Chapter 14: Suspicion and Sentiment

[POV: Lydia]

The little girl lunged forward, arms open wide, eager to embrace the figure she’d waited for with tears in her eyes. But her effort ended in anticlimax as she passed straight through him, falling face-first against the wooden bed frame with an audible thump.

“Ooouch…” Nira whimpered, rubbing her forehead as she sat up again.

Ren raised an eyebrow, not moving from his ghostly perch on the bed. “You silly little girl,” he said, tone caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “I’m a ghost, remember?”

Lydia was already on her feet, crossing the room in three quick steps. “Let me see,” she said, crouching beside Nira. Her fingers brushed the girl’s soft bangs aside to check the forming bump. There was a faint reddening and the start of swelling. It wasn’t too bad, but there was no reason not to be generous.

“Healing Light.”

A soft glow blossomed from Lydia’s palm, gentle and warm as sunlight through stained glass. The radiance sank into Nira’s skin, mending the tissue beneath with subtle efficiency. What might have become a bruise and a swollen lump faded, leaving behind only a bit of damp hair and a confused look.

Ren, watching this with his usual half-lidded expression, shifted slightly. “You’re good with her,” he said. His voice was quieter now, less performative. “Can I ask you something?”

Lydia’s gaze flicked up to meet his. “You may try.”

“Could you take care of her?” he asked. “I mean, properly. Maybe if I know she’s in good hands, I can finally… move on to the afterlife, or something.”

Before Lydia could form a response, Nira interrupted with the kind of unfiltered curiosity only a child could possess. “Where’s the afterlife?” she asked, blinking. “Can I go with you?”

Lydia sighed and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. She was no stranger to odd situations, but this one twisted her logic in every direction. Here was a ghost by all definitions, an evil spirit, asking to entrust her with a child’s care. And the child, in turn, seemed more attached to him than to any living soul.

It should have been impossible. Evil spirits were destructive. Lost souls corrupted by regret, hatred, or unfinished obsession. Most became either wailing poltergeists or incoherent wraiths, their minds shredded by emotion. The rare few who retained thought or speech were usually so twisted by their impulses that they could barely function without lashing out.

But this one spoke clearly and calmly. Even with his flippant attitude, there was no sign of aggression. And yet… Lydia didn’t trust that surface.

She studied him closely, searching for a hint of the darkness that should’ve been there. Maybe it was buried, maybe it simmered beneath the snark and dry humor, waiting to lash out when least expected. She couldn’t afford to be careless.

“Don’t stare at me too much,” Ren said suddenly, flashing a grin. “I might blush.”

Lydia exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple.

“Saints preserve me…” she muttered.

Before Lydia could decide whether to exorcise the ghost again or just lecture him into submission, a burst of noise shattered the moment.

“Big sis Lydia!”

“Are you there?”

“Sister Lydia~!”

They rang from beyond the church gates. The voices were shrill and frantic. Lydia’s head snapped toward the sound, and without hesitation, she bolted from the room, lifting her skirts to avoid tripping on the stairs. Her sandals slapped against the stone floor as she made her way through the nave and out to the entrance.

When she threw open the old double doors, she found two small figures outside, dust-covered, wide-eyed, and trembling.

“Oh gods,” Lydia gasped, gathering them both in her arms. “The two of you… You’re safe…”

The older boy clung to her waist while the smaller girl buried her face against her side. Both began to cry, the kind of ugly sobbing that came from days of fear and uncertainty.

“John,” Lydia said gently, “what happened?”

The boy looked up, face red, eyes puffy. “Little Pips… He’s… He’s…”

“Slow down,” Lydia urged, steadying her voice even though her heart thundered. It had been days since the children vanished. She’d feared the worst, that the local gang had finally snapped and did something to them.

The little girl, Lara, wiped her nose with her sleeve and forced the words out. “Little Pips has a really high fever… and we don’t have any money to buy medicine…”

Lydia’s stomach twisted. “I’ll come. Show me where.”

“What’s happening?” Nira’s voice drifted from behind. She stood by the doorway, her silver hair tousled and her ghostly companion walking just behind her.

“I… I have to go,” Lydia said, turning toward the evil spirit. “Ren, can you stay here with your ward?”

Ren walked forward slightly, hands in his coat pockets. “What’s the problem?”

She found it strange how easily she answered. Dialogue with an evil spirit should have been an exercise in warding circles and incantations, not casual conversation.

“One of the orphans is sick. My healing magic should be enough… It’s just a fever,” she said.

Ren tilted his head, watching her. “We’ll come with you.”

“Huh? Why?” Nira blinked.

“Because I said so,” Ren replied, tone final.

“Booh…” Nira muttered, but she didn’t argue further.

Lydia exhaled. She didn’t know if the ghost wanted to help or just didn’t trust her alone, but she decided not to fight it.

As they gathered by the gates, the older boy looked up at Lydia with a puzzled frown, eyes flicking between her and Nira. “Sister Lydia… Who are you talking to?” he asked.

Lydia smiled, placing a gentle hand on his back. “No one important, dear. Let’s go... lead the way.”

They reached a narrow path skirting a muddy creek, then stopped before a weather-warped hut pressed against the wall of a collapsed warehouse. Several younger children loitered nearby, some barefoot and smeared with dirt, others wrapped in blankets far too thin for the cold.

Lydia recognized a few faces immediately. One boy with a chipped tooth had once scribbled his name on the back wall of her church during a reading lesson. Another girl, her hair woven with broken beads, had sat on Lydia’s lap one rainy afternoon, devouring porridge like she hadn’t eaten in days.

“Miss Lydia!” one of them called as she approached. “You came!”

Another tugged on her sleeve. “Do you have the letter books again?”

“I want to learn how to write my name in cursive!” piped another.

Lydia smiled gently, crouching to their level. “I’ll bring the books next time. Today, I came because someone’s very sick, remember?”

“Little Pips is inside,” whispered the chipped-tooth boy. “He’s not moving much…”

Before she could respond, a heavy shuffle sounded behind her. The children all stiffened.

“It’s… It’s Galo…” one muttered.

Lydia turned to see a scruffy man approaching from the other end of the alley. His clothes were torn at the seams, and his face was half-hidden behind an oily mess of hair. But there was confidence in his swagger, the kind that came from fear he didn’t earn himself but borrowed from those above.

“So you’re the sister,” Galo said, voice like gravel. “Do you know you’ve been interfering with the Twinfist Gang?”

Lydia stood tall, keeping herself between him and the children. She didn’t need to ask what gang… Twinfist controlled nearly every corner of the slum district. If it involved coin or control, they had a hand in it.

“He’s one of the Twinfist’s lieutenants,” a girl whispered. “You should go, Sister. We’ll be fine.”

But Lydia shook her head, stepping forward. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” she asked, voice steady. “Sabotaging the futures of these children just to keep them desperate?”

Galo barked a laugh. “I’m not afraid of you. So what if you know how to chant a little white magic?” He brandished a knife, its tip rusted but still plenty dangerous. “White magic doesn’t hurt anyone, right?”

He wasn’t wrong. Holy spells were meant to heal, protect, and purge, but never to harm. It was a limitation Lydia had long accepted. Still, she didn’t waver, though her hands curled into fists.

Then came Ren’s voice, casual as ever. “Tell him the Twinfist Gang wouldn’t look kindly to him if he keeps going.”

Lydia blinked, glancing toward the ghost walking beside Nira. His expression was neutral, even bored.

Curious, Lydia obeyed. “Please turn away,” she said, her voice cold and composed, “or the Twinfist Gang won’t look kindly to your actions.”

Galo guffawed. “Hah! The wench has a tongue after all.”

He lunged forward slightly, just enough to flash the blade.

Ren exhaled. “There’s no helping it, is there?”

Before Lydia could stop him, he stepped past her and into Galo.

The thug stiffened instantly, eyes going wide. His body jerked as though it no longer belonged to him. “What are you doing?!” Lydia snapped.

“Teaching him a lesson,” Ren said through Galo’s mouth, before snapping one of the thug’s fingers sideways, against its natural bend.

He exited the body a second later, and Galo dropped to his knees with a shriek as he stared at his middle finger. “W-what’s happening!?”

“Hey, bad man!” Nira piped up with righteous indignation. “Why don’t you just leave? Or I’ll have my guardian angel stab you!”

Lydia winced at the phrasing, cringing inwardly.

But Galo froze. His eyes locked on Nira, now partially hidden behind Lydia’s skirt.

“S-silver hair…?” he stammered.

Then, without another word, he turned and ran. Limping and cradling his injured hand, he disappeared into the maze of alleys like a kicked rat.