Chapter 7: A Voice from the Past

The spirit studied him, though it had no true eyes.

"You shouldn't have call me back"

The weight of those words pressed against Niko's chest, but he didn't let go. This was a test—not just of power, but of control.

He focused, sharpening the bond. The specter became more defined, its outline stabilizing further.

Not just a formless haze.

A man.

The remnants of a warrior's armor clung to his spectral body, dented and worn. A sword-hilt protruded from his side, its blade missing. His presence carried a feeling of unfinished duty, of something left undone.

A memory clawed its way into Niko's mind.

Not his own.

The spirit's.

A battlefield, drenched in fog and blood. Shouts of men long dead. A desperate oath made in his final moments.

"I was supposed to protect them..."

The words barely formed, but the feeling struck deep. The man's will had lingered in death, refusing to fade—but why?

Niko swallowed. "Who were you?"

The spirit hesitated, then—

"I don't remember."

A crack in the bond. The image shuddered, weakening slightly.

Niko clenched his fist. This wasn't like speaking with an echo in passing. Binding a spirit meant holding it, giving it stability, but also taking responsibility for keeping it from breaking apart.

What had been simple whispers before now required effort.

Energy bled from him like water slipping through cupped hands.

He was doing something dangerous. Something unnatural.

But he refused to stop.

Not yet.

"I can help you remember,"

Niko said, voice steady.

"But you have to stay."

The specter wavered.

Then, slowly, it nodded.

"I will remain… for now."

Niko let out a breath.

He had done it.

For the first time, he had fully stabilized an echo.

And now, he had to figure out what came next.

~

Niko sat motionless, the cold weight of the spirit's presence settling over him like mist rolling through a forgotten battlefield. The figure before him was no longer just a flickering wisp—it was anchored, clinging to the space between life and death with newfound strength.

The bond was thin, fragile, but it held.

For the first time, Niko could sense something beyond just words. The spirit's form, though indistinct, carried the weight of emotions long buried. A bitter ache of failure, the sharp sting of regret, and beneath it all, a dull, fading purpose that had kept it tethered even before Niko had reached out.

He swallowed hard.

"Do you remember anything else?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

The spirit's head tilted slightly. Considering. Searching.

"I was meant to stand… but I fell."

The words sent a strange shiver through Niko.

He could almost see it—a fractured vision at the edge of his mind. A fortress wall, crumbling beneath the weight of some unknown force. A blade, wreathed in pale fire, slipping from dying fingers.

Not his memories. The spirit's.

The connection pulsed, like a heartbeat beneath water.

Niko exhaled slowly.

"I can give you purpose again," he murmured. "But you have to trust me."

The spirit did not answer.

But it did not resist, either.

And that, for now, was enough.

Niko barely slept that night.

The spirit remained anchored, though silent, hovering near his room like a barely seen shadow. It didn't speak again, didn't react much, but it was there—more stable than any presence he had ever encountered.

It had no name. No memories strong enough to grasp.

But it was his now.

Or rather… his responsibility.

The realization settled uneasily in his chest. What had he actually done? He wasn't raising the dead—not quite. He had tethered something that should have faded, kept it here against the natural order of things.

And yet, it had wanted to stay.

Could he do this with others?

Should he?

The questions weighed on him as he lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

Eventually, sleep claimed him, but his dreams were restless.

He woke to voices outside.

At first, he thought it was another dream, but the tension in the air told him otherwise.

He pushed himself up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and moved to the window.

The village square. A crowd had gathered.

His stomach turned. Something was wrong.

Without thinking, he grabbed his cloak and slipped outside.

By the time Niko reached the square, the tension had thickened into something almost tangible.

People murmured in hushed voices, clustered around a single figure standing in the center.

The hunter.

The same man who had come to his house days before.

His dark leather armor was damp with morning dew, and his sharp eyes scanned the gathered villagers with careful precision.

The moment Niko stepped closer, those eyes locked onto him.

A silence spread through the crowd.

The hunter tilted his head.

"You again."

Niko forced himself to stay still, to not let his nerves show.

"You came back."

The man took a slow step forward.

"There's a disturbance in this village."

His gaze flickered just for an instant toward Niko's shadow.

Niko's breath hitched.

The spirit.

It wasn't visible to the others, but the hunter… he sensed it.

Damn it.

The man exhaled sharply.

"You did something."

Niko didn't answer.

He couldn't.

Because the hunter wasn't wrong.

Something had changed.

And now, the world was paying attention.