I turned my gaze toward Clara, who stood trembling near the hallway wall. Her fluffy white tail curled around her, ears pinned flat against her head. Something about the way she pressed into the corner made my chest tighten.
I stepped toward her slowly, crouching down to her level with care.
"Hey, Clara," I said softly, resting a gentle hand on her head. "Why are you so quiet? You're always so dynamic… aren't you happy to see me?"
Her ears twitched at my touch, but she didn't move. Didn't lean into the warmth like she usually did.
"Wait," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Why haven't you transformed back yet? Don't you want a hug from your best buddy?"
Clara wasn't just Grandma's spirit companion. She was mine, too. My partner-in-crime back when I still lived under this roof. A shape-shifter with the playful energy of a fox and the stubbornness of a cat. She could take the form of nearly any animal, and she always chose whichever would annoy me most.
But now… now she looked scared.
Her tiny body trembled.
"Why are you shaking like that?" I asked, voice lowering. "Did I… scare you somehow?"
"Va… va…" she stammered. Her paw raised shakily, trembling as she pointed upward—toward the ceiling.
I followed her gaze.
"…You're scared of Van?"
Her answer came slow, hesitant. A small nod.
My heart sank. "Don't worry," I said quickly. "He's a good guy. He won't hurt you. You can transform back."
But she didn't. She didn't believe me.
She didn't even move.
Behind me, Grandma chuckled, leaning her head against her hand where she sat at the table. Her expression was calm, but the amusement in her voice was clear.
"He must be really strong if Clara's this scared," she said. "This is the first time I've seen her afraid of another spirit."
I turned to her. "There is a problem, though."
Her eyebrow rose. "What is it?"
"Van and I… we formed a blood pact. But we still can't fully sync. No matter how many times we try, there's something off. And it's bothering him."
She tapped her chin, thoughtful. Then a smile curved across her face—one of those knowing, slightly mischievous Grandma smiles. "That's not a problem," she said. "If he can't use your body as a vessel, then just find him another one."
I blinked. "You mean, like…?"
She nodded. "A weapon. Armor. Anything that can house his essence. There's more than one way to fight with a spirit, you know."
I leaned closer, curious. "And how would I convince him to merge with it instead of me?"
"You won't need to order him," she said with a shrug. "Just… speak to him gently. Convince him. Spirits respond to intention."
Of course. Van would agree. He trusted me. And besides… my body was already claimed by another force—one I hadn't yet dared explain. Whatever had chosen me before Van came along… it was still there, silently waiting.
---
Outside, the street had fallen into a rare quiet, the buzz of life dimmed like a city holding its breath.
Van sat alone on the rooftop, perched near the edge with one knee drawn close to his chest and the other leg folded underneath him. One arm rested lazily across his knee while the other hung loosely by his side.
His gaze drifted across the skyline, lost in a world none of us could see. The golden light of evening kissed the buildings in the distance, but his eyes didn't catch the beauty, only movement, flickers, energy.
Then, he saw something. A figure soared over the rooftops in flowing white robes, cutting across the horizon like a streak of light, heading toward the glowing core of the city.
Van didn't move.
He almost dismissed it until another scene played out farther across the skyline.
Two figures clashed mid-air, darting between buildings, weapons flashing, their silhouettes locked in battle. The tension in Van's expression tightened. He watched for a second longer, brows lowering.
A trap, huh? he thought.
Still, he would've let it go.
But then a third figure appeared dressed entirely in black, shrouded in a cloak that flickered in and out of sight. One moment he stood on a rooftop. The next, he vanished, only to reappear farther away.
Van's lips curved into a grin.
"Now you have my attention," he murmured, and in the next instant, he was gone dashing after the fading figure without a sound.
---
Inside, I felt the ripple of Van's presence moving farther away. Like wind tugging at a tether between us. I didn't panic. I knew he'd be fine.
Then—knock knock.
A sudden, sharp rap at the front door.
Grandma stood and opened it, but there was no one waiting. Just a single envelope lying neatly on the porch like it had walked there itself.
She picked it up and handed it to me.
"Here," she said. "I'm sure this one's for you."
"Okay." I peeled the seal as the aroma of dinner filled the house sweet, savory, rich with spice. The kind of meal only Grandma knew how to make.
The letter was stamped with the Academy's emblem.
A date was printed at the bottom.
Thursday.
Two days left.
I sighed as Grandma set down steaming dishes on the table, the metal clatter pulling me back.
"So…" she said, eyeing me from across the steam. "What's it about?"
"It's from the academy," I replied. "I have to be there by Thursday."
---
Meanwhile, somewhere far across the city, in the collapsed skeleton of what was once a hospital, the air stood unnaturally still.
Shadow stretched long between broken walls. Ceiling tiles hung half-detached, sagging above floors cracked like shattered glass. Nothing buzzed. Nothing moved.
There was no life here. Only the aftertaste of pain.
Van stood alone in the courtyard.
Facing him was a man wrapped in black. Not in robes but in mystery. His stance was firm, arms lowered. Two massive metal rings hung from his hands, etched with markings and wrapped in fire. Flames licked the air around them, casting clawed shadows on his weathered face. A deep scar ran from his nose to his left ear, jagged like lightning.
Van's eyes narrowed.
"Hey, old man," he called, voice cool but sharp. "What's the big idea?"
The man didn't flinch. He raised his head slowly.
"So… you do know him, don't you?" he muttered, almost to himself. Then louder: "Vanarion."
Van froze.
Almost no one called him that anymore.
The man stepped forward. "You may call me Drewman," he said, his voice like distant thunder. "I am an Exo-hunter."
Van remained silent.
Drewman continued. "I'm not here to capture you."
"Then what?" Van asked.
"I came to talk." He raised one of the flaming rings and let it spin slowly. "About your master."
Van said nothing.
"If he ever turned rogue… became a threat… would you be the one to eliminate him?"
Silence.
Drewman's eyes narrowed. "And what if you became the threat? Would your master be able to do the same? Would you let him?"
Van's answer was immediate. "Yes."
A brief pause.
"Vanarion Goldensky," Drewman said, as if tasting the name. "That's your real name, isn't it?"
Van's breath hitched.
Not even his master knew that name.
Drewman stepped closer, eyes sharp. "In real life, your master is fifteen years younger than you. But you're stuck like this, frozen in the form of a fifteen-year-old. So I ask you again… how far does your loyalty go? Would you still serve a child?"
Van's fists clenched. "What are you getting at?"
"You know what he is," Drewman said, lowering his voice. "The one they whisper about. The boy who summoned the Unknown into our world. The reason your world burned. The reason your sister…"
The words cut like a blade.
Van's eyes burned.
Drewman leaned in. "He's why you're trapped in time. Why you have no home. And now he wants to use you as a tool. An exorcist. A killer."
—
Van's memory hit like a recording pressed to play.
His chest clenched. Cold rushed through his veins.
And suddenly, he wasn't in the courtyard anymore.
He was back in that cell he was once.
Dim light filtered through a grated ceiling.
His younger sister clung to his arm, trying not to cry. She was so small, barely larger than the tattered blanket they shared.
Then the rumble came.
The ground trembled.
A groan… a screech.
The sound of the world tearing apart.
Screams echoed through the air metal crashing, tires screeching in the distance.
Then the wall exploded.
A monstrous fist punched through the stone.
The sound alone shattered something inside him.
He turned just in time to see the wall collapse, crushing his sister. Her tiny fingers slipped from his hand.
His heart stopped.
For a moment, he just stared. Eyes wide. Breath gone. Soul cracking.
Then came his scream.
A raw, endless cry that tore at the walls, like something primal had been ripped loose.
He didn't remember how he got out but he did. He crawled through the rubble, eyes wide with blood and tears.
And then he saw it.
The world was burning.
Creatures he had never seen roamed everywhere. Towering beasts with bone-like skin and glowing eyes.
Some were animals. Others were human-shaped, but wrong.
Twisted hounds tore into the bodies of the fallen.
Children screamed for their parents only to be silenced. Some were dragged away. Others… devoured on the streets.
Van couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, his whole body numbed by the terror.
And then from the smoke came a bus. Flying like a missile.
It smashed into his face with such force it tore his skull off.
The bus slammed into the wall behind him, rebounded and came crashing down crushing him beneath its wreckage.
And then all he saw was darkness.
---
Van snapped out of it, gasping, eyes blazing with rage.
"That's enough," he said through clenched teeth. "You want a fight? I'll give you one."
He charged forward.
But Drewman leapt backward, body flickering into the air.
"I didn't come to fight," his voice echoed faintly. "I came to see if your will would break."
And then he was gone.
Van stood there alone, fists shaking, teeth grit, breath shallow. The fire in his veins hadn't faded.
But Drewman was right about one thing. Vanarion Goldensky had never truly left the ruins. And something inside him… was still burning.