SHADOW GHOST TECHNIQUE & THE CURSE
"Kiaria!"
A sharp pinch landed on his ear.
"Ow–Dia! What was that for?"
"For making me watch you spit blood like it's a daily routine," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Didn't Saint Elder Wolf warn you to look after yourself before anyone else?"
He rubbed the side of his head, smiling faintly. "He did. I suppose he knows me too well."
"Then act like you listened for once."
"Alright, alright." He lifted both hands in surrender. "I'm alive. Isn't that proof enough of progress?"
Her lips pressed into a line, but relief had already softened her voice. "You really are impossible sometimes."
Kiaria chuckled. "I'll take that as affection."
She rolled her eyes and leaned back against the wall, exhaustion finally claiming her. The air inside the ruin was heavy but no longer suffocating. For the first time in days, it didn't feel hostile.
Kiaria exhaled, letting the tension fall away from his shoulders. His body ached in silence; his spirit, however, felt strangely calm. As he closed his eyes, the border between waking and sleep dissolved, and his thoughts slipped into stillness.
A dream, soft and weightless, opened before him.
He stood in a vast space of mist and light – familiar yet distant, like a reflection of his inner sea. There, floating before him was a scroll glowing faintly silver, its edges moving as if breathed by wind. He recognized it instantly – the one that had emerged from the Shadow Ghost Technique Rune a day before.
The seal was gone, but the scroll remained – waiting.
It unfurled slowly, the inked letters glowing in faint pulses as a low whisper filled the air:
Formless wind wanders in light,
Concealed presence shakes the height,
Anxious hearts are turbulent ripples,
Formless heart vanishes presence,
Shady ones sculpture formless shadows.
The words moved through the air like ripples in water. Kiaria stood still, watching as their meaning unfolded.
Formless wind wanders in light.
The first line stirred a breeze across his cheek. Wind – unseen, yet felt. To move like it, he realized, one must release tension completely. No force, no strain, just breath and motion without resistance. He inhaled slowly, letting his weight vanish from the ground beneath him. His presence thinned.
Concealed presence shakes the height.
Even stillness, when true, could tremble the air. He shifted one step – not fast, not slow. The movement created no sound, yet the space around him pulsed as if something immense had stirred in silence. Hidden power – quiet, but undeniable.
Anxious hearts are turbulent ripples.
He felt the rhythm of his pulse, uneven, carrying thought and fear. The verse's truth was simple: restlessness leaves traces. He slowed his breathing. The inner noise vanished. His heartbeat settled until the dream itself stopped noticing it.
Formless heart vanishes presence.
As the words faded, he understood – invisibility was not about hiding. It was about letting go of identity, even for a moment. A still mind draws no attention, like clear water reflecting nothing but sky. He stood there, feeling the edges of himself dissolve.
Finally,
Shady ones sculpture formless shadows.
Figures formed – shadows shaped by his own will, echoing his stance. They moved with grace, their attacks as light as wind and yet sharper than sound. Their steps left no marks.
He mirrored them. Each motion was silent, fluid, free. The technique wasn't forceful – it flowed. It was martial art born from gentleness.
To become Shadow Ghost, one must free the heart like wind: gentle, untethered, calm. Only then does form lose its meaning.
The scroll pulsed once, then faded into the air, leaving only silence.
A faint hum filled his chest – not painful, not bright, just right.
A breath escaped his lips as he opened his eyes. The ruin was dim. Diala slept beside the cold fire, a soft line of light tracing her face. But the air – it was different.
Something within him stirred.
A low vibration rippled across the floor, faint yet steady. Shadows thickened around him, drawn toward his body as if gravity had changed direction. His heartbeat slowed – deep, controlled.
Then, the transformation began.
Kiaria's white shoulder-length hair deepened into a sleek black, strands glinting violet where the light touched. His calm blue eyes darkened into deep amethyst, their glow reflecting a tranquil strength. His robe shifted shade by shade until it matched the shadows around him, the cloth seemingly alive as it blended with air.
Across his face, threads of energy wove themselves into a mask – scales of faint light forming over his mouth and nose, hiding his breath. The faint scar on his forehead gleamed, steady and pale – like a seal bridging light and shadow.
The atmosphere inside the ruin changed. The faint warmth of the fire dimmed; silence took hold.
Diala stirred and blinked awake. Her eyes widened instantly.
Her hand moved on reflex, summoning a dry leaf shimmering with spirit energy. "Who are you?"
Kiaria blinked, then smiled beneath the mask. His voice came calm, familiar. "Dia, what are you doing? Can't you recognize me?"
Her stance faltered. "K–Kiaria? You look… terrifying."
He let out a quiet chuckle. "Shadow Ghost form. The technique allows me to merge into shadows, move unseen, strike without presence. It's not darkness – it's existence without form."
Diala lowered her weapon slowly. Wonder replaced alarm. "That's… incredible. Can you change back?"
He nodded. The mask dissolved into faint mist, his robe brightened, and his hair lightened gradually back to white. The ruin's temperature returned to normal.
He stretched, letting out a faint groan. "Ah… my body's stiff. Guess shadow training doesn't come with comfort."
Diala smiled faintly. "You look more like a martial ghost than a cultivator."
"Maybe that's not far from truth." He gave her a sideways grin. "Still, this stealth technique might save us later."
She shook her head. "You sound too pleased with yourself."
"I am."
He glanced outside where morning light seeped through the cracks. "Come, Dia. Let's eat before the miasma thickens again."
They shared what little food remained – the last of the roasted roots and bread. The air outside had softened, though the fog hadn't lifted completely.
Kiaria stood and dusted off his robe. "We shouldn't stay. This valley feels… aware."
Diala nodded, rising beside him. He reached out, and she took his hand without hesitation. Palm to palm, they stepped into the faint morning light.
The world outside looked gentler than before – pale sun against rolling mist, quiet wind through broken stones. Yet Kiaria's senses warned otherwise. He slowed his steps.
"Someone's nearby," he said softly.
Diala stopped. "Where?"
He tilted his head. "Behind the ruins. He's been following since dawn."
His tone was calm, but firm. "You can come out now."
A small boy stumbled from behind a cracked pillar – dusty, trembling, barely twelve.
"I–I didn't mean harm!" he cried. "Please… help us!"
Diala's voice softened. "Help you? Who are you?"
"M–my name's Elen." He bowed quickly, breath short. "Please follow me. I'll explain… just not here."
Kiaria and Diala exchanged a glance, then nodded. "Lead the way," Kiaria said.
Elen guided them through narrow ruins until they reached a wide square. What lay there stopped them both.
Men, women, children – thousands – lay still. Peaceful. Breathing shallowly, eyes closed. Not dead. Not awake.
Elen dropped beside two of them, his parents. "Father! Mother! Our saviors are here! Please wake up!" His small voice broke through the still air, echoing against stone.
Kiaria knelt beside the bodies, checking their pulse. Cold. Silent. Yet alive.
"How long?" he asked quietly.
"Two years," Elen whispered, tears streaking his dusty face. "Everyone… like this. Only me left awake."
Diala pressed a hand to her chest. "A curse."
The boy nodded frantically. "Yes. The elders once said our village angered a girl… she was innocent, caught between our people and the Dark Guild's battle. When her family was slaughtered, her dying wish turned to a curse. Anyone who sleeps here never wakes again."
Kiaria's eyes darkened. "That's why this land reeks of death."
Elen continued, trembling. "Before they all fell, a prophecy spread. That two children–one of fire and one of frost–would come to lift the curse. And now… you're here." He clasped his hands, kneeling fully before them. "Please. You're the ones from the prophecy. Save them. Save all of us."
Diala took a step forward, her gaze heavy with sorrow. "We're not gods, Elen. We can't promise what we don't understand."
Kiaria looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But we can try."
The wind howled faintly outside, carrying the sound of distant chimes through the ruins. The sunlight flickered across the cold stone floor as if marking the beginning of new crisis.
Kiaria placed his hand gently on Elen's shoulder. "Show us everything you know about this curse. From this moment, we'll find the truth."
The boy's tears spilled freely. "Thank you… thank you, benefactor."
Outside, the fog began to roll back over the valley once more. The air that had seemed calm moments ago thickened again, and in the far distance, a faint whisper rippled through the mist–a laugh, soft and hollow.
Somewhere in the unseen, the curse had felt their arrival.