I sat frozen for a moment, stunned beyond comprehension, until panic surged through me like a tidal wave, washing away every trace of pain and fury that had come before. What just happened? How did I do this? What in the world was going on? Had I truly pulled someone's soul from their body? I knew it to be true—even as I questioned it. But why did I know? Should I trust such an instinct? And what—what should I—
Wait! This is bad. I need to put it back! This… this is his soul! I scrambled to push the essence back into the corpse, but it simply passed through like mist. No, no, no—this can't be happening!
To touch a soul at all is forbidden. The magic of soul manipulation—known as Soulbinding —is strictly outlawed across the island, and even its study is prohibited. Yet some are born with innate magical abilities, untouched by training. Was I one of them? A natural Soulbinder? Was that a lesser crime—or far worse?
It hardly mattered now. I could not allow this to happen again. I refused to become… whatever this made me. Stealing bread was one thing; desecrating the boundary between life and death was another entirely. The city guard would never overlook this. If only I could return it—return him —to where he belonged!
The soul refused to settle. Something felt… missing. I couldn't explain how I knew, but something vital was absent. Without it… without it, the soul wouldn't stay.
Tentatively, I reached inward, gently tugging at my own essence—a thread of my own soul. Carefully, I wove that sliver into Gregor's soul and pressed both into the lifeless shell of his body. I held my breath the entire time.
Nothing happened. The fragment remained inside, yet everything else stayed unchanged. He didn't breathe. His heart did not beat. I exhaled sharply. I needed to leave before anyone found me here. I rifled through his pockets, taking anything of value I could find. Time to go.
Damn, this hurts. I struggled to rise, nearly fainting as I did. Leaning against the wall for support, I staggered forward.
Then, Gregor opened his eyes.
The man coughed, and I turned in shock, watching him sit up slowly, dazed and confused.
"What... oh! It's you!" He pointed at me.
I spun around and stumbled away, each step agony. Dammit, dammit—he shouldn't be alive! Why did I do that?! He caught up easily, gripping my shoulder. This was it—I was going to die. Could I pull his soul out again?
"I'm so sorry!" His voice was filled with genuine concern. "I can't believe I treated you that way! Please, let me help you!"
What? The sudden shift in his demeanor left me utterly unprepared.
"I can carry you somewhere safe," he continued. "I'll pay for your treatment myself! Truly, I'm deeply sorry. What is your name, young lady?"
"... Vita." I blinked, bewildered.
"Vita!" he beamed. "Please, let me help you."
He smiled—an eerie, hollow expression that sent a chill down my spine.
"I would do anything for you," he said.
Oh no. Somehow, I had shattered his soul—and possibly more than that. There was something undeniably wrong about him. Could it be…?
"Uh… Baker Gregor?"
"Yes, Vita?"
"Can you please stand still for a moment?"
He nodded eagerly, completely unfazed by the fact that moments ago he had nearly killed me.
"Of course, Vita!"
I extended my bruised hand, trembling, and traced along his neck, behind his jawline. Nothing. No pulse. He stood perfectly still as I checked his mouth and nose. No breath.
I wasn't just a Soulbinder—I was a necromancer. If the Church ever learned of this, they'd brand me a heretic and burn me alive. The dead have only one fate: to reunite with the Mistwatchers. I was doomed.
But if I refused his help, I might not survive my wounds.
"Fine. Help me, Gregor. Just… don't let the healer examine you too closely, okay?"
He grinned and scooped me into his arms, carrying me toward the market. He still smelled human. I wondered how long that scent would last—or if it ever would change. Would he rot? What even was he now? My head throbbed as I fought off unconsciousness.
"Truly, I am sorry, Vita," he murmured. "I didn't mean to… well, I did mean to, but I didn't realize you were… I lost control. I didn't understand who you were. Not until now."
"Right. Who exactly am I now?" I asked weakly. Blood dripped onto the stones beneath us—probably a broken rib or two.
"You're irreplaceable. I must protect you. You matter above all others, Vita. I've never felt this way before—but I know it's true. My life belongs to you."
"... That's not at all unsettling," I muttered.
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Vita!"
Gregor—or whatever I had created from his body—carried me silently to the healer. He paid the exorbitant fee without hesitation, most of which had been in my pocket until I reminded him. The amount was more than I had ever seen in my life.
I had never undergone magical healing before. I only knew that the most common form—called Vitamancy —was a grim and tightly regulated branch of magic. Fortunately, healers were tolerated and even encouraged, as their work served society.
"I'll accelerate your body's natural healing process," the gruff old healer told me while I writhed in pain. "But first, we must set your bones properly. Then you must eat—you'll starve during the spell otherwise. Looks like I'll have to feed you like a queen, girl. More than you've ever eaten."
I accepted without hesitation. The food tasted terrible, but I hadn't felt this full in years. Hours later, I could stand again. Perhaps things would get better after all…
At least, that's what I thought—until the man who first beat me greeted me outside with a wide grin.
"Where to next, Vita?"
I limped from the healer's home, still in pain. I staggered, and Gregor steadied me. This was the same man who nearly killed me over a loaf of bread. What was I supposed to do with him? I had no idea. Maybe he could pass as normal? He seemed fine.
"Back to your bakery, Gregor."
It was a simple request—but also a test. I wanted to see if he remembered his shop. Was he still himself? Or merely a shell?
"Of course, Vita!" he said brightly, leading the way.
Interesting. He remembered.
"How about we take a shortcut?" I suggested. I needed to observe him closely—to figure out what kind of trouble I'd gotten into, and how to survive it. Survival was my specialty. Sixteen years of it proved that.
Though I had never actually killed anyone before. At least, not intentionally. But I had done it now. In anger. Self-defense, maybe. Either way, he was walking beside me happily, and I couldn't quite accept that he was already dead .
Still, that was the problem. If he retained his memories and walked among the living, what difference did death make? In effect, I had used magic to create a servant. Ethically questionable, yes—but practically useful.
I studied him for any signs that might draw suspicion.
"Gregor, you look a bit pale," I remarked.
"I feel fine, Vita! Just… my feet feel a little swollen."
Ah. Right. His blood must have pooled in his legs while standing still.
"Can you, uh… get your heart beating again?"
He blinked, thinking.
"Ah. I suppose I can't anymore. Forgive me, Vita, but I'm not sure how."
"Okay. Well… remember to breathe, so people don't think you're a… zombie or something."
"Actually, that's ghoul , Vita. Zombies don't remember their past lives. I'm a revenant . My uncle fought alongside Temple Knights—he destroyed plenty of undead creatures."
"Oh. Uh. So… you're not bothered by this?"
He hesitated.
"Well… honestly, I'd prefer to be alive. But if I were, I wouldn't have realized I must serve you. That would've been worse. So… no. I'm not bothered."
Now I understood why Soulbinding was forbidden. Imagine what a power-hungry madman could do with this ability.
"By the way… earlier, when you were chasing me, you mentioned having a son?"
"Yes, Vita! I have a wife and child, though my wife is a shameless harlot and my son is a useless swamp rat, forgive my language."
I stared. Few people insulted their own family so openly. Clearly, he hadn't been a decent man.
"It's fine. Just remember to breathe. We can't afford to be caught or killed. If they discover you're a revenant, it'll be—"
"Don't worry, Vita! I will protect you with my life." He paused. "Or rather… with my undeath ."
I had no reply. He led me silently back to the shop. The scent of burnt bread lingered. Gregor gritted his teeth.
"Vita… may I discipline my son?"
Gods, how do I answer that? I didn't want to raise suspicion.
"Just act like you normally would."
"Thank you, Vita." He nodded, then bellowed, "Boy!"
His voice was loud enough to make me flinch. He stormed inside, face twisted in rage—the cruel man who once tried to kill me returned in an instant.
The bakery was divided—front counter and back kitchen. I assumed the family lived upstairs. A woman who might have been his wife manned the front, serving customers. She frowned slightly as Gregor passed.
"How many loaves did you ruin today?!"
He vanished into the back. I followed quietly. Though muffled by the walls, I heard a sharp slap.
No. I couldn't let this happen. I already knew he was no good—but this? This was monstrous. Discipline was one thing, but the force of that strike echoed through stone walls. Another dull thud followed. I winced. This wasn't my place. Intervening now would draw too much attention. Surely he wouldn't kill his own son?
Another crack rang out.
Damn it. Damn this day, damn everything. I turned away, heading for the alley, swallowing tears. I hadn't known he would do this. I hadn't expected—
No. Focus. I needed clarity. First, I must understand how to survive. Then, perhaps, I could stop being a monster myself. Could I learn more about what I was? I could sense souls, right? Could I sense my own?
I crouched in the shadows, focusing, trying not to think of what I had just allowed to unfold. When I had pulled out a sliver of my soul before, I had touched its edge. I concentrated, recalling the sensation. What did my soul look like? What exactly…
…It was small. Smaller than Gregor's. Weak, fragile, just like me. Its color was dark—a deep, sorrowful black. Flickering within were tiny sparks, like light escaping through cracks in a wall. But barely visible. Pitiful. No wonder. After all, I was weak. Was I even weaker than Gregor? Hmph—that stung. But the fragment I gave him was smaller still—pathetically so. If I had given him even a hundredth of my soul, it would have been generous. Though… who knows how much of it I could remove and still remain whole? At least for now, what remained clung tightly to me. I was still alive—for now.
Another dull impact echoed from within.
Even hidden in the alley behind the wall, I heard the blow. A cold dread spread through me. I had seen worse—men striking sons for lesser offenses. But this… this was partly my fault. I had restored this monster. I had brought him home to inflict suffering. Whether I liked it or not, I bore responsibility. At the very least, I had to ensure he didn't kill them.
And I knew, deep down, this would bring me nothing but trouble.