Chapter 38 Maria

Nira bolted, but Stabs was quicker. He chased her down, scooped her up like a sack of grain, and carried her back to us. Her arms flailed and her little legs kicked, but Stabs set her firmly on her feet in front of me.

“Don’t be scared,” I told her, crouching down to her level. “Just think of it like a game…”

Lydia pressed a small staff into Nira’s hands. It looked oversized in her grip, the wood nearly dragging against the floor. “Use this to bash the skeleton’s head.”

Nira hugged the staff to her chest, eyes wide. “I don’t want to hurt my dad…”

That one stung. I sighed, then stood, my hand sparking faintly with crackling energy. “Alright then. I’ll make it easier.” I let arcs of electricity burst through the skeleton’s limbs, snapping brittle joints apart until it collapsed. With the connection severed, I slipped out of its bones and returned to myself. The ruined body jerked weakly, bones rattling together without purpose, like a fish gasping on land.

I gestured toward it. “Here… how about that?”

Nira blinked down at the pitiful sight. “Uuuh… do I just hit it in the head?”

“Yes,” Lydia said firmly.

Nira lifted the staff above her head and brought it down with a clumsy punt against the skull. The skeleton’s jaw clattered, its head snapping to the side as it let out a guttural “Skraaagh~!” Somehow, even without muscles, it managed to lunge, snapping its teeth at her ankles.

“Whoa~!” Nira squealed, hopping back just in time.

“You can hit him harder, you know?” I told her, half-amused.

Her lips pursed into a determined pout, and she swung again. This time she struck the temple, cracking bone. Again and again she hit, each blow clumsy but stronger, until finally the skull caved in with a sharp crunch. The rest of the skeleton went still, the brittle frame scattering into lifeless fragments.

Nira stood over it, panting, her small hands trembling around the staff. “Finally… Phew…”

I placed a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. “Good. Now, we just need to do this a couple more times.”

She groaned but didn’t argue, and that was progress.

We moved deeper into the dungeon, the torchlight flickering over the damp stone walls. More skeletons awaited us in the shadows, and each time, the process repeated… subdue, weaken, and let Nira strike the final blow. She yelped and stumbled, but slowly, her swings grew stronger, her fear giving way to determination.

If this had been back on Earth, I was fairly certain someone would’ve called social services on us. Forcing a child to bludgeon animated skeletons to dust? That probably fell under child abuse. Yet in this world, we needed Nira to level up, and the only way was for her to land the killing blows. Mercy wasn’t something dungeons understood.

The deeper we went, the more relentless the skeletons became. At first, they came one at a time, stumbling out of alcoves with rusted swords and chipped shields. Then twos, threes, clattering in packs. Lydia would bind them with her white magic, threads of radiant light locking brittle frames in place. I followed up, cracking bones apart with bursts of electricity, breaking joints so they could no longer swing properly. That was when Nira, hesitant at first, would step forward and strike the final blow.

Stabs played his part with surprising diligence. He scouted the tunnels ahead, then returned with smaller groups of skeletons in tow, careful never to let us be overwhelmed. His traps and feints bought us breathing room, and his experience showed in the way he paced the flow of enemies.

The walls glowed faintly as we descended. The deeper the tunnel wound, the brighter the natural luminescent moss became, casting the corridor in an eerie bluish light. It made the skeletons look almost spectral, shadows stretching across the rough stone like flickering dancers.

After hours of this grim routine, fatigue caught up with us. Of course, I didn’t tire, but Nira did. We decided to halt at a secure spot, a bump in the long pathway where the stone widened enough to host a camp. The air was stale, but there was room to breathe, and more importantly, enough visibility to keep watch.

Lydia shrugged off the oversized pack she’d been carrying and began unpacking supplies. Stabs helped her, gathering bits of dry fuel from his kit to kindle fire. Soon, warmth flickered in the gloom, smoke trailing upward into cracks above. The smell of simmering rations softened the oppressive dungeon air.

While they worked, I crouched beside Nira. She sat with the staff across her lap, her hands raw from gripping it too tightly, her eyes staring at the faint glow of the fire.

“How are you holding up?” I asked.

She bit her lip and looked down. “I’m… fine.”

“Any changes? Anything strange? A spark of power, a shift in how you feel?” I pressed, watching her carefully.

Her head shook. “No… nothing like that.” But then she lifted her chin, eyes glimmering in the firelight. “But I’ll do everything I can to help you. I promise, Dad.”

I smiled faintly at that, though the word twisted something in me. “That’s all I can ask.”

By the time we finished speaking, Lydia and Stabs had completed the camp. The fire crackled steadily, food was portioned out, and the others began to settle into rest. Nira curled up under a blanket beside Lydia, her breaths soon steady and slow. Stabs leaned against his gear, half-dozing.

As for me, Lydia finally undid the illusion of flesh that made me appear alive. My body shimmered away, revealing my true form. I rose, walked silently to a corner, and kept my post as a ghostly guard.

Hours passed, though I couldn’t tell how many. Inside the dungeon, time lost meaning. The steady rhythm of flickering torchlight and the faint blue glow from the walls gave no hint of day or night. It was the kind of place that made you feel untethered, like the world outside had ceased to exist.

“Otherworlder—”

The voice froze me in place. My head turned sharply, eyes scanning the camp. Lydia and Stabs were asleep, their breaths steady. Nira, curled up under her blanket, shifted slightly but did not wake.

“Who said that?” I whispered, half-expecting a skeleton to come staggering into view.

There was nothing. Only the sound of crackling firewood.

“Otherworlder—” the voice came again, clear and insistent.

I rose, walking closer to Nira’s side, instinct telling me to be ready to possess her in the next heartbeat if danger revealed itself.

“It’s me,” the voice said, and this time, the shadows stirred. They gathered, folding in on themselves until a faint silhouette emerged.

My eyes widened as the figure crystallized before me. Long silver hair shimmered faintly, framing a face I had only seen reflected in Nira’s features. She looked painfully familiar.

“You are…” My words stuck in my throat, but I forced them out. “Nira’s mother…”

The figure gave a soft, almost weary smile. “Yes, I am. Please, call me Maria.”

I drifted back slightly, caught between awe and suspicion. My mind scrambled for answers. “And I am Renzo,” I introduced, more out of reflex than courtesy. “What are you? How is this possible?”

It wasn’t every day that a ghost worried about being haunted, yet here I was, staring at what seemed to be the lingering echo of Nira’s mother. It would have been funny, if not for the solemn weight of the moment.

Maria’s gaze softened, but there was something urgent buried in her tone. “Please…” She drew closer, her voice as brittle as crystal. “Protect Nira… from herself.”

“I don’t understand… What are you talking about?” I asked.

The figure that called herself Maria stood before me, faintly glowing like a memory barely clinging to existence. She had called me otherworlder. That word stuck, echoing in my mind like a bell. She knew something. She had to.

My mind spun with questions, too many and too fast. Why me? Why was I here? Was I summoned on purpose, or dragged by accident? How could I move on to the afterlife? Was there even such a thing waiting for me anymore? And most of all, how could she, Nira’s mother, be standing here like a phantom when she was supposed to be dead? Was she like me?

I forced myself to breathe, or at least mimic it, and focus. Priorities. My questions could wait. Hers couldn’t.

“What’s happening to Nira?” My voice came out harder than I meant, almost pleading. “Her trauma is getting worse and worse. Sometimes, she dazes off in the middle of the day, sometimes she doesn’t sleep. Sometimes she thinks the day is night. And… she calls me dad.” I clenched my fists, recalling how the past month was like. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Maria’s eyes, soft and sorrowful, met mine. For a moment she hesitated, as if weighing what she could and couldn’t say. Finally, she spoke, her words carrying an otherworldly weight.

“The blood of the ancient hero flows in her,” she said, her voice trembling like a hymn sung too far from home. “Along comes the destiny… of Her Majesty’s rebirth—”

Her outline began to flicker.

“Wait… what do you mean? What rebirth? What destiny?!” I shouted, reaching out instinctively.

But it was too late. Her form unraveled, strands of silver hair dissolving into streams of stardust. She scattered in the air like sand caught in a current, until nothing remained.

I stood there in stunned silence.

A rustle broke the stillness.

“Renzo?” Lydia’s voice was groggy as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her hair tumbled loose, catching the dim glow of the fire. “Is there a problem?”

I blinked, staring at her, then at the space where Maria had just been. My mouth opened, but I faltered.

“…Nothing,” I finally said. “Everything’s fine.”

Wasn’t it?

I blinked again.

I was talking with someone, wasn’t I?

But when I tried to recall the details, the words slipped like water through my fingers. The image of silver hair, the weight of her voice… They all scattered like smoke, leaving only the vague impression of a dream I wasn’t sure I’d had.