"Master, she's coming."

Mal's hiss fell silent as the girl emerged from the shadows, venturing into the third level where none had dared to go. Ever since the children had gathered in Peklo Forest, rumours about the cursed third level had spread like wildfire. Some claimed that even the Order didn’t know it existed. Nessa had spoken of Aziz, but a month in, many dismissed her tales as nonsense, saying Aziz was nothing more than a figment of fear, a ghost that never existed. Those who had glimpsed him before he vanished into the forest whispered that the ghost of the pits had died long ago and now haunted the woods.

The rumours swirled, gaining traction no matter how hard Aziz tried to remain hidden. It didn’t help that Nessa seemed intent on pushing the narrative, warning others that those who wandered into the tunnels would face the Ghost—a man with demonic purple eyes, hair as long and dark as night, roaming the halls. Aziz wasn’t sure what to make of her. She clearly knew he lived in the pits, but why was she helping him? Nessa worried him, but right now, there was another woman who required his attention.

This girl, however, had broken the unwritten rule of Peklo Forest. She had descended into the forbidden level, the torch she had carried now extinguished, leaving her to trace her trembling hand across the stone walls as she stumbled down the dark corridor like a blind beggar.

"She's easy prey, Master," Mal hissed, irritated that someone had interrupted his feeding time.

"Patience, Mal. It's clear she came here with a purpose. What fool would walk straight into oblivion without reason?" Aziz mused, recalling the teachings of Master Xiang. "Let’s find out what drives her to face the night."

"As you say, Master."

Cloaked in Shadow Steps, Aziz walked silently beside the whimpering girl, studying her with quiet amusement as she swivelled her head, straining to see anything in the darkness. She was short, barely reaching his chest, her round, puffy cheeks flushed with fear. Her appearance spoke of indulgence, the kind that only wealth could afford. Clearly, her parents hadn’t denied her much, leaving her far from the comforts of home and into a world she wasn’t prepared for. From her posture, Aziz could tell she wasn’t nobility like Nessa but rather the daughter of a wealthy merchant.

"A suitable meal," Mal chirped.

A soft chuckle escaped Aziz, unable to contain himself. The girl yelped at the sound, losing her balance and falling onto her back. She looked around frantically, trying to pinpoint the source of the laughter. Here was someone completely at his mercy. He could do anything he wanted.

Should I just kill her? There it was again, that callousness.

It reminded him of how the mercenaries who had taken Mal and him must have felt. To have someone entirely at your mercy made you a god. You could do whatever you wanted. But was it wrong? Why? Why was it wrong? What made a human life valuable enough that the very thought of crushing it was intolerable?

As the girl scrambled to her feet, pressing her back against the wall, whimpering and muttering prayers to whatever god she believed in, Aziz found himself grappling with the question. He wondered if Master Xiang might have had an answer. But the truth was, such thoughts were not for the weak. If he wanted to explore such profound ideas, he would need to become stronger. Much stronger.

His musings were interrupted when the girl’s pleading voice reached him, her words causing him to pause mid-step.

"Please, Mister Aziz. If you’re there, please—" Her voice wavered, teetering on the edge of despair. "—goddamn it, what am I doing..."

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She slid down the wall, her tears tracing paths across her plump cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Marcus. I'm so useless. Forgive me, Marcus..."

The mention of Marcus made Aziz revaluate the situation. Marcus? He remembered that boy—the one unable to speak, with the sharp eyes who had seen through him.

"Why are you here?"

Aziz’s voice crackled through the darkness, reverberating off the walls as if it came from everywhere at once. The girl froze, her eyes wide, searching the shadows for the ghost she believed was haunting her.

"I won’t ask again," Aziz said, his tone growing stern, his patience thin.

"So—I mea—sorry, I—" she stammered, her words tangled in her fear.

Aziz sighed, calming himself. "What do you want, girl?"

"Marcus. He said you could help," she replied, her eyes darting nervously around. "You are Aziz, right? The Ghost. You’re real—"

"Why would I help him? We don’t know each other. Did you come here to waste my time?"

This was absurd. Marcus and he had hardly spoken; if anything, Aziz had assumed Marcus disliked him. The boy wasn’t stupid—there had to be more to this.

"The King’s Guard have taken him. Roof says Marcus stole food from the storage, and they’re going to execute him! You have to help!" Her voice gained strength as she pleaded for her friend’s life. "It wasn’t his fault, it was mine. They wouldn’t give me food, saying I had been fed better than all the others, and I told Marcus I was hungry, so he wen—"

She choked on her words, her guilt evident as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"What kind of nonsense," Mal hissed.

This is ridiculous, thought Aziz. This girl had ventured into the pits because her friend had stolen food to sate her gluttony, and now she was here to beg for that friend’s life.

"How do you know who I am?"

"Marcus said you stay away from the others. Says you don’t have any friends—"

Mal hissed loudly at that comment, the sound causing her words to freeze in her throat. Human instincts, honed over thousands of years, recognized the sound of a snake. Her eyes widened in terror as she tried to press herself further into the wall.

"The boy is mute," Aziz stated, letting her previous remark slide. He needed only one friend, and that friend was currently on his shoulder, ready to strike down the pitiful girl in front of them.

She nodded, her voice trembling. "Yes, but he speaks in symbols. I do too. My mother was like him. That’s probably why he stuck with me."

"Master, let’s just get rid of her and go to the temple. I’m hungry." Mal’s impatience was growing, his irritation seeping into Aziz’s thoughts.

Sensing she was losing her chance, the girl quickly added, "Marcus said you might help if there was something you wanted."

"What could the mute boy possibly have that I would want?"

"A black pill."

That was new. Aziz had never heard of such a thing, but if Marcus thought it could persuade him, then it was worth considering.

"What is this pill you speak of? And be quick—my patience is wearing thin."

"It’s a pill that enhances martial artists with black internal energy. It helps them break through in their training. Marcus says you’re the only one he’s ever seen with dark energy and has no use for it himself. You're actually a martial artist right? I couldn't believe it when I heard it after all Marcus said you weren't from a noble family. Nobody knows who you are but still everyone reaches a bottleneck. He said a black pill could strengthen the body of a martial artist with dark internal energy," the words tumbled out of her mouth fast, wanting to say as much as possible that might convince the person before her.

The mute boy could see his internal energy? Interesting. Was that why Marcus had attacked him during their first encounter? Was black internal energy considered evil? Aziz wasn’t sure. He wasn’t a noble, educated in the ways of the martial world. His knowledge came from the masters of the Bloodcoil Sect, men who had lived centuries ago. Who knew how much the world had changed since then? But a black pill... that was something he couldn’t ignore. If it was real, it would be a great find. Maybe enough so that he could actually learn from Master Bao. In the past when he even tried to comprehend Master Bao's techniques, his internal energy would implode leading him to be immobile for hours. The reason was his flesh. It couldn't handle the movements required. If he could strengthen his body...

It was too good to pass. If Marcus was lying, he would pay dearly.

No. The girl would die first. Then Aziz would kill Marcus.

"What is your name?" he asked, his voice cold and detached.

Her shoulders sagged in relief, as if his question was a promise of her survival. "Delilah, sir."

"Where is Little Marcus, Delilah?"

"I can lead you to him."

"Good. Then move," Aziz commanded, absently stroking Mal’s chin, his mind already focused on the potential of the black pill. You’d better not be lying, Little Marcus.