The first rays of dawn touched the treetops when Zyla felt it.
A pressure.
Growing. Twisting. Straining against her skin like something inside her was trying to claw its way out.
Her family slept in tense, exhausted heaps. Her father had passed out sitting upright, gun in his lap. Her mother leaned on the wall, still holding Zyla's hand even in sleep.
But Zyla… Zyla couldn't close her eyes.
Her heartbeat was too loud. Her bones felt too hot. Her veins glowed faintly through her skin, black-gold swirling like liquid fire.
Then—
Something cracked.
A pulse of power exploded through her chest. Zyla gasped, grabbing her ribs, her whole-body arching in pain.
A lamp shattered.
The floor vibrated.
The shadows outside the boarded windows jerked suddenly, like they felt it too.
Her brother woke with a scream, "Zyla?!"
Her father grabbed the gun. "Baby—what's happening to you?!"
"I—I can't—" Zyla choked, clutching her chest. "It's burning—Dad, it's—burning—"
The glow spread up her neck, into her eyes—
—until her pupils turned molten gold.
Her mother's voice trembled. "Sweetheart, breathe. Stay with us—"
"I'M TRYING!" Zyla screamed as a blast of black-gold lightning shot from her hands and tore into the wall, blowing a hole clean through the boards.
The forest was exposed.
And the shadows outside…
finally stepped forward.
Her father turned toward the open, broken wall—
—and froze.
Demons.
Not the small ones from the school. Not the mindless hunters.
These were tall. Silent. Clad in swirling smoke and bone armor. Eyes glowing faint crimson.
They weren't attacking.
They were waiting.
For her.
Zyla backed up, shaking uncontrollably. "N-No—no no no—"
Her father pointed the pistol.
The demons didn't flinch.
They didn't need to.
They were sent for a very specific purpose.
"Daughter of Light and Darkness," one hissed, voice like cracking stone. "Your awakening begins."
"Stay AWAY from her!" her father shouted.
The demon tilted its head slowly.
"Human. You cannot protect what is not yours."
More demons stepped out of the trees. Dozens.
Her mother grabbed Zyla and pulled her close, whispering prayers under her breath even as tears streamed down her face.
Zyla felt the pressure rising again, hotter—
"Stop," she begged the power. "Please—stop—"
Her skin split with light.
Her scream cracked the air.
And the demons moved.
Something cold split the world.
Every demon froze.
A low hum rolled across the forest floor— a tremor that didn't shake the earth but the spirits around it.
Zyla's vision blurred, her glowing eyes widening.
A figure stepped out from behind the demons.
Not walking. Not running.
Gliding.
Tall, thin, wrapped in shadows that didn't belong to the forest.
White hair drifting like fog. Hollow dark eyes gleaming with dim silver-blue light. A faint skull-mark shimmered across his cheekbone as if death itself had brushed him.
His voice was soft. Calm. Echoing.
"Move."
The demons trembled.
One spoke. "You—You are not permitted here, Ghost Walker—"
Ghost raised a hand.
The demon collapsed into dust.
Just dust.
Zyla's breath hitched. Her power flickered violently inside her chest—like it recognized him.
Ghost looked at her. Right at her.
"Zyla."
Her name in his voice felt like a ripple through reality.
"Your awakening is out of control," he said gently. "If you don't stop, you'll hurt your family."
Zyla sobbed, gripping her burning arms. "I can't—Ghost—I can't control it—I don't know what's happening to me—"
Ghost stepped in front of her family, placing himself between them and the demons.
"You don't have to control it," he said softly.
He lifted his hand.
"And you are no longer unprotected."
The demons hissed, recognizing him fully.
"The Hollow Seraph," one snarled. "The Death keeper's son."
Ghost's eyes dimmed darker.
"Yes."
The forest warped shadows curling around his feet, air bending, leaves lifting off the ground without wind.
Zyla stared, trembling, her light pulsing wildly.
Ghost whispered, "Stay behind me."
And then—
Ghost vanished.
A demon's head exploded into ash. Another's spine snapped with no visible touch. A third screamed as its spirit was ripped out mid-air.
Zyla's family huddled behind her. Her dad held her shoulder. Her mom cried silently. The kids held each other.
Zyla watched Ghost fight—
not like a warrior not like an angel not like anything mortal minds could name
—but like someone who understood death and commanded it.
The last demon stepped back.
"You should not interfere, spirit-born," it hissed.
Ghost's eyes glowed brighter.
"I interfere wherever she is."
The demon lunged.
Ghost caught its throat, crushed it to smoke—
and the forest fell silent.