Chapter Nineteen: A New Member

Vade gently touched his intact ribs, and with his left arm, unfastened the melon-headed hammer tied at his waist. Apart from a bit of mud that had fallen from the cave ceiling, his bones bore no sign of damage. The events of that snowy night felt like a dream. Yet, had he really brought something from that dream back into reality?

Seated at the mouth of the cave, Vade glanced at Mia beside him, who looked a little dispirited, and reached out to poke her cheek. Soft and yielding—it felt good to the touch. It was no illusion; this little wraith had appeared by his side upon awakening. Yet Mia’s form had grown faint, less lively than before; now she perched quietly atop Vade’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his skeletal neck, no longer darting about.

Vade was certain Mia was real. He recalled slaying the pirates in the village and witnessing the lesser demon. It seemed that the version of himself active in the village was not his true self. When he appeared in the cabin, he was completely naked; the round shield and melon-headed hammer that should have been bound to his bones were gone. That was something akin to a “double”—his true body remained slumbering in the cave, while his mind or soul traveled to the icefield, inhabiting a false avatar.

This seemed the most reasonable explanation. Vade could only surmise that the phenomenon was caused by the twenty-sided die—the die that existed only in his dreams, which seemed to contain some unfathomable power. That power had enabled him to transcend boundaries, to enter the world through an incarnation.

It felt as though he had experienced a vivid dream, yet none of the injuries from that dream had transferred to his real body. He had dismantled his left arm, had his ribs shattered, but upon waking, he was whole and unscathed.

Which side was real, and which false? Vade was no longer certain. He sat and pondered: was it the Vade in the cave who dreamed of the icefield, or the Vade on the icefield who dreamed of the wasteland? A philosophical conundrum, one with no clear answer.

Vade decided not to think about it anymore—there was no sense in such speculation. He preferred action. Returning to the cave, he blocked the entrance, lay down, and prepared to catch up on sleep.

Mia sprawled across Vade’s ribs; unlike him, she looked utterly exhausted. Her strength had been depleted—at the final moments beneath the village’s reservoir, Mia had unleashed her power, obliterating the flame imp. Vade had never expected such a diminutive wraith to wield such potent freezing magic, strong enough to overwhelm even a lesser demon.

But that was not her true power; it was borrowed, paid for by overextending herself. Vade remembered how the little one had shielded him, so small he could have pinched her between his fingers, yet brave enough to stand before him. Seeing Mia so sickly, Vade felt a pang of sympathy.

If only he knew how to help her recover her vitality. But he still hadn’t figured out the nature of their bond. When Mia absorbed souls, she could share a portion with him—could he, in turn, nurture her when she was weak?

He decided to try. Vade focused intently, searching for the invisible thread that connected them. Soon, he sensed it—this thread linked him to Mia. He recalled the process of painting his bones with soul-fire; wraiths fed on mana and soul energy. He attempted to divide his own flame and share it.

In the darkness, a faint phosphorescence enveloped the little wraith, as soft as a cloth doll. It was working. She tilted her head, puzzled by this sudden warmth, and soon realized its source: Vade was sharing his fire with her.

Like a kitten, she climbed up and gently nuzzled Vade’s chin. “Good girl,” Vade murmured, stroking her.

In this lightless cave, to have a little wraith for company was not such a bad thing. “Rest for a while,” Vade conveyed his thoughts.

Mia was exhausted; despite the fire he gave her, she was still too young and needed rest to properly digest it. Mia nodded, settled in Vade’s palm, curled up like a fledgling, using his right hand as a bed. Vade, resigned, kept still.

He thought, next time he woke, he should renovate his home. Now that he had a new member, it was too crude as before. The little one needed a bed—he couldn’t let her always sleep in his hand. He should also expand the space, perhaps even craft some furniture. His handiwork was quite good; with materials and tools, adding a few pieces shouldn’t be difficult.

As he planned, drowsiness washed over him. He hadn’t been awake long, yet already felt tired—was it the fire he’d shared that made him weary? Evidently, he should do this less often in the future, to avoid Mia losing control. He’d need to seek out something in the wasteland that Mia could feed on...

And then, there was the village. If he could return, he must dig up that expensive sword. The explosion had collapsed the entire reservoir; the sword was likely buried beneath the frozen earth. Now that he thought about it, the flame imp, the lesser demon, had been in contact with the pirate chief. The twenty-sided die from his dreams—could it have a story of its own? Perhaps he could venture out and ask around.

Immersed in chaotic thoughts, Vade drifted into sleep.

Once again, he found himself in the blank space. The floating twenty-sided die appeared before his eyes.

Unlike every previous dream, this time, he saw the die’s color. It was not gray-white as before, but entirely blood-red. Vade took the die, turned it to a peculiar angle, peering through the gaps between its faces to find the hidden twenty-first side.

The face engraved with a heart—only this one differed in color from the others. It was pale, but at its lowest point, a hint of crimson could be seen, as faint as grains of sand at the bottom of an hourglass.

Vade watched closely as the heart’s crimson slowly spread, visible to the naked eye but exceedingly slow. Previously, he hadn’t noticed this change, for he couldn’t see color. Only today did he realize that the die’s twenty-first face was constantly, moment by moment, being charged with color.

It seemed that the last time he opened that door, it happened because the heart was filled with blood-red. This was a peculiar object that required charging to be used, and from his last experience, Vade had gleaned some of its abilities.

He carefully set the die down, no longer treating it as a mere toy. Instead, he lifted his gaze to the door with the transparent frame, and the fire burning like a blaze.

He would not mistake it; he had just seen this fire. It was the soul of the pirate chief, drawn out by Mia.