Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Darkness.

The void itself claimed his presence. But even in the deepest abyss, his soul found the peace life had denied him.

“Grime Soul,” a dreamlike voice echoed in his mind.

“You have been chosen as the vessel. Today, the pact is fulfilled, and the debt is paid.”

(What was that? I... I was looking for Ashley in the abandoned house, and then—)

“Pfft, finally. Took you long enough to find a vessel. And here I thought you just wanted my soul for eternity.”

Another voice emerged—feminine, lighter, almost mocking.

“The vessel had to be worthy…” replied the first, ethereal voice.

(A vessel?)

“He’s just a kid.”

“There is strength in his soul… and wisdom in his body. But he’s tormented. If you guide him, he’ll become a worthy vessel.”

“It’ll take time…”

“You were trapped here for decades. I think time’s the least of your problems, witch.”

“Fine, whatever.”

“Good luck, witch. Take care of Grime Soul.”

He opened his eyes. He was back in the abandoned basement.

 The pentagram was still etched into the floor, though the candles he'd lit were now out. Above it… strange red flowers bloomed.

“Ughhh… what the-…”

“(Oh, crap!! How long was I out??)”

“(How did I even pass out? I thought I ate enough at lunch…)”

(Trust me, Grime Soul, it wasn't lunch.)

(!?)

A voice echoed inside his head. Not a thought—clear, steady… real.

“Who’s there?”

(Shh… not there. Here, in your mind.)

(What the hell…)

(Hello, Grime Soul.)

(Who are you? How can I hear you inside my head?)

(Relax, Grime Soul. You were chosen as the vessel.)

(What does that even mean?)

(I’m a witch, Grime Soul.)

(...That doesn’t explain anything.)

(Hmm… I can hear your thoughts, you know?)

(Ugh… sorry.)

(Right now, your body holds two souls. The demon was right—you’ve got potential. Not many can handle something like this.)

(What’s going to happen to me?)

(Well… that depends on you, Grime Soul.)

(What do you mean by that?)

“EeeEEK!!”

(What was that scream?)

(Sounded like it came from outside.)

He rushed up the stairs, heading toward the source of the scream. Reaching the balcony of the abandoned house, he caught sight of the voice’s owner.

“Andy!!”

It was Leyley… Somehow, she’d managed to climb down from the balcony. He could see tears welling in her eyes.

“Ew, ew, ew!! Andy help!! There are spiders!!”

“How did you even get over there?”

“I was climbing the tree! But then the branch snapped…”

(I should’ve guessed. Why can’t she ever just sit still?)

(Leyley… Grime Soul, your sister is quite the problem. You should get rid of her.)

(!!!)

(She’ll be a burden during your training… she’s already holding back your studies. Don’t even get me started on your mother.)

(Hey, how do you know all that?)

(We share a body, Grime Soul. I have access to your memories. Every last one.)

(Isn’t that kind of invasive?)

“And now THERE ARE SPIDERS!!!” she cried again.

“…I’ll come get you.” He looked over the balcony, but didn’t have many ideas beyond jumping.

(I could jump, but how would I get back up?)

(Jumping wouldn’t be wise, Grime Soul. Your body’s not ready for my magic yet.)

(There’s gotta be something I can use.)

After searching the old house, he found an old shelf to climb down and other things to cross the swampy ground where Leyley had ended up.

(This should do.)

(Well done, Grime Soul. Such a model big brother.)

(Why do I hear sarcasm in that?)

Once he reached Ashley, it was time to go back across with her. The first part was easy, but near the beginning was a slightly loose stone.

“Be careful. This rock is a little wobbly…” He crossed without issue. Now it was Leyley’s turn.

“I know what I’m doi—”

Her foot slipped.

The sound was brief: loose stone, creaking wood… then silence.

His body tensed. But before he could think, something inside him reacted.

It wasn’t him. The decision happened before thought.

He launched forward with a speed he didn’t recognize. The world slowed as his arm shot out. Fingers gripped her wrist. The pull was precise. Almost elegant.

A moment later, they were both lying on the fallen shelf. Dust in the air, heartbeat pounding in his ears. Silence between them.

Leyley was on top of him.

Her small hands trembled, pressed against his chest. Her face was so close he could see her eyelashes shaking, the wet shine still in her eyes. Her warm breath brushed his cheek.

He said nothing.

Neither did she.

A second. Two. And halfway through the third… he saw something in her eyes. Not fear. Not exactly. Something between gratitude… and something harder to name.

Admiration? Confusion?

He didn’t dare meet her gaze.

And when he glanced back—just a reflex—it felt like his eyes no longer belonged to him.

Just for a moment.

A different hue. A cold shimmer in his usual green.

A presence pulling back in silence.

(You’re welcome, Grime Soul.)

“…Sigh,” was all he managed to whisper, heart still racing.

“That was close… Mom would’ve killed me if you’d fallen in.” He smiled, but it didn’t come out quite right.

She didn’t move right away.

And he didn’t know if the flush on her cheeks was from the scare… or from something else.

“I-it wasn’t my fault…” Ashley muttered, looking away.

He placed a hand on her head to calm her.

“Let’s go. Don’t worry about it…”

They left the place, heading toward home. It was late, and their mother would start asking questions. The branches cracked beneath their feet.

The forest around the old house wasn’t very big, but at night it felt thicker. Colder.

Leyley walked behind Andrew, dragging her feet. Sometimes she jogged to catch up. Other times she grabbed the hem of his shirt, like she was afraid he’d vanish if she didn’t stay close.

“…Are you mad?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

“No.”

A lie.

Not because she screamed, or because she almost fell into the mud. Not that.

But because once again, he had to carry everything. Her clumsiness. Her whims. The fear of a punishment that would fall on him… when all he wanted was to study in peace.

“You don’t look happy…”

No answer.

The air smelled of damp earth and crushed flowers. To the side, sunlight filtered through the trees in trembling shadows.

“Andy… don’t tell Mom.” Her voice sounded more childish than ever. And a little too calculated.

“I don’t have to. You’ll run to her with your version.”

She lowered her gaze. Her sleeves were wet, shoes caked in dry mud. She walked silently beside him.

“Did it hurt when we fell?”

“It was nothing.”

“What if you’d gotten hurt?” she asked softly.

“Then I’d have figured it out.”

She got a little closer.

“You always figure it out…” she said. From the corner of his eye, Andrew saw that strange smile. Not happy. More like… satisfied. As if his exhaustion was something only she could see—and keep.

He ignored her. Or tried to.

“So, you’re not mad anymore?”

“Ashley—”

“Leyley!” she corrected.

“…Leyley.”

“What if I break your books, will you be mad?” she asked playfully, but her eyes weren’t laughing. She was testing him. Probing.

“Don’t even think about it.”

She smiled, more genuinely this time. Then grabbed his arm without asking, as if he were hers. And even though he said nothing, he didn’t pull away.

“You always catch me, Andy.”

“Just stay out of trouble.”

“But if I do… you’ll be there, right?”

No answer.

A gust of wind rushed through the trees. Leaves spiraled down, and their shadows stretched together across the path…

When they got home, the light of sunset barely reached inside the manor. The walls breathed silence. A tense silence, heavy… as if the place already knew someone was about to raise their voice.

“Where were you?” asked a voice from the living room—before they’d even stepped in.

Reneé, their mother, emerged from the shadows of the doorway. Impeccable, as always. Cold as marble.

Leyley hid behind her brother with a soft, practiced giggle. Like her mischief was already a distant memory.

“I told you not to wander off.”

“We just went to—”

“I don’t care what you did.” Her eyes moved past Andrew and landed on Leyley.

“And you? Did you get hurt?”

“No…” she mumbled, looking down.

 A well-learned gesture. A little actress mid-performance.

“Are you sure? You didn’t fall? Didn’t get dirty?”

“No. Andy saved me. Like always,” she replied in a sugary, sing-song voice.

Their mother sighed. Long. Irritated. Not worried—annoyed.

“Andrew, you can’t let her get into trouble every time you lose focus.”

His jaw clenched. Every time he lost focus. As if she didn’t know. As if she didn’t see him every day, closing the door behind her, leaving Leyley behind like an old coat that no longer fits.

“I tried,” he said simply.

She stepped toward Leyley and smoothed her hair automatically, without warmth. Like fixing a crooked vase.

Then she turned to Andrew.

“You have to take responsibility, Andrew. You’re old enough. Or do you think I’m going to be around to watch over you two forever?”

(Watch over us, like she ever did.)

The silence burned in his throat. And just when he thought he’d say something he’d regret—

(Don’t waste your energy, Grime Soul.)

The voice slid into his mind like cold water. Calm. Sharp.

(This is not a battlefield. Not today.)

His body eased, just a little. Enough to hold the moment without breaking it.

“Understood,” he said.

“Go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready. And no more sneaking off.”

She left. As always. Not another word.

Leyley glanced at him from the side, carefree as she walked through the living room.

And while the house settled back into its familiar silence… something inside Andrew stayed wide awake.

A blue gaze hiding behind green eyes.

Silent. Watching…

The wooden stairs creaked beneath every step.

Upstairs, the house was dim, except for the yellow glow leaking under doors. The dining room was behind them now, along with the fake conversation, neatly arranged plates, and the empty laughter of their grandmother. Reneé hadn’t said much during dinner, but now and then her gaze corrected Andrew, like she cared more about how he held his fork than what had happened that afternoon.

Leyley walked ahead, holding the blanket she’d brought from downstairs like a stuffed animal. Her back was straight, almost smug, as if she knew she’d already won. Like dinner had been a little play staged so no one would scold her. Again.

“Did you actually eat your food or hide it in your napkin?” Andrew asked.

“No need. Grandma gave me dessert anyway.”

“Of course she did.”

They climbed the stairs to their room. The door creaked open slightly. It was small, with two beds on opposite sides, separated by an old wooden dresser and a window that looked out over the quiet, dark countryside.

Leyley went straight to the right-side bed—hers by habit, not choice—and flopped onto it, letting the blanket cover her like a tired queen’s cape.

Andrew turned on the lamp on his side and sat on the edge of his bed, books on his lap. There were still formulas to review, notes to underline, and a few exercises to fix. He placed the notebook on a thicker book and ran through it mentally. His pen spun between his fingers. He could hear Leyley’s breathing on the other side of the room—steady, calm.

Silence.

“Why do you hate me?” she asked suddenly, without moving a muscle.

His hand froze.

“What?”

“Sometimes it feels like you hate me.”

He glanced at her. She was lying on her side, facing away. Her tone was neutral. Not accusing. Not pleading.

“I don’t hate you.”

“But you don’t love me either.”

“That’s not true.”

Silence.

“If you were going to leave, you’d do it without saying anything, right?”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

She didn’t need logic. Certainty was enough.

She curled deeper under the blankets. From Andrew’s side, the lamp made her silhouette look smaller. Contained. Like she became just a thought in the dark—easy to ignore.

“Mom doesn’t love me.”

She didn’t say it sadly. Just with the certainty of someone who’s been paying attention for too long.

“That’s not true.”

“It is. But it doesn’t matter, because you take care of me.”

He didn’t know how to respond. He closed the notebook. There were still pages to go, but not the will.

She sighed.

“I’m not a good sister.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I know. I don’t like it when you’re far away, or when you study. Sometimes I wish all of that would just disappear.”

“I know.”

“But you stay with me anyway.”

She lifted her head slightly. Her eyes shimmered in the low light. Pink. Still.

“Is that because you love me?”

He didn’t answer. Just lay back, staring at the ceiling for a long time, feeling the space between their beds. Distant, but not too much.

And in the shadows, before sleep took him, he heard her voice again—almost a whisper:

“What if I fall asleep, and when I wake up… you’re gone?”

“I’m here, Leyley.”

Silence.

Until everything faded.

[Inside Andrew’s mind – Midnight]

A formless space. A weightless sensation. A dark silhouette…

“What a sweet little scene… so domestic,” the female voice murmured.

 Her tone was half mockery, half barely hidden tenderness.

“Do you have to comment on everything I do?”

(Don’t you want to talk about her? The little poisonous flower you’re raising so carefully.)

“I didn’t come here to talk about Leyley.”

(But you will. Eventually. You’re afraid of what she represents. Of what she awakens.)

“Just tell me what’s next.”

The witch chuckled. A low, fluid sound.

(You have no idea the path ahead, Grime Soul. But today, you did something important: you held back your rage. You didn’t let the fire burn what you’re not ready to lose.)

“What does that even mean?”

(It means you’re maturing… for me.)

“And what if I don’t want to give you anything?”

(Too late. You already share your body with me… how long before you share your soul?)

Silence fell again. But it no longer felt peaceful.

The witch faded like a breath caught in a foggy mirror.

The night was deep, and the dream came without warning.

First, mist.

Then, creaking wood beneath bare feet.

A hallway. Not the one from the country house. An older one, narrower… the walls lined with children’s drawings done in crayon. A pink bunny. A crooked sun. Big eyes with no face.

He walked forward, not remembering why.

A door opened. He didn’t push it. It opened on its own.

Inside, a bed.

And on it, a girl.

Leyley.

She wasn’t her current age. Younger, maybe. Curled up under a blanket to her chin, eyes puffy from crying. A broken stuffed toy in her arms. The air smelled of dampness and overripe apples.

Andrew stepped closer.

“I didn’t mean to break it. I just wanted you to play with me,” she whispered without looking at him.

“I know.”

“Mom doesn’t care. She just wants me to shut up.”

He said nothing. Didn’t move.

“But you stay,” she whispered again, flatly.

“I always stay.”

She turned over. She wasn’t a child anymore.

Now she was the Leyley of today. Pale, sleepy cheeks, eyes heavy with something undefined. Her voice, just as soft, knocked the breath out of him:

“Then why do you look at me like that sometimes? Like it hurts?”

He stepped back. But his feet wouldn’t obey.

The room darkened.

The walls trembled.

From the corners, shadows crept in like chains—some thin as strands of hair, others thick and twisted like old branches. One brushed against his wrist. Cold. Alive.

A voiceless presence spoke:

(There are feelings that grow in the shadows. Things you don’t want to see, Grime Soul.)

The air thickened.

Leyley—or what remained of her—smiled. Sweetly. Hungrily.

“I don’t want anyone else to have you.”

Andrew tried to speak. But the dream turned to smoke.

He woke up gasping, throat dry and body soaked in sweat.

Dawn hadn’t come yet. The silence around him was heavy.

He looked at the other bed.

Leyley was sleeping on her side.

Her back rose and fell slowly. Peaceful. Harmless.

He brought a hand to his chest. Something was tightening inside him—an ache he didn’t quite understand.

Somewhere deep within, a soft laugh—like chains dragging through dry leaves.

The sheets felt heavier than usual. As if the chains of that dream hadn’t fully let go.

He sat up, pressing his temples.

(What… was that?)

Silence.

(That dream. It wasn’t mine. You pushed it in. You forced it.)

Still no answer. Just the pounding in his ears.

(Answer me!) he growled in his mind, jaw clenched. (Why are you messing with my memories?)

A foreign breath slipped through his thoughts. Not real. Not physical. But present.

(I don’t dream, Grime Soul. I only observe what already exists.)

He swallowed hard. Looked at Leyley’s bed. She was still curled up, hair falling across her cheek. Harmless. Small.

(That wasn’t a memory. It was… something else.)

(A root you didn’t want to see. Sometimes, emotions get buried so deep, we believe they’re dead. But roots… always grow.)

(What are you trying to say? That I feel—)

He stopped. Not even in his mind could he finish the thought.

The witch didn’t answer right away. When she did, her tone was soft. Almost maternal.

(What you feel—or don’t—doesn’t interest me. But I know a crack when I see one. And you’re full of them.)

He looked away.

He knew he couldn’t keep going down that path. Not without ending up somewhere he didn’t want to be.

(Don’t do it again.)

(Dream?)

(Show me things I didn’t ask for.)

A faint murmur was her only response. A laugh? A sigh?

(What you saw didn’t come from me. I just… pulled back the curtain a little.)

He let himself fall back onto the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, wishing for the silence to return. For morning to come. For none of this to linger in the air.

But even with his eyes closed…

he still felt the cold touch of that invisible chain on his wrist…

The sky was just starting to lighten when the sound of rustling sheets made him open his eyes. A pale breeze slipped through the window, and the room still smelled of damp wood and old dust.

“Andy…” whispered a soft voice, rough with sleep.

Leyley.

She had left her bed and was now crouched beside his, silently, as if she’d been watching him for a while.

“You weren’t sleeping?” she murmured, her voice slurred from lack of rest.

She shook her head, hugging her frayed stuffed animal.

“Your face looked weird. Like you were having nightmares or something. I thought maybe you were dying…” she said, not joking at all.

He rubbed his eyes.

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t seem convinced. She rested her chin on the edge of his bed, pink eyes staring at him like they were trying to see past his words.

“You move weird when you sleep… Like something inside you is fighting with you.”

His throat dried for a second.

His eyes—green, steady—didn’t move away from her.

“I was dreaming. That’s all.”

Leyley fell quiet. Then whispered:

“Did you dream about me?”

A heartbeat.

He looked at her, unsure whether the question was as innocent as it sounded.

“Maybe.”

She smiled. And with a naturalness that felt almost rehearsed, she climbed onto the bed, slipping under the blanket without asking.

“Then I won’t leave you alone.”

 She nestled against his side, clinging like a soft shadow.

There was no protest. He didn’t have the energy to argue with her about things like this anymore. Not tonight.

The witch said nothing either, but he felt her presence—a diffuse pressure at the back of his neck… like a silent judgment.

“Do you think…” Leyley murmured sleepily, “…that Mom would let me stay with you forever?”

He turned his face slightly to look at her.

“Don’t say weird things. You have your own bed.”

“But mine’s too far from you.”

A long silence followed.

Too long.

He slowly lifted his arm and let it drop around her shoulders, almost like an excuse to help her fall asleep faster.

To calm her.

Or maybe… to calm himself.

The light in her eyes seemed to fade for a moment.

And in his mind, a soft, mocking whisper:

(What an interesting root, Grime Soul… I see where the tree starts to crack.)

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

He just closed his eyes…

And waited for sleep to return.

After a while… footsteps echoed in the hallway of the adjacent room. Rigid. Light. Unhurried, but certain.

Leyley was still asleep, curled up against Andrew. Her stuffed toy had fallen to the floor.

Then, the door creaked open. Not abrupt. Not clumsy. Just the kind of entrance that doesn’t ask for permission—because it’s sure it doesn’t need it.

“Andrew?” Reneé’s voice was sharp, though wrapped in a fake softness that fooled no one.

He sat up slightly, still groggy.

She didn’t step in. She stood in the doorway, observing.

Her eyes swept the room in silence. From Andrew, to Leyley, to the messy bed. She didn’t say a word about it.

But the way her lips tightened… said everything.

A long pause. Heavy with things left unsaid.

“Your grandfather wants your help with the shed,” she finally said, as if that explained her presence.

He nodded without moving much.

Leyley mumbled something in her sleep, not waking.

Reneé didn’t look at her. Or maybe she did—but didn’t show it. Her eyes didn’t soften. If anything, they grew colder.

“When you can,” she said. That was all.

And the door closed with a soft but final click.

He remained there for a moment, staring at the old wooden door.

No scolding. No questions.

And yet, judgment had already been passed.

He felt the witch’s gaze—though he didn’t see her. A slight tremble in the air, a vibration deep in his chest.

(You’re not the favorite, Grime Soul… and yet you carry everything.)

Leyley stirred in her sleep, murmuring his name like it was a word meant to comfort.

He just let himself fall back against the pillow, eyes open.

The day had barely begun.

And it already weighed more than he could bear.

Chapter Text

The sound of the axe striking wood had a rhythm—almost meditative. The weight of the tool no longer felt foreign; his arms moved with a new precision, as if his body was adapting to something more than just routine. The tension in his muscles wasn’t fatigue... it was as if something inside him was adjusting—subtle, but constant.

“You’re not completely useless,” the old man muttered without looking up, as he placed another log on the stump.

Andrew didn’t reply. With him, tone mattered more than words. That could’ve been an insult—or a fleeting form of approval.

“And the girl?” the man asked, his disinterest barely masked by a sliver of curiosity. “Still clinging to you all day?”

The axe dropped naturally, splinters flying as the log cracked open. The damp scent of wood rose in the air—strong, clean. A reminder of what was real.

“She’s restless,” Andrew finally answered, eyes on the wood.

The old man gave a short, hollow chuckle. Less amusement, more judgment.

“Just like her mother. Always needing attention. Never understood what Douglas saw in her.”

Andrew stayed quiet. Silence was often safer than truth.

He grabbed another log. His fingers gripped it with a steadiness that didn’t feel like his own. Each movement was more efficient, more controlled. He didn’t even feel the cold in his fingertips anymore. Something had changed.

(You feel it, don’t you?) whispered the voice—soft, like warm water under ice.

There was no need to reply. She knew he did.

(Change comes slow, but steady. While you sleep, I guide it. Sharpen what you are. Preparing you takes time—but you’re doing well... Grime Soul.)

(Why now? Why me?)

(Because you endured where others broke. Because you’re still whole.)

His grandfather glanced at him sideways, quietly measuring. He always did—with everyone except Ashley. With Andrew, at least, there was a hint of expectation.

“You’ve got strength. More discipline than your father ever did. He never knew what to do with his chances. But you do. Said you were gonna be a doctor, right?”

Andrew nodded. It wasn’t true, but he’d learned not to correct him. That idea had taken root in the old man’s mind, and denying it did no good.

“Good. At least someone in this family’s got some direction. Women... just get in the way. They distract you.”

Silence again. The air grew heavier—not from the work, but from everything left unsaid. The things everyone knew too well.

For a second, Leyley’s image crossed Andrew’s mind. The way she clung to him, sought him out, held onto him with a need far too intense for someone her age. And yet, she was always there.

(Be careful what you let take root)—the voice murmured again—(Affection, when misplaced, can become a chain).

The next swing of the axe was quicker. Cleaner. The log split without a fight.

The old man said nothing, but the slight nod of his head was enough: Andrew was useful. More than others. More than before. He looked up at the sky, feeling a dull ache in his joints.

“Looks like rain...” he said, with certainty.

As he gathered the splinters, a strange shiver passed through his fingers. It wasn’t fatigue. It wasn’t hunger. It was something else. Something growing.

The dining room held that kind of silence that didn’t come from peace, but from effort.

Cutlery barely scraped plates—measured, restrained. No one spoke more than necessary. No one ate with real hunger.

“It’s lukewarm,” the old man said without looking up. “As always.”

Douglas nodded calmly, like it was just an observation.

“Oven’s old,” he muttered, and kept eating.

Andrew sat between his father and his sister. Leyley, as always, too close. Her leg pressed against his under the table. Constant. Clingy.

Reneé sat at the far end, pouring more wine without looking at anyone. Her back straight, her neck rigid. There was something elegant in how she chose not to intervene. But she was watching—through her glass, the edge of her plate, the silence itself.

Grandma sat next to the old man, chewing slowly. She was there, yet distant. Sometimes her eyes focused—sometimes not. She wore a floral dress and an old brooch. Smiled for no reason.

“At least there’s meat,” the old man added. “Rare sight in this house these days.”

“Dad,” Douglas said flatly, like the word itself was a warning.

The old man didn’t reply. He just cut a piece of meat roughly and chewed like he was chewing on an idea.

Andrew wished he were somewhere else. Studying. Quiet. Away. But Leyley kept brushing against him with every movement. Like her presence was trying to erase the option of being alone.

(Again, so close…)

(Are you surprised? She doesn’t know how to let go. And you don’t know how to push her away.)

“What about you, Andrew?” the old man asked. “Still on that doctor thing?”

He nodded briefly.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll see. Unless some girl gets in the way,” he said, eyes flicking to Leyley for a moment. “Though the way things are going, you’ll probably end up raising kids that aren’t even yours.”

Douglas let out a soft chuckle, like it was just a random thought.

Reneé didn’t react. But her eyes slid—slowly—from the old man to Andrew. Silent. Calculating.

Grandma muttered something unintelligible, giggling to herself.

“Andy takes care of me already,” Leyley said in that syrupy voice she used when she knew everyone was listening.

“Yeah, and that’s because you misbehave,” Reneé said, calm as ever. Not a scolding. Just a fact.

“I don’t misbehave,” Leyley whispered. “I just… get bored when Andy doesn’t look at me.”

Andrew lowered his gaze to his plate. The food was getting cold. Leyley kept pressing her leg against his. Her warmth felt too intense.

(A crooked root doesn’t know it’s growing wrong. But you do. You’ve known for a while.)

“Andy’s good to me,” she added, drawing lines on her napkin. “I’m gonna take care of him when I grow up.”

“You’d better,” the old man said. “Because the women in this family...”

“I’m going to marry Andy,” Leyley said then, like she was asking for more bread. Her voice clear, sure. Almost sing-song.

Andrew blinked. The air thickened for a moment.

Douglas looked at his daughter, then at his plate. Smiled.

“Well... that’s practical,” he muttered. “Keeps things in the family.”

No one laughed.

Reneé didn’t look at anyone, but when her voice came, it was colder than usual.

“Andrew, after lunch, I want you to speak with your sister. Alone.”

An order. A verdict wrapped in instruction.

He swallowed hard.

“Yes, ma’am.”

(She’s not punishing her. She’s punishing you for allowing her.)

“I meant it,” Leyley whispered, almost to herself. “About marrying you.”

Andrew didn’t answer. But his stomach twisted.

(How many more times will you let this happen?)

Lunch dragged on. Quieter. Heavier.

Reneé barely touched her food, but never took her eyes off her son.

After lunch, as the adults drifted around the house like familiar shadows, Andrew began clearing the dishes. No one asked him to. He just knew he would.

Reneé passed by him without stopping. She just cast a quick glance at Ashley, still seated at the table, legs swinging like the world had stopped including her. She said nothing. Just walked away. As if ignoring her was her way of putting her in her place.

Ashley didn’t move. Her arms were folded on the table, her chin buried in them. Her brow furrowed, her eyes big—trapped somewhere between anger and fear that he might truly walk away this time.

“You’re such a dummy,” she said at last, not looking at him. “No one’s gonna want to marry you if you always have that funeral face.”

Andrew didn’t answer. He stacked plates in silence. Her words still hung in the air like a crooked cobweb.

“And don’t look at me like that,” she added. “It was just a joke, okay?”

“Didn’t sound like a joke,” he murmured, not turning around.

Ashley huffed, but it came out more like a sigh than anything else.

“Oh please... You’re always so serious. Like some adult trapped in a kid’s body. Even Grandpa thinks you’re gonna be someone important.”

“I don’t want to be a doctor,” he said, setting the plates on the counter.

“I know. But you still do everything they expect of you. Even if you hate it. Because you think it’s the right thing.”

“Ashley…”

“Don’t call me that,” she whispered, voice soft. “Not right now.”

He looked at her. Finally. She met his gaze, even though her eyes looked a little wet, a little hollow. Like someone who learned long ago how to hide what she really felt.

“I just wanted to be with you,” she said. “That’s all. But if you’re gonna treat me like I’m a burden…”

Andrew placed the damp rag on the table and sat across from her.

“You always make a scene.”

“And you? You always pretend nothing’s happening. Like you don’t care.”

They went quiet. The sounds of the house drifted from far away—a clock ticking, a door closing, footsteps on the stairs.

Ashley sank a little in her seat.

“One day I’m gonna have my own house,” she said. “And if I want to, I’ll marry you. Because I feel safe with you. Because I know you won’t leave.”

Andrew looked at her. He wanted to answer with a correction. Maybe even a laugh. But all he did was reach out and gently take her hand.

Her skin was warm. Slightly trembling.

“You know I’m here, right?” he asked.

She nodded, without looking at him.

“I don’t like it when you’re mad at me,” she said.

“I’m not mad.”

“Then why do you pull away?”

Andrew dropped his gaze.

“Sometimes... you wear me out. That’s all. Not because you’re bad. Just... because I’m tired.”

Ashley slowly shifted in her chair and rested her head against his arm.

“I know,” she whispered. “But still... you love me, right?”

He glanced sideways at her. Her bangs had fallen across her forehead, and there was a smudge of juice at the corner of her mouth. She looked so young. So his. And so dangerous without knowing it.

“Of course I love you,” he said softly. “You’re my sister.”

“And will I always be?”

“Always.”

Ashley stayed still for a moment. Then she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his arm, calm in a way that seemed uniquely hers.

“Then... it’s okay,” she murmured. “Just don’t leave me.”

Andrew ran a hand through her hair, slow and quiet. Not out of duty. Not out of habit. But because he needed to.

(You gave her shelter. She turned it into a home. And now... you want her to learn to leave it on her own?)

Andrew’s heart beat with a mixture of tenderness, guilt, and exhaustion. Because yes—he did love her. And he hated that he did. Because he couldn’t avoid her. Because he loved her too much to push her away.

But not the way she thought.

Or maybe... not entirely different.

The house creaked under the weight of the afternoon heat. Shadows stretched along the halls, as if trying to eavesdrop on private conversations. Andrew walked through the corridor with a notebook in hand, his mind still reeling from what Ashley had said at the table. He could still feel that invisible pressure on his shoulders—the way she looked at him, like she didn’t quite understand what she’d said... or maybe she understood it too well.

Ashley’s voice found him at the bottom of the stairs.

“Andy!” she called from the living room, curled up on the couch with a stuffed animal in her arms. “Can we play now?”

“Later. I need to review some notes, Leyley.”

“But you said after lunch!” she shot back, sitting up. “You said that.”

Andrew sighed. He hadn’t promised anything. Or maybe he had—somewhere in the silence they shared. Sometimes she didn’t even need words to feel entitled to him.

(She’s marking her territory)—whispered the witch, her voice like water in his ear—(She doesn’t hate being rejected. But she fears when you slip away.)

“It won’t be long,” Andrew replied, stepping onto the stairs. “Just need to go over one or two things.”

Ashley got up dramatically, the stuffed animal dangling from her arm like a fallen soldier.

“You’re always with your books. Why do they matter more than me?”

(Guilt is a slow poison. Learn to dose it.)

“It’s not that they matter more,” Andrew said without turning around. “I just don’t want to fall behind at school. That’s all.”

She crossed her arms, scowling. She was about to argue again when the witch spoke once more.

(I’ll show you how to move her without breaking her. How to divert the river without building a dam.)

Andrew paused at the landing. His voice was softer now, almost rehearsed.

“You could help, if you want,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “You could sit with me while I study. I won’t be playing, but... you don’t have to leave.”

Ashley blinked. The initial anger deflated a bit, replaced by that hesitation that comes when you’re offered something without a fight.

“Read with you?”

“Or draw, or whatever you want. Just... stay close, okay?” — A fake but gentle smile. Polished. Measured. Just subtle enough to slip under his little sister’s sharp perception.

(Her guard drops when she hears what she wants. We can guide her… remove her from the path.)

For a moment, she hesitated. Then she looked down, biting her lip.

“Okay. But just for a little bit,” she mumbled. “And then we do play.”

“We’ll see, Leyley,” said Andrew, already knowing this negotiation had no clear end.

He climbed the remaining steps. She followed—not quite convinced, but without her usual fire. The echoes of her tantrums faded behind them. For now.

(That’s how you tame small fires)—whispered the witch—(Not with water. With containment.)

And as they crossed the threshold of the room, Andrew felt—maybe for the first time—that he could balance both things: his studies… and his sister.

Andrew stretched his legs under the desk, wiggling his toes slightly. The natural sciences textbook lay open in front of him, its underlined lines marked in colors he no longer remembered choosing. Outside, the rain tapped softly against the windows, like it too was trying to stay quiet.

That corner of the room was warm, the lamp casting a golden light over the pages. The sound of turning paper was almost the only thing breaking the stillness. Ashley, still awake on the other bed, watched him from her corner, chin resting on her folded arms over the pillow.

“Are you gonna keep doing that for much longer?” she asked, her voice rough with drowsiness she hadn’t yet given in to.

“A little longer,” Andrew replied, eyes still on the book.

Ashley let out a small huff of frustration.

“It’s always ‘a little longer’... We used to play more.” Her tone held a faint bitterness, but underneath it, the sadness was poorly disguised.

Andrew turned his head toward her, just slightly.

“We still play. Just... not as often.”

“I liked you better before,” she murmured, burying herself deeper into the blankets.

Andrew closed the book for a moment, resting it on his lap with both hands, and looked at her more closely.

“Ashley…”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, like she was expecting to be scolded.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you,” he said gently. “I just need to stay on top of this. I don’t want to fall behind.”

“I know... It’s just, sometimes, you feel really far away,” she admitted under her breath, and for the first time that day, her expression softened into something fragile.

Andrew stood, walked over to her bed, and sat on the edge. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Ashley looked up at him with those big eyes, wide and locked onto his with a kind of intensity neither of them had words for.

“I’m here,” Andrew said simply. “I always will be.”

Ashley nodded, barely. Then she muttered something, too low for him to hear clearly—something between ‘I hate you’ and ‘I love you.’ Then she hugged her pillow tighter and curled up on her side, still watching him, as if trying to hold onto him with her eyes alone. Moments later, her breathing slowed into sleep.

Andrew returned to his chair, letting the silence slip back in with her dreams.

“(That girl… she’s got you anchored)”—the witch murmured in his mind— “(Stronger than most chains.)”

“She’s not a chain,” Andrew replied without thinking. “(She’s just... hard to manage sometimes)”

“(Like fire)” the voice replied. Then went quiet.

He sighed and reopened his book. He’d been stuck on the same page for minutes now, unable to focus. Then the voice returned—softer, more intimate than before.

“(You’re tired… and you don’t care about what you’re reading. Not all knowledge is meant for you.)”

There was a pause. Andrew flipped a page half-heartedly. Muscle diagrams. Bones. It felt like reading a language he didn’t want to learn.

“(Why did you stay with me?)” he asked suddenly, not looking at her. “(You could’ve picked someone stronger. More willing.)”

“(They chose you)”—the witch replied—”(And you didn’t run. That says more about you than it does about them.)”

Andrew stared at an illustration of an open chest cavity. It looked grotesque. Foreign.

“(I don’t feel special.)”

“(Good)”—she said—”(The ones who think they’re special are the first to break.)”

The breeze rustled some loose pages. Andrew looked down and, with mild surprise, noticed his handwriting had stopped trembling. It looked steadier. Firmer. Like his hands belonged to someone else now.

“(Was that you too?)” he asked, opening and closing his fingers slowly.

“(Partly. But the rest is yours. I only wake what was already asleep.)”

He felt her presence—not like a figure, but like water filling a space without permission.

“(Were you ever human?)”

“(Maybe. Maybe not)”—she answered gently— “(But now I’m part of you. Not to possess you, but to hold you up. Like a reflection that speaks.)”

“(Sometimes you scare me)” he admitted.

“(And sometimes, I comfort you.)”

He didn’t deny it.

“(So what do you want from me?)”

“(I want to see you grow)”—she said, unhurried—”(Not the way your grandfather does. Not with lab coats and diplomas. I want to see how far you can go without breaking… and whether you can do it without losing yourself.)”

Andrew closed his eyes. The room smelled of ink and paper… but also something older. Something you couldn’t study.

“(That sounds like something Ashley would say)” he murmured.

“(She wants to keep you)”—the witch said, without judgment— “(I want to set you free. Even if it sometimes looks like the opposite.)”

A page slipped from the desk and floated to the floor like a promise.

“(Then help me with this)”—Andrew said, picking the book back up.

The witch didn’t respond right away. But Andrew felt warmth at his fingertips. When he opened the notebook again, the words seemed clearer. Not easier—but reachable. As if someone were holding him up from the inside.

There was something about his focus that felt different—something steady. It wasn’t duty that kept him there, but a quiet thread of discipline weaving from within.

(You have unusual willpower for someone your age) she murmured.

Andrew didn’t look up, but his fingers paused for a second.

(I like understanding things. I don’t want to fall behind.) he said simply, turning to the next page.

(Fall behind who?)

(Myself, I guess) he answered after a moment’s thought.

The witch smiled, though her smile had no lips. It was like a warm breeze brushing past his thoughts.

(That’s rare) she said. (Most kids only study when they’re pushed.)

(I don’t want to be pushed. I want to rely on myself.)

(And is that enough for you?)

Andrew glanced up for a moment, staring at the notebook like the words in it might offer some kind of answer.

(I don’t know. But it’s the only thing I can control.) he admitted. (Everything else... changes too much.)

The witch stayed silent for a few seconds. Then she spoke with a tone almost maternal:

(I’ve lived in broken bodies, ruined minds. People who pretended to know where they were going. But you don’t pretend. That makes you different.)

Andrew frowned a little, uneasy.

(I’m not special.)

(No, you’re not)—she agreed—(But you’re not like the others either.)

There was a moment of stillness. The paper filled with ink once more. Andrew corrected a word, retraced a line he’d written crooked.

(Does it bother you that I study human things?) he asked suddenly.

(Not at all. Knowledge is power. And I like you better when you have power)—the witch said—(Though the most interesting kind of power isn’t in those books.)

(Then where is it?)

(In you. But you don’t know how to reach it yet.)

Andrew closed the notebook, setting it on top of the stack with a quiet sigh. The sun had dipped lower. The room was filling with a strange calm, as if time itself had decided to stretch.

(Will you teach me?)

(Only if you’re ready to learn what can’t be written down.) she answered.

Andrew could feel her close again, like a whisper threading through his thoughts.

(You know… you don’t scare me as much anymore) he said softly.

(Not yet) she replied—almost tenderly.

And for the first time that afternoon, Andrew smiled—small, nearly imperceptible. Not because of a right answer or a solved problem, but because of the strange company he never asked for... yet didn’t find so foreign anymore.

(Did you ever have someone?)

(I had... many things. And many people. But no one who stayed.)

The silence stretched.

(Will you stay?) Andrew asked eventually.

(I’m with you)—she said—(For now, that’s enough.)

He closed his eyes, letting the weight of the day settle into him. Then whispered:

(So… who are you really?)

There was no immediate reply. Only the distant murmur of water sliding down the windows, and the faint tremble in Andrew’s hand over the paper.

The witch seemed to hesitate—not from fear, but out of respect. As if the question had opened something that couldn’t be closed again.

(Names are… threads) she said at last, softer than ever. (They weave, they bind, they protect. They also condemn. You don’t give one away without reason.)

Andrew said nothing. But his mind didn’t let go. He held it—gently. As if waiting.

(But if you were to name me…) she said finally, (you’d be using an echo of what I once was. Something someone said when I was still... something else.)

Andrew opened his notebook again, absently. His mental voice was barely a whisper.

(That echo... is it still yours?)

(Yes. Even if it doesn’t fully belong to me anymore.)

A small pause, like the air itself had bent.

(Say it when you’re ready) she whispered. (And if you say it right, I’ll know I can trust you with a little more of what I am.)

Andrew blinked, feeling a faint tingle at the base of his neck.

(And if I don’t say it right?)

(You won’t)—she replied, like a gentle touch—(Not yet.)

Ashley murmured something in her sleep, shifting slightly onto her side. One of her hands slipped from under the blanket, hanging toward Andrew…

A few days later

The classroom was silent, except for the faint rustling of papers being handed out. The teacher walked between the rows, placing a red-marked sheet on each desk. Nervous glances, quiet sighs, barely contained tension.

Andrew received his and looked at it without urgency. His name at the top. His grade, clear and round, like a sign.

Approved, Ten out of ten.

With room to spare.

He felt something like relief... but it wasn’t quite that. It was firmer. More grounded. Like a stone sliding perfectly into place.

(See?)—whispered the witch, as if speaking from just behind his neck—(You knew what to do. And you did it.)

Andrew nodded slightly. He didn’t need to speak. Not out loud.

He had studied. He had managed to keep Leyley calm during those impossible afternoons. He had distracted her, soothed her, contained her. Without punishing her. Without yelling. Just pulling the right threads, the way the witch taught him.

And it worked.

For the first time in a long while, his life didn’t feel like a race doomed to fail. Maybe he could handle this. Maybe he could handle everything.

But something remained.

A shadow.

A blind spot he didn’t want to fully face.

It sat in his chest, buried beneath layers of duty, routine, and well-chosen words. A barely visible fragment... but warm. Beating.

It was her.

Leyley.

The way she looked for him. The way she needed him.

The way—sometimes—he couldn’t help but need her back.

(Only if the root grows in silence…) —the witch murmured—(can it reach places no one sees.)

Andrew slipped the test into his backpack, not looking at anyone. Outside, the sky was clear. The bell hadn’t rung yet.

But something, deep in his chest, kept beating. Soft.

Steady.

And if it ever grew enough…

It could split him in two.

Chapter Text

The elevator doors slid open with a mechanical whisper. Andrew stepped forward. The hallway unfolded before him like another rerun of his daily routine—gray and familiar. As he passed the window, a glance at his reflection in the dirty glass caught a faint blue shimmer in his eyes.

(You ready for today, Grime Soul?)

The witch's voice murmured in his mind, as if answering out loud had never been necessary.

(I’ve been thinking about it all week. I don’t know if it’s a good idea...)

(You’re afraid. Afraid this might feed the root.)

(…I don’t know why it’s so hard to love her.)

(Because you know if you get it wrong… it might grow twisted. Like so many other things.)

(It’s just a gesture. That’s all. A birthday. A brother doing the right thing.)

(If you say so, Grime Soul. But I know what you're hiding under that obedience. I know she matters more to you than you’d ever admit. And because of that… I’ll help you. To contain it. To draw the line. Even if you don’t want to.)

Andrew stopped at the apartment door. He looked at the knob with rehearsed determination and turned it. Once inside, he spoke out loud—a habit no one had taught him.

"I'm home!"

His voice echoed back from the usual silence. The light in the living room was dim. There, lying on the table, was Leyley, holding a sheet of paper. She didn’t look up right away.

“...Oh? what’s that you got there?” Andrew asked, walking over carefully. He faked enthusiasm, like he didn’t already know.

“My teacher gave it to me,” she said flatly.

A birthday card. Faded colors, a rushed drawing of balloons, a bear, and round letters spelling out “Happy Birthday.”

Andrew felt a small warmth in his chest. Not because the card was anything special—just because someone else had thought of her. On her day.

“That’s nice of her.”

“She gives one to everyone on their birthday. It’s not special,” she snapped, like it hurt to admit otherwise.

Andrew smiled—but not mockingly.

“She’s not getting paid to do it. So she’s going out of her way to try and make you smile.”

Leyley looked down at the card. Her fingers pressed it gently, not quite crumpling it.

“...Hey Andy?”

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t it interesting that when it’s your birthday, you have your classmates come over and stuff…” she asked in a quiet voice. “But when it’s my birthday, we can never afford anything?”

Andrew didn’t answer right away. That wasn’t the kind of question kindness or logic could fix.

(Careful… That kind of emptiness gets filled with the wrong things.)

He took a deep breath.

“You know… I’ve got a little money saved up. Wanna go buy a cake?”

Leyley shook her head slowly, shrugging.

“Nah… It’s not like my friends would show up anyway… They’re always busy when I ask them for anything. Even when I haven’t said the date yet…”

“More cake for us.”

She looked up at him. And for a moment, her expression softened. The weary childlike disappointment gave way to something lighter.

“…I don’t know.”

Andrew didn’t push. He just headed toward the door with the same energy he brought in from the hallway.

“C’mon. Let’s go get you something.”

She didn’t move right away, but then followed him. And as she passed him, her smile showed—small, but real.

“Hehee! Okay.”

The store had that pale, sterile light that didn’t really light anything. Under the ceiling’s electric hum, the aisles smelled like damp cardboard, cheap disinfectant, and stale bread. Andrew walked in first, hands in his pockets, eyes focused. Leyley trailed behind him, silent, sticking to him like a short shadow.

They turned into the back section, where the freezers displayed frozen cakes behind fogged-up glass. Andrew stopped in front of the case and scanned the prices with patience. He didn’t go for the bright colors or the printed images on the packaging. His eyes moved from label to label, calculating silently what he could afford.

“...Frozen cakes?” Leyley asked, clearly unimpressed.

“Quiet you, I’m on a budget” he replied, frowning at a box with ridiculous decorations.

(Again with the hard-shell ones? Those taste like plastic and regret.)

The witch’s voice slid into his thoughts, half-mocking.

(I’m working with what I’ve got. Now’s not the time for whims.)

(Nonsense. If ever there was a time—it’s now. The world might be a wreck… but the cake shouldn’t be.)

Andrew tilted his head, reading one label, then another.

(Since when do you care about cake flavor?)

(Since I share your tongue. Since I saw how your pupils dilate when you smell chocolate—even if you won’t admit it. The body remembers… and I, Grime Soul, am hooked.)

Andrew narrowed his eyes. In front of him was a cream and chocolate cake, double-layered, sprinkled with shiny chocolate shavings. Forty-one ninety-nine. The price made him hesitate. He looked down, did a quick mental tally, and exhaled.

(Alright. Just this once.)

(Good choice. Soft. Excessive. Unnecessary. Like everything that should be celebrated.)

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Leyley watching him. She didn’t ask. Didn’t comment. But she was there, quietly studying him like this decision meant more than just dinner.

“That one?” she asked, her voice neutral.

“Yeah,” Andrew said without looking at her.

“I thought you were gonna bring something more…”

“This one’s special,” he cut in, offering a soft smile.

Leyley didn’t reply. But she followed him to the register. With every step, her presence felt steadier. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. Andrew could feel her eyes on the back of his neck, like she was trying to memorize every gesture, every choice.

As the cashier scanned the box and called out the total, Andrew calmly pulled out the bills he had pre-counted. He handed them over without pride, but without shame either. Leyley watched the scanner, not the money.

The cashier bagged the cake in a plastic sack with the store’s logo and went back to his phone. Not a single word.

They walked out.

The night air outside was colder than before. Andrew moved with steady steps, and Leyley followed, never more than a yard behind.

“It looks delicious…” she murmured, lifting the bag slightly.

“It will be,” he said.

(Ah… I’m curious to try it. Though of course, I already know how it’ll taste.)

(Because you want it.)

(No. Because you want it. And that... seeps in.)

Andrew didn’t respond. He just kept walking, crossing the avenue without a word, the weight of the cake pulling slightly at his fingers.

The witch fell silent.

But she was smiling.

The elevator welcomed them with its flickering light and that permanent metallic smell. Andrew stepped in first. Leyley followed in silence. The door closed with a slow sigh, and the side mirror reflected both of them: him, standing tall with the bag in his hands; her, smaller, staring at him without blinking.

The elevator started to rise.

One. Two.

“I wish…” she muttered suddenly, not really thinking—“I wish it could always be like this.”

Andrew glanced sideways at her.

“Like what?”

Leyley looked down—not out of embarrassment, more like she was focusing on what she was saying.

“You… doing everything to make me feel okay. Listening to me. Looking at me first.”

Andrew didn’t answer right away.

“I’ll always take care of you, Leyley,” he said eventually, gently.

She pressed her lips together, unsatisfied.

“I didn’t say ‘take care.’ I said ‘look at.’”

He turned his head slowly toward her. Their eyes met for a second, and something—some shadow, some current—passed between them.

(You felt that? That wasn’t her this time. That was you.)

(I know.)

(And still, you didn’t pull back.)

(It was just… a look.)

(Roots look, too. Before they wrap around.)

The elevator dinged at their floor. The harsh thunk of the brakes yanked them back to the present.

Leyley stepped out first without waiting. Andrew hesitated a second longer before following, cake still in hand, and a tight knot forming in his chest.

The apartment door closed behind them with a louder thud than intended. Leyley carried the cake box like an offering. Andrew went straight to gather plates, napkins, and an old candle he found tangled among wires and forgotten junk.

She sat at the table without a word, swinging her legs. Watching him closely. There was something different in her eyes. Not surprise. Not gratitude. Something quieter.

Something… tense.

“Where’d you get the money for all this?” she asked bluntly.

“Odd jobs,” he replied, cutting the cake. “I help some of the neighbors. Simple stuff.”

Leyley didn’t answer. She just watched him. Like she had just remembered something important. Like seeing Andrew calmly handle everything… had stirred something inside her.

“The candle?”

Andrew lit it carefully. A bent wick, a timid flame.

“Want to make a wish?”

Leyley nodded. She lowered her head, closed her eyes. Inhaled.

Then blew out the flame.

He waited.

“What did you wish for?”

She glanced at him. Smiled.

“Nothing,” she said. “You’re not supposed to say. Or it won’t come true.”

Andrew didn’t press. But by the way she looked at him—the way she kept watching his hands, his face, the way he served the cake—he could guess the heart of that wish.

(You already know. And you know it’s not going away.)

They ate in silence. Leyley didn’t stop watching him. Like if she blinked, he might vanish.

“Wanna see something?” he said, breaking the silence with no awkwardness.

“What?”

“Hypergore Splatterbrains 2,” he said, holding her gaze with a small smile.

Her eyes lit up.

“You found it?! I knew they didn’t throw it away!”

“It was stuck behind the VHS tapes. Mom never returned it.”

“I told you it was in the house! I told you!” she shouted, instantly jumping to her feet. “Put it on! Now!”

Andrew turned on the TV and rewound the tape. They curled up together on the couch, sharing the oldest, softest blanket in the apartment. The cake plates still steamed on the table. The VCR squealed like the tape itself was resisting being pulled out of the past, and then it started: rubber monsters, fake blood, absurd screams.

Andrew quickly remembered why the movie bored him. But Leyley watched it like it was a masterpiece. Eyes wide, hands clenched on her knees, breath held through the most grotesque moments.

“Why do you like this movie again?” he asked, eyes still on the screen.

“Because I was told I can’t watch it,” she replied, grinning.

Andrew glanced at her.

“Ahh… Of course.”

But there was more to her smile than rebellion. Something fiercer. More certain. A hunger that hadn’t started today—but was growing with her.

As the movie neared its end, Andrew stood up without a word and headed to his room. He took a second. Opened the bottom drawer of his desk, where he had hidden the little package for weeks. Held it in his hands. Took a breath.

Then returned to the living room.

Leyley looked up from the couch, curiosity flaring instantly. She had a smudge of chocolate at the corner of her mouth and her legs tucked under the blanket.

“What’re you doing?”

“Here,” he said, handing her a small box wrapped in dull paper and tied with red string.

She blinked. Took it carefully.

“What is it?”

“Your real present.”

Leyley looked down at the package. Her fingers tore at it with a nervous clumsiness, and the paper fell into her lap like a husk that didn’t matter. When she opened the box, she held her breath.

Inside, a pendant—old metal shaped like a rabbit. Simple. Unpolished. Worn with time, but clean, hanging from a new chain. There was something in its imperfection that made it one of a kind.

“It’s for me?” she asked, though she already knew.

“Want me to put it on for you?” Andrew said, not really thinking.

She nodded slowly, silent.

Andrew sat closer. Picked up the pendant carefully, and with his other hand, brushed her hair aside. His fingers touched her neck. A brief touch—almost accidental.

Leyley didn’t move. Her breathing was deep, measured. Like she was scared to break the moment.

Andrew clasped the chain easily, but didn’t pull back right away. He watched the pendant settle at the center of her chest. The rabbit hung still over her sweater.

“There it is,” he murmured.

Leyley looked down at it. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do. She just stared, like it was too much. Like it might break if she touched it. Like somehow—it hurt.

Then she looked up, and in her eyes was something different. Not just happiness. Something deeper. Harder to name.

Then suddenly, she lunged forward and hugged him tight.

Andrew hadn’t seen it coming. The force of it made him catch her, arms pinned between her body and his own confusion.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Thank you for today. The cake, the movie, this… you. You…”

She held him tight, her face pressed into his chest.

“I didn’t know it felt like this… having someone do all that for me. I thought it’d never happen. That no one ever would…”

She stopped, swallowing hard.

Andrew held her. Not clumsily. With the kind of care that comes from duty, not impulse. He stroked her back, like he used to when she was little and cried over things she couldn’t explain.

(Here it is, Grime Soul. This… isn’t just tenderness.)

(I know.)

(This is need. And the worst part is… it makes you feel good too.)

Leyley loosened her grip a little, still touching him. She looked up.

Andrew ran a hand through her hair, gently. He lowered his head until their foreheads touched.

“Happy birthday, Leyley,” he said, with a warm smile—one he didn’t know he still had in him.

She let out a short laugh, still holding onto him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining like they might spill over.

“Thank you… really. This has been the best day.”

Andrew held her a little longer, then leaned back just slightly.

“I’ll remind mom to put some money aside for you next year…”

“Nah, that’s okay.” she cut him off, almost with contempt. 

“...Huh?”

“I think this birthday stuff is fucking stupid anyway”

He blinked, surprised.

“Watch your mouth, you little shit.”

“But it is!” she insisted, frowning. “So what if it’s been another year? It’s all nonsense anyway… who cares."

Andrew looked at her in silence, then replied, voice low but steady:

“Well, I for one.”

Leyley paused. Looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Then that makes a grand total of one person who cares” she said, shrugging with a crooked smile.

Andrew shook his head, smiling too.

“Fine, I’ll just buy you something on my own then, every year.”

“What if one year I don’t deserve it?”

“I’ll still get you something. But it’ll be terrible. Like used socks.”

“Gross!” she yelped, and they both laughed. Genuinely. For the first time in a long time.

They hugged again. Softer this time. More natural. Ashley rested her head on his shoulder, content. And Andrew, even with that voice still in his head—that constant presence—closed his eyes for a moment.

He still didn’t fully understand what he was feeling.

But he smiled.

If only for tonight.

Their room was split evenly—at least, on the surface.

On one side, Andrew’s bed: plain, always neatly made, sheets smooth and the pillow perfectly aligned. Next to it, an old wooden desk, a glass jar of sharpened pencils, and schoolbooks stacked by size. No decorations. No distractions.

On the other, Leyley’s bed: messy, covered in scattered pillows and a blanket with faded stars. The headboard was cluttered with crooked drawings, colorful ribbons, and little toys tangled between the rails. Her desk was usually buried under wrinkled papers, dried nail polish, random stickers—and sometimes cookie crumbs.

Between them stood an invisible border: a light wood dresser with shared drawers, and on top of it, a small mirror cracked in one corner.

The ceiling lamp barely lit the room once the hallway light was off. At night, the room seemed to breathe with them—quiet, narrow, harmless… except for what it held.

There were no doors between them.

Only habit.

And that night, habit gave way.

Andrew had stayed with her after the movie. No one had to ask. It just… happened.

Leyley, already in her pajamas, crawled into bed naturally and left a space by the wall. She looked at him once. Didn’t say anything.

He hesitated.

Just a second.

Then turned off the light and slid under the covers.

There wasn’t much room, so they had to lie close. And without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around his waist. As if her body already knew what her mouth refused to say. Her head tucked between his chest and collarbone. Her legs tangled with his. A knot without ties—but just as tight.

Andrew closed his eyes.

Her breath was warm. Steady. The rabbit pendant still hung from her neck, cold between their bodies.

(Grime Soul...)

The witch’s voice wasn’t gentle this time. It was a whisper, heavy and charged.

(This... this isn’t right. And you know it.)

(I know.)

(This isn’t how siblings should be. Not if you want to keep your mind clean. Not if you want me to shape you properly. I need you stable. Focused.)

(I am focused. More than ever.)

(Are you? What if you wake up tomorrow with that warmth still in your chest—and mistake it for something else?)

Andrew didn’t answer right away. He looked down at her hair spread across his shirt. At her peaceful expression. At how her small body fit against his like it was made for that space.

(I don’t know what I’m feeling.)

(I do.)

(But… I share it with you. And if you know what it is, then... maybe it’s not that dark.)

The witch fell silent.

For several seconds, nothing.

And when she spoke again, her tone had shifted.

(You’re still so young, Grime Soul… It’s alright. Just for tonight. Stay.)

Andrew took a deep breath. Felt his sister’s heartbeat against him—slow, trusting. He relaxed. Closed his eyes.

And for the first time in a long while, he slept deeply.

Not because he was alone.

But because he wasn’t.

Chapter Text

Mondays always smelled like chalk dust and badly folded worksheets. The light in the main hallway fell diagonally over scattered backpacks, and voices drifted lazily through the air, as if no one was really in a rush for anything.

Andrew walked through the school with the quiet confidence of someone who didn’t seek attention—but didn’t avoid it either. Quick greetings, a few fist bumps, someone borrowing notes: he wasn’t the popular kid, but everyone knew he had the answers.

His science notebook made the rounds before first period. Some handed it back with a quick "thanks." Others just nodded, knowing he never asked for anything in return. That’s just how he was.

But over the past year, something in the way he walked, in the way he moved, in how he looked at people before speaking—it had all started to shift.

Maturity. Or something very close to it.

(You walk like the world can’t touch you, Grime Soul.)

(Because it can’t.)

(That’s arrogance.)

(It’s calm.)

(It’s what comes before something breaks.)

(You’re always so optimistic…)

Just before stepping into class, he passed the new janitor. A tall man, expressionless face, awkward movements. He pushed a cleaning cart that looked heavier than it should’ve been. Andrew sidestepped him without giving it much thought.

(Was that the new guy?)
 
(Yeah. The one who showed up last week.)

(He walks funny.)

(He does… reminds me of one of those dumb movies Leyley likes.)

In the classroom, Andrew took his usual seat—center desk. He pulled out his pencil case, his books, and his perfectly aligned notebook. Around him, the conversations were the same as always: homework, soccer games, a teacher’s terrible new haircut.
Someone laughed loudly in the back. A paper ball grazed the back of his neck. He didn’t turn. Everyone knew he didn’t throw things back. He just absorbed it.

Something dropped beside him with a dull thud.

A book.

The cover showed a red moon, outstretched claws, and a title in golden letters: "Creatures of the North: Myths About Werewolves."
Andrew picked it up without thinking. Held it for a moment, read the title sideways, and handed it back to the girl who dropped it.
She had short hair, glasses, and was blushing all the way to her ears.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, eyes down.

“No problem,” Andrew said naturally, setting it on her desk.

Nothing else. To him, it was just a weird book in a room full of irrelevant things.

(Interesting reading choice for a girl her age…)

(Don’t tell me. It’s giving you a bad feeling.)

Class started. The teacher droned on about weather phenomena, but Andrew had already read the chapter last week. Still, he took notes. Not because he needed them, but because organizing information helped him think.

His notes were perfect, methodical. But his mind was elsewhere. Or rather—with someone else.

(You know what you should try for once?)

(What?)

(Relaxing.)

A brief silence. Then her voice—soft, firm—replied from within:

(I am relaxed.)

(No. You’re contained. Not the same thing.)

(And you think you can tell the difference?)

(I’ve spent every day with you. I think I’ve earned that right.)

He felt that familiar warmth she used when she didn’t argue, but didn’t quite agree either.

(It’s not distrust. It’s precision.)

(You’re allowed to make mistakes, you know. Perfection is boring.)

(And negligence is fatal.)

Andrew leaned on his elbow and smirked slightly.

(If this keeps up, you’re going to start sounding like a chemistry teacher.)

(Better that than a failed memory.)

They went quiet for a moment.
Then the witch continued, softer now.

(It’s not that I don’t want to trust you. But I can’t give you a future if you’re not ready for it. No matter how strong you are now… you’re still growing. I have to make sure you reach the end with everything you’ll need.)

Andrew glanced at his notebook. A line had slipped past the margin.

(I know you’re doing it for me.)

(I’m doing it for the weight you carry. And for what you don’t know you’ll carry yet.)

(Then do it with me. Not for me. Okay?)

She didn’t answer right away.

But he felt it—that quiet warmth again, like a window cracked open just a little.

(Alright, Grime Soul. Just… don’t get used to me letting my guard down. That’s a luxury only you get to ask for.)

Andrew looked up. The classroom hadn’t changed. The world hadn’t either.
But inside, the day had gotten a little brighter.

The bell rang, signaling the end of second period, and the classroom doors opened in waves. Voices, dragging backpacks, clumsy footsteps.

Andrew left with his notebook under his arm, adjusting his pace to avoid getting shoved in the main hallway. At this hour, younger kids collided with the older ones in a chaotic dance of yelling, snack bags, and half-heard conversations.

That’s when he saw him.

The new janitor, far off, standing beside one of the cleaning carts. Wearing a dark green coverall with a frayed collar. He was mopping a spotless section of floor at a painfully slow rhythm, eyes never looking up.

Always cleaning where nothing needed to be cleaned.

Andrew noticed him, but didn’t think twice.

“Andy!”

The voice made him turn.

Leyley was running down the side hall, her backpack hanging off one shoulder, hair loose. Her eyes lit up the second she spotted him. Like always.

Andrew sighed. She was still too far to stop. And it was already too late. Leyley hadn’t seen the yellow sign.

“WET FLOOR”

Her sneakers hit the slick center of the puddle. She slipped hard, body tilted back, arms flailing in the air.

Andrew moved without thinking.
His body reacted fast. Legs tightened, muscles aligned, and in an instant he was right in front of her. He caught her by the arm and waist at once, twisting her gently toward him before she hit the ground. She landed in his arms, breath ragged, eyes wide open.

“Oops…”

The hallway had gone silent. A few kids had stopped. Others whispered among themselves. No one said anything out loud, but everyone was watching.
Andrew stood still, holding his sister like it was a scene from a rehearsed play.

(That was unnecessary.)

(You were going to let her fall?)

(She was just going to slip. Not break her spine.)

(She would've felt humiliated. I didn’t want that for her.)

(Dramatic.)

As Andrew helped her to her feet, his eyes met the janitor’s. He had stopped mopping.
He wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t confused.
He was watching. As if he had recognized something.

Andrew looked away.

The hallway filled back up with noise as soon as Leyley was standing. Some kids murmured, a few snickered. Nobody said anything directly, but everyone had seen.
Andrew let go of her as soon as she was stable. He bent down to pick up his notebook, ignoring the stares and whispers. He’d done it because he had to. That was all.

“You’re so dramatic,” Leyley said, still smiling. 

“You should’ve let me fall. Maybe I would’ve learned something.”

“And when have you ever learned anything from falling?”

“And when have you learned how to chill?”

He didn’t reply. The witch groaned in his mind. He was used to Leyley tossing words like pebbles—small, noisy, but they didn’t hurt.

Then she stepped closer to him, grinning sideways, and kissed him on the cheek. Quick. Subtle. But not subtle enough to go unnoticed.

“My hero,” she whispered, like she was teasing him.

A few of Andrew’s classmates chuckled awkwardly up ahead. One of them even made a weird sound, like he’d just witnessed something he couldn’t quite process.

“Is she your girlfriend or your sister?”

“She’s my sister. Unfortunately,” Andrew replied, without changing his tone.

“Hey!” Leyley protested, but her smile was smug. “That’s no way to talk to a damsel in distress!”

“First you’d have to be a damsel.”

“And you’d have to be a gentleman.”

“I saved you, didn’t I?”

“Technically. But only because you can’t help loving me.”

“I did it so you wouldn’t make a scene.”

“Liar!”

Andrew let out a breath through his nose. Walking down the hall had become a routine.
She followed him like a shadow that talked too much.

But something had shifted.
Leyley was walking closer than before.
Her voice had a slightly deeper tone. Her jokes carried a different spark. Sometimes she held onto his arm a few seconds too long. Or stared at him when he wasn’t looking.
Andrew didn’t fully notice.
But the witch did.

(She’s getting too close, Grime Soul.)

(I’m not encouraging her.)

(You don’t need to.)

“Hey,” Leyley said suddenly, elbowing him. 

“Can I tell everyone you saved me?”

“Only if you keep it drama-free.”

“No promises.”

She laughed.

And so did he—just a little.

They looked like siblings. And they were.

But sometimes…

They looked like something else.

Recess had turned the courtyard into a blur of fake laughs and aimless running. Off to the side, under the jagged shade of a crooked tree, two girls sat on the edge of a planter like the world had gotten a few shades too bright to handle.

“Did you see that?” Nina whispered, lowering her voice. Her backpack lay open on the ground, as usual.

“See what?” Julia asked without looking at her. She had her hood up, like she wanted to disappear from the scene.

“Andrew. When he caught that screeching creature.” Nina chuckled softly. “It was like watching a movie in slow motion.”

“It wasn’t that big a deal…” Julia mumbled, though her cheeks had already turned red.

“What if it was a big deal? What if he did it on purpose? What if he’s like… I don’t know, a spy or something?” Nina spoke fast, her excitement bubbling over like it always did when she got too hyped.

“Either way, I like him. He’s smart. And serious. And not a total idiot like the rest of them.”

“I know,” Julia said, a little quieter.

Nina leaned closer, eyes still scanning the yard.

“You could talk to him too, y’know?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Julia lowered her gaze. Shrunk deeper into her hoodie.

“Because I’m not you.”

Nina sighed, like it was obvious and frustrating all at once.

“Well, then I’ll do it. Just not right now. Because he’s with… you know who.”

They both looked across the courtyard.
Andrew sat on a bench, calmly reading. Next to him, like a small, never-ending whirlwind, sat Leyley.

She never stayed still. Not for long. Her legs swung, her mouth never stopped moving, she grabbed his arm to make him look at her, shoved him playfully like they were mid-fight.

“I don’t get how he puts up with her,” Nina muttered.

“She’s his sister…” Julia said.

“She yells. All the time. And if you don’t pay attention, she throws something or shoves you. And she thinks she’s smarter than everyone just because her brother’s good at school.”

“She’s not smarter,” Julia whispered. “Just louder.”

Nina giggled silently.

“Can you imagine if Andrew had a normal sister? I would’ve already asked him to get ice cream or something.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Obviously.” Nina straightened, confident. 

“Julia, if he ever talks to me, please don’t say anything weird, okay?”

“I never say anything,” Julia replied—genuinely, not sarcastically.

They kept watching, like curious shadows. Not with hate—something subtler. A mix of jealousy, curiosity, and the discomfort of seeing someone you like too close to someone you just can’t stand. And even though neither of them said it, both were thinking the same thing:

Leyley was in the way.

The school cafeteria wasn’t exactly a pleasant place, but that day it felt tolerable. The light filtered in at an angle, soft and diffused, and the usual noise seemed distant—muffled by the thick walls and the echo of trays.
It was just another afternoon.

Another—but not quite the same.

Andrew sat at a table with three classmates. They weren’t close friends, but they shared lunches, tough assignments, and the occasional conversation about old movies or out-of-style games.

“I don’t get how you solved question three,” one of them said, frowning over a crumpled sheet. “I read it five times and none of it made sense.”

“The key was pressure,” Andrew explained calmly, eating without rush. “It’s in the first line of the question. Once you convert the units, everything falls into place.”

“Right… of course,” the other muttered in defeat. “I was doing it wrong from the start.”

“It’s better to mess up now than during the exam,” Andrew shrugged.

(You look like you’re ten years older than you are.)

(It’s because I already know how all this ends.)

Andrew didn’t respond. He chewed on a dry chocolate cookie. Outside, a cloud slid across the sun, draining the cafeteria of some of its color. Everything turned a little grayer.

“So what do you do when you’re not solving impossible stuff?” one asked with a half-smile.
Andrew thought for a second.

“I read. I walk. I listen to people.”

“You’re weird,” another said—not mockingly, just stating it.

“Yeah,” Andrew nodded. “I guess I am.”

(They look at you like you’re off the board… but they still let you sit at the table. And that…)

(…makes you useful. For now.)

Andrew kept eating quietly, as if lunch were just a pause before the day shifted shape.

It was rare to see Leyley sitting with Nina and Julia. Not because they were friends—Leyley usually got bored of people quickly. But that afternoon, for whatever reason, she had stayed with them under the cracked pergola where the sunlight barely reached.

Nina was handing out pieces of corn candy from an open bag. Julia peeled at the wrapper with her nails, as silent as always.

“So when the teacher said, ‘That’s not the right answer,’ I almost fell out of my chair,” Nina said, laughing softly. “I was so sure. Then I realized I read the question wrong.”

Leyley listened quietly. She chewed slowly, without much enthusiasm. Julia still hadn’t said a word, but she was listening.

“Your brother’s really good at that stuff,” Nina added casually.

“He helped me with a science assignment the other day. He explained it so clearly—even I understood.”

Leyley lowered her gaze, her face unreadable.

“He’s really smart,” Nina continued. “And he doesn’t act all cocky about it. I like that about him… I don’t know, he makes me feel calm when he talks.”

“Yeah,” Julia said softly.

“And his eyes are weird,” Nina added, popping another candy in her mouth. “Like a cat’s. I like them.”

Leyley stopped chewing. Just for a second.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I think I like him,” Nina said, her voice dropping a little. “It’s weird to say, but… I do like your brother.”

Julia turned to her, surprised.

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Of course not! That’d be so embarrassing. But still… I don’t know. He’s cute.”

Nina giggled quietly, not looking at Leyley.

“Don’t tell him, okay? I just said it ‘cause it’s just us here.”

“Sure,” Julia mumbled.

Leyley didn’t say a word. She didn’t smile either. She just kept eating.

Then she looked up at the sky for a few seconds. When she looked forward again, her expression had shifted. Small. Cold.

Recess went on without any incidents.
Nina started chatting about something random, as if her confession hadn’t meant much. Julia pulled her hoodie tighter and nodded now and then. Leyley didn’t say a single word. But her eyes—though still calm—moved differently now.

When the bell rang, they parted ways.
On the walk back to class, Leyley followed behind them. Not too close. Not too far. Just enough to watch them walking side by side, heads tilted toward each other like they shared a secret language.

And for the first time, something rose in her chest.

Not anger. Not sadness.
Something drier. Colder.

A simple, clear thought:

(That bitch. Who does she think she is? Andrew it’s my brother. Mine and no one else.)

Leyley didn’t know what she was going to do.
But she knew she’d do something. Because to her, Andrew wasn’t a person. He was a place. And no one else was allowed to live there.

The bus stop was quiet, scattered with cold wind and dry leaves swirling across the sidewalk. At that time of day, students stood in loose groups, dragging backpacks, sharing cookie crumbs, or fighting over who got the window seat.

Andrew stood with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the horizon. Next to him, Leyley sat on the edge of the concrete bench, legs swinging, her face neutral—barely hiding something more intense underneath.

Silence. Then she spoke.

“Nina said she likes you.”

Andrew blinked, distracted.

“Who..?”

“My friend from school… Or at least thought she was a friend,” she muttered, glancing at him sideways. “So are you going to be her boyfriend?”

“Gross. No.”

“Hahaha!!” Leyley laughed, satisfied. “I should teach her a lesson.”

Andrew didn’t respond. He just rolled his eyes, patient.

“You’re 
 brother!! Mine!” she insisted. “I’ll make her think twice before stealing from another woman!”

“...Oh yeah” he said, pretending to think. “You’re a girl too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Hahah! Somehow you don’t count as a lady in my mind.”

(Lies.)

(Quiet you.)

“..Or as a person for that matter.”

“Screeeeeeew you” she groaned, nudging him with her shoulder. “I’m the most person-est lady in the world!”

Andrew smiled—just barely.

She kept talking.

“So anyway! I’m gonna take her to that old werehouse and lock her in one of the crates!”

“Yeah, yeah…” he said, flatly.

“Seriously!”

Andrew glanced toward the road. No bus in sight.

“Mom gave me some money to go buy groceries. Are you coming with?”

“Focus, Andy! Let’s leave her sitting there all night! That’ll show her!”

“...Let’s not.”

“Hehee! You should go ask her to hang out, she won’t say no then.”

“Leyley, I don’t want to.”

“Just go over and ask her to come with you. Take her to the warehouse, and we’ll see what happens!”

“C’mon…”

“Mom said you’d help me whit anything!”

(She's trying to manipulate you, Grime Soul. Don't let her force you into doing things that will reflect negatively on us. You need to stay focused. We'll deal with your mother later, but we won't give her any ground.)

“I thought she’s your friend?”

“Well I thought so too!”

“And she can by my friend again afterwards. She just need a remainder how to do it proper.”

“We’ll get in trouble.”

(In deed)

“I’ll only let her out when she promises not to tell on us.”

(That's not going to happen Grime Soul, I recommend you stay out of this.)

Andrew stared at her for a second. Then sighed.

“Leyley. We’re not doing that.”

She frowned.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s wrong.”

“You don’t care what they do to me! Or how I feel! You’re always with your ‘don’t do that,’ your ‘stop making things up,’ your stupid rules!” Her voice was rising. “You used to listen to me more! You used to be different!”

Andrew looked away.

“I used to not realize you were playing with me.”

Leyley froze. Then her face twisted—like something cracked inside her.

“So now I’m a liar?! A manipulator?! You’re such a jerk! A robot with an old man voice! You talk like you’re giving speeches all day long!”

Andrew took a deep breath.

(Don’t snap. Don’t feed it now.)

“Leyley,” he said, with a calm that was clearly forced. “I’m not doing this with you. Not today. Not like this.”

“You’re a coward!”

“Maybe.”

“And a traitor!”

Andrew didn’t reply. The bus was getting closer.

“This isn’t over,” she muttered, jumping off the bench. “You promised we’d be together. You can’t just change that overnight.”

“I’m not changing it. I’m just saying… this—” he motioned vaguely between them, “—can’t go on like this.”

She said nothing else. She walked beside him when they boarded the bus, but sat far away. Pressed against the window. Frowning, fists clenched on her knees.

She didn’t cry.

But her silence hurt more than a scream.

(You’re breaking something, Grime Soul.)

(It was already broken.)

(And you’re willing to watch it fall apart?)

(Not if I can help it… but not on her terms.)

From the back seat, Leyley stared out the window. But inside, the storm hadn’t passed.
She had simply learned to keep it quiet.

The day went by like any other.
Class after class, full of lectures, repetitive assignments, and that quiet fatigue that lingers after a night spent with thoughts left open. Andrew handled everything as usual: answered questions, solved problems, corrected a classmate.

The witch didn’t say much. She just watched. Attentive. Everything seemed normal.

Until dismissal time.

Andrew was already by the gate, backpack slung over his shoulder, waiting for Leyley like always. But minutes passed… and she didn’t show.

He glanced toward the halls of the other building. Nothing.

“Looking for Ashley?”

The voice was barely a whisper, coming from his side.

Julia stood there, backpack half-zipped, her hood nearly hiding her eyes. She clutched her straps tightly, like they were armor. She didn’t meet his gaze directly—but close enough.
Andrew nodded calmly.

“Yeah. She’s not out yet.”

Julia hesitated a second. Then swallowed.

“I thought you’d be… with Nina.”

“Why?”

“Ashley told her…” she paused, lowering her voice even more, “told Nina you wanted to meet her. In the old storage building. During recess.”

Andrew felt it—like a rock dropping in his stomach.

“When?”

“Today. Just now.”

He looked at her more closely. Julia looked down immediately.

“I… didn’t mean to get involved,” she murmured. “I thought you knew. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Andrew said, tightening his grip on the edge of his backpack. Julia shrank a little.

“Ashley didn’t say why. She just left. Nina believed her.”

Andrew didn’t answer. He stepped back. Then another step.

The witch finally spoke.

(Go. Now. Don’t stop.)

Andrew was already moving. No need to say it twice.

He zipped up his backpack as he walked, picking up speed. His conversation with Leyley replayed in his head. He knew she didn’t give up easily. And in her world, “no” wasn’t a wall—it was just another curve in the road.

He couldn’t risk her doing something stupid to Nina.

Then he saw him. The janitor.

Slowly pushing an empty cleaning cart down the other end of the hallway. His movements were… off, like he didn’t quite know how to fit inside his own body. He didn’t look at Andrew. Didn’t speak. Just kept walking, vanishing behind a metal door.

(Grime Soul…)

(You saw that?)

(Yeah. There’s something strange about that man.)

(Yeah. He looks… off.)

(But that’s not uncommon. A lot of adults seem half-broken inside. Maybe that’s all it is.)

Andrew nodded to himself. Easy to think he was just imagining things.

He had more urgent matters.

“If she really did it… if she locked her up—” he murmured.

(Then you have to be there. Just in case.)

(I know.)

Changing direction, Andrew headed toward the old wing of the school. He knew a way to get there unnoticed—through the side path that led to the maintenance stairs.
Neither he nor the witch noticed the faint creak of a door closing behind him. Nor the shadow that peeled off the wall with animal-like slowness. 

Something was following him.

Andrew reached the place and spotted a small opening in the wall, covered with a bent iron plate. A tight space—just enough for two small bodies to fit through…

(You won’t fit through there, Grime Soul. Break it open. You’re strong enough.)

Andrew hesitated for a second, then grabbed the plate with both hands and tore it from the wall without much effort. He stepped into the storage building.

The air was thick—choked with dust, the smell of old wood, and damp cardboard. Every step creaked like the place hadn’t been touched in years.

Andrew didn’t run. But he didn’t hesitate either. He knew exactly where to go.

He turned past a stack of shelves—and saw her.

Sitting on a worn wooden trunk, legs crossed and smirking, Leyley waited like he was late for some casual meeting.

“There you are Andy, you slowpoke.” she said, like nothing was wrong.

He didn’t answer. Walked slowly until he stood in front of the trunk. She didn’t move.

“Hurry up, she’s is putting up a fight.” she said with mock annoyance. 

“*Cough, cough!* I-I can’t breathe!! *Cough, cough, cough!*”

The voice from inside the trunk was faint. But desperate.

(This doesn’t look good, Grime Soul. The girl sounds like her lungs are failing.)

(Can you sense her?)

(No. But I can feel death, Grime Soul.)

“*Cough, cough!!* Please I—!!”

“hut up already, you drama queen!” Leyley snapped, rolling her eyes.

“Let her out, Leyley,” Andrew said, without raising his voice.

“She’s just pretending! No one’s ever died from some dust.”

“*Cough, cough!!*”

“C’mon. Just let her out.”

“What? You’ll believe her over me?”
Andrew stared at her. He wasn’t afraid anymore. Just tired.

“I’ts not really about whether i believe her or not.”

“Fine! You let her out then! Who cares about me anyway…”

“*Cough, cough!!*”

“Everyone likes her better! Bet you like her better too!” she shouted, her voice breaking.

“Bet everybody does. I already know!”

“*Cough, cough, cough!!*”

“I bet you’d rather have a girlfriend than spend time with me! Of course you would!!”

“Oh c’mon! I already told you, I don’t want—”

“And bet—!! *Sniff* Bet you only hang out with me ‘cause mom told you to!!!!”

(Nonsense.) 

Andrew closed his eyes. His jaw was tight, but his tone stayed calm.

“I mean maybe she did, but…”

“*Sniff* It’s not fair!” Why does everyone like her better??” She burst into tears, his face turned red.

“I’m loud and weird and annoying and no one likes me at all!!”

(Grime Soul…)

(I know.)

Andrew stepped forward. Looked at his sister still sitting on the trunk.

“I like you better, Leyley.”

The crying stopped.

It didn’t fade.

It froze.

Her eyes rose, suddenly calm. Empty.
 And that dark look—older than her body—returned to her face.

“…Prove it. Liar.”

Andrew didn’t answer the challenge.
He didn’t yell. Didn’t move quickly. Just watched her.

Leyley stayed on the trunk, breathing hard from the fake crying—but no longer crying. She stared at him, waiting to see him break. Waiting for him to fold. Like he had before.

But this time… he didn’t.

(Don’t let her drag you into her pain. It’s not real.)

(It is real… just aimed the wrong way.)

(Then redirect it.)

Andrew lowered his voice, speaking more to himself than her.

“You don’t need me to blindly believe you, Leyley. You need someone to tell you when to stop.”

She glared—but didn’t speak.

“You’re hurt because people like her. Because they talk to me. Because they look at me. Because I’m not only with you.”

“Isn’t that fair?” she murmured. “After everything we’ve done together? After what you said?”

“It’s fair to be scared. It’s not fair to lock someone up for it.”

Leyley narrowed her eyes. Studying him again. Like something didn’t add up.
Andrew took another step.

“If you want me to choose you… don’t put me in a position where I have to choose between protecting you and stopping you.”

Silence thickened.

(That was the blow, Grime Soul. Now don’t back down.)

“Because I do choose you, Leyley. Even when you do this. And that’s exactly why I’m not going to let you fall deeper alone.”

Leyley looked at him for a long time. Her face faltered—but she didn’t cry.

You could see the effort in how hard she was holding herself together.

Then, slowly, she stepped down from the trunk. No words. No apology. Just one step back. And she looked away.

Nina collapsed forward, coughing hard. Her face was red, streaked with tears. She gasped between fits. Andrew caught her softly.

“You’re okay?”

She nodded faintly. Clung to his shirt, still shaking.

Leyley stood in the back of the room, her face blank.

She didn’t speak.

But something inside her twitched.

Something old.

Something waking up.

Nina clung to Andrew’s arm like she hadn’t fully woken up from the nightmare. She kept coughing, her face red and damp, her breath uneven.

“Easy,” Andrew whispered. “You’re out. Just breathe slow.”

She nodded weakly, like his voice was the only real thing. She leaned her forehead against his chest, gripping his shirt as she tried to calm down.

“Why…?” she murmured. “Why would she do that…?”

Andrew didn’t answer right away. He ran a hand gently through her hair, eyes distant. 

The silence around them thickened.

A few steps away, standing against the wall, Leyley was watching. Her fists were clenched. Her face slightly shadowed. Her eyes—wet. But not from guilt.

From rage.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t throw anything.
She just wanted Nina gone.

Gone from the world.

To vanish.

To crumble into dust in the light.

(Why isn’t it me in his arms?) she thought. (Why doesn’t he look at me like that when I cry?) And for just a second… for one small moment, something like regret flickered in her expression. But it disappeared just as fast as it came.

Andrew slowly pulled Nina back, looked into her eyes.

“Can you walk?”

“Y-yeah…”

“We’re getting out of here. I’m with you.”
Nina leaned on his arm, still trembling. As they walked past Leyley, she didn’t look at her. And Leyley didn’t move. Not an inch.

Andrew moved with firm steps toward the exit, keeping Nina upright beside him. Her breathing was still warm and shallow. They were almost out.

“Ashle—…”

He stopped.

When he turned to call out to his sister, the air grew colder.

And then he saw it.

A shape between the shelves. Massive. Twisted. Too wide to be human. Too still to be normal.

A pair of eyes glowed in the dark like wet embers.

The light barely touched them—but it was enough.

Andrew froze. He couldn’t move.

Leyley, still in the corner, didn’t seem to notice. She stood there with that same empty, disconnected stare.

“What now?” she asked, annoyed.
She didn’t finish the sentence.
Something hit her.

A brutal, bone-snapping impact—like a tree trunk exploding from within. Ashley’s body flew backward, crashing into a pile of old fabric and boxes that collapsed with a deafening crash.

“ASHLEY!”

Andrew’s scream echoed off the walls.

Nina turned around in shock.

And then she saw it too.

Something impossible.

“W-what… what the hell is wrong with that guy?” Nina stammered, taking a shaky step back.

(Grime Soul… we gotta get outta here.)

“Nina…” Andrew didn’t look at her. “You need to go. Now.”

“B-but what about you?!”

“I can’t leave without my sister. Go get help…”  

The thing took a step. It didn’t walk.

It just was closer.

Its breathing sounded like a wounded, starving animal gulping down hot air.

Andrew felt fear stab into his chest like a knife. But he didn’t back down.

“Do what I say, Nina!”  

She hesitated for a split second. Then she bolted, not looking back.

(That’s not a man.)

(What is it?)

(Something that shouldn’t be here yet. And it’s staring right at me.)  

Andrew swallowed hard.

The monster let out a low, wet growl, like it was chewing on its own name.

Andrew was alone.

And the janitor? He didn’t look like a janitor anymore.

He was hungry. And he’d caught their scent.  
Andrew stood his ground.

Not out of bravery. Not out of strength. Because he had no other choice.

Leyley was a few yards away, passed out among old rags and dust. The monster was still there, lurking between shadows and dead light, hunched over, breathing with a barely contained violence, like every inhale was a struggle to stay inside its own skin.  

And then it spoke.

Its voice wasn’t human.

Not like a man’s.

It was deep, broken from the inside, like it came from a throat torn apart a hundred times.

“So it was you.” Andrew blinked.

The monster wasn’t looking at him.
It was looking through him. Past his eyes.

“All that silence… and yet you’re still alive,” it said, tilting its neck just enough to make a sickening crack. “I thought your kind didn’t know how to hide in someone else’s blood anymore.”  

Andrew froze. His heart slammed against his ribs like a bell.

(Grime Soul… don’t answer.)

But it was too late.

“You thought I wouldn’t sense you?” the creature went on, its twisted smile splitting its face. “Your stench is unmistakable. Even now, after all this time. It smells like burned bone. Like dead alchemy.”  

Its face started to tear, slow, peeling back to reveal new layers underneath.

Thick fur.

Bones that weren’t quite human.

One eye turned yellow.

(This isn’t just any monster…)

(What is it?)

(A beast that can smell dark magic… a witch’s executioner.)  

“You still teaching kids?” the creature spat. “Is that all that’s left of you? A parasitic shadow hiding behind some punk kid…”  

Andrew clenched his fists. His breathing was short, tight.

The monster took another step. The floor creaked.

“I’m gonna carve you open, witch. Him… and you. I’m gonna rip you out with my claws. I wanna see what’s left when you don’t have a body to hide in.”  

The creature started moving.
Slow. Each step echoed like a drum underground.

Andrew didn’t budge.

The fear was real. Alive. It wanted to grab his legs. Break his voice.

But he couldn’t give in.

Leyley was still there. Sprawled. Defenseless.
And in front of Andrew…

…A creature that didn’t belong in his world.  
Its arms hung too long. Its nails… weren’t nails. They were something else. Blacker. Curved. Its shoulders cracked with every move, and its skin looked stretched in places it shouldn’t be. Like something bigger was trying to claw its way out from inside.

But it still had a human face.

A smile that stretched just a bit too wide.

Eyes that didn’t blink.  

The witch spoke. Not with anger. Not with authority.

Her voice was low, like she was talking to herself.

(This is why I never let my guard down. This is why I can’t relax. You get it now? You don’t even know what’s living in your world.)  

Andrew didn’t answer. His stomach was in knots. His right arm trembled.

“Leyley…”

(Listen. You can’t win this fight.)

“So what? I run?”

(Yes.)

“I can’t abandon Ashley.”

(You can. But you won’t.)  

The creature took another step. The floor groaned under its weight, like its body didn’t know its own strength.

(You’re choosing to die for her.)

“I’m choosing to stay.”  

A second of silence.

The witch sighed. Or something like a sigh. Drier.

(No witch has ever killed one of those.)  

Andrew clenched his jaw.

“I’m not a witch.”

(I know.)  

The creature leaned forward.
Its neck twisted with a dull snap, like its bones had given up.

Then it lunged.  

Andrew ducked on instinct.

The roar hit like a gunshot.

A shelf splintered above his head. Shards. Dust. Cracks in the metal.

Andrew rolled across the floor. His brow was bleeding. His arm hurt more than it should.

(It’s started.)  

The monster turned, slow, confident it had all the time in the world.

Andrew scrambled to a rusty pipe. He grabbed it. Too light.

The beast came closer.

Its legs were bowed now.

Like it wasn’t even trying to look human anymore.

(It’s gonna tear you apart.)  

Andrew bolted toward a narrower spot. Between columns.

A lamp dangled, old, barely hanging half a foot from the ceiling.

The monster followed.

Andrew ran. But he wasn’t running away. He was thinking.

Every step took him away from the noise… and closer to the spot he’d chosen. The columns. The lamp. The loose shelf. He’d seen it all before. He was using it now.  

The wolf was on his tail.

It didn’t run like a man anymore.

It didn’t roar like an animal either.

It was something in between. A machine without a clear shape. A breath with muscles. 
 
Andrew veered between two pillars. His arm screamed, but there was no time to think about pain.

There was time to act.

Behind a rusty crate, he peeked up.

It was seconds away.

A thin pipe in his hand.

The lamp dangling.

The crates set up as obstacles.

One exact second of opportunity.  

And when the creature rounded the corner, Andrew moved.

Not with rage. Not with fear. With precision.  

CLANG!

The pipe smashed into the lamp’s chain. The flash stirred the dust. The wolf flinched, thrown off.

It stepped wrong.

Tripped on the crate he’d placed on purpose.
It didn’t fall, but it lowered its head. And right there, Andrew was ready.

He drove the pipe with every ounce of his body.

Not strength. Place. Timing.

Luck.  

The metal tip sank just below the eye. The sound was a wet crunch, a roar that shattered the air.

Blood sprayed across Andrew’s face.
He barely had time to look.

The wolf, pure reflex, swung a blind claw.
It hit him square in the chest.  

CRACK.  

The world tilted.

Andrew flew six feet and slammed into the ground on his side. The air left him. Everything blacked out for a moment.  

(…)  

He didn’t know how much time passed.
Only that blood was dripping from his nose.
And he couldn’t feel two ribs.
The pipe was gone from his hand.
But the monster…
It was bleeding.  

(…)  

The witch spoke.

Not fast.

Not surprised.

With that tone she used when something seemed useful.

(You planned it.) 

Andrew barely moved his lips.

“Not well enough…”

(Even so…)

“I got lucky.”

(Maybe… but it was because of what you did.)  

The wolf was clutching a fallen doorframe.
It growled. Not in anger.

In pain.

(It’s been forever… since I last saw one of those bleed.)

Andrew breathed through his mouth. It was the only way. His chest wouldn’t move right.
“Then help me.”

(…)

The floor scraped his cheek. He tasted dirt under his tongue.

Dust. Blood. Old metal.  

He tried to get up. His right arm shook. His left hung like a wet rag. His side wouldn’t move. Breathing felt like nails between his ribs.  

And the monster was still there. Breathing. Hunting him.  

The witch, until that moment, had stayed quiet.

But he felt her. Silently present.
Like a thought that wouldn’t leave.  

“You’re gonna let it happen… aren’t you?” Andrew muttered, out of breath. “You’re gonna let it all go down.”

(You’ve already done more than you should.)

“Doesn’t matter what I should’ve done.”

(…)

“You gonna watch it kill us?”  

The answer took a moment.

When it came, it was so soft he almost didn’t feel it.

(Lend me your body.)  

“Why now?”

(…Because I don’t want to die.)  

Andrew swallowed.

“I trust you…”  

The witch didn’t reply.

But that pause… it felt like an “I know.”  

He nodded. Once. And lowered his head.

“Take it.”  

And the darkness poured in.
Not like a shadow. Like a root.
It sank down his throat. Spread across his back. His muscles tightened until they creaked. His whole spine arched. Every joint became something else.  

Andrew’s consciousness didn’t vanish. It was just dragged to the bottom. And from there, he saw.  

His body rising.

His fingers stretching.

His voice becoming something else.  

The witch spoke with his mouth. But every word was a wound.

“Chain…”  

The floor split open in silence.
Black runes—impossible to read, alive—started carving themselves into Andrew’s arms.

Not ink. Fire. Ancient light.  

His sleeves caught fire without heat, crumbling in seconds, and the runes burned into his flesh. Not like tattoos. Like open scars glowing red-hot.  

It hurt. More than the ribs. More than the claw.

It burned his soul.  

Andrew screamed. Not with his mouth. From inside.

(I-I can’t handle this…!)  

The witch held control, but her voice trembled with something like effort.

His body wasn’t fully hers.  

Chains erupted from the ground like shadow tentacles.

Fast. Ravenous. They coiled around the monster. Around its torso, its legs, its neck.
And they stopped it.

For a moment.

Just that.  

The wolf howled like its flesh was tearing apart.

And in that same instant…

The chains shattered.  

The magical explosion snapped the connection.

Andrew was thrown back into himself, like his bones were being ripped out from the inside.
He collapsed on his back.

The runes still burned.

They didn’t fade. They didn’t erase. They just burned.  

His left arm wouldn’t move. Blisters. Cracked skin. Blood mixed with black lines that still glowed. His clothes hung in tatters. Part of his chest was exposed, charred. He coughed.
And spat red.  

“Agh… w-witch…”

(…)

Her voice sounded distant. Exhausted.

(Don’t do that again.)

“I didn’t…”

(Yes, you did.)

(…)

(That’s the worst part about you, Grime Soul. You’re gonna drag us both down.)

Andrew could barely open his eyes.

The monster was panting. Still standing. But it wasn’t the same. It grinned, teeth stained with blood.

“You really thought you could bind me… with that?”

“You’re not what you used to be.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“You’re pathetic.” 

Silence.  

“Watching you die again… I’m not mad about it.”  

The witch went quiet. Not by choice.

By shame. 

“And you?”

“You thought you could protect her?”
It turned its head toward Leyley.

“I’m gonna kill her, you know.”

“But not before you see it all.”

“Not quick.”

“Not clean.”  

The wolf’s eyes turned black. Like nothing human was left.

“I’m gonna break her first.”

“And you’re gonna watch.”

“Broken. Helpless.”

“Screaming like a rat.”  

It paused.

“And when you don’t have a voice left…”

“I’ll tear you to pieces too.” 
 
Andrew couldn’t stand.

No part of his body didn’t hurt. The runes still burned, though they’d stopped glowing. His left arm was dead. His right leg was bleeding inside. And his chest…

…it just cracked.  

In front of him, the wolf walked toward Leyley.
Slow. Sure. With that calm, contemptuous look.

It wasn’t going to kill her quick.

It was going to do it as punishment. For him.  
Andrew got it. And his stomach twisted.
Leyley was still out. Mouth slightly open. Breathing soft.

Andrew gritted his teeth. The wolf raised a claw.  

And then…

A memory.  

One night.

He was lying down.

And Leyley was sleeping on top of him.
Both tangled in blankets. Her breathing warm, barely brushing his neck.

The room was dim. Outside, just darkness.
She stirred. Barely. Half-asleep.

“Andy… you awake…?”  

He didn’t say anything then.

Too sleepy to answer, but awake enough to hear.

Leyley didn’t pull away.

She just stayed still for a few seconds.

And then… she asked.

“Sometimes, I wonder if you’d still stick with me if I wasn’t your sister…”  

He didn’t answer then.
But now…

A whisper. A thought. A scream from the soul.

(Grime Soul…)

“Witch…”

(Yes.)

“Get me to her.”  

She took a moment to reply. Like she was sizing him up.

(Why?)

“Because I didn’t come alone.”

(…)

(I’ll throw you.)

“Do it.” 

A movement inside his body. A sharp, violent magic.

The witch used something small. A light spell. Controlled.

And she launched him.  

Andrew’s body flew, twisted by the air. His back snapped in two. His head lolled.
He landed in front of Leyley.

He shielded her. Got to his knees. And waited.  

The wolf saw him. And laughed. Not a roar.

A laugh.

Like someone finding a dirty rag.  

And then… it bit.

Fangs sank into flesh, right between his collarbone and neck.

Deep. Savage. Fatal.  

Andrew screamed.

Not from fear.

Not from pain.

From rage.  

The wolf was biting him. Fangs dug in, trying to tear, to kill.

Andrew didn’t scream this time. Not because it didn’t hurt. Because there was no time. 

His whole body burned. But he was still there.

The wolf was stuck.

Andrew’s flesh refused to let go.
He held it with an inhuman strength. A desperate, overwhelming grip.  

The witch just waited for the end. Andrew could feel it. Hear her thoughts, her resignation. She’d died so many times. Passed from vessel to vessel. None had been enough. When she finally found a promising one, those damn beasts always took it away.  
She’d given up.  

“I won’t let you do this,” Andrew whispered.  
The beast was trying to break him. Andrew growled. Grabbed it with both hands, with brutal force.

“I can’t die here…” His body tensed like stone.

“Ashley… needs me.” Something shook inside Andrew.

The witch felt it. A flash. A spark in her vessel’s soul.

An anomaly in his essence.

(Grime Soul…?)  

Andrew started making strained noises. Like he was lifting something massive. A weight bigger than his body.

And inside him, something grew.

The witch felt it like a real, suffocating pressure. Her soul, once balanced, started to tip. To give.  

The cage holding her was forced open.
By will.

(Grime Soul… you…)

“This is my body…”

(You… why are you alive? What are you doing…?)  

The witch was overwhelmed. No one had ever taken anything from her before.
Never.

This was madness. 
 
“I decide when this ends.”

“Today, I take your will and make it mine.
”
“The will of the chained witch.”

(…)

(You… you already know…)  

Her voice broke. Her will wavered. Her heart pulsed.  

Andrew knew her name.

A pact.

A blood bond.  

“Let your chains break free once more…”

(Then say it… say my name, Andrew!)  

Andrew exhaled.

“Anya.” Like a sigh. Like the calm before collapse.  

She gasped. Not from pain. From something darker. Deeper.  

Her power was taken by force. Not with spells. Not with runes. With presence.

With will.  

And then, the chains came. From every part of Andrew.

From his chest.

His shoulders.

His back.

They shot out. Furious. Absolute. In every direction.

Except toward Leyley.  

The chains pierced the wolf.
One. Two. Three. Five. Ten.

Through its chest. Its neck. Its throat.
One stabbed through from the inside and pinned it to the ground.

They drove into the walls, the ceiling, the windows.

The whole place shook. 
The roar was its last.
The walls gave way.
The ceiling collapsed.
The warehouse came down, wrapped in smoke, screams, and a mist that wasn’t from this world.  

And inside Andrew’s mind, Anya watched.
Not as a voice. Not as a shadow.
As a presence.

(You said it… Y-you… figured it out.)
  
Andrew dropped to his knees. Blood ran down his side.

But he didn’t let go of Leyley.

He wouldn’t let her slip away now.  

Darkness.

But it wasn’t death.  

It was something else.

A still space, wrapped in that formless light that exists when you’re not quite awake… and not quite asleep.  

Andrew’s body, somewhere, was bleeding.
But in this other plane, he just floated.
And he wasn’t alone.  

“You’re alive,” a voice said. “Against all odds.”
Not a welcome.

A judgment.

And an observation.  

Andrew didn’t answer. His thoughts were slow, like they were still piecing themselves together inside his skull.

The voice came closer without moving.

And then she stood before him.

No smoke. No echoes. No tricks.

The witch Anya.  

Pale skin, perfect, like porcelain under shadow.

Long black hair, straight as a frozen river.
Eyes so blue they hurt. Unchanging.
Her dress was timeless. Like she’d always worn it.

Her presence filled the air.

Not like warmth.

Like structure.

And, for a second, like something burning inside.  

Andrew stared too long.

Then looked away.

She noticed.

“Does my appearance bother you?” she asked, unmoving.

“No,” he said, too fast.  

Silence.  

Anya tilted her head slightly, studying him with faint interest.

“I know what’s in your mind, and I gotta say, I find it pretty flattering, Grime Soul.”  

Andrew pressed his lips together.

The blood rushed to his face on its own.

“I didn’t expect you to be so…”

“So what?”

“So… young,” he blurted, without thinking. Anya smiled.

Not a sweet smile.

One that savored something forbidden.

“This is how I looked the day I died…”

“I don’t wanna talk about that,” he said, lowering his head further.

“I must say, it’s a relief,” she murmured. “I thought after everything I put you through, you wouldn’t like seeing me.”

“Didn’t say I like it either,” Andrew shot back, nervous.

“You don’t need to,” she replied.  

Her voice had a new edge. Something charged.

Not tenderness.

Curiosity.  

“Your body’s busted,” she said. “Some fractures. Blood loss. The shoulder… that’ll take me longer.”  

Andrew breathed. Or thought he did.  

She glanced down for a second, still.

“No witch has ever done what you did.”

A measured pause.

“Not like that.”

She looked at him, steady.

“Not even me.”  

“What you faced wasn’t the end. It was the first growl of something bigger.”

“Older.”  

Her voice stayed soft, no drama.

“Werewolves aren’t the worst things out there. Or the most organized.”

“There are others.”

“Quieter. More devoted. Older.”  

Andrew listened.

Anya didn’t explain.

She just sketched a dark outline, just enough to leave him uneasy.  

“And you… you’re not ready yet.”

Her eyes dipped, like she was about to say something she shouldn’t.

“But you will be.”

“I’m not planning on losing again.”

“Or letting them take this body.”

This bond.  

Anya took a step. Pointless in that mental space, but real in the gesture.

Her image stopped in front of him. Closer.

“We’re not the same.”

“And we’re not one.”

“But now… we walk together.”  

A heavy silence.

Not cold, not warm. Just weight.  

Andrew looked at her again.

This time, steadier.

“I’m gonna get stronger,” he said.

“For me?” Anya asked, with a spark in her voice that wasn’t there before.  

Andrew didn’t answer right away.

“Yeah. I wanna help you… help us.”  

Anya didn’t respond immediately.
But her gaze drifted down, slow, toward him.

Then she started moving.

Gliding like she didn’t touch the ground. Circling him. Slow. No rush.

No sound.  

Her fingers, cold and precise, brushed the air between them like extensions of her dress.
And then, softly, they touched him.

First his shoulder. Then his neck.

Then down his arm, with a light pressure.
Invasive.

Possessive.  

Andrew didn’t move.

But his skin shivered without permission.  

“You threw yourself into pain without hesitating,” she murmured, passing by his side. “Just to protect what matters to you.”

Her voice curled around his neck, though it didn’t touch him. The tone was soft, almost hypnotic.

“That’s… not common.”  

She kept circling.
Slow. Measuring him like a new weapon.
And when she was behind him…

Anya stopped.  

Andrew felt the pause before the contact.

And then… Felt her.  

The witch’s arms wrapped around him from behind, crossing over his chest. Her hands, cold, firm, rested just below his ribs.

Her body, taller, surer, pressed against his.

Not like a burden.

Like a mark. Andrew froze. Didn’t know what to do.

Didn’t dare speak.  

“You’re not alone anymore… Grime Soul,” she whispered, close to his ear.

“Even if it’s hard for you to accept.”  

He closed his eyes.

“I never was,” he said.

“Maybe not physically, but I’m the only one who knows what’s inside your mind… the darkness you hold.”  

She smiled, briefly resting her chin on his shoulder.

The air between them burned without heat.

“I like you better this way.”  

The silence wrapped them, heavy. The world, that mental space, started to tremble, like it was softly unraveling.

Anya released the embrace, unhurried.
Her hands slid down his arms as she pulled away.

One last touch, slower. Like signing something invisible.  

“Sleep a bit longer,” she murmured.

“We’ve got a lot of work ahead.”  

Andrew didn’t answer.

But for the first time… he wasn’t on guard. And as the darkness closed in again… He felt something following him.

Not a shadow.

A presence.