Kael pulled out a map from his inventory—standard issue for investigators, apparently. It showed the island's basic topography: the lake, the forest, the beach, the cave systems.
"We need to mark where the spirits are," he said. "Plan our routes."
The ghost-woman drifted closer, studying the map. Her translucent face frowned.
"This map is... incomplete," she said slowly.
"What do you mean?" Kael asked.
She gestured to another section of wall where someone—probably the modern explorers—had drawn a much more detailed map in charcoal.
Kael held his map up next to it.
The difference was stark.
The modern map showed an island significantly larger than what Kael's map displayed. The topography was similar, but the scale was wrong. The charcoal map showed features that Kael's version didn't have—entire sections of coastline, additional cave systems, areas of higher elevation.
"The island has shrunk," Min said, studying both maps. "Since you made this drawing. The island is smaller now than it was six weeks ago."
The ghost-woman looked stricken. "It's sinking faster than before."
"Each cycle, the turtle stays underwater longer," the prophet said, voice distant. "And surfaces for less time. The dive cycles are accelerating."
"Which means," Ah'Ming added, squeezing his stress ball harder, "we have even less time than we thought."
Kael pulled out a measuring tool, comparing the maps mathematically. "If the island has shrunk this much in six weeks... and if the rate is consistent with what we measured at the beach..." He did rapid calculations. "We don't have seven days. We have maybe six. Maybe less."
Horrified silence.
"Then we don't waste time," the ghost-woman said firmly. "I can tell you where some of the spirits are. The ones I can still sense."
She began pointing to locations on Kael's map, and he marked them carefully:
Three spirits near old ritual sites in the northern forest.
Two at the beach where the first drownings happened centuries ago.
Four scattered in the eastern cave systems.
"And the rest?" Kael asked.
The ghost-woman's expression turned grim. "The others are in the flooded lowlands. The areas that have already gone underwater. You'll have to dive to reach them."
"Dive into the cursed water," Darius said flatly. "Fantastic."
"It won't hurt you," the ghost-woman assured. "Not if you're trying to help us. The water only harms those who fight against the cycle. Those who resist."
"How reassuring," Min muttered.
Kael studied the map, marking the locations. "We'll need to split into teams. Cover more ground faster. Four groups of three."
He began organizing:
Team 1 (North Forest): Kael, Min, Darius Team 2 (Beach): Four players Ah'Ming barely knew Team 3 (Eastern Caves): The prophet, Yuki, and a woman named Sera who specialized in earth magic Team 4 (Lake - Flooded Area): Ah'Ming and two others
Ah'Ming looked at his assignment and felt his stomach drop.
"The lake?" He asked.
"One of the spirits deliberately drowned themselves there," the ghost-woman explained. "At the deepest point. We're not even sure if their consciousness remains, given that it was a willing death. But if they're still there, you'll need someone who can handle himself underwater."
"And you think that's me because...?"
"Because you have the highest necrotic resistance," Kael said, gesturing to Ah'Ming's bruises. "You've been hit more than anyone else and you're still functional. Whatever your biology is, it's handling the zombie corruption better than the rest of us."
Ah'Ming wanted to argue. Wanted to explain that his bruises weren't resistance—they were just slower to reach critical mass because of his inhuman biology. That he'd been desperately wanting to tear off his infected arm and regenerate a clean one, but couldn't do it with everyone watching because that would reveal exactly how not-human he was.
But he couldn't say any of that.
So he just squeezed his stress ball and nodded.
"Fine. Lake duty."
His teammates were assigned: a water mage named Lin and a defensive specialist named Torch (probably a nickname).
"Everyone has their assignments," Kael said. "We leave at first light. Try to be back by sundown. If you're not back by dark, we assume the worst and proceed without you."
Grim nods all around.
"Get some rest," Kael ordered. "Tomorrow we find twenty ghosts and save this cursed island."
The group dispersed to set up sleeping arrangements.
Ah'Ming found a quiet corner of the cave, away from the others, and finally let himself examine his arm.
The bruises were worse than he'd let on. Twenty-three visible ones, but he could feel more beneath the surface. The necrotic damage was spreading through his tissue like frost, turning healthy cells into something cold and wrong.
He wanted to tear it off. Just rip the whole arm away and let it regrow clean.
But people were watching. Always watching.
Lin was setting up her bedroll nearby. Torch was sharpening his sword. The prophet was resting but not sleeping, eyes open and distant.
Ah'Ming sighed and put his infected arm away, squeezing his stress ball with his good hand instead.
"Problem?" The prophet asked quietly.
"No," Ah'Ming lied. "Just thinking about tomorrow."
"The lake spirit?"
"Yeah."
"You'll find them," the prophet said with certainty. "You're good at finding things that don't want to be found."
"How do you know?"
"Because you found us. All of us. In this cave. When we were ready to give up." The prophet smiled. "You have a talent for being exactly where you need to be."
Ah'Ming wanted to believe that.
He squeezed his stress ball and tried to sleep.
Tomorrow they'd split up.
Tomorrow they'd hunt ghosts.
Tomorrow he'd have to dive into the cursed lake and find a spirit who might not even exist anymore.
And he'd have to do it all while pretending his arm wasn't slowly dying, while hiding what he really was, while maintaining the façade of being human.
"Steve?" He whispered into the darkness.
|Yes?
"Tomorrow's going to suck, isn't it?"
|Statistically, yes |But broadcaster has survived worse
"Have I though?"
|...System will reassess after tomorrow
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
|System believes in broadcaster |Even when broadcaster does not believe in himself
Ah'Ming smiled despite everything.
"You're getting sentimental, Steve."
|System is doing no such thing |System is merely... invested in broadcaster's continued survival |For professional reasons
"Sure. Professional reasons."
Outside the cave, the island continued its slow descent.
The water crept higher.
The turtle swam deeper.
And somewhere in the dark depths of the lake, a spirit waited—willing or unwilling, conscious or dissolved, nobody knew.
Ah'Ming squeezed his stress ball one more time and closed his eyes.
Six days left.
Maybe less.
The clock was ticking.
And tomorrow, they'd find out if ghosts could be saved.