Page 132 of To Free a Soul
He could hear her, but his magic couldn’t penetrate the area due to the barrier. Somewhere far beneath the ground, a mana stone made the bottom of a deep pond grow bright green. It ensured the trees remained lush and healthy, but it also prevented Weldir from entering. She was unsure if that was intentional or not.
“Perhaps one day.”
Lindiwe didn’t need to pretend smile, as he was unable to see her through a scrying disc. She was away from his gaze here.
It might be why she often lingered a little longer than she should.
She was situated on top of a roof’s ridge, at the crest of the establishment. Verlem’s Hats, it was called, where head adornments were crafted and sold to fit all the varying horns, antlers, and ears.
It was the perfect perch for Lindiwe, as she sat with one foot up and on the edge, and the other dangling down. Her feathered hood was up, ensuring a quick transformation, and the trees surrounding the village allowed for minimal wind to billow her clothing around.
With a stern, watchful stare, she waited for the inevitable.
In the crowd, a Demon picked up a piece of jewellery from a cart merchant, and their touch disturbed the anchor. A Ghost appeared next to them, covered the sides of their head, and wailed. Everyone cringed or flinched, pulling away as the customer tossed the item back down in disgust.
Just as the attendant and customer began to argue, Lindiwe forced the shift. She dropped off the edge of the roof in her owl form, glided through the air, and landed in a nearby alleyway.
In her Phantom form, she was mostly ignored. She was just another Ghost among many that popped up here.
It was only when she turned physical and reached out to the discarded ring that she was looked upon warily. She stared at both the merchant and customer with a piercing, silent statement: don’t interfere.
“A human?” the customer snarled, raising his claws to grab her.
The attendant grabbed his arm to stop him. “Don’t,” she bit out. “That’s the Witch Owl.”
Lindiwe grabbed the ring, and the deceased human’s spirit came to life. The haunted one, a man, looked around and then screamed at his surroundings. Whether he knew he was dead or not, she didn’t know.
Already in her hand was a glass vial. She flicked her thumb over the cork to remove it, pointed it in the spirit’s direction, and he went quiet. He sighed, as if sensing she was there to aid him, and he was sucked inside without a fight.
“There. The ring is no longer an anchor,” she stated, respectfully placing it back down upon the leather table covering.
Pushing the cork back into the top of the vial, she turned incorporeal. They stared at her, their red eyes wide, until she faded into the crowd. Down an alleyway, she transformed into an owl and obtained herself a new perch.
A few Demons turned their heads up at her. Many shied away when she greeted their gazes, daring them to do something about her presence, while others glared back in distaste.
A charge crackled the air.
It was quick, like lightning flashing behind her, and it set her teeth on edge. The hairs on her arms and nape lifted at the disturbance, as if the air snapped with cold.
She’d never experienced anything like it.
Pushing off, she shifted into her Phantom form, turned in the air, and floated – whereas most would have fallen.
Who she saw made dread sink into her gut.
Jabez crouched with his hand swiping the air right where she’d been half a second ago.
Realising he’d missed her, he rested his forearms on his bent knees and balanced himself on his toes. He looked rather menacing as he stayed low. His long white hair was messy and haphazardly rested around his dark horns and ears. A few strands fell to obscure his left eye.
He was silent as he glared at her, his expression holding nothing but cold malice. He looked... deranged, in comparison to when she’d last seen him.
The dark circles under his eyes hadn’t existed before, and his hair was usually neat – sometimes even tied back. It was also odd to see him without a shirt on, as he just wore dark-crimson loose pants.
His markings have changed as well.
What used to be strange, runic symbols had changed into black streaks that went up his arms, sides, neck, and even into his hairline. It made his features appear sharper, demonic, and ruthless.
They didn’t hide that the young man she’d met centuries ago, who couldn’t have been older than nineteen, had to be at least in his mid-thirties now. He looked tired and indifferent to chaos.
