Taro's room was small but clean, a simple futon laid out on the polished wooden floor. The room's paper sliding doors were pushed open, letting in the cool night air and the pale glow of the moon. Taro lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling with an unreadable expression. His fingers twirled a pair of wooden chopsticks, flipping them over and over with a dexterity born from habit. The castle was quiet, only the faint murmur of distant guards and the rustle of leaves breaking the silence.
The moonlight spilled in, framing him like a phantom caught between worlds. And then, a familiar voice slithered into his ears, rich with its usual sarcasm.
"So, you really are trying to play the noble guard, huh?"
Taro's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. "Why are you here, Sayaka?"
The silver-haired spirit stepped through the open door, her ethereal body gliding over the wooden floor as though she weighed nothing. Her hair shimmered in the moonlight, its strands dancing like liquid mercury. She settled beside him, her head resting against his chest, fingers tracing idle circles over his robes.
"I'm here because I'm bored," she said with a pout, her voice all honeyed mischief. "And because I have information. But mostly because I'm bored."
"If you have something to say, then say it," Taro replied, his voice devoid of annoyance.
Her fingers continued their lazy dance over his chest. "You could at least pretend to be happy to see me, you know. After all, you're the only one who can."
Taro's fingers stopped twirling the chopsticks for a moment, then continued. "What did you find?"
Sayaka's playful expression faded, replaced by something colder. "The boy. He's been cursed."
The air grew heavy. Taro's eyes narrowed, his gaze finally drifting from the ceiling to meet hers. "Cursed?"
"A vengeful spirit," Sayaka confirmed, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "It's clinging to the poor child like a parasite. Its hatred seeps into him, poisoning his body and draining his life away."
Taro sat up, dislodging her from her comfortable position. "And you only tell me this now?"
Sayaka folded her arms, pouting. "I only just confirmed it. Besides, you're the one who dragged us to this castle. I was just planning to eat and enjoy the luxury for a while."
"I need to see him," Taro said, his voice low and cold.
"What, right now?" Sayaka raised an eyebrow. "I thought you'd at least let me finish speaking before you go charging off like an idiot."
"Sayaka." His voice held the weight of an order.
She sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. But don't blame me if things get messy."
Taro rose to his feet, his shadow stretching long and sharp under the moonlight. Sayaka followed, her expression now serious, the playful mask slipping away.
Moving through the castle was like threading a needle through fabric without tearing it. Taro's steps were soundless, his breathing steady, his senses sharp. Sayaka drifted beside him, her form more shadow than substance. They glided through secret corridors and unused passageways, places long forgotten by the castle's inhabitants.
"Did you know about these paths?" Sayaka asked, her voice light despite the tension in the air.
"No."
"But you found them anyway. Impressive."
"Stop talking."
Sayaka's lips curled into a smirk, but she complied.
It wasn't long before they reached the child's quarters. Taro slid the door open just enough to slip inside. The room was cold, the air thick and stale. Everything was meticulously clean, but there was something off about the place.
His gaze found the child lying on a futon. The boy's black hair was a tangled mess, his body thin to the point of fragility. His skin was almost translucent, veins etched like spider webs beneath the surface. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, the sound of life barely clinging to him.
Taro's eyes shifted to the corner of the room, where darkness pooled unnaturally. A creeping shadow, writhing and twisting like a mass of living ink.
"There it is," Sayaka whispered, her usual arrogance replaced by genuine unease. "That thing's been feeding off him for a long time. It's almost... comfortable here."
The shadow's presence was oppressive, like a sickness permeating the air. It twitched and quivered, as if aware of Taro's gaze. And then, all at once, it lunged.
A scream tore through the air, but it wasn't a sound that could be heard by anyone else. It was a mental howl, a blast of raw, unfiltered hatred that lashed out at both Taro and Sayaka.
Taro's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, but he didn't draw it. Not yet. The spirit's fury was like a tidal wave crashing against him, but he stood firm. His eyes locked onto the shadow, unyielding.
"Enough." His voice cut through the air like steel.
The shadow recoiled, its form shuddering before it melted back into the darkness, vanishing as though it had never been there.
Taro's chest heaved, his muscles tensed from the strain of holding his ground against the malevolent presence. Beside him, Sayaka looked genuinely rattled.
"Well, that was unpleasant," she muttered, her hands trembling slightly. "If it hadn't kept its scream directed only at us, the entire castle would've woken up."
"We're leaving," Taro said curtly, turning away from the child's bed.
They slipped out of the room as silently as they had entered, their movements fluid and precise. They continued until they reached a hilltop, where an ancient tree stood, its branches reaching out like twisted fingers. From there, they had a clear view of the castle, the moonlight casting its imposing silhouette against the darkened sky.
Sayaka stretched, her expression relaxing now that they were far from the cursed child's quarters. "So, now you know. That thing's going to keep feeding on the kid until there's nothing left of him."
"I know." Taro's gaze remained locked on the castle. "And I'll get rid of it."
Sayaka snorted. "Bold claim. But I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe you'd try something ridiculous. Just try not to die, alright? I'm fond of you, even if you are a stubborn idiot."
Taro said nothing. His fingers twitched, still feeling the cold chill of that twisted presence. Whatever the spirit was, it would not be easy to destroy. But he had made his decision.
Tomorrow, the week long hunt would begin.