Chapter 206: The First Subject
The wraith offered no answer.
He simply lunged at Skele-Lust again and again. Each time, he was swatted back
with ease; each time, he scrambled to his feet with flickering, unstable limbs,
throwing himself back toward the tattered rag doll. His form was growing
translucent, his Od hemorrhaging into the stagnant air. He was like a candle
guttering in a gale, a spark ready to be snuffed out at any moment.
Yet, his objective never wavered.
Lust stood her ground, watching the maddened spirit. She stopped attacking. She
simply observed this creature—this thing that should have known better—as it
threw its very existence against her for the sake of a toy. The orb of light
above her cast a small, dancing shadow of the doll onto the damp stone.
For reasons she couldn't quite quantify, looking at this obsessive, nearly
broken spirit triggered a cascade of ancient memories in Lust's mind.
It was from a time long ago.
Back then, she was merely a low-tier undead who had recently evolved into a
Skeleton Mage. The Valley Base was still a fledgling camp—a few crude huts
huddled against a desolate landscape. During those nights, The Sovereign of
Evernight would often sit alone atop the highest crag in the valley, gazing up
at the massive moon.
That skeletal silhouette always looked profoundly... solitary.
Lust hadn't understood. As an undead, she required no sleep, no respite, and
certainly had no logical reason to stare at a glowing rock in the sky. Driven by
a spark of curiosity, she had summoned the courage to climb up to that Great
Stone. She tilted her bare skull upward, the soulfire in her sockets flickering
with the nervous static of a subordinate approaching a god.
"My Sovereign," she had whispered. "What are you looking at?"
Kaito had turned his head then, looking down at the Skeleton Mage he had only
recently named. In her sockets, the soulfire was still weak, like two tiny,
wavering birthday candles. Kaito's jawbone shifted—a gesture she would later
learn was a smile—and he reached out a bony hand to ruffle the top of her skull.
"I'm looking at the moon."
"Why? Does its cycle impact our next strategic deployment?"
"I don't quite know myself..." Kaito paused, his gaze returning to the silver
orb. "Perhaps... because it is beautiful."
Lust had tilted her head. Beautiful? What was that? She didn't understand. In
her cognitive system, there were only the binaries of life: strong and weak,
enemy and ally, command and obedience. The Sovereign's words were too abstract,
a logical error in her programming.
"My Sovereign, I do not understand."
Kaito didn't explain. He simply continued to pat her skull, rocking her head
back and forth until her bones made soft, rhythmic click-clack sounds.
"You will understand, eventually."
At that time, Lust truly didn't. But she had captured and recorded the subtle
fluctuation of emotion Kaito had unintentionally broadcast through their soul
link. It was an energy signature she had never seen before. It wasn't Wrath, nor
Joy, nor Indifference. It was something complex, something haunting.
Later, she assigned herself her first research project: the study of the
emotional spectrum of the living races.
She scoured every text Skele-Greed managed to loot from the Iron
Fortress—histories, poems, even cookbooks—searching for traces of these
"emotions." She observed a common wild wolf charging a beast several tiers
higher than itself to protect its cub. She watched a murder of crows circling a
fallen comrade, their caws heavy with a grief that defied logic.
Eventually, she was dispatched to the Jade Territory to govern the humans who
had survived the conquest and been integrated into the Empire. It was her first
time interacting with the living on such a massive scale. They were no longer
targets to be purged or materials to be dissected on a laboratory bench. They
were flesh and blood; they were vessels of joy, anger, sorrow, and delight.
She saw a human mother in a cathedral, cradling the cold corpse of her child,
weeping without a sound. The woman's tears fell like broken pearls onto the
stone floor, yet she muffled her sobs as if terrified of waking the child from
its eternal sleep.
She saw a wizened old man in his final moments, gripping his son's hand with
surprising strength, repeating the same mundane instructions over and over: Take
care of yourself. Don't be a picky eater.
She saw a human girl who, every night, would run alone to the cemetery outside
the city, clutching a wolf-tooth pendant. The girl would talk to a headstone,
recounting the day's trivialities—what she had learned, a craft she had
mastered, a boy next door who had teased her. She would laugh, she would cry,
and she would carefully place wildflowers gathered from the fields before the
cold granite.
Lust had hidden in the shadows, observing the girl for a long time. She had even
"invited" the boy the girl mentioned for a friendly interrogation, trying to map
the social and emotional web connecting them.
After collecting a literal mountain of data and constructing hundreds of failed
emotional models, Lust finally arrived at a blurry realization.
The emotion the Sovereign had displayed that night under the moon... humans
called it Loss. It was a yearning for what had passed, a hunger for that which
was unreachable.
Lust began to realize that humans understood the Sovereign better than the
undead ever could. Because they possessed emotions, they possessed memories—they
possessed things that grew more precious as time eroded them.
So, she began to try harder.
She was no longer just a researcher recording data. She began to mimic humans,
learning their behaviors, adopting their perspectives, trying to feel the
"logical errors" she now knew were complex feelings. She wanted to understand
Kaito. She wanted to find a way to make him truly happy, so he wouldn't have to
spend every night alone on a cliffside, staring at a rock.
The present rushed back.
Lust looked down at the mangled wraith. He had collapsed again, his body so thin
he was nearly transparent. But he was still struggling. Still trying to crawl.
Still reaching out a flickering hand toward the doll.
"Give... it... to me..." his voice was a ghost of a whisper.
Lust remained silent for a long time.
Then, she knelt. She took the tattered rag doll and placed it gently on the
ground in front of the wraith.
The spirit froze. His hollow sockets stared at the doll, then up at Lust. He
seemed unable to comprehend that this being—this terrifying entity that had
crushed him—was returning his treasure.
"Take it," Lust said softly.
The wraith's hand trembled as he reached out, cautiously pulling the doll into a
protective embrace. He held it as if it were the most valuable relic in the
world. His struggling stopped. His soul settled. The entire cavern seemed to go
quiet as his spirit found peace.
Lust watched him and asked in a low, gentle tone:
"Tell me... what does this doll mean to you?"
☆☆☆
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