The day and a half of rest had settled over the ruinous outpost like a heavy fog, softening the edges of the cracked stone walls and muffling the distant cries of the wild ravine below. Night approached slowly, its presence a tide rolling in, dark and inevitable.
To his mild surprise, he heard footsteps, and Rose stepped inside. She wasn't empty-handed. In her grip was a crude wooden plate, piled with chunks of freshly roasted meat, the steam curling upward in delicate wisps. The scent hit him immediately, stenchy, savory, and faintly smoky. Her black hair were more tousled than usual, clinging to her sweat-dampened forehead, and her boots were flecked with bits of gore, dark and glistening. But her grin was smug, almost triumphant, as she held the plate aloft like a trophy.
"I killed a monster," she said, her tone as casual as if she'd just fetched water from a nearby stream.
Belial raised a brow, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "So you can actually hunt."
"Only on special occasions," she replied, her voice laced with mock innocence. She shrugged, the movement drawing attention to the curve of her shoulders, the way her leather tunic hugged her frame. "A girl's gotta eat."
His gaze lingered a moment too long, tracing the line of her collarbone, the faint scar that peeked out from beneath her sleeve, the way her hips shifted as she set the plate down on a nearby stone slab. Heat crept up his neck, and he quickly turned his back, his cloak rustling as he moved. Clearing his throat, he leapt effortlessly to the upper door ledge, his movements fluid and precise, like a cat navigating a narrow perch. He paused only to cast a sidelong glance at her, his golden eyes catching the dying light.
"Thank you… for helping me," he said, his voice barely above a murmur, the words almost lost in the stillness of the room.
"No problem," Rose called up, her grin widening. Then, louder, with a teasing lilt, she added, "I know you were looking!"
Belial didn't answer. His face burned, and he bolted, half-embarrassed, toward the open-air door that overlooked the wild bedroom below. The wind nipped at his shirt as he stepped into the night air, the coolness a sharp contrast to the warmth still lingering in his chest. The caverns stretched out before him, a jagged scar in the earth, its depths cloaked in shadow and mist. The distant calls of nocturnal creatures echoed faintly, their voices weaving into the rustle of leaves and the soft howl of the wind.
He hadn't touched the black notebook in days. He'd almost forgotten he'd brought it, tucked into the VISOR. With a sigh, he slumped against a stone , stretching his lithe frame before settling into the cool curve of the ledge. His body draped lazily over the edge, head dangling just far enough to feel the downward pull of gravity. If he slipped, he'd catch himself. His wings, folded tightly against his back, were more than capable of breaking his fall. Besides, Rose wouldn't follow him up here. This was his place, his sanctuary amidst the chaos of the world below.
He pulled the notebook from his cloak and opened it, the leather cover worn and soft under his fingers. The pages were filled with his scrawling handwriting, notes from his travels, fragments of thoughts, and half-remembered dreams. He flipped to where he'd left off, the ink still vivid despite the passage of time.
Today I visited the northern continent. The residents call it Akonohana. This continent has more red flowers than I remember, but it's quite beautiful. I'm guessing some time has passed, they grow rather quickly. The red moon is still creepy, though.
He turned the page, his eyes scanning the next entry.
I looked for the man who gave me this shard for days. I couldn't find any clues. But the man came to me instead. He wore a leather jacket, deep black pants. He almost seemed like the ghost the residents keep talking about. I couldn't see the ghosts they're referring to because… well, I couldn't see anyways.
Belial paused, his gaze drifting to the deepening colors of the evening sky He shivered, though the air wasn't particularly cold. Something about the moon always unsettled him, as if it watched him with a purpose he couldn't quite grasp.
But despite being a prince, I begged the man to let me follow him on his adventures. And so he did.
He frowned, his fingers tracing the edge of the page. The ink seemed darker here, fresher, as if it had been written more recently than the rest. He couldn't remember writing these words, not exactly. His memory of that time was fragmented, like a mosaic with half the pieces missing. The man in the leather jacket—tall, enigmatic, his face always half-hidden in shadow, had been a fleeting presence in his life, a guide through the chaos of Akonohana's wilds. Belial had followed him without question, drawn by a pull he couldn't explain.
We went on a couple bizarre adventures. We toured the northern plains, crossed through mountain ridges. He never told me his mission, but we often ended up fighting monsters. Mostly he did the fighting. Is he a monster hunter? I guess I'll find out soon.
He flipped another page, the paper crinkling softly under his touch. The wind began to pick up, tugging at the edges of his cloak and sending a chill down his spine.
That man never told me his name, so I just followed him. He's quite an interesting figure. That coat he wore—it seemed… alive somehow. I'll see if I can get his name.
A sudden gust swept past the balcony, sharp and biting. Belial shivered, clutching the notebook closer to his chest.He glanced over the edge of the balcony, his eyes scanning the mountain below. The shadows seemed to shift, though the wind had died down. For a moment, he thought he saw movement, an instance of something too quick to catch.
He shook his head, dismissing it as a trick of the light. and went back to reading
We fought another monster today. It was different this time. Not like the others. Its eyes were empty, like holes in the world. It spoke, but not with words. I don't know how I understood it. It said I was marked. Marked for what? The man didn't seem surprised. He just fought harder, like he already knew.
Belial's breath caught in his throat.
Another gust of wind tore through the balcony, stronger this time. The notebook slipped from his fingers, the pages fluttering wildly as it tumbled from the ledge. "No!" he muttered, leaning forward.
He watched helplessly as it fell, bouncing off an extruding rock before spinning downward toward the cliff's base far below. The pages flapped like broken wings, catching the moonlight in flashes of white.
He growled, standing quickly. His wings unfolded with a low ripple of energy, he hovered to the edge of the balcony and peered down to where the notebook had landed, nestled among the jagged rocks at the ravine's floor.
Then he froze.
There, standing by the shattered book, was a figure.
Tall. Lean. Almost human in shape, but only almost.
Its limbs were too long, bending at angles that made his stomach churn. Its back was slightly hunched, as if carrying an invisible weight. Its skin, or what passed for skin, was blackend and cracked, like dried earth under the red moon's glow. Its arms hung low, one of them twitching ever so slightly, as if moved by some unseen force.
Its face was smooth, void of features except for two large black holes where eyes should have been. They were empty. Not blind, not closed, just empty. Cavities that drank in all the light, leaving nothing behind.
Belial didn't move. Neither did the figure.
Even the insects below had stopped their humming, leaving only the faint rustle of leaves in the distance. The figure stood motionless, its eyeless gaze fixed on him. Belial's heart pounded, his wings trembling slightly as he fought the urge to flee.
Then it raised a hand. Not five fingers. Six.
It pointed.
Directly at him.
A chill shot down Belial's spine, sharp and electric. He narrowed his eyes, searching for more details, any sign of what it was. The moonlight seemed to bend around the figure, warping the shadows at its feet. Its presence felt wrong, like a tear in the fabric of reality.
Its jaw slowly unhinged. No teeth. Just a gaping maw of shadow, deeper than its eyeholes, like a hole cut into the world itself.
A sound emerged. Not a voice, but a noise, malformed and guttural, like words forced through the sound of wind and breaking glass. It wasn't a language he recognized, not one he had ever heard in his travels across the realm or beyond.
And yet…
He understood it.
Every syllable etched itself into his bones, cold and unyielding.
"You… are haunted."