Zyla collapsed to her knees, shaking.
Her power flickered dimmer.
Her skin cooled.
Her eyes returned to normal.
Ghost turned toward her slowly.
"Your awakening is accelerating," he said quietly. "And you won't survive the next surge without guidance."
Zyla swallowed hard, tears streaming.
"Ghost… what am I becoming?"
He stepped toward her… and knelt so he was eye-level.
His voice softened.
"You, Zyla… are becoming the reason Heaven and Hell tremble."
Her mother whispered, horrified and amazed,
"What does that mean?"
Ghost looked at Zyla.
"It means she is not safe here.
And neither are you."
He offered Zyla his hand.
"Come with me."
Zyla's breathing was ragged, her hands still glowing with trembling light as she backed against the cabin wall. The shadows outside had finally gone still, leaving only the faint whisper of night wind and the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.
Ghost stood a few feet away, his chest rising and falling slowly, weapons of light and darkness fading from his hands like mist. His coat fluttered around him even though there was no wind inside.
He looked at her—not with fear, not with pity, but with that eerie calm he always carried. The calm of someone who had died before and didn't find death frightening.
"Zyla," he said softly. "Look at me."
She swallowed hard and raised her eyes. "What… what are they? Why are they here? What's happening to me? Why—" Her voice cracked into a choke. "Why did the shadows know my name?"
Ghost stepped closer, careful, slow, like she might break.
"They know your name," he said quietly, "because all three realms have been waiting for you since the moment you were born."
Zyla's eyes widened. "Realms?"
Ghost nodded. "Heaven. Earth. And Hell."
He lifted a hand, letting a flicker of pale ghost light dance above his palm.
"And you… you are the one thing that does not belong neatly to any of them."
Zyla shook her head. "No. No, I'm just a girl. I'm not—"
"You're not just anything," Ghost interrupted gently. "You are the Demonic Angel—the only one of your kind. The child of the Golden Celestial Queen and the blood of Heaven's Heir. A soul that should've been impossible."
Her glowing hand dimmed. "Stop. Please. This… this sounds crazy."
"I know," Ghost whispered. "But the shadows you saw? Those were lower demons responding to your awakening. And that power you felt? That wasn't panic. That wasn't fear."
His eyes softened.
"That was your real soul waking up."
Zyla pressed her hands to her temples, tears burning. "I don't want this."
A tiny, sad smile touched Ghost's face. "Neither did I, the day I died."
She froze. "…You're serious."
"Death didn't end me," he said simply. "It changed me. Made me what I am now—caught between realms, just like you."
The cabin lights flickered as another distant shriek echoed across the trees. Zyla flinched.
Ghost stepped closer until he stood right in front of her. "Listen to me. You're not losing control. You're not crazy. You're awakening. Every part of you is reacting—your light, your darkness, your spirit, your instincts."
Her eyes shimmered. "I feel like I'm being torn apart."
"That's because both sides of you are trying to claim you," Ghost said softly. "Heaven wants you. Hell wants you. And Earth…"
He reached out cautiously, resting a cold, gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Earth is where the fight is going to happen."
Zyla's breath hitched. "My family—"
"They're safe for now," he whispered. "But they won't be if you keep running from what you are."
Zyla stared at him, her voice barely a whisper.
"Then… what am I supposed to do?"
Ghost's expression finally shifted—something like pride, something like sadness.
"You learn to control it," he said. "Before it controls you. Before they find you again."
He tilted his head slightly toward the window.
"And they will."
Zyla swallowed, shaking harder, but this time… not collapsing.
Standing.
Ghost nodded once.
"There she is."
She lifted her glowing hand again, steadier this time.
"Teach me," she whispered.
Ghost's smile returned, soft and haunted. "I was hoping you'd say that."
The cabin was quiet. Too quiet. The forest stretched endlessly around them, silent but tense, as if waiting for the world to tear itself apart.
Zyla hugged her parents tightly. "I have to go. I have to learn… or I won't survive."
Her mother's eyes brimmed with tears. "But… our daughter—"
Her father shook his head slowly, understanding. "If this is the only way to keep them safe… we'll trust you."
Ghost knelt beside her, his ghostly presence humming softly. "I will take care of her," Zyla's mother whispered. Ghost simply nodded, already aware of the responsibility he bore.
"And your family?" Zyla asked.
"Ginny will take them," Ghost said. A hint of steel cut through his soft voice. "She will hide them, move them, protect them. You cannot be distracted by them. Not yet. Not for years."
Zyla swallowed hard, guilt twisting her chest. She glanced at her little siblings and their mother and father, all bundled into blankets and already leaving with Ginny. "I… I'll come back," she whispered, but knew she couldn't promise anything.
She turned toward Ghost. Light pulsed faintly under her skin, black-gold energy flickering in response to her fear, her determination, her anger, her grief. "Teach me," she said.
Ghost nodded. "Then we begin."
The world outside didn't wait. The forest trembled as distant roars and the screams of demons echoed across Earth. Zyla felt it in her bones—the balance was breaking, and every heartbeat carried the weight of realms colliding.
And then she was gone.