I woke slowly.
The world felt heavier.
The campfire crackled nearby. Distant murmurs—merchants, travelers, someone sweeping a pot. Normal sounds. Ordinary.
But I wasn't.
Not anymore.
My chest felt… hollow. Not in pain—but changed. Like something passed through me and didn't quite close the door on its way out.
"You're back," came a voice.
I turned.
She stood at the edge of the firelight. The spirit. No chains. No glow this time—just form. Still spiritual, but present.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Like I left something behind," I said. "But something came back with me."
She stepped closer, her expression soft.
"That's what happens when you offer peace to the forgotten. It leaves a mark. But not all marks are curses."
She looked at me—not like a god or a ghost, but a woman standing on the same earth.
"Ezekiel," she said gently.
"Yes?"
"You've been changed. Not by me. Not by magic. But by witnessing. By naming. By opening yourself when you didn't have to."
I swallowed. The fire crackled between us.
"The veil you crossed left a gap in your soul. A thread that now reaches into both worlds."
She paused.
"It's through that gap I now ask something of you."
I sat up straighter.
"I want to resonate with you."
The words settled in the air like falling ash.
"Why now?" I asked. "Before, you said you couldn't."
"I couldn't," she said. "Not until you crossed death. Not until you showed the kind of soul you have."
"I'm not an awakener."
"No," she said. "But you're an anomaly. A foreign soul. The laws of this world don't bind you like they do others."
She took a breath.
"I offer you my name, Ezekiel. If you accept it, we'll be bound. Not by power. Not by force. But by trust."
I stood slowly.
"Then tell me," I said. "What's your name?"
Her form shimmered in the firelight.
"My name is Serenya," she said.
A gentle wind passed.
Not from nature—but from within.
I felt her presence move through me. Not invasive. Not controlling.
Just there.
Serenya stepped forward, her voice soft.
"Close your eyes, Ezekiel. Say my name back to me—and if your soul accepts me, the tether will form."
I hesitated.
Then I closed my eyes.
"…Serenya."
The world paused.
A pulse of warmth lit in my chest—brief, then gone.
When I opened my eyes, Serenya was smiling faintly.
"The resonance has begun," she said.
"What happens now?"
"Now… we walk together. Until your path diverges. Or until your soul chooses another."
She looked away toward the horizon.
"But I don't think it will."
"That is quite a predicament," she said calmly.
"I believe so," I replied, watching the smoke from the fire curl into the sky like faded thoughts.
"Are you visible to others?"
"No. Not anymore."
She stepped lightly around the edge of the camp, her feet never disturbing the dirt.
"Since I am now bound to you, my form becomes veiled to the eyes of others—unless they are spirit mediums themselves."
I frowned. "So no one else will see you at all?"
She nodded.
"My presence may be felt, but not perceived. And even then, only subtly. My apparition no longer manifests freely—I gave that up when I left my territory to walk with you."
"So, you're invisible to everyone else… and even more concealed the farther we go from this place?"
"You are correct."
A brief silence settled in. I found myself staring into the fire again.
"Still," I said, "I wonder if I could leave this land. Maybe… I could learn more somewhere else. Understand this world properly. Its rules. Its magic. Its people."
Serenya tilted her head slightly.
"You seek knowledge, then?"
"I don't want to stumble through everything blind."
"An academy would be a wise choice," she mused. "They are hubs of learning and spiritual theory… though often gatekept by bloodline and birthright."
"Which means someone like me—unknown origin, no history—I wouldn't even be considered."
"Not without a sponsorship or a trial to prove worth. And even then…"
I exhaled slowly.
"So basically, I'll have to earn my place or lie my way in."
"Possibly both," she said with a faint smirk.
I looked at her sideways. "You're a spirit, aren't you supposed to be wise and… I don't know, noble?"
"I'm a spirit, yes. But I've also watched humans lie their way to safety and claw their way toward light for generations. I've learned to be practical."
I chuckled softly.
"Fair enough."
"You mentioned before that Awakeners could harness their own power—either through their spirit contracts or on their own," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "But… I don't know the first thing about using your power. Or any power."
Serenya nodded. "You're right. Unlike you, Awakeners are born with something called a mana core. It's embedded within their body—a natural system that allows them to absorb and regulate the mana around them."
"So if they have a mana core already… why would they need a spirit contract?"
"A good question," she said. "The spirit contract serves many purposes. Depending on the spirit, it can enhance the Awakeners' abilities—usually in a way that mirrors the spirit's nature. Sometimes it increases the capacity of their mana core. Other times, it unlocks entirely new abilities based on the spirit's concept."
I tilted my head. "So… what are you capable of?"
She smiled faintly.
"Each spirit is tied to a concept or element. Fire. Wind. Wisdom. Shadow. Time. Even Death. Some are simple. Others… far more abstract."
She raised a finger, drawing a soft symbol in the air that shimmered for a second.
"The higher the Circle a spirit belongs to, the more complex or powerful their domain tends to be. But it's not just about power. It's about essence. A First Circle spirit might govern something as vast as fate. A Seventh might only whisper to a blade of grass."
"And you're… Fifth Circle?"
"Yes. I dwell in the domain of Remembrance and Bound Histories," she said, her voice softening.
"Remembrance…?"
"I am a keeper of what was forgotten. A spirit that records stories, tragedies, and truths that others buried—voluntarily or not. My abilities don't destroy. They reveal, preserve… or bind."
I blinked. "So that's why you couldn't fight back during the siege?"
Her gaze dimmed. "Yes. I can protect, guide, recall. But in war, memory alone isn't enough to stop steel."
"But maybe…" I looked down at my hand. "With me, it could be."
She said nothing at first. Then:
"That's why I chose to resonate with you. You've already walked through memory and didn't turn away. That is the first step toward unlocking what I can offer you."
Thinking about it now… Serenya wasn't just a spirit. She was a guide. A keeper of what this world tries to forget.
If I was going to learn about this place—if I ever wanted a real shot at going home—then maybe bonding with someone like her wasn't just chance.
It was necessary.
"You chose well," Serenya whispered within my thoughts, a gentle breeze that curled around the back of my neck. "And I will teach you all I know, in time."
"Oh, Ezekiel! You're here!"
I turned around at the sound of a familiar, ragged voice.
The merchant—hood slightly askew, beard as wild as ever—was hauling a bulging pack over one shoulder.
"Yep. Just… relaxing, I guess," I said, scooting over slightly to make room on the bench beside me.
He dropped his pack with a grunt and wiped the sweat off his brow.
"Well, since you're done relaxing, want to come with me to the capital?" he asked, grinning like it was no big deal.
I blinked.
"...Capital?"
He laughed. "Yeah. Big place. Crowded. Expensive. Full of annoying nobles and weirdos who drink wine like it's water. But also… opportunity."
I exchanged a glance with no one—though I knew Serenya was listening.
"What for?"
"Trade, of course. And rumors. Heard there's something stirring around the royal district—academy movements, spirit sightings, all that fancy stuff people whisper about when they think merchants don't listen."
I paused.
Academy. Spirit sightings.
Maybe fate had a schedule after all.
"Alright," I said. "Let me pack my things."
As if I had anything worth packing.
The clothes on my back were donations from the elderly woman by the fire. The boots were Callis's spare pair—worn at the soles, but holding together. Everything else? A patched-up satchel carrying the book I no longer needed and a dried leaf I kept for no good reason.
This was it.
My whole life in this world.
"This is shit," I muttered under my breath.
"What's that?" the merchant asked, tugging a rope attached to the old, wobbling cart he'd dug up from gods-know-where. It creaked louder than a dying horse.
"Nothing."
"You're gonna love the capital," he said as we started walking. "It's a place of convenience."
"Convenience, huh?" I looked down at my barely hanging satchel. "Sounds made up."
He chuckled. "Well, it is compared to here. You've got paved roads, guild postings, clean water, even spell lamps. Expensive, sure, but it beats drinking moss tea and dodging ghosts in the Pale March."
"Guess the bar's not too high then."
"You'll see."
The wheels of the cart screamed every time they hit a bump, but the merchant didn't seem to care. He walked like a man who'd done this for years, sun-baked and unbothered.
"So, Ezekiel," he said, tossing a glance over his shoulder, "how much do you know about money?"
"Enough to know I don't have any."
He barked a laugh. "Alright, fair. But here's the short version: the economy runs on three tiers of currency. Brass, Silver, and Verdan."
"Verdan?"
"Verdan coins. Enchanted platinum coins. Rare, and usually only used by nobles or major trade guilds. But for people like us, brass and silver'll do just fine."
I nodded slowly. "How do you even earn those?"
"Trade. Labor. Risk. And occasionally tricking dumb nobles with shiny things and fast words."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Not joking. Some of my best coin came from selling 'Ancient Spirit Relics' that were really just polished barnwood."
"That's… fraudulent."
"That's commerce."
I let that sit for a moment.
"So you're telling me I've got no money, no connections, no legal documentation, and I'm going to a place where nobles pay for illusion magic and glitter?"
"Welcome to civilization."