As the rooster crowed itself hoarse at dawn, Maila woke up to a sight that would make the dead take a second glance and question their own state. Monk John’s disappearance still weighed heavily on her mind, a constant reminder impossible to push away. However, her concern wasn’t solely his absence but rather what he carried with him: the Moonstone, a material that would make even stones ashamed to be called such. Her thoughts also drifted to the little goat kids, and she felt regret creeping up.

"I should have named them Johan 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6," a murmur escaped without her permission.

Maila retrieved the Spirit Deck, an unassuming object that hid the world's mysteries, revealing them only to her.

The two boxes, identical in shape, had simple contrasts that set them apart: one lighter than light with a warm embracing aura, the other darker than darkness, yet not overwhelmingly so, but enough to feel a certain energy through its delicate frame.

"I've mastered creating them, and now that they're full, it's better to wait for the right time to make more," Maila thought.

How long she had served the Spirits was forgotten, like her childhood, memories that tasted of bittersweetness. Only Anya’s face remained a haunting reminder. Suddenly, Maila recalled the book from yesterday’s visit and retrieved it from under the bedside table. Its edges were worn, its cover giving up, seemingly ready to bury itself.

“Are you the Book of the Gods?” a whispered hope escaped Maila’s lips.

Carefully, her fingers opened the cover, greeted by a blank page, as expected. The next pages were blank as well. Page after page, all blank. It was unspeaking, but Maila felt no disappointment; this was precisely the type of book that captivated her. A smile spread across her lips. She retrieved the Moonstone box from her Space, which housed dust from the first shooting stars and a Moonstone from the first moon. With bare fingers, she sprinkled the dust carefully over a random blank page in the book. The dust crawled across and settled like a thin blanket. She waited. And waited.

Suddenly, the dust danced, leaped into the air, and dove into the page, absorbed by it. Maila waited again. Only as the sun began to paint the sky with its undulating rays did the blank page in the book finally react. Maila gently clasped the Moonstone in her palm, its form seeming larger than the largest celestial bodies in the sky's tapestry. With the Moonstone cradled in her hands, she began to work carefully and precisely across the blank page. A warm yet cold glow emanated into the room, noticeable enough for Kenta to feel it, though it didn't disturb his sleep. Once finished, Maila wrapped the Moonstone back in its soft cushion within the Moonstone box. She blew gently on the page, causing small shooting stars to shoot out, creating a wondrous display of natural colors. Slowly, text began to form on the page.

"Fuck off."

Maila's face contorted in surprise, her lips and forehead struggling to keep up.

"What the hell!" she exclaimed, her voice hoarse enough to furrow the brow of even the eldest man in the room.

"So you're hiding. But who are you?" She asked, feeling a heavy weight lift from her heart, allowing herself to smile again.

With an elegant sweep of her hand that would make a master envious, she collected the star dust back into the box, which bid farewell with a hopeful glow.

In the backyard, Maila ensured the book was sent off in good condition, adorned with a splash of the finest excrement from Jade Silk Worms and accompanied by a unique prayer: "Fuck off."

Before heading to her shop, she let the Spirit Cards predict her day—a ritual she turned to when her thoughts weighed heavily. This time, it was the dark box’s turn: An amateur drawing of thick, fresh olive-colored vines, delicate leaves, and small, white flowers as beautiful as Snow Foxes, all intertwined to form a ring: The Wheel of Karma.

"Ugh, Karma," Maila muttered, as if she could already taste its acidity. "If I don’t visit my shop, it’s bound to happen."

And so, Maila set off towards The Healer Shop.

There, she was greeted by the adorable Vivian with a pressing question.

"Maila, when are you making more perfumes?" Vivian asked suddenly, staring at the empty shelf where the perfume bottles once stood—now bare, their emptiness speaking volumes.

"Uh… I haven’t thought about it yet. My time is precious," Maila replied as she moved towards the counter.

It was only a small lie, requiring a personal touch and willpower. A dry cough interrupted her.

Maila's hand barely touched the awaiting counter before the door swung open with a loud bang—a reminder that it needed proper attention soon. Standing there was the same elegant gentleman from yesterday: Detective Liam, his eyes stubborn and his smile hinting at having seen something he shouldn’t have.

"Has Lord Hell not taken him yet?" Maila thought, attempting to make herself discreet, though her presence thwarted invisibility. Detective Liam's piercing gaze felt like the next obstacle, her hand instinctively moving to shield herself.

"Wait, Miss Maila. Let me speak first. Can I invite you for a cup of coffee?" Detective Liam asked, his voice firm with determination.

Maila met his gaze, noting the eyes that held secrets she wasn't eager to uncover. Despite his appearance that might make other women swoon, her heart remained unmoved.

"I don’t drink coffee, unfortunately. Why don’t you invite that lovely person sitting out there instead? They look a bit lonely." She gestured vaguely towards the large window, framing a charming bench. However, its occupant seemed to defy the picturesque setting, making it regret its existence. Unfortunately, it remained too proud to quietly disintegrate.

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The man guzzled his beer as his eyes lingered on Maila, though their gazes never connected. Disappointed, he persisted in trying to catch her eye, but still without success.

Vivian, unable to contain her curiosity, glanced discreetly at the window, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "Yes, she could definitely use a coffee... or a miracle cure," she muttered.

"Why do you keep rejecting me? I thought you helped people in need," sighed Detective Liam deeply, his gaze still fixed on Maila. He knew well the person sitting outside, with whom the police station had a history.

Vivian approached him hurriedly, addressing him directly. "Mr. Detective, before asking Miss Maila for help, you should understand what she requires. Everyone knows that."

Detective Liam's brow furrowed as Maila sensed a familiar blend of sweetness and bitterness, sighing deeply in response. She explained the workings of her shop and concluded firmly, "I help those I choose, and I care little for your methods. The law is corrupt, and even an idiot can see that."

Just as she was about to bid him farewell, the door slammed open once more. In walked a young man with chestnut hair tied elegantly in a ponytail, eyes sparkling like caramel, skin smooth as marble. His simple yet striking suit made Maila ponder his age.

The man smiled warmly, exuding charm that could melt anyone's resistance. "Ah, so you are Miss Maila. Pleasure to meet you. I am Detective Ezekiel from the local police."

His gaze swept around the shop, finding it empty of customers or curious onlookers, so he got straight to the point. "We have a troubling case we can’t crack. Women are dying mysteriously while heavily pregnant, their bellies torn open."

He placed a photograph on the counter: a woman lying on her back, thankfully intact this time, her stomach so grotesque that butchers might reconsider their trade and surgeons blink too many times.

Maila felt her heart sink rapidly. Vivian also edged forward, but Maila's keen senses halted her halfway. She bit her lip, eager to interject, but Detective Ezekiel spoke again abruptly. "I know it sounds unbelievable, but rumors suggest these women claimed they were impregnated just by a glance from a man before their demise."

Maila tasted bitterness, sourness, and a hint of sweetness—emotions long dormant—as thoughts of Anya surfaced.

"The Book of God. Could the perpetrator possess it?" she wondered, her gaze fixating on the photograph, noting a seemingly insignificant mark on the forehead that held particular meaning to her.

"Why didn’t you get straight to the point, Detective? Why omit his abilities? Where did you find her? Are there more victims? Where are they?" Maila demanded.

Detective Ezekiel’s eyes brightened, responding promptly, "Let’s discuss this in private."

In a small room at the police station, six pairs of eyes gathered. Despite the large glass window, Maila felt the weight of unseen gazes, curious about her involvement. The case of the missing pregnant women had stretched over two full moons, embarrassing enough to be hushed up, with discreet attempts to jumpstart the investigation.

"My skills lie elsewhere, and my time is precious," Maila asserted, reminding the detectives of her terms once again.

Her tea cup reflected a face she didn't recognize, the bags under her eyes a testament to her weariness.

The detectives offered a book in exchange for her assistance, but Maila had just received a book. Though she served the Spirits, she had no taste for greed. She suggested an alternative.

"I need help finding someone who has mastered the art of disappearance. Can you help with that?" she asked.

"A master of disappearance?" Both detectives exchanged a glance. In their lexicon, a master of disappearance was an enigma, but Maila sat before them—an individual without a conventional background, yet rumored to possess extraordinary abilities.

"We'd like to assist you, Miss Maila, but tracking someone who has mastered disappearance isn't within our methods. Not even the Holy Church concerns itself with such figures. You understand how they operate," Detective Liam explained, his expression prompting a giggle from Maila.

"It was a figure of speech. He’s not a magician, just a monk with a title. Yet, even with that title, the Spirits do not favor him," She clarified, encouraging them to continue.

"Very well. The victims become heavily pregnant the day after encountering the perpetrator. Their loved ones have confirmed it. Have you been following the reports about these miracles and the pregnant women?" Detective Liam queried.

Maila shook her head, responding candidly, "News doesn’t interest me anymore. I find more meaning in interpreting the wind’s howls during storms or the sun's rays on cloudy days. You can manipulate images so much that sometimes I doubt my own gender when I turn on the TV. My shop demands more of my attention."

It wasn’t entirely untrue. When it was just Maila and Vivian in the shop, there was always plenty to do.

"Since Spirit Essence emerged, it has turned our world upside down. The culprit must be someone like you," Detective Liam asserted firmly.

Being lumped together with a criminal left a bitter taste in Maila’s mouth. "So, what exactly do you expect me to do? I’m not trained in combat."

"You magicians must have some connection through Spirit Essence," Detective Liam continued, pointing at her with a straight finger that would make a straight line look crooked. "That’s where your expertise comes in."

"Stop referring to us as 'you.' We're human," Maila retorted, feeling a wave of nausea. The term 'magician' felt like a shackle.

"What will happen if we catch him?" she inquired.

Detective Ezekiel's smile widened, outshining the sun. "Then we proceed. Master Manh gifted us a talisman that can capture the perpetrator."

Maila doubted a simple talisman from a Shaolin monk would suffice, but time would tell. Her primary concern lay with apprehending the criminal.

The detectives were already investigating, though progress was slower than a snail crossing a scorching asphalt road on a summer day. They had a lead they were optimistic about, but they needed Maila to confirm it.

"So, you're to be the bait, Miss Maila," Liam concluded with a smile so radiant it seemed to darken the light around them.

Maila politely declined, but the idea of the perpetrator's abilities stirred a tingling sensation in her heart. She wondered if there truly existed someone whose gaze could be lethal. A shiver ran down her neck, confirming her suspicion. To dismiss her uncertain thoughts, she instructed the detectives to prepare for the worst.

"We're already well-prepared. If you have any rituals or preparations to make, go ahead. We leave in an hour," Liam responded, downing his coffee with such speed that even a magician would applaud, perhaps earning him a spot in the Onmyoji Council.

With the detectives gone, Maila was left in confusion, a single thought echoing in her mind.

"I am no shaman," she thought bitterly, her face contorting into a grimace.