William looked worried at the unnatural event unfolding before him. It was likely stirring up old memories, a painful reminder of the loss of his wife and son.
"What happened?" Asher asked.
"Neighbors came, along with Thomas' brother, Frank. They're searching for him. They asked if we could help," Grandpa Will explained calmly, though his voice carried an undertone of worry.
"Let's help, then. He must have dozed off somewhere along the road, with how much he yells in his shop," Asher said, attempting to lighten the mood with a joke.
William simply nodded.
"Hmm, let's go out."
Asher glanced around his room and handed his grandfather a sturdy wooden stick—just in case. He wasn't sure if the situation was dangerous, but caution was always better than regret.
Stepping outside, they saw several villagers holding lanterns, their dim lights flickering against the dark night. Among them, Frank approached William, his face pale and filled with worry.
"Frank, what happened?" William asked.
"I don't know," Frank said, his voice strained. "Two hours ago, Thomas suddenly left his room without making a sound. I woke up to get some water and noticed he wasn't there."
Frank was a young man, no older than twenty-six, with an average build. He had spent years helping his brother run their small shop near the village's central tree. Now, he looked like he was barely holding himself together.
Asher listened quietly, standing to the side without interrupting.
"I'll check around his shop, then," Asher said after a moment. *It's strange for someone to just leave their home in the middle of the night,* he thought. Their village was small—only about two hundred people—and lacked the conveniences of the nearby city. Wandering around so late was unusual, if not outright suspicious.
As he turned toward the shop, he spotted Kit, a chubby boy around his age, stepping into the street. Kit, too, was searching for Thomas.
*That guy better not be hoping Meli will show up,* Asher thought, shaking his head. He made his way toward Kit.
"Asher, do you know what's going on?" Kit asked, glancing around.
"I know a little. Have you all searched the nearby areas?" Asher replied, yawning slightly.
"Yes, mostly. We just arrived after Mr. Frank knocked on our doors for help," Kit explained, tilting his head toward Frank, who was still talking with William.
"I told them I'd check the shop. Let's go."
"Alright."
There was a short pause before Kit hesitantly spoke. "Do you think—"
"No. Meli won't come. Why would anyone ask a young girl to come out at night?" Asher cut him off, his tone sharp.
Kit flushed in embarrassment. "Of course I know that, silver eyes! I was going to ask why you think Mr. Thomas is at his store."
Asher chuckled at Kit's flustered expression. "I don't know. He's probably just wandering around. I mostly said it so I could take a walk."
Kit sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. *This guy is useless,* he thought, regretting the conversation.
But before they could say anything more, a sharp gasp from the crowd cut through the air.
The murmuring voices fell silent. Asher and Kit turned toward the disturbance.
At the center of the village stood the ancient tree, the heart of their small community. It was an enormous oak, its thick branches stretching out like welcoming arms. But tonight, something was wrong.
Hanging from one of the lower branches was a figure wrapped in thick, snake-like vines. The moon's pale glow illuminated the scene, revealing the lifeless body of none other than Mr. Thomas.
Asher's breath caught in his throat. It was the first time he had ever seen a dead body.
"Oh my god… is that Mr. Thomas?" Kit's voice trembled.
Asher could only nod.
The vines coiled around Thomas' neck like a noose, their grip merciless. His fingers stuck out from between them, his nails broken and bloodied—a clear sign that he had fought desperately for his life. The night breeze rustled the leaves, making the scene all the more eerie.
Frank and William rushed over, their faces pale with horror.
Frank's knees buckled as he let out a gut-wrenching sob. His only family—his brother—was gone. William's expression twisted in grief, his eyes reddening.
The village chief, Mr. Baker, stepped forward, his movements slow and heavy. His voice, though firm, carried the weight of sorrow.
"We should burn his body soon," he said grimly. "If it was suicide, there's a chance he might turn into a ghoul. We can't risk it."
The words were harsh, but necessary. Everyone knew the dangers. If someone died with unresolved grief, their body could become cursed, transforming into a creature of eternal suffering.
As the villagers carefully cut Thomas down from the vines, Asher stared at his purpled, broken fingers. The more he looked, the more uneasy he felt. The struggle marks were obvious.
This wasn't a suicide.
Cries of sorrow filled the air as Frank wept uncontrollably. No one tried to stop him. He had lost everything.
"How could this happen so suddenly?" Kit murmured, watching as the villagers prepared a pyre to burn the body. "Mr. Thomas was working energetically just this morning."
Asher turned to him, his voice unsteady. "I… don't know. All we can do is pray that his soul finds peace."
"I'll meet you later for the burning. I just… I need to rest," Asher said, rubbing his arms. His whole body was shaking. The possibility that this wasn't a suicide—*that someone had killed Thomas*—was weighing on him.
Kit gave him a concerned look but nodded. "Alright. Go rest."
To Kit, Asher was still a kid—mature, maybe, but still inexperienced with the darkness of the world. Losing his memories hadn't changed that.
Asher walked toward his grandfather, who sat on a wooden chair near Mr. Baker, away from the crowd.
"Grandpa Will, I need to talk to you." Asher hesitated. "Can you come here for a moment?"
William glanced at Mr. Baker before standing up and following Asher to a secluded corner near one of the houses.
"Grandpa, I don't think Mr. Thomas killed himself." His voice was hushed but firm. "His fingernails were broken and turned purple—it's a clear sign of struggle. What should we do?"
William's face paled slightly. He knew Asher had sharp eyes. If he noticed something was off, it was worth investigating.
"I'll inform Baker. But don't tell anyone else, not even your friends," William instructed before hurrying back.
Asher sighed in relief, sitting down on the ground. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
*Even if Grandpa tells Baker, we can't stop the cremation now.* Calling the authorities would take days in such a remote village, and Thomas' body couldn't be left to decay. Without a priest to preserve it, the risk of him turning into a ghoul was too high.
"This is a mess," Asher muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Meanwhile, William sat beside Baker and spoke in a hushed tone.
"My grandson thinks Thomas didn't commit suicide."
Baker stiffened. "What?" His voice was a little too loud, drawing a few glances from nearby villagers. He quickly nodded to them in reassurance before turning back to William.
"Yes, you heard correctly. Asher noticed the signs—Thomas' nails were broken, his fingers bruised. I checked before coming to you. It's true."
Baker clenched his jaw. "Even if that's the case, what can we do right now? Telling Frank is out of the question. That boy has already lost everything. I won't add to his misery."
"I've told Asher to keep quiet about it. He's a smart kid; he won't spread it," William assured him.
Baker exhaled heavily. "We'll investigate tomorrow. For tonight, we leave it alone. The village is already shaken."
His eyes flickered toward Asher, who sat in the corner, deep in thought.
Changing the subject, he muttered, "You took Asher to an awakened medic, didn't you? Did you find anything?"
William hesitated, licking his lips. "No results. The awakener said his brain has no signs of tampering or injury. It's as if he never had any memories to begin with."
He clenched his fists. Asher was his only family now. And he would protect him—no matter what.