A silvery light flashed through the center of the cabin. Without a second thought, Freya drew her dagger and slashed at Lena's face.

"Crack!"

The sharp dagger, mingled with a fierce gust, left a deep gash on the ground. Yet, where Lena had stood was now empty space.

Freya, her back prickling with cold, scanned her surroundings warily. The warm glow of the campfire flickered from her strike, casting dancing shadows. She noticed Lena’s figure, peacefully asleep in Ashbourne’s arms.

“What’s going on?”

Freya stared at Lena, sensing an unusual eeriness. Despite the commotion, no one stirred, and the sentinel scream dust hadn’t reacted. She touched the back of her neck, finding it slick with cold sweat.

She pondered for a moment, then approached Rand, nudging him gently with her foot.

“Rand? Senior Rand?”

Her soft call elicited no response. Freya frowned at the deathlike sleep of Rand, a chill creeping into her heart. The cabin was eerily silent, save for the sound of breathing. Outside, the thick fog remained dense.

Suddenly, an idea struck her. She swiftly retrieved a small black pouch from her belt. Opening it, she peered inside. The golden sunlight powder had mostly turned a dark brown, showing signs of slow transformation.

“This…”

The change in the powder made Freya’s pupils contract. She immediately scattered the remaining powder around her. The golden dust, mixed with black, filled the cabin, slowly settling.

"Sizzle..."

A sound like electricity crackling emerged behind her. At the same time, a cold draft brushed her neck, like a tiny icy hand. The sudden sensation made Freya's scalp tingle and goosebumps rise. Without turning, she thrust her sunlight-coated dagger backward.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Ah!!!”

A scream, unique to a young girl, echoed from the point of impact. Behind Freya, a distorted figure writhed, a pool of black liquid slowly forming on the ground. As the liquid drained, the scream diminished and finally ceased.

Freya turned, feeling the inexplicable coldness fade, confirming her suspicion.

“A wraith…”

The black liquid reached her feet, igniting black sparks upon contact with the sunlight powder. She knelt, touching the liquid with her finger and bringing it to her nose. A pungent smell of blood and faint corpse odor emanated from it.

“Indeed, it’s malevolent…”

Feeling the cold on her fingertips, she quickly shook off the liquid. Working as an assistant in necromancy for so long, she was somewhat familiar with spirits. Spirits, formed from the essence of the dead, are typically unseen by ordinary apprentices. Only necromancers using specific methods can detect them. Most spirits are harmless, but some, driven by unresolved grievances, can carry strong obsessions, both good and bad, depending on their will in life.

“Generally, spirits retain their living appearance. So…”

Freya glanced at the still-sleeping Lena, growing more concerned. She cleaned the black liquid and dust from her dagger, then took out a small vial from her belt, its clear liquid sloshing gently. Uncorking it, she carefully poured the liquid onto the dagger before approaching Lena.

The vial, like the sunlight powder, was prepared to counteract necromantic energies.

“Spirits don’t lie. The truth is… this Lena is an impostor.”

Even though she didn’t know the impostor’s identity, it was clear the real Lena was dead, posing a threat to Freya.

Gazing at the Lena lookalike, Freya hesitated briefly. Then, with a powerful hum, she drove her dagger into Lena.

"Bang!"

The solid ground broke, and Lena’s body, cleaved at the waist, spilled blood and entrails everywhere. Ashbourne, deliberately avoided by Freya, was nonetheless splattered.

“It’s over…”

Though the others remained asleep, the fake Lena was undeniably dead.

Blood continued to spread as Freya stepped back, contemplating how to handle the corpse.

Then, a rustling sound came from the two halves of Lena’s body. The thick fog outside ceased its swirling, and a woman’s murmur emerged from it, sounding like a song or a whisper.

Freya, who had felt the crisis pass, now froze, a chill running down her spine.

"Creak"

The door opened.

She turned slowly, her dagger hissing as it corroded. The liquid on the dagger, reacting like strong acid, emitted a foul odor.

In her view, Lena, in a white dress and bare feet, stood at the doorway, her mouth moving, producing indistinct sounds.

"Rip"

A pale hand emerged from the corpse beside Freya. It was as if the body connected to some eerie tunnel. The hand was followed by a head and torso, and soon another Lena, in a white dress, stood before her.

A profound chill filled the room as the fire, obscured by the fog, slowly died.

Freya’s eyes widened, facing two identical Lenas, a crushing sense of dread enveloping her.