When Orien got home, the first thing he learned from Wisp was that it wasn’t visible to just anyone. Apparently, unless the thing wanted to be seen, no one could catch a glimpse of it.

  “Boy, you’ve stayed out this late again? Hurry up and eat the dinner that your mother’s prepared for you. It’s been ready a while now.” That rough, slurred voice belonged to his father.

  The man who would drink liquor like it was water.

  ‘I’ve no clue how my dad’s body even gets hydrated when he drinks that much,’ Orien thought in passing.

  Orien never knew what to feel about him. Mixed feelings could barely describe it.

  His dad wasn’t rich, or clever with money, or even really respected in the community. He wasn’t super strong, a scholar, or admired like other kids’ fathers either.

  Ill-tempered, dishonest, spiteful, and… occasionally worse. Yet somehow, in all that mess, Orien still had a few warm memories that refused to die. Believe it or not, he wasn’t always a monster. This was even more true as Orien got older.

  Dinner that night felt a bit strained, though.

  The food was good, but the atmosphere felt like something had happened. He couldn’t help but notice that his mother kept her head down, silent while she ate.

  His father had already started drinking, so Orien didn’t need anyone to explain what probably happened.

  She’d gone and gambled again... and lost again.

  His appetite shriveled.

  ‘Why does he keep handing her the money he breaks his back to earn? She’ll take the beating and still do it again, just because she’s got a problem…’ He thought in frustration.

  “Why so quiet, Mom?” He asked. She moved her spoon around but didn’t answer.

  “Mom, why aren’t you-”

  Thud.

  The liquor bottle rested on the little table beside his father.

  “Orien. You know already, don’t you? What she’s done.”

  His mother rose from her seat and slipped away into the house. She didn’t want to hear the following conversation.

  “Then what about you, Dad?” Orien said before he could stop himself, “Why give her all your silver when you know where it goes?”

  “What, am I supposed to leave my work and run around doing everything myself? A man should rely on his own wife.”

  “Yes, but she-”

  “But what? You gonna handle it? Should I send you out instead? What happens when someone robs you or even kills you just for a handful of silver? Stop talking about adult matters. Focus on your studies.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Dad, I can do it.”

  “ORIEN!”

  The bottle smashed against the wall above him, and he flinched.

  “Go Inside. Now. Don’t make me act atrociously. I’m not in the mood.”

  Orien wordlessly slipped away to his bedroom where he sat down, then fell backwards onto his bed. His palm drifted to the side of his abdomen, where a thin scar along his side raised, looking jagged and ugly to him.

  He’d gotten it when his father sent him out to buy tools for his trade, a pretty simple errand.

  Two masked men cornered him, though.

  He wasn’t even aware that he was being robbed yet because of their peculiar white masks.

  They could’ve just taken the goods and gone, and they probably would’ve but then he grabbed one of them out of desperation, clawing at their robes.

  All he could think about was how much money it was that his father had given him, and that’s when the dagger slid into his side.

  Once. Just once, but it was enough to nearly kill him.

  He spent weeks recovering, and a doctor visited, one they couldn’t afford, yet his parents put themselves into debt anyway.

  He still didn’t know why he existed in a world where it felt like his parents were not ready for him, and he seemed to be more of a burden than help.

  His grades were only average, but it wasn’t because he was stupid... No, he simply didn’t care much about what they taught. Honestly… how was he supposed to focus when his home life was so upsetting and conflicting?

  “Wisp, come out,” he muttered, “Don’t talk about what happened earlier. Let’s talk about anything else.”

  A voice answered him from the void, “I actually don’t have to appear to speak, but I'll entertain you”

  The little ball of light floated out and they talked upstairs, voices low.

  “Why did you ask me to bring you away from the graveyard?” Orien asked. “You look like some kind of spirit. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable there? Unless you plan on haunting me or something.”

  “Haunt a talentless brat like you? Why would I waste my afterlife like that?” Wisp harrumphed, “I wasn’t just floating around by choice, I was more or less sealed there. Now before you get any funny ideas, when I say sealed, I don’t mean that I was sealed up by enemies for crimes or anything like that. I was restricted by the rites of my funeral. No one expects the dead to rise again, after all. So, there I found myself in a daze having just woken up after who knows how long. While I gathered my memories... instinctively I started to hum. That is the melody you heard and also... what felt most right for me to do. I’m still gathering my thoughts and memories.”

  Orien had never heard something more absurd than this and couldn’t help but feel a bit better.

  “It was beautiful, though.” Orien said, rolling onto his back and staring at what must have been Wisp’s face... or back. He still couldn’t tell, but he assumed Wisp was facing him.

  “Maybe you were a musician when you were alive... were you a part of musical traveling merchants perhaps?” Orien asked in a somewhat provoking manner.

  Wisp had no discernable expression, but Orien could feel the side-eye coming from him.

  “That earthquake wasn’t normal,” Wisp shifted the topic, “There’s heavy activity in the spiritual world. Everything’s scrambled. I can’t even make heads or tails of this even to describe it... not like a brat like you would get it, though.”

  “So the earthquake and your appearance… they’re connected?” Orien asked. “You’re a spirit but not an evil one.”

  “Who knows? Good or evil, why were you at the graveyard anyway? No friends?”

  Wisp seemed to have poked at a sore spot.

  “I have friends...” Orien muttered. “Sometimes I just need to be alone. It’s quiet there, no people to bother me”

  Another side-eye from Wisp, he ignored it.

  “We’ll talk about earlier, your family situation I mean,” Wisp said, “Just… later, not right now. My head’s too chaotic right now. Don’t assume that I’ll forget.”

  ‘Hmmm...’ Orien thought, a bit unwilling to talk about his family matters but he felt that it was inevitable if he was going to have this Wisp around him.

  ...

  Night, Pangaea’s Ancient Capital, Ruined Empire

  Far from Orien's room, across the immeasurably vast ocean and millions of miles of land, there was a deathly silent empire of rubble.

  Shoosh. A hand burst up through the debris.

  A dark silhouette with long black hair whipping wildly in the wind rose slowly into the air.