Spirits

I leaned back in the chair, staring up at the wooden ceiling as I thought through my situation.

My routine would have to change now that I was living in the graveyard.

Mornings would start with inspecting the graves—making sure nothing was disturbed and that no signs of undeath were present.

Some bodies had been accumulating at the church, waiting for proper burial, so I would likely have to dig graves soon.

After that, I needed to visit the village. I'd have to buy food since there was nothing here.

Bread would be the cheapest option, but I needed something else if I wanted to keep my strength up.

Perhaps I could find a way to get meals from the church, but I had to be careful—I didn't want to overstep any unspoken rules.

Evenings would be the quietest part of the day, which was both good and bad. It meant time for studying—prayers, rites, the history of the Goddess of Life—but it also meant time alone with my thoughts.

And that thing I had seen during prayer… would it return?

I tapped my fingers against the table. There were things I needed to avoid.

First, I couldn't draw too much attention to myself. The church had already distanced themselves by giving me this house.

I didn't know if it was out of caution, fear, or simple practicality, but either way, I needed to act normal. No strange questions, no unnecessary risks.

Second, I had to be wary of the inquisitor. If they were coming here, it wasn't just for a routine check.

They were coming because of me. That meant I had to be careful with my words, my actions—everything.

Lastly, I had to control whatever was happening to me. I didn't know if it was a curse, a vision, or something else entirely, but I refused to let it take over.

I hated being controlled. If something was inside me, trying to use me, then I would rather destroy it with me than let it win.

I exhaled sharply, standing up from the chair. There was a lot to do, and even more to think about. But for now, I needed to get through the night without losing my mind.

I hadn't paid attention to my own reflection in days. Maybe even longer.

There were no mirrors in the gravekeeper's house, and at the church, I was too busy with prayers, studying, and handling bodies to care about how I looked.

It wasn't until I passed by the window and caught a faint, distorted glimpse of myself that I even thought about it.

At first, I ignored it. But something about the way my reflection moved didn't sit right with me. I leaned closer, using the dim evening light to make out the details.

Then I froze.

What I saw wasn't me. Not exactly. My face wasn't there—it was like a sketch, a blurry, shifting mass of lines and smudges, as if someone had drawn a vague representation of a person but never finished.

!?

My heart pounded. I stumbled back, nearly knocking over a chair. My breath came in short bursts as I stared at the window, willing the image to make sense.

I blinked.

And then, suddenly, it changed.

A different face looked back at me—this one solid, real. It was still unfamiliar, but at least it looked human. Black hair, slightly messy, with an odd shade of blue streaked through it under the light. My features were sharper than I remembered. My body was taller—I was taller. I had been around 175 cm before, but here, I was at least 185 cm. My frame was lean, but stronger. The kind of body built from hard labor.

I raised a hand to my face. It moved in sync with the reflection, but it didn't feel like mine.

"This isn't me…" I muttered.

But the moment the words left my lips, something in the back of my skull twisted.

A dull, sickening throb spread behind my eyes, as if something was trying to push forward from the inside.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the edge of the wooden table for stability. When I opened them again, the face in the window was still mine. The same unfamiliar, yet now real version of me.

I swallowed hard. Was I hallucinating? Had my mind finally cracked after everything that had happened?

I turned away from the window, shaking off the lingering unease. I didn't have time to lose myself in thoughts of identity.

There were more pressing concerns—like surviving whatever was coming next.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself. Whatever just happened—I needed to understand it.

If my reflection had changed, did that mean something about me had changed too? Or had I just not been seeing myself properly this entire time?

I turned away from the window and focused on my eyes—my vision. I hadn't had time to assess it since that moment in the church, when my mind was nearly overwhelmed by something I still couldn't explain.

But now, alone in this small house, I could test it properly.

I closed my eyes, then slowly opened them again.

At first, nothing seemed unusual. The world looked normal—old wooden walls, dim candlelight, the simple furniture in the room.

But when I focused, when I really paid attention, I started to see the faint traces of colors.

Colors that shouldn't be there.

They were hazy at first, like a distant shimmer in the air. When I moved my hand in front of my face, I could see them shift—subtle hues lingering on my fingers, disappearing the moment I tried to focus on them directly.

I reached out, fingers brushing against the empty space where the colors flickered.

Nothing. No resistance, no sensation. It was like trying to grasp smoke.

I tried again, this time pressing my palm flat against the table, as if I could force the colors to react. Still nothing.

I frowned. If I couldn't interact with them physically, maybe… spiritually?

I straightened up, took a slow breath, and prayed.

I didn't direct my prayer to the Goddess of Life or any other deity—I simply reached out, willing whatever this was to answer me.

Silence.

The colors remained, unaffected.

I exhaled, disappointed but not entirely surprised. Whatever this ability was, if it was an ability, it wasn't something I could control easily.

It wasn't like aura, which warriors trained to manipulate. This was something else. Something tied directly to me.

I leaned back, staring at my hands. If I had been born with this in my previous world, I would have known.

So either this was something new, or something that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface, only now awakened.

But why?

And more importantly—what was it?

I stepped outside, inhaling the crisp early morning air. The graveyard was quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves and the occasional chirping of insects hidden in the tall grass.

A thin layer of mist clung to the ground, swirling gently around the gravestones as if it had a life of its own.

I let my gaze wander, finally acknowledging the strange vision I had ignored all day.

Now that I was paying attention, I realized I had already gotten used to it. The colors—those strange, shifting hues—were everywhere.

They lingered faintly around the old gravestones, flickered like dying embers on the trees, and clung to the air itself in places where the mist was thickest.

I narrowed my eyes. Some of the colors were faint, barely noticeable unless I focused, while others had a distinct presence—pulsing gently, like a heartbeat.

Was I seeing something?

I took a few slow steps forward, watching how the colors reacted. They didn't change when I moved—at least, not much.

But as I passed by certain gravestones, I noticed something peculiar. Some of the stones had no color at all, while others had lingering traces of it.

Were those the ones with lingering spirits? Or was it something else entirely?

I reached out, placing a hand on one of the stones that had the faintest glow.

It was cool beneath my fingers, solid and unyielding. The colors didn't react—no sudden shifts, no flickering changes.

So, physical contact didn't alter them either.

I exhaled slowly, letting my hand drop.

At least I knew one thing now—this wasn't some temporary hallucination.

This wasn't just in my head. Whatever this vision was, it was real.

And I needed to figure out what it meant.

I turned my gaze toward the far end of the graveyard, where the mist grew thicker, pooling around the crooked, weathered tombstones like a living thing.

There was something unsettling about that part of the graveyard, even before I had these eyes.

Now, however, it was different.

A deep, suffocating red pulsed in the air like slow-burning embers. It twisted and curled unnaturally, shifting as if aware of my presence.

The moment I laid eyes on it, a wave of dread crashed over me.

!!

My instincts screamed at me to run!

I took a step back. The color didn't move, but it felt like it was watching me, as if it had noticed my gaze.

Ba-dump! Ba-dump!

My breathing became shallow. I clenched my fists, trying to steady myself.

Was this a spirit? Or something worse?

The pressure was unbearable, like standing at the edge of a cliff with an unseen force pushing me forward.

I turned on my heel and bolted, feet pounding against the uneven dirt path as I put as much distance between myself and that thing as possible.

Only after I reached the safer side of the graveyard did I dare to stop and turn back.

The red light remained where it was, flickering like a dying flame, unmoving. It hadn't followed me.

I placed a hand on my chest, feeling my heart hammering against my ribs.

Whatever that thing was…

I was convinced now.

I could see spirits.