Chapter 8: Terror
Chapter 8: Terror
Oswin stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out into the night.
Behind him, Aria sat quietly in Fray's wooden chair, her legs tucked under her small frame. The chair creaked faintly as she shifted, cradling a steaming cup of black tea between her delicate hands.
They had been watching the distant fire for hours.
The flames crackled in the night, devouring the building from the inside out. Yet the fire refused to spread—burning only within the same four walls as if it were bound by invisible chains.
No firefighters.
No patrols.
No one coming to stop it.
Oswin's fingers tapped against his arm. His eyes stayed locked on the flames, mind turning.
"...They aren't coming," he muttered.
Aria glanced up from her cup, meeting his gaze for a second before giving a small, silent nod.
Oswin's brow furrowed deeper.
"That's not normal." His voice was low. "If the city's on lockdown, they'd want to stop fires... especially in the middle of the night."
Aria took a slow sip of her tea. The faint clink of porcelain against her lips was the only sound in the room.
Oswin's gaze flicked back to the burning building.
It should have spread by now. The neighboring houses were close enough for embers to catch—dry wooden beams, thatched roofs. In his old world, a fire like this would have consumed the whole street by morning.
But the flames stayed locked on that one building, flickering as if they were... alive.
"...It's almost like the fire knows where to stop." Oswin's voice came out quieter than he'd meant.
Aria's eyes flicked toward him.
He felt a small chill crawl down his spine.
"...Could it be the power of spirits?"
Aria's fingers froze around her teacup.
She didn't nod right away—just stared at him with those deep, quiet eyes.
Oswin shifted uncomfortably. He barely understood how spirit magic worked. The Bible of the Spirit King spoke about miracles—fire that only burned sinners, storms that struck down armies—if it was in his old world, he'd never truly believed any of it, but he had experienced the supernatural in this world first hand. Oswin was compelled to believe it.
He swallowed hard.
"Spirits... they can do things like this, can't they?" he muttered.
Aria's gaze lingered on him—then, slowly, she nodded.
Oswin's heart thudded in his chest.
A controlled fire...
A spirit's gift, gifted to humans for their prayers.
That meant someone had called to the spirits tonight. Someone had asked for that building to burn.
But why?
What was inside?
Oswin clenched his jaw, watching the flames dance.
He glanced back at Aria.
His throat felt dry.
Oswin had been diligently studying the two books he found in Fray's father's safe as well as the Bible of Spirit King. Though his knowledge of spirits and prayers was still shallow, he had grasped the basics.
According to The Bible of the Spirit King, Spirits were an inseparable part of the world, they served as subordinates of the Spirit King—governing the natural laws and elements that shaped the world.
According to the book Basic Violin and Understanding Notes, hymns were divine songs composed to please the spirits. If the spirits were pleased by the melody and sincerity of the song, they would not hesitate to grant small miracles—each miracle reflecting the quality and harmony of the music offered.
Hymns were divided into two types—temporary and permanent. A temporary hymn could conjure a ball of water and make it levitate, but the moment the song ended, the water would fall—its effect bound to the music. In contrast, a permanent hymn could create an entire bucket of water—real, tangible, and lasting indefinitely.
The concept defied everything Oswin knew about the laws of physics. The rules of mass and energy from his old world simply didn't apply here.
His eyes lingered on the flames flickering in the distance.
"Was someone out there... singing right now?" he murmured.
The idea unsettled him. If the fire was temporary, it meant a Musician was nearby, sustaining the prayer with an unseen song. But if the flames were permanent...
Oswin's mind turned to what he'd read—how higher-ranked Musicians could achieve permanent prayers without actively singing. Their songs could linger in the air, tying the spirit's power to the world itself.
He clenched his fists.
The fire had been burning for hours—calm, controlled, unwavering.
If it truly was a permanent prayer...
Someone had made sure that building would burn—long after the song had ended.
The thought excited Oswin.
He had been practicing songs from the book Hymns of Water Spirits for Beginners, but the exercises felt far too simple. After all, with the musical experience carried over from his previous life, Oswin was no beginner—far from it.
Every note, every rhythm, every breath... they came naturally to him. What others might struggle to grasp, he could replicate with ease. Yet no matter how flawless his songs sounded, the water never answered.
It was as if the spirits refused to even listen.
Oswin's eyes lingered on the distant flames, flickering in the night.
If someone could do this... why couldn't he?
Oswin was lost in thought when a flicker of movement caught his eye in the fire's light.
At first glance, it seemed like a small group of people chasing a lone woman down the street. But something about their movements was... wrong. Their steps were uneven—jerky—as if their bodies were fighting against their own limbs.
Oswin squinted, and his breath caught in his throat.
The figures weren't human.
Rotting corpses, their flesh riddled with gaping holes, staggered after the woman. Large patches of their bodies were covered in damp, green moss—thick and pulsing like something alive. The sickly stench of decay seemed to seep through the cracks of the window.
Oswin's heart pounded in his chest.
The woman stumbled, screaming for help, but no one answered. One of the moss-covered corpses lunged forward, its twisted fingers clawing down her back. Where its hand touched, dark green moss bloomed across her torn clothes and flesh—spreading like wildfire.
The woman shrieked in agony, collapsing to the ground as the moss burrowed into her skin.
Oswin's breath quickened. The corpses stopped—silent and still—as if waiting. They stood there as the woman writhed and screamed. Neither helping nor finishing her off.
Aria silently moved to the window, the teacup still in her small hands. Her wide brown eyes locked onto the scene below. For once, her calm mask cracked—horror flickering behind her delicate features.
Oswin couldn't move. They watched in frozen silence as the woman's screams faded into ragged gasps. Then... nothing.
Slowly, the woman pushed herself off the ground. Her head twitched to the side, neck crooked at an unnatural angle.
Without a word, she turned and joined the group—her limbs jerking with the same lifeless rhythm as the others.
Oswin's throat was dry. His legs felt like stone.
In a trembling voice, barely above a whisper, he forced the words out.
"...Let's go downstairs."
Aria's wide eyes snapped toward him.
"We'll lock the doors... block the windows…and move the furniture to block the openings too..if we get time… and hide under the table in Father's study."
Aria nodded slowly—her small hands shaking against the porcelain cup.
Neither of them needed to ask what they had just seen.
Here's a refined version:
Oswin and Aria hurried downstairs, their footsteps echoing through the dark house.
The doors and windows were already locked—a precaution against thieves—but locks alone wouldn't be enough. Without a word, they began dragging furniture across the room. Heavy wooden cabinets, tables, and chairs—anything they could use to barricade the entrances.
Their small bodies shouldn't have been able to move such weight so quickly. Yet fear lent them strength. The horrifying scene they'd just witnessed pumped adrenaline through their veins, pushing them far beyond their limits.
Aria's delicate hands gripped the edges of the chairs without hesitation, her face pale but focused. Oswin's breath came in sharp bursts as he heaved a chest of drawers against the front door, heart pounding in his ears.
By the time they finished, every door and window was sealed—hidden behind a wall of hastily stacked furniture.
Oswin wiped sweat from his brow, chest heaving.
Both supposed siblings were scared and terrified they hoped their last minute measure would stop those things even if they really wanted to get in.
But maybe... it would buy them time.
Oswin and Aria hurried to the kitchen, grabbing every large knife they could find before rushing upstairs.
Oswin's first stop was his room, where he retrieved the violin that now rarely left his side. Then, without hesitation, they moved to Fray's father's study—the most defensible room in the house.
Once inside, they began shifting furniture again. Oswin dragged the heavy bookshelves, using them to barricade both the door and the only window. Aria worked alongside him, her small frame moving with surprising strength fueled by sheer terror.
Then—just as they finished—came the sound.
A sudden, violent pounding echoed through the house.
Oswin froze. His breath hitched. It wasn't just one knock—it was many. As if multiple people were slamming their fists against the doors.
His heart nearly leapt out of his chest.
Fear loomed over them like a specter, but adrenaline surged once more, forcing them to move faster.
The safe that had once been hidden beneath the table was now gone, repurposed to support the bookshelf blocking the window. The table itself had been dragged into the corner of the room, flipped on its side and reinforced with more furniture—forming a crude shelter.
The two huddled inside.
Aria clutched a massive cleaver—one meant for butchering meat and crushing bones—her knuckles white against the handle.
Oswin, on the other hand, had his violin.
Bow poised. Fingers steady.
He was ready to sing—the most destructive song he knew of.