all my creations violent because of me? Because I put pieces of my soul in them—is there something wrong with me?"
He sighed, sitting beside me on the trash pile.
"I don't know much about necromancy, Vita. But nearly all undead seek to kill. It's their nature."
"... Right," I murmured. "So maybe that's all I can do. … Can you catch me a live animal? Maybe I'm a cognition mage? I could manipulate my own soul—I am alive."
He took a deep breath, nodding slowly.
"... Fine. I can probably catch a rat or something."
As he left, I tried mentally commanding the zombie crow—maybe establish a link for remote control… but nothing. Every attempt felt like my soul straining to reach the bird, unable to extend that far.
"Here, kid," Rowan returned, dangling a dazed rodent. "An unconscious rat. Try your magic."
"Stay," I told the crow. It hungrily eyed the rat. I took the rodent, pulling out a soul shard and slipping it into the rat's body… but nothing. My shard wouldn't enter. I barely sensed the rat's soul—even touching it yielded only a vague awareness that I could extract it.
I held back. Disappointed, I looked up at Rowan.
"No luck, huh?" he said. "Honestly, I'm relieved. Cognition magic feels darker than necromancy—darker than flying corpses, anyway. Put it back, and let's go."
"Okay." I agreed. "One question first—what was Linn's danger sense? I triggered it when I consumed a soul. Why? I don't want to trigger it again."
Rowan tilted his head.
"You consumed …? Well, warriors like Linn sometimes develop pseudo-magical abilities. There's a theory that their skills stem from the same energy that powers souls. If that's true, I guess Linn senses soul strength compared to her own. You might even learn it—being a soulbinder, it might come easier to you… assuming I'm right."
I nodded, extracting the rat's soul and swallowing it. Tiny! Smaller than the crow's. I tossed the corpse, took the zombie crow's soul, and devoured it too. Somehow, it filled me with quiet satisfaction. I buried the bodies in the trash, feeling slightly fuller—not physically, but spiritually.
"... This is weird," Rowan muttered, watching me.
"Sorry," I mumbled, standing.
"No worries, really. Just… try not to make it a habit."
I nodded.
"At least if bread runs out, I can eat souls."
He stared, then laughed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
"Ah, kid. Come here, Vita. You're a good kid, you know? But that idea? Not great. Soul strength doesn't fill an empty stomach. You'll starve before you feast on ghosts. We'll figure it out. No one needs to go hungry."
"Okay," I said, nodding again. "... Hey, Rowan?"
"What is it, Vita?"
"Can I help you with anything else? Like… help with your cons?"
He considered.
"If you mean using necromancy, no. But I do need a partner. There are a few simple two-person scams we can try."
I nodded.
"Yeah, that's what I meant. Thanks for helping me today."
"Thanks? Vita, you're practically family. You know that?"
"But I've only known you a year."
He shrugged.
"That doesn't matter. We shared hunger. You didn't have to help, but you did. If the way I repay you is by keeping you safe from Temple Knights… then so be it."
I frowned. It didn't feel equal.
"... I should've helped more. I'm older than the other kids."
He blinked.
"Really? Doesn't show."
"I'm sixteen!" I emphasized.
He looked me up and down, surprised. Why did everyone doubt it?
"... You're too small. Before us, you barely ate, right? We're not rich, but you were desperate for scraps. Must've been rough, Vita. Sorry."
I swallowed, looking away. I didn't want to dwell. What else could he expect? People died of starvation in this city daily.
"Worrying about Gregor's son," I changed the subject. "And his wife. They'll recognize me. Any way to change my appearance?"
"Not a good one," Rowan agreed. "I can disguise you when we're together, but permanent facial enchantments require metal artifacts—far beyond my skill."
Metal. Easy to say. I nodded, curiosity dulled. Too bad we couldn't hunt—soul-eating me and meat-eating them would be ideal. But unless prepared by vitamancers, wild meat carried heat-resistant magical plagues. Anyone in the Shack who caught one would die.
We left the garbage heap, heading toward Rowan's usual con spot. Finally, we reached a busy street, the sound barrier lifted. The scam began—Rowan silently sent instructions into my ear. We pretended to be customers on one street, assistants on another… surprisingly fun. Rowan had a unique charm—people watched him even knowing he was lying. I found myself smiling faintly.
Until a Temple Knight approached.
Joy turned to ice in my veins. Thank the gods, it was just a standard knight in regulation armor—not specially adorned. Clad entirely in chitinous plates likely forged from some grotesque creature outside the city walls. Sword at his hip, shield on his back—each bearing the Eye of the Mistwatcher, the Church's emblem.
Worst of all—he walked straight toward me and Rowan.