Oh no. Dammit. Act natural—natural ! I'm just an ordinary child who's done nothing wrong… Wait, no—I'm not a child anymore! Do something both natural and adult-like! Hell, I don't even know what that means—I might be the most unnatural person on this island! What would grown women do? Kiss Rowan? No, wait—that's disgusting!
Ah! Too late! He was already here!
"…Kinetic magic license?" the Temple Knight asked Rowan flatly. The con artist's lips twitched into an exaggerated, insincere smile.
"Right here, Officer." He replied smoothly, pulling out a parchment from his coat.
A murmur of discontent rippled through the crowd. "Kinetic magic?" "Illusions?" Several realized they'd been scammed and stormed off in anger. With those two words, the Temple Knight might have ruined Rowan's business in this district for a month.
"Hm…" The knight grunted, glancing at the paper. "Looks good. Sorry for the interruption, sir. Just doing my duty."
"No—no problem at all." Rowan forced another fake grin. The knight didn't seem to notice—or care. He handed back the parchment and resumed his patrol.
As soon as he vanished from sight, I exhaled sharply, unaware I had been holding my breath the whole time. I needed to practice looking less guilty. Because right now, I definitely was guilty.
"…Well," Rowan sighed. "That's today's hustle ruined. Let's go, Vita. Before anyone remembers we owe them refunds."
"We could give them refunds?" someone asked.
"Absolutely not!"
We ducked into an alley. I stayed quiet, too shaken from the encounter to continue. Besides, I was exhausted. Soon, Rockscar Island would pass overhead. The amber sky burned eternally, supposedly by the will of the Mistwatcher. Clouds gathered sometimes, storms occasionally veiled the heavens—but true darkness only came when another island passed above. Rockscar was a massive stone isle, named for its towering cliffs streaked with black jagged scars like wounds across its surface. Large enough and moving just slowly enough, it cast six hours of night—just long enough for a proper rest.
Rowan and I walked silently back to the Shack. I didn't mind. Silence gave me time to think—something I desperately needed.
First… the Mistwatcher. Why did I exist like this? Was I chosen or cursed? The Mistwatcher grants gifts to people—but mine defied him. One of those truths must be false, right? Or maybe I was just unlucky? Perhaps I was some chosen anomaly, granted power directly by the Mistwatcher himself! Or maybe I was the opposite—a creation born from forces opposed to life itself. But more likely, I simply didn't understand everything yet—and someday, I'd look back and feel stupid for doubting.
If the Mistwatcher knew the answer, he wasn't telling. Damn it. Religion never filled my stomach, and now my very existence branded me heretical. Why had I even bothered asking?
At least now I had something. Power. A gift. Terrifying and monstrous though it was, I wished for other talents—but better this than nothing. My own strength, the only thing I'd ever truly possessed. I needed to be careful. Zombies were trouble—too many created, and someone would notice. But was there a way to consume souls without detection? People like Linn might sense my growth, but strength could come naturally. If someone noticed how fast I improved, they wouldn't immediately suspect necromancy. And consuming souls… felt amazing. Not "tasty"—they had no flavor, being non-physical and all. But swallowing them? The sensation was exquisite. As each soul slid down, shattered, and melted into my waiting essence—becoming mine …
I shivered. Don't make it a habit , Rowan had said. But killing made me feel so alive, so real—it would be hard to stop. Damn it, why was I thinking like this already? No, no—I couldn't accept that I was a monster. Magic was a tool. I was the one wielding it. And if I let myself become a beast… then I'd be hunted like one.
The sudden, swift arrival of night pulled me from my thoughts—almost gratefully. Rockscar loomed quickly, casting the town into near-total darkness. We stood within its penumbra, the shadow cast beneath every floating island. Luckily, I didn't need to wait for my eyes to adjust—Rowan conjured a soft glow in his palm.
Rockscar was one of hundreds—maybe thousands? Countless islands drifting along fixed paths across the sky. After Rockscar passed, Mistneedle Island would bring four hours of rain eight hours later. Shaped like a barrel, it poured endless streams of water from its sides. I always wondered how it never ran dry. From a distance, the cascading warm rain refracted brilliant rainbows onto the streets—a rare beauty for someone like me, desperate for clean water. Twenty hours after Mistneedle, another island would follow, endlessly cycling. By day, countless islands floated above, though I never knew how many lay beneath our own. I'd never dared approach the edge of the world—any scholar foolish enough to ask questions about it got beaten by city guards. If not for the floating islands, I might doubt the edge existed at all.
Finally, I returned to our decrepit Shack, greeted the orphans inside, and squeezed through the tight space. True, I was older than most of them—but still small, still underfed. Try growing tall on hunger alone. You can't.
I curled up beneath my pile of rags—my bed—still fully clothed for warmth and protection. A bundle of spare clothes served as my pillow, hiding within it my stuffed toy bird, Roscoe. I didn't know what species he was supposed to be—he was covered in grime, so I assumed crow.
I had owned Roscoe for so long, I barely remembered where I got him. They wouldn't leave toys where I could steal them. If I recalled correctly, a family had been robbed in a rough part of town, and their child dropped him during the chaos. The robbers took all valuables—but Roscoe… was precious to me. People like me weren't allowed possessions. We couldn't afford to love anything. Sometimes I fought tooth and nail to keep him—battling other children who stole him just to trade for scraps… all so I could hold something at night. I hugged him tightly. He had always been, and always would be, my most treasured possession. My first friend. No matter how childish others found him, they'd never understand what he meant to me.
But now, a thought crept in… If I could place a soul shard into a dead crow, could I do the same with a toy crow? Could I bring my friend back to life? The idea sent a chill through me—but deep down, I knew . Whether it was impossible or a grotesque mockery of life didn't matter. I had to try.
I shouldn't have considered it. Shouldn't have acted. I was a walking blasphemy, a threat to everyone around me. But damn it—Linn said this was part of me! That I could use this power! If an entire branch of magic revolved around manipulating souls, they couldn't be that sacred. If the Mistwatcher disapproved, let him show himself and tell me himself!
I reached inward, splitting my soul again, drawing out a shard invisible to mortal eyes—but glowing in my heretic senses. What separated objects from corpses anyway? Slowly, carefully, I pressed the shard into Roscoe. It sank in. The little plush bird had a soul now! I felt the threads spread through the fabric, and I giggled, giddy with delight. He twitched clumsily, flapping tiny wings. I did it. Roscoe, my friend, moved.
"Cuddle me," I whispered.
His dirty little black wings stretched out, wrapping around my thin frame. I pulled him close, returning the embrace. For years, I had hugged him countless times. Now, for the first time, he hugged me back.
Tears welled in my eyes. After everything today—nearly dying, killing a man, discovering my existence was outlawed, devouring human souls—it was this that made me cry.
Screw it. Just this once, I'd waste the moisture. At last, finally, I fell asleep.
I woke drenched in sweat, frozen stiff with a fear unlike any before. Darkness still cloaked the room. Something slick brushed past me—an immense, alien tongue. Invisible, intangible, it slithered through the void beside me. Alone, yet not. I felt it searching, skimming over me… until it touched Roscoe. It pierced him, tearing out the sliver of my soul hidden inside.
Then it descended—down, down, down—into the mist, taking my fragment with it. Half a minute passed before I breathed again.
That night, I never closed my eyes again.