Pao had been walking for most of the morning.
The dirt road was muddy from the rain the night before. His boots were soaked, and the edge of his coat dragged through puddles. He hadn't eaten since yesterday, but he didn't complain. He was used to this kind of work.
He kept his left hand on the strap of his satchel and his right close to the hilt of his blade. The forest around him was quiet. Too quiet.
No birds. No animals.
Not even the wind.
He didn't like it.
The Guild sent him to check on a small town called Drevos Hollow. It was far from the main cities, the kind of place most people forgot existed. A week ago, a report reached the nearest post—livestock dying, villagers falling sick, and strange figures seen outside homes at night.
The signs pointed to a possible possession case.
A normal exorcist would've taken the job. But there weren't many left. Most had been killed or disappeared after the collapse. The few that remained were busy with bigger threats.
So they sent Pao.
He wasn't officially ranked. He had trained under Master Solon for years, but Solon was dead now. Pao had no license. No badge. Just the mark his mentor left him, and a satchel full of half-burned tools.
It was his first mission alone.
And it didn't feel right.
The trees ended at a small wooden fence. Beyond it was Drevos Hollow.
The town was quiet.
He walked slowly past a well, then between a row of cottages. The homes were made of old stone and wood. Many had broken windows or doors hanging loose. He saw tools lying in the dirt, left behind like the owners had simply walked away.
He didn't see a single person.
Not even a dog.
Pao reached the town center. A statue stood at the middle, covered in moss. It had once been a priest or hero, but the face was too worn to tell.
He turned toward the largest building nearby. It looked like a church.
Its door was open.
He stepped inside, holding his breath.
The inside smelled like damp wood and rust. Benches were broken. The altar was covered in dust. One candle still burned near the back, though no one was there.
Then he saw the symbol on the floor.
A large mark, drawn in dried black ink. It wasn't the usual symbol of the Divine. It was something else.
Two curved shapes crossed a circle in the center.
Pao crouched down. The ink wasn't old. Still fresh.
He reached into his satchel and pulled out his exorcist's manual.
The cover was torn, and half the pages were burned. But some of it remained.
He flipped through, searching for similar symbols.
One sketch caught his eye.
An old binding sigil used by demon cults—people who worshipped the Seven Devils of the Abyss.
The symbol wasn't exact.
But it was close.
Too close.
Suddenly, something creaked behind him.
He stood quickly and drew his blade.
A woman stood at the doorway. She looked to be in her thirties. Her dress was dirty and torn. Her eyes were wide open, unblinking.
Her voice was flat.
"Are you from the Guild?"
Pao held the blade steady. "Yes."
She took one step forward.
"You're too late."
Her neck tilted to the side with a loud crack.
Then she rushed toward him.
Pao shouted without thinking.
"Verun Kaa!"
His blade pulsed. A wave of force blasted outward.
The woman was thrown backward. She hit the doorway hard and crumpled to the floor.
He ran to her and checked for signs of life.
She was breathing.
But her eyes stared blankly. Her body twitched slightly.
Not dead.
Not normal, either.
Possessed.
He backed away, breathing hard.
His chest began to burn.
The brand under his shirt—carved into his skin by Solon—was heating up. It always reacted to nearby curses, but never this strong.
Then the mark on the floor began to glow.
Faint red lines spread outward like veins across the wood.
A deep voice echoed in his head.
"You spoke the word. You opened the door."
Pao fell to one knee. The pain in his chest got worse.
He clutched the brand, but it only burned hotter.
His vision blurred.
The room spun.
Then he heard another voice. Fainter. Like a memory.
"Do not speak their names, Pao. Not even once."
It was Solon's voice.
But it was too late.
The mark on the floor cracked.
Something below the church groaned.
Pao screamed.
Everything went black.
When he woke up, it was dark.
He was lying on the cold floor of the church.
The woman was gone.
The mark on the floor had stopped glowing—but it had changed. It was no longer a symbol. Now it was a deep burn in the wood, like something had tried to claw its way through.
His chest still hurt, but the burning had faded.
The manual was open beside him.
A page he didn't remember reading before stared back.
Do not answer the voice.
Do not follow the light.
If you hear your name, run.
He didn't remember writing that.
And it wasn't in Solon's handwriting either.
Pao stood slowly.
He picked up his blade and his manual, then walked out of the church.
The wind had picked up. The sky had turned dark gray.
He looked back once, then turned away.
The mission wasn't finished.
Something was still here.
And it had noticed him.