They had not planned to do anything dangerous.
That was the excuse all five of them used later, in different voices, with different expressions, but the truth was simple. It was a Friday afternoon, the teachers were busy preparing for an inspection, and the mountain behind the town had always been a place where rules felt distant and unreal.
It was the kind of place where shadows stretched longer than they should, where mobile signals weakened, and where teenagers felt brave simply because no adults were watching.
Lucas brought the board.
He said he found it in his uncle's attic, tucked inside a dusty cardboard box along with old magazines and broken photo frames. The wooden surface was scratched, the letters faded, and the planchette felt heavier than it looked. He joked about how "authentic" it was, how it might be worth money if it was actually cursed. None of them believed that, not really.
Mia rolled her eyes when he said it, but she was smiling anyway.
Ethan filmed everything on his phone, already imagining how funny it would look once they uploaded it online.
Grace sat cross-legged on the ground, hugging her knees, pretending she was only there to watch. Oliver, quiet as always, stood slightly apart, his gaze drifting toward the trees that lined the edge of the clearing.
They were close friends, the kind who shared secrets and exam answers, who argued loudly and made up easily.
That closeness gave them confidence. Nothing bad happened when they were together. That was how it had always been.
The mountain air was cool, carrying the scent of damp soil and old leaves. Somewhere far away, birds called to each other, their voices sharp and clear. The sun filtered through the branches above them, creating patches of light that shifted slowly across the ground.
Lucas placed the board between them with exaggerated care.
"Alright," he said, lowering his voice dramatically. "Everyone knows the rules, right?"
Ethan laughed. "Yeah, yeah. Don't move the thing yourself, don't ask stupid questions, and don't freak out if nothing happens."
Grace hesitated. "And… we're supposed to say goodbye at the end."
Lucas waved a hand. "That's just for movies."
Oliver glanced up. "It's not just for movies."
The others looked at him.
He shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention. "I mean, if you're going to do it, you should do it properly."
Mia leaned forward, curiosity lighting her eyes. "Then let's do it properly."
They sat in a loose circle, knees touching, shoes brushing against fallen leaves. Lucas placed the planchette at the center of the board, its surface cool under their fingertips. For a moment, no one spoke. The forest seemed to quiet, as if listening.
Lucas cleared his throat. "Is anyone here with us?"
Nothing happened.
Ethan grinned. "See? I told you—"
The planchette shifted.
It was slight, almost unnoticeable, but they all felt it. The wooden piece slid just enough to break the stillness, enough to make their laughter falter.
Mia's breath caught. "Did you move it?"
"No," Lucas said quickly.
Grace shook her head. "I didn't."
Ethan frowned, eyes darting from face to face. "Okay, who's messing around?"
Oliver said nothing. His fingers were tense against the board, his shoulders stiff.
The planchette moved again, slower this time, dragging itself toward the letter "Y".
A strange silence settled over them. The birds had stopped calling. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
"Are you… friendly?" Mia asked, her voice quieter than before.
The planchette slid to "N".
Lucas swallowed. "Are you… a spirit?"
Yes.
The answer came too quickly, too smoothly.
Ethan laughed, sharp and nervous. "Alright, that's enough. This is getting weird."
But Lucas didn't lift his hands. His excitement had turned into something tighter, something edged with thrill. "What's your name?"
The planchette paused.
Then it moved.
Slowly, deliberately, it traced letters one by one.
They did not recognize the name.
Grace frowned. "I've never heard of that."
Mia tried to joke, but the sound came out strained. "Maybe it's shy."
Oliver felt cold.
It wasn't the air. It was something deeper, something that crept under his skin and settled in his chest. He remembered old rumors about the mountain, about hikers who got lost even when the paths were clear, about echoes that answered when no one called.
"We should stop," he said quietly.
Lucas shook his head. "Come on. We're already doing it."
"Where are you?" Ethan asked, half-mocking, half-curious.
The planchette dragged itself across the board, stopping at words etched faintly near the bottom.
HERE.
Mia laughed again, too loud this time. "Very funny."
The ground beneath them felt different suddenly, heavier, as if the soil itself was pressing upward. The air thickened, carrying a faint metallic scent that didn't belong in a forest.
Grace's fingers trembled. "Lucas… maybe we should say goodbye now."
Lucas hesitated.
That hesitation was the mistake.
"Do you want to play?" Mia asked, trying to regain control, trying to make it fun again.
The planchette moved in a sharp, sudden motion.
YES.
A chill ran through all of them at once.
"Hide and seek," Ethan said, laughing despite himself. "That's what spirits like, right?"
Oliver's head snapped up. "Don't."
But the planchette was already moving.
YES.
The forest around them seemed to stretch, the trees leaning inward ever so slightly. Shadows pooled at their roots, darker than before.
Lucas stood up abruptly. "Alright, that's enough. Let's just—"
The planchette shot off the board and clattered onto the ground.
Grace screamed.
Something moved between the trees.
It's presence pressing against their senses like a hand against glass. The temperature dropped, their breaths turning faintly visible in the air.
"We didn't send it back," Oliver whispered, horror dawning in his eyes.
Ethan backed away, phone forgotten in his hand. "This isn't funny anymore."
A sound drifted through the clearing, low and distorted, like laughter dragged through water. The shadows shifted, stretching toward them, brushing against their shoes.
Mia grabbed Lucas's arm. "Run."
They scattered, panic shattering whatever calm they had left. Leaves crunched underfoot as they bolted down the narrow trail, branches clawing at their sleeves. Behind them, something followed, not chasing, not hurrying, as if it knew there was nowhere to escape.
The mountain swallowed their voices.
Somewhere between the trees, the board lay abandoned, the letters darkened as if stained, the planchette resting upside down like a closed eye.
The game had started.
And no one had said goodbye
*****
The funeral house was quiet in the way Elias preferred.
Not the empty, hollow quiet that made thoughts echo too loudly, but a steady, settled silence, like an old building that had accepted its place in the world.
Afternoon light filtered through the thin curtains, turning the dust in the air soft and golden. Outside, the street was calm.
There were three funeral services in this district alone, and his shop sat at the least convenient corner, far enough from the main road that most people only noticed it when they were already grieving.
That suited him just fine.
Elias sat behind the counter with a porcelain cup cradled loosely in one hand. The tea had gone lukewarm, but he did not mind. He rarely noticed temperature anymore. The bitter taste grounded him, kept his mind from drifting too far.
On the table before him lay a stack of documents he had deliberately not touched since morning.
The invitation bore the seal of the Central Hunter Association, its ink pressed deep and clean into thick paper.
An official selection test, scheduled three months from now. Three months to prepare, three months to pretend he was something he was not, or at least something less dangerous than what they believed him to be.
Elias exhaled slowly.
Three months was not generous. It was a countdown.
He set the cup down and leaned back slightly, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as his thoughts slipped, uninvited, into old memories that refused to stay buried.
Ryan Evan.
The name surfaced easily, too easily, like a story he had read so many times that the pages had worn thin.
Ryan was a prodigy. In that era, in that family, everyone knew his name. Darkness answered him as if it had been waiting, bending into elegant, obedient shapes at his command. It was the kind of power people admired openly, the kind that fit perfectly into the narrative of a chosen heir.
An edgy protagonist, Elias thought dryly. Overpowered, tragic only when it was convenient.
Ryan had grown up loved.
A father who was strict but fair, who corrected him without cruelty. A mother who smiled easily, whose warmth seemed endless. Siblings who argued and laughed and stood at his side without hesitation. Even the servants adored him. The house had been full of light then, full of voices and expectation.
That was before Elias arrived.
He had been brought into the Evan household without ceremony, a year older than Ryan and carrying a truth no one wanted to acknowledge.
Proof of the patriarch's infidelity, wrapped neatly in expensive clothes and an official statement. He remembered the novel pages, explaining about Elias. Standing in the doorway, small hands clenched, surrounded by strangers who stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.
Ryan had hated him instantly.
Or perhaps not hatred. Something more complicated. Resentment tangled with confusion, with a childish desire to protect what he already had. Ryan tried, at least at first. He did not openly bully Elias. He simply watched him with sharp eyes, measuring every word, every gesture.
Elias, for his part, had done nothing to bridge the gap.
In that life, he had lived as if none of it mattered. He had money, status, a roof over his head. He wore indifference like armor, spoke little, learned nothing that did not interest him. From the outside, it looked like arrogance. From the inside, it had been emptiness.
Then came the incident that shattered everything.
Elias remembered it in a few line in the novel. Raised voices. The smell of gunpowder. This Original Elias mother's face twisted by desperation and rage. Ryan's mother standing in front of him without hesitation, her body shielding her son.
The shot had echoed too loudly.
Elias had been twelve years old when he watched her fall.
Blood on polished floors. Screaming servants. Ryan's face frozen in disbelief and terror. His own mother dragged away, eyes wild, still shouting his name as if that might save her.
That day marked the end of the Evan family as it once was.
The rest of Elias Evan's story ended quietly, without drama. When Elias first transmigrated, he woke up in a hospital bed, the smell of disinfectant sharp in his nose, pain blooming faintly along his ribs.
The doctors spoke in careful tones. There had been a bridge. A fall. A body pulled from cold water.
It seemed the original owner of the body had tried to end it all.
That, Elias had thought at the time, would be a problem for later.
He stretched his shoulders now, the movement slow and controlled, and glanced at the clock on the wall. The hands ticked steadily forward, indifferent to guilt, regret, or fate.
No matter how irritating the past was, the present demanded his attention.
If he failed the test, he would not get another chance.
If he refused it, the Association would not leave him alone.
Elias reached for his tea again just as the bell above the door chimed softly.
He froze.
The sound was unexpected, not alarming, but rare. Customers did not wander in here without hesitation.
An old man stepped inside, his posture slightly bent beneath the weight of a large hiking bag. His clothes were worn but clean, boots still dusted with dried mud. His eyes held the tired politeness of someone who had been turned away more than once already.
"Good afternoon," the man said carefully. "Are you the owner?"
Elias inclined his head. "Yes."
The man relaxed a fraction. "I was told you handle… belongings. Things left behind."
He unshouldered the bag with effort and set it down near the counter. The zipper was half-broken, its teeth misaligned.
"My brother went hiking up the mountain last week," the man continued. "Search teams found his body yesterday. They said some things were… scattered. I was hoping you could help identify what should be returned."
Elias listened quietly.
Behind the old man, the air shifted.
Two figures drifted just inside the doorway, translucent and wrong in ways the living never were. High school students. One with a face twisted in terror, jaw hanging at an unnatural angle. Another missing an arm, the edges of the wound blurred and unfinished, as if reality itself had failed to complete him.
More shapes lingered farther back, pressed against the walls, the ceiling, the corners where light struggled to reach.
Elias stared.
Then he sighed.
"Nope," he muttered internally.
Outwardly, his expression did not change.
"I can take a look," he said calmly, reaching for the bag. "Please, have a seat."
The old man nodded gratefully, unaware of the gathering dead hovering behind him, unaware of the weight that had just entered the room.
Elias already knew, troubles never left him alone.