Kaisel's body trembled violently as cold breath brushed the back of his neck—but there was no wind.
His bloodied fingers scraped against the stone floor as he struggled to push himself up. Pain surged through his ribs, his leg burned, and his vision swam with every breath.
"He can see us..."
"He can hear us..."
"He bleeds... like all the others..."
Voices. Whispers. Slithering like oil down his spine.
Shapes—seven of them—gathered around him. Shadows that refused to stay still, twisting in and out of form. They didn't move like anything born of flesh. They bled into the dark, like holes in the world.
Kaisel couldn't speak. His throat was dry, raw. He tried to crawl away, but his limbs barely responded. He was too cold. Too broken.
The things came closer.
"What... are you...?" one of them whispered.
"Are you human...?"
"No. He only looks like one."
"An elf... a little bit... but not quite..."
Kaisel's breath hitched. His eyes, bloodshot and wide, flicked from one shape to another.
"I see it..." one hissed. "Sadness... fear... anger... despair..."
"He has something inside... something deep..."
"Darkness..."
"It's the Abyss."
"He won't live much longer... even if he crawls out."
Kaisel's heart dropped. He felt it. He knew they were right. His body wouldn't last. Not with how much blood he'd lost. Not after the fall.
One of them leaned closer. It didn't have eyes, but he felt it watching.
"Are you what they call... a chimera?"
Kaisel whimpered, barely audible.
"W-Who... a-are you...?"
The voices all whispered together, a chorus of dripping shadows:
"We... are the Seven Sins."
His mind reeled. That name. It rang like a curse.
His lips trembled. "P-please... help me..."
A pause.
"Why should we?"
"I... I don't want to die... I don't... want to die..."
"Then give us something."
"I have... nothing..."
"You have a body."
The words hit him like ice.
"Let us possess you."
He froze.
"W-Why...?" he whispered.
The shadows twisted, and their voices deepened.
"We are sealed."
"Bound. Trapped."
"Only through a vessel can we be free."
"Let us possess you... and we can escape."
Possess. He knew what that meant. Even a child in the Empire knew what happened when spirits or demons possessed a body. You vanished. You were erased.
"N-No..." he whispered. "I-I can't... it's mine... my body..."
"Then die."
The voices retreated for a moment, whispering among themselves, as if waiting to see if he'd bleed out on his own.
Kaisel bit down on his lip until it bled. His body refused to move. His leg was broken. He could barely breathe. He knew if he passed out now, he might never wake up.
He didn't want to die.
Not yet.
His voice cracked. "W-What if... I let you in... not to possess... but to... share...?"
A pause.
"Share...?"
"I... I make a pact. A contract... Like... Like spirits do. I live... You live in me. Not control. Just... help me survive... I can't do this alone..."
"You want a contract...?"
"A soul-bound pact. If I die, you die. If I live, you live..."
A low murmur rippled through them.
"He is desperate."
"Weak. Willing."
"This could work..."
"Soul-bound. No possession."
"But freedom... still possible..."
"Fine."
"We accept."
One by one, they circled closer.
Kaisel's voice quivered as he looked up at them. "W-What... what should I call you? You have names, right? I need to know... for the contract..."
"I am Greed."
"I am Gluttony."
"I am Envy."
"I am Pride."
"I am Wrath."
"I am Lust."
"I am Sloth."
Kaisel swallowed the taste of blood in his mouth. "Kaisel... de Ravengard."
They echoed it, dark and resonant: "Kaisel de Ravengard..."
With shaking hands, Kaisel tore a piece of cloth from his tunic and began drawing a circle on the ground with his own blood. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't elegant. But it was born of instinct—and desperation.
"I need something... part of you... to seal it," he said.
One of the shadows twisted, and from its core, a writhing black liquid—like ink or rotted tar—dripped into the circle. More followed. Each of the Sins gave a portion of themselves.
Kaisel placed his bloodstained palm in the center and chanted with slurred breath, half-remembered words in ancient Myrrenthal:
"From flesh to flame, from bone to breath... I call not to serve, but to bind... Let soul touch soul... and shadow merge with form... I open the gate with blood... and seal it with will... Bound by blood... sealed by soul..."
"I, Kaisel de Ravengard, with Wrath, Envy, Greed, Lust, Sloth, Gluttony, and Pride... the Seven Sins... bound as one."
The circle ignited.
The blood shimmered, twisted, and vanished.
"What is this feeling...?"
"Connected..."
"Tied..."
"The pact is made."
Kaisel slumped, his body screaming in pain.
"Now help me... please..."
The shadows moved as one. They surged forward, slamming into him like a tide of darkness.
He screamed.
Pain flared through every nerve in his body. His bones shifted. His skin burned. His mind buckled.
But slowly, his wounds began to close.
Very slowly.
Time passed. Hours, maybe. Kaisel couldn't tell. He lay still, breathing. Eyes open, unblinking.
"How do I get out...?" he thought, trying to reach them. Silence.
He blinked, then coughed, voice hoarse and broken.
"H-How... do I get out...?"
A faint reply came at last—
"Climb... up..."
"You are saved... for now..."
"We held our end..."
"Now feed us..."
"I don't... have food..."
"We eat... souls... alive..."
Kaisel mustered up his strength and got up with difficulty, each movement sharp with pain. He limped forward, one unsteady step at a time. After a while, a faint noise reached his ears—the soft scuttling of tiny claws. Rodents. Rats. A group of them..
He then raised his arm toward the rats, and a small orb of bluish-white light began to form at his palm. It was arcane magic—pure and formless. Magic without attributes. The most basic form of spellcasting, created by directly manipulating raw mana. Any mage could use it.
The orb of light multiplied—two, four, eight in total—hovering like will-o'-the-wisps. The rats began to scatter the moment the glow reached them. In an instant, the orbs darted forward. Seven rats dropped, struck down mid-sprint. One orb missed, and the rest of the swarm fled into the shadows.
Kaisel limped closer to the fallen bodies, his breath shallow.
"How do I feed you?" he asked quietly.
There was no answer.
Instead, a thick, twisted ink-like liquid began to seep from the cracks in the ground—shifting, writhing. It slithered toward the corpses, covering them. Within seconds, the bodies dissolved into nothing. Not a trace remained.
Kaisel saw this and said nothing. His face remained blank, unreadable. He turned away and slowly walked back across the uneven stone, retracing his steps before veering toward the opposite end of the cavern.
After a while, a faint silver glow caught his eye—moonlight.
He followed it, limping toward the light until he found the source: a steep, jagged slope leading upward. The moon hung high above, casting its pale light down through the opening like a distant promise.
He grit his teeth and began to climb.
His fingers grasped at roots jutting from the earth, pulling himself upward inch by inch. The slope was treacherous—slick with damp moss and sharp with jutting stone. Thorns scraped his arms. His wounded hands bled as they tore against rough bark and broken edges.
Once, he slipped—but caught himself. Again, he climbed.
Every breath was fire in his lungs.
And then—finally—he dragged himself over the edge.
After pulling himself out, Kaisel walked a short distance through the cold night air. Each step felt heavier than the last. The world around him spun slightly—his blood loss catching up with him.
His legs gave out.
He sank to the ground and lay there, his back against the earth, eyes drifting upward.
Above him, the crescent moon hung quietly in the sky. Its pale light bathed his bruised face, soft and distant—unmoving, uncaring.
He didn't speak. He just stared.
.....
Morning crept into the forest slowly, the pale gold light of dawn filtering through the high canopy in broken shafts. Dew clung to every leaf and root, glistening faintly in the hush of early light. The stillness of the woods was broken only by the soft crunch of boots on damp earth.
A group of men walked between the trees—lumberjacks from a nearby hamlet. They wore thick woolen coats, faded from years of use, with leather belts strapped across their chests to hold small tools and satchels. Their trousers were tucked into heavy boots, caked with mud. Most had coarse beards, scarves around their necks, and broad-brimmed hats to shield from sun and rain alike. On their shoulders rested long-handled axes, worn but sharpened, their steel heads catching glints of sunlight.
"Here looks like a good spot to start felling," one of them muttered, tapping a nearby tree.
But before they could raise their axes, one of the younger men halted.
"Wait... what's that?"
He pointed.
A few paces ahead, lying among crushed grass and scattered leaves, was a boy. No older than ten. His tunic, once fine and embroidered with silver thread, was now torn, soaked in blood and dirt. His hair was black as pitch, clinging to his face with sweat and dried blood. His skin—bronze-toned and bruised—stood out starkly in the morning light. His eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.
The lumberjacks rushed forward.
"Gods—he's alive!" one said, kneeling beside him.
"Barely. Look at this wound on his side—must've been cut bad... and his leg's twisted."
"Poor lad... What in hell happened to him out here?"
"His clothes... he's no commoner's child."
"Maybe a noble. Or what's left of one."
None of them said a word about the boy's unusual skin tone or features. They didn't care. Where others might have looked and whispered curses or suspicion, they saw only a child—broken, bleeding, and alone.
They didn't wait for answers. Rough, calloused hands moved gently as they wrapped him in a thick wool cloak. Another took off his own coat and laid it over the boy's chest.
"We'll take him to the village. Get the Apothecary. He won't last long otherwise."
One of them hoisted Kaisel into his arms—careful not to jostle the broken leg.
As they turned to leave, a breeze passed through the trees, stirring the branches.
Far above, the crescent moon faded behind the rising sun.
To be continued.