The night felt wrong.
Not in the usual Ridgeview way—sirens in the distance, neon bleeding into the fog, shadows pretending to be human.
This wrongness was heavier. Like the city was holding its breath.
Ayan walked with his hood pulled low, each step echoing faintly in the half-empty street. Rain hadn't fallen tonight, but the air still felt wet—thick enough that every breath dragged against his lungs.
Lyra drifted beside him, faint as moonlight on water.
She never spoke unless she had to. Tonight, she said nothing at all.
At times her form flickered, her body made of transparent smoke pulled apart by invisible winds. Every few seconds her fingers twitched—as if she wanted to reach out to him but stopped halfway.
Ayan shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets.
"Lyra," he whispered. "You've been quiet for an hour. What's wrong?"
Her voice drifted into the air like a trembling ripple.
"Something's coming."
"…Is that supposed to comfort me?"
"No."
She looked ahead, eyes unfocused, seeing something he couldn't. Or maybe something she didn't want to see again.
Ayan slowed.
"Lyra… what do you remember from before you died?"
She didn't answer.
Not yet.
Not fully.
But that was becoming normal. Every day he spent bound to her, he saw pieces. Flash-images that weren't his. Screams. A burning bridge. A girl standing alone before a collapsing skyline.
A collapsing world.
He didn't know if it was a memory.
Or a warning.
They reached the underpass at Southbridge Station.
The tunnel groaned with the sound of passing trains overhead. Rust stained the concrete in long, bleeding streaks. A flickering streetlamp buzzed, illuminating old graffiti: cryptic sigils, crossed-out names, a ghost-mark scratched in shaky lines.
Lyra's light flickered harder.
"Something is here," she murmured.
Ayan stopped.
Then his breath hitched.
At the far end of the underpass, someone was standing there.
A figure.
Perfectly still.
Ayan's heart crawled up his throat.
"Is that… one of the Veil Order people?"
"No," Lyra whispered. "Worse."
A cold wash of air swept across the tunnel, rattling loose dust. The figure stepped forward—and something about the way it moved was horribly wrong.
It didn't walk.
It glided, bones cracking faintly with each shift.
Lyra tensed.
"That's not a ghost. Not an exorcist. It's a—"
The concrete wall behind them burst like paper.
Ayan's ears rang as debris exploded around him. Lyra was thrown back in a flash of pale light, her form scattering like smoke torn by wind.
Something crawled out of the broken wall.
It had too many arms. Too many joints.
Not enough face.
Its head was smooth, like melted wax. Where eyes should be, there were only deep depressions, hollow like grave soil. The creature's limbs scraped the ground, cracking the concrete under its weight.
Lyra's voice filled Ayan's skull.
"RUN."
He ran.
The creature screamed.
Not with a mouth.
With its whole body.
The air vibrated violently, shaking Ayan's bones. He stumbled, grabbing a railing for support as a stabbing pain shot through his chest.
The Spectral Contract burned his palm—softly glowing through the thin fabric of his glove.
A faint system tremor rang in his vision:
[CONTRACT WARNING]
Spectral Entity Detected.
Host danger level: HIGH.
Ayan gritted his teeth.
"I know! I know!"
The creature lunged.
Lyra reappeared in a burst of dim ghostlight, throwing a wave of shadow between Ayan and the monster. It slammed into her barrier, cracking it like fragile glass.
"Ayan—go!" Lyra shouted.
Her voice shook but didn't break.
He didn't want to leave her.
He didn't want to let her fight alone.
But he wasn't strong enough.
Not yet.
He sprinted through the underpass, cars blurring above, train screeches echoing like metallic screams.
The creature crawled after him, movements jerky and unnatural—its limbs twisting as if searching for the right shape.
Ayan reached the end of the underpass—
—and froze.
The street ahead was blocked off.
Barricades.
Tape.
Uniformed silhouettes.
Not police.
Not regular humans.
They wore black exorcist coats. The sigil of the Veil Order glowed faintly on their gloves.
Ayan's stomach twisted.
One of the exorcists stepped forward. A tall man with a scar slicing across his cheek. Eyes sharp, calculating.
"Target located," he said coldly.
His tone wasn't human—it was practiced, emotionless.
"Spectral Contract bearer confirmed."
Ayan's breath faltered.
He stumbled back.
Behind him, the creature shrieked again, shaking the tunnel.
The exorcist didn't even flinch.
"It's as Headquarters predicted," he said to someone unseen. "The boy draws aberrations."
"I'm not— I didn't—" Ayan's voice cracked. "I don't even know what that thing is!"
The man raised a thin blade forged with ghostfire.
"You summoned it. All Contract bearers attract disaster-class entities."
Then he said the words Ayan feared most:
"Neutralize him at once."
Lyra materialized between them.
Her body flickered violently, sparks of spectral light dripping off her form. She looked… drained. Almost transparent.
"Stay behind me," she whispered to Ayan.
The exorcist's eyes narrowed.
"So this is the ghost you bound. No records match her. Unclassified. Dangerous."
Lyra didn't move. "Leave him."
"You don't get to make demands, spirit."
The man raised his blade.
"And you shouldn't exist."
He slashed downward.
Lyra caught the blade with her bare hand.
Ayan gasped—ghost flesh shouldn't be able to stop an exorcist weapon. But for a moment, Lyra held firm. Shadowy veins pulsed up her arm, fighting the blade's pale blue glow.
The exorcist pushed harder.
Lyra trembled.
Cracks formed across her forearm.
Ayan's body reacted before he thought.
He reached out, grabbing Lyra's shoulder.
The Spectral Mark on his palm ignited.
A shockwave rippled through the tunnel—dark light flaring outward like a heartbeat of shadow.
The exorcist staggered back, blade crackling.
Lyra collapsed into Ayan, her form flickering like dying embers.
The Contract pulsed again—stronger:
[Spectral Bond Strengthening…]
[Emotion detected: Fear/Protection]
[Contract Sync +12%]
Ayan's head spun.
"Lyra—are you okay?"
She didn't answer.
Her body dimmed.
The creature roared behind them with renewed hunger.
And the exorcists closed in.
Ayan was trapped between two deaths.
The creature lunged first.
It crashed toward them, limbs bending like broken marionette strings. Ayan shielded Lyra, adrenaline drowning out every rational thought.
Then—
A second exorcist hurled a chain of pure ghostfire. It wrapped around the creature's limbs, burning deep into its skin. The monster shrieked, convulsing violently.
"Contain it!" the exorcist barked.
Three more chains shot out, pinning the creature to the ground. It writhed, body collapsing inward like a dying star.
Ayan blinked.
They weren't aiming at him.
They were… controlling the monster?
Lyra managed to whisper:
"They're not here for you. Not first. That thing—it's a 'Hollowed.' A failed contract."
Ayan's blood turned cold.
"A failed… what?"
Lyra met his eyes.
And for the first time since he met her, she looked afraid for herself—not just him.
"When a human binds a ghost but cannot handle the burden… their body collapses. Their soul splits. They turn into that."
Ayan stared at the thrashing mass.
"That thing was human?"
"Yes."
His stomach twisted.
He felt sick.
He felt like screaming.
But he couldn't even breathe.
The exorcist with the scar approached him again, ghostfire blade now steady and cold.
"Boy," he said evenly, "your turn."
Lyra weakly moved in front of Ayan again.
"Stay away from him," she whispered, voice brittle.
"Move," the man ordered. "Spectral Contracts are forbidden. Any human bound to a spirit is a threat. You know the law."
Ayan's heart pounded.
He grabbed Lyra's arm.
"We have to run."
Lyra shook her head.
"I can't… I used too much energy."
"Then I'll carry you," Ayan whispered.
"You can't carry a ghost," she murmured.
"Watch me."
He ran.
Not away from the exorcists—past them.
They didn't expect it.
A teenager sprinting directly through an active exorcist perimeter was not a scenario they trained for.
Ayan ducked under a chain, leaped over a fallen sign, and bolted toward the narrow alley behind the underpass.
The scarred exorcist cursed, turning sharply.
"After him!"
Three shadows leapt into pursuit.
Ayan didn't look back.
He clutched Lyra's faint form close—even though she didn't weigh anything, even though she flickered like dying light.
He ran anyway.
His lungs burned.
Ghostlight throbbed under his skin.
Lyra's faint presence flickered at the edge of collapse.
A corner—
A turn—
A staircase—
A jump—
He didn't know where he was going.
He just needed to survive.
The alley ended abruptly with a metal fence.
Ayan swore under his breath.
He backed up, ready to climb—
When Lyra's voice whispered:
"Don't climb."
A cold wind brushed the back of his neck.
Footsteps approached.
From behind?
No.
From the side.
A man stepped out of the shadows.
Not an exorcist.
Not a ghost.
Someone else entirely.
Tall.
Dressed in dark clothing that didn't belong to the Order.
His eyes glinted with sharp, intelligent cruelty.
He wasn't smiling.
But he didn't need to.
Ayan froze.
Lyra's voice broke in a terrified whisper.
"Ayan… run."
The man tilted his head.
"Finally," he murmured.
"I've found you."
Ayan swallowed.
"Who… are you?"
The man gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Ardyn Vale," he said softly.
"Specialist of the Veil Order."
His eyes flickered toward Lyra, narrowing with interest.
"And the ghost you stole from us."
Lyra's grip on Ayan tightened.
Ayan felt his heart thud painfully.
Ardyn raised one gloved hand.
And ghostfire ignited around his fingers.