When he woke, it was to murmured voices and soft lantern light. He blinked against the sudden bright harshness, lying down, he felt the rough blankets scratch his skin. Loen looked around with a squint seeing a ramshackle room, the kind he was not unfamiliar with. He turned to see a woman with a gentle smile looking at him, eyes lighting up seeing he was awake.

  "Hey, easy there," she said gently. Loen noticed her adorned in clothes that were patched, and the skin of her palms was rough as she held his smaller one. "We found you passed out in the outskirts... of the city."

  He struggled to remember for a moment, forcing a vacant expression. "I... I don't know... don't remember… I think I got lost," he murmured, voice hoarse.

  "Maria?" A man with a gray stubble entered the room, holding a steaming mug in one hand, and calling for what Loen assumed was the woman beside him. "Awake, boy? Do you remember your name?"

  "Edgar, at least give him time before you start interrogating him!" The gentle lady, Maria, smiled back to assure they didn't mean any harm.

  "Loen," he rasped out his name, chest heaving. "I—I... I don't remember how I got here."

  Yes. Tell them nothing… It wasn't the entity he carried, it was all him. His own mind. He was small, yes. Unremarkable, yes. Invisible only to those who lacked the patience to watch.

  "Drink. We will get something for you to eat, later. You'll need strength," he said, voice steady but uncomfortably gentle as he handed the mug to Loen, and the boy took it with slight hesitation. "You've been out cold for a whole day."

  "Thank you," he muttered, keeping his words vague, short and quiet. "I... I think I lost my way," he said softly, eyes cast down.

  The elder nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Did you get lost? We will help you get back to the city. For now, you rest, eat, and keep quiet. The world outside... it's not kind to people like us, but we will keep you get there."

  He did not respond, letting the illusion of a lost, weary boy hold. For now, he was just another refugee—quiet, unremarkable, invisible amongst the many. Loen left the room, deciding to see where he had ended up.

  The people did not look at him keeping to themselves instead. Some sat in groups, some indulged themselves in work to keep themselves busy. The safehouse was modest but well-fortified than he expected, and it even housed more people than he thought. He looked around to see the kind of people that were present, Some had faces lined with battle, eyes cautious but curious. Here, the refugees survived by staying invisible, moving carefully, helping each other, a fragile network of safety in a city dominated by predators in white robes. He would blend in just right.

  Outside the safe house, were camps made with little effort, just to keep sun, and rain out. It stood just at a distance that allowed the tiniest bit of Cathedral's spire to be seen through the dense fog.

  He exhaled slowly and let the blackened fold of his mind settle around him. The ritual... What was the purpose? How did they know about me? They knew because the city itself had told them. Loen's jaw tightened as he found himself in the grassy outlands, the city of Solthar now sat far in the horizon, he was far from the clawing reach of the disciples, yet it was only a brief respite. He stopped, realizing the entity inside him was listening, curling around his thoughts like smoke.

  He paused, letting the quiet stretch for a moment, before finally turning his steps back towards the refugee camp. By the time he reached the makeshift safe house, the soft glow of lanterns and the faint scent of cooking filled the air. The same woman, Maria, who he had seen upon waking up, gestured him to join with a smile. She treated him like a child, no warden of a demon, and for the first time in days, that simple anonymity felt like a small, precious shield.

  Eating slowly, Loen lowered his defenses slightly, settling at the table and observing. He studied the people without turning his head. Faces lined with fatigue, eyes sharp despite exhaustion. Hands scarred from labor, from fights, from years of scavenging. These people... they're fragile, yes. But they endure. He wondered how long they had been living in the outskirts of the Solthar city, far from any town even.

  One of the older members, Marrek, slammed his fist lightly on a battered table, alerting everyone within the camp. Pausing their dinner, they let the man have their attention as he spoke. "They don’t stop, they never do! We’ve held this house longer than they expected, but complacency will kill us faster than anything," he declared. "They've taken too much from us. Families, friends and children. We cannot wait for them to come knocking at the doors again. It's time to strike back or simply leave. How long do you people, cast out like heretics, intend to live while they sweep the outskirts?"

  "Marrek… how close? Are they scouting or…?"

  "Closer than we like," Marrek replied. Some began to exchange wary glances, clearly uncomfortable with his words, and some hushed whispers arose within.

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  "Then we move as we always have."

  "But where must we go?" A weary voice by the table asked.

  "They have already scouted the northern outskirts, we can move there—"

  "That's risky," another interrupts.

  There was talk of a wraith moving within the ranks of the Cathedral. Something sentient, and corrupting. It was strange.

  "Why would the Sun's Cathedral house a wraith?" Someone within the crowd questioned.

  Keeping his thoughts to himself, Loen said nothing as he chewed on the bland meal. It was warm, yet nothing special but Maria had given it to him with a soft smile, and he couldn't reject the kindness. A tugging at his consciousness halted him mid-chew. "It wants him. The boy... Sol. And you? What will you do? I thought we had a deal, master."

  It's true? He questioned in his head more to the entity, wondering if Sun's disciples were really insane enough to house a wraith.

  "Of course it's true!" It hissed in false frustration at Leon's obliviousness.

  Loen's jaw tightened. His own aim was still vague, a shadowy plan he barely acknowledged even to himself. Revenge, survival, secrecy? No, he hadn't decided. But the demon within him whispered constantly, venomous and urgent: "The boy! Get out, go find him, and when you do, kill him. Feed him to me, and you get what you want, just as I receive what I want!"

  Marrek's gaze flicked to Loen. "You're quiet, kid. You've been from Solthar city recently too? Then you must've seen them assembling patrols, haven't you?"

  Loen shook his head slowly. "I... don't remember much. I'm... just trying to survive, like the rest of you," he replied, gripping his spoon.

  Dinner ended with heaviness in the air, and the camp fell into silence again with the light summer rain tapping and the fire crackling the only sound. Outside, the Cathedral's bells tolled thrice in the distance, it was a faint sound and Loen had to strain his ears to hear it. He lied on the ground with only a thin layer separating him from the wet soil. His mind began to waver, recalling the ritual he had barely escaped from. The sensation was like drowning in shadows, the faint ringing of the bells now a cruel joke reaching his ears. He huffed, shutting his eyes tight to ignore each feeling, but sleep did not welcome him within it's gentle arms.

  Loen shivered, clutching the thin layer of earth as if it could shield him from the world, though he knew it could not. Every instinct screamed that the ritual had not ended, and that the Cathedral was making it's move once more. They would find him, where ever he hid, they would find him, even beneath the earth.

  Morning came rather sluggishly with a pale light cutting through the mist and washing over the camp, and he sat up again, his eyes burning with lack of rest. His head pounded after so much overthinking he had done last night. A few people greeted him with casual warmth, treating him like one of their own. And he joined them without hesitation, with doing mundane tasks that was hauling supplies, stacking crates, and performing any task that kept his hands busy.

  Loen helped carry supplies from a cart to the enclave's central fire. The people trusted him enough to let him do small tasks, but questions about his past were met with vague answers, or simply silence. As he stacked worn crates of food and tools, the entity stirred behind his eyes, whispering in intense waves. Choosing to remain here for a while longer. It was an uncomfortable peace, Loen shook his head slightly, focusing on the task he had been assigned with.

  "Not now," he muttered under his breath. Loen knew, the longer he ignored what was within him, the more aggressive it would become. Outwardly, he was just another tired fugitive helping the group survive. Inside, though, his thoughts wrestled with an unfamiliar duality.

  Later, outside the camp, a man in cloak arrived. His horse ceased running as it got closer. The elder greeted him with sharp eyes, and they exchanged a knowing look between them. The people gathered around seeing a newcomer, in Loen's eyes, but this man was not just anybody.

  "It is true that the patrols across the outskirts have increased," the man answered the elder, , getting off the horse. "We have attempted to divert there attention, but it won't be for long. We must move."

  "They’re sealing routes; the old tunnels, lifts, smuggler corridors. The Cathedral wants the city airtight before Midsummer Festival," another added.

  A silence fell, thicker than fear. They were cornered.

  "Lord Samael will be holding a ceremony near the outskirts at a noble estate, House of Veil," he spoke to the elder.

  "Why do you tell us this?" Edgar inquired.

  But the man simply sealed his lips shut, an unspoken answer.

  "We can't take the Sun's Cathedral head-on," Marrek said, grim. "We do not have the resources..."

  The lady stood next to him, holding her hands up to her chest, clutched together as if praying. Loen wondered, was she still believing even after everything she was going through.

  A young woman chimed in, her hands wringing nervously. "Do we really think a group like us can affect them? They're... less than human sometimes." Fear laced her words as she recalled her memories and encounters with the Cathedral. Their chilling tones when the disciples spoke, their fiery blades that would chew onto metal, incinerating everything and anything it touched, and then their ruthlessness with which they judged.

  "And so, we will not take on the Sun's Cathedral. We will interrupt their ceremony," Marrek spoke, "If we can do that, even that will be enough to send them a message... just to delay them..."

  "Are you crazy!?"

  "That's suicide."

  A sudden chatter arose among the people.

  "So is sitting here and waiting for them," Marrek retorted, anger coiling his tone. "We can do little to divert their attention, just enough until Midsummer ends, then we leave the city!"

  The elder did not agree, simply folding his arms and slipping into a deep thought. Loen listened quietly, keeping his expression neutral. The demon inside pressed closer, probing for a reaction. "You know how to do it. You can guide them, twist them... or simply waste your time here when you can be doing something more..."

  Later that night, as the people of the enclave slept under watchful eyes and makeshift barricades, Loen stepped outside. In the secrecy of the moonlit night, stared at the distant Cathedral spires, so pale and menacing beneath the said moonlight.

  Loen clenched his fists, exhaling slowly against the chilling air.

  "It has awakened."

  "What are you talking about?" He asked.

  "The thing they try to awaken, idiot."