When the two monsters died, their bodies began to fade; they dissolved into smoke.
Where they had fallen, upon the cold, stained floor, an object appeared that did not belong to the room: a strange book.
Without understanding what it was for, I picked it up and kept it.
I began to look around the house, inspecting every corner more calmly, searching for objects that could help us on our journey. The main hall smelled of rancid spices and old wax; on a table were jars, a dented teapot, and small figures that looked like amulets. My fingers brushed dusty fabrics, and on a shelf I found a bottle filled with some liquid that, by instinct, I chose not to open. Leaf buzzed around my head—curious, hungry for details—her light revealing places my eyes preferred to ignore.
After a few moments, thanks to Leaf's insistent glow, we found several souls scattered across the floor: souls of ash, purple souls, and others of a pure white that glimmered faintly like fireflies trapped in invisible jars. We collected them carefully; each soul I touched merged into me as naturally as a word fits into a poem. Leaf fluttered and giggled softly, as if each soul were a new trinket for her collection.
We kept exploring the first floor. In the kitchen, I found unused spoons and a pot with petrified remains. We opened moldy drawers and found bandages, dried herbs, and a key that I thought might be useful later. The house felt like a museum of forgotten things—objects that once had purpose and now were merely witnesses.
When we finally climbed to the second floor, the atmosphere changed. The air was denser, and every step down the corridor seemed to wake ancient echoes.
At the end of the hall, we found a room where a woman sat still, reading a book. I hadn't noticed her at first—her silence blended perfectly with the furniture.
The table before her was covered with strange objects: vials of shimmering liquids, polished bones, and small charms that smelled of smoke and rosemary. There was an aura between the magical and the mundane; she seemed to belong to that mixture, so calm that it became unsettling.
"Ah? Who are you? What happened to those brats downstairs?" she said the moment she saw me.
I glanced around for a second, measuring the situation. I wasn't sure how much Leaf knew; she seemed to have stayed below, perhaps curled up on the couch like a tired lantern. I took a breath and answered truthfully, bluntly:
"I killed them."
She looked up with mild disdain, and after a pause that smelled of boredom, she spoke as if explaining something already obvious:
"Ah… you killed them. I don't care. I didn't know them; they were pathetic. I let them play until their last breath… in the end, they would've died sooner or later anyway."
My stomach tightened—not from the cruelty of her words, but from the confirmation of something we had suspected: those weren't just nameless beasts. What she said next opened a new wound.
"Those monsters downstairs," she continued, "were actually children. The mist drove them mad and turned them into what you saw."
The room seemed to shrink. I instinctively touched the book hidden in my bag; its weight now felt more ominous. She, wasting no time, stopped reading and approached silently until her fingers brushed the cover of my book.
"Hey, mind if I take a look at that?" she said, her voice flat.
I handed it over without protest—holding onto it now would be useless if it could offer answers. She flipped through it with a detached air that was both professional and dangerous. Her eyes darted across the pages, and her breathing deepened slightly as she realized what she was holding.
"It looks like a children's fairy tale," she murmured at first, "but it's actually a summoning grimoire. Complex enough that even I can't use it."
"What does that mean?" I asked, trying to follow the trail of her words.
"It means the summoned creatures return to their book once they're defeated. I've never heard of anyone summoning demonic beasts like this… Whoever's doing it isn't planning anything good. Could be one of the Demon Princesses… or something worse."
She handed the book back as if it burned her fingers. After a short pause, she seemed to debate whether to continue. Finally, in a tone that blended weariness and wisdom, she said:
"I can't tell you more. If you're done here, leave."
Her coldness didn't stop me. I needed more—names, directions, something that could lead me out of this nightmare.
"Do you know how to reach the Lost Empire? Or how to make the mist disappear?" I asked directly, no hesitation.
She stared at me for a long second.
"Wait… you're an undead, aren't you?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Hmm… I thought your kind had been hunted down long ago. I don't know what you're seeking in that demonic castle, but forget it—you'll just end up captured and turned into a toy for the Demon Princesses."
The words hit hard. I pressed her again, asking who these princesses were and what they sought, but she dodged the question like someone avoiding a truth too heavy to speak.
"Ah, the Demon Princesses are the ones responsible for all this… but I won't stop you. If you want to go, go. Take this—you'll need it."
She extended her hand and gave me a master key. I took it without much thanks; the key might hold both practical and symbolic value—one less door to fear.
Before leaving, a thought crossed my mind: if she was a witch, perhaps she could teach me magic. If I could learn it, maybe I'd have an advantage in battle. I decided to take the risk.
"Could I be your apprentice?" I asked plainly.
She looked me over from head to toe, weighing my body and resolve, then let out a dark little laugh.
"My apprentice?" she echoed. "Well, your magic doesn't seem bad. Fine. I'll teach you—but I'll work you to the bone. Are you ready for that? Kukukuku…"
Then, for the first time, she gave me her name.
"You can call me Dorothy."
As soon as I left the room, with the key in my pocket and the book still echoing in my mind, I felt something shift. Dorothy didn't promise easy answers, but she had opened a door—literally and figuratively—and set me on a path, a mission.
"How will the training begin?" I asked, already eager to channel my fury into something useful.
"It won't be easy," she said calmly. "I want you to hunt certain demonic beasts: the scarecrow, the tin man, and the lion. If you ask me where they are—I don't know. Find them. That's part of your training. I believe they're nearby… they're my… no, forget it."
I accepted. The ambiguity of her words was an invitation to danger—and you can't say no to danger when your need for answers burns hotter than fear.
As I descended the stairs, I saw Leaf resting on the couch in the living room. She seemed to have slept through everything, as if the battle and the house had been nothing but a dream.
"Leaf, wake up," I said firmly. "We have a new mission to complete."
At those words, Leaf stirred immediately—still half-asleep, yet already glowing.