Chapter Six: Reason

Vaid moved along the dead angle behind the house. The skeleton bore no signs of life—its body was weightless, its steps utterly silent.

Vaid had always thought that if skeletons could consciously conceal themselves, they would be natural-born assassins. Through his soul-vision, he could see the movements of the living with perfect clarity, even in utter darkness, even through walls.

Just like now, even as he stood behind the house, he could perceive the pirates’ movements. He could pinpoint them by the breath of their living bodies. Not just the pirates—the villagers hiding in cellars and under beds were visible to him as well.

In the wooden house to his right, two people were concealed. He could vaguely make out two flames—living souls. One was smaller, likely a child; a mother and her child, cowering beneath the bed. Their flames flickered and shivered, betraying their fear and unrest. But their worry was, for now, unnecessary—no pirates lingered outside that door.

Elsewhere, beneath the ground, a group of people clustered together—several flames gathered in one spot. There were likely able-bodied men among them, bracing the door to the cellar with their bodies. The vibrations through the floor betrayed the pounding above; the pirates were trying to break in. At the top of the cellar stairs, others waited in groups, probably aiming crossbows and bows at the door, poised to shoot the moment it burst open—one volley of arrows, then a charge of swords and axes, killing every villager, leaving perhaps one or two alive to extract the whereabouts of any treasure.

Judging by the carnage that greeted him upon entering the village, these pirates intended to leave no survivors. Men, women, elders, and children—all slaughtered. Vaid had already seen more than a dozen innocent corpses; the snow was stained red.

Taking the lives and wealth of others for their own pleasure—that was the pirate’s code. The Vikings worshipped Tyr, the god of war, and believed all things could be seized through force. To a true Viking, only glorious warriors slain on the battlefield could ascend to the hall of heroes in the god’s realm, their souls immortal.

But from the pirate who had just wet himself in terror, Vaid could tell these were not the devout and valorous Vikings of legend. They lacked the courage to die in battle; they were no more than a rabble preying on the weak.

Vaid had seen their like in life, many times—they were everywhere. He had always kept his distance, never mingling with such men. Even if he stumbled upon a scene of bullying, he would do no more than discreetly inform the nearest guard that something unlawful was happening in an alley. What happened after, he would not involve himself in. He was always too occupied with his own affairs to bother with others.

Even now, there were things he urgently wished to resolve for himself. He wanted to determine his precise location. Why had he come here? Why could he see color again? Was there some subtle change in his being? What was the truth behind that ghostly girl? What was the nature of the symbiotic connection between them? Did it bode ill or well for him?

So many mysteries awaited him—mysteries that concerned his very existence.

He could have focused solely on himself, with no reason to step into this blood-soaked, burning village. No one would blame him; no one would demand justice or morality of him. Rationally, Vaid knew that marching into the village was not a prudent choice. He was just a solitary skeleton—perhaps a touch stronger than those freshly clawed from the mud, but still hopelessly outnumbered. If the pirates discovered and surrounded him, he would hardly stand a chance.

And yet, here he was. There was no compelling justification. He had simply remembered something from his past.

Years ago, when he first arrived in this land, he was dressed in strange clothes, speaking a foreign tongue. His eccentricity alone got him thrown into jail by the city watch, though he had done nothing wrong. Later, he became a slave, sent to work in the mines.

It was a grim, hopeless existence—his daily rations were rough rye bread laced with husks and bark. There were no baths; at night, he shared a straw mattress with dozens of others. Rats and cockroaches were constant companions. The stench of sweat, filth, and excrement mingled in the air, enough to make one retch.

The overseers watched with whips in hand, ensuring every slave met his quota. The whips were thin, stinging but not meant to flay—slaves, after all, were valuable property. The beatings were just a way to force productivity. If a slave fell ill, the overseers might attempt to treat him, though only with random weeds, to see if he survived.

Vaid remembered that ordeal with perfect clarity. Unable to speak the language, he was utterly isolated. Physically, he was among the weakest, an easy target for others. Sometimes his bread was stolen until, driven to desperation, he bit a chunk of flesh from someone’s hand. Only then did the bullying stop.

Despite the wretched conditions, he did not despair. He constantly observed, seeking a way to escape. He hid a pickaxe at the cost of a flogging, charted the overseers’ shifts and habits, and used every moment to study the language and script. Alone, he made his preparations—an escape route, food, tools, a weapon.

But before he could act, he was miraculously rescued. Someone overthrew the mine’s cruel master and his overseers. It was an old tale: the wicked punished, the innocent set free.

An elven mage with golden hair and long ears brandished her wand and released Vaid’s shackles. He received magical healing; his bruises, whip marks, and bloodied scars all vanished. The elf did not smile or speak kindly, but she had truly helped him.

On the day of his rescue, Vaid had asked her, in his halting, awkward speech, “Why did you save me?”

He had guessed that perhaps the mine’s owner had crossed another powerful group, and now the old order had fallen and new powers had arrived. The elf seemed distinguished; Vaid hoped to make a connection, to secure a future for himself.

He had braced for all manner of reactions—cold indifference, perfunctory preaching, disdainful departure. He imagined all possibilities: a power struggle, a hidden noble among the slaves, some official crackdown on criminal enterprises.

But the elven mage’s answer was simple: “Because someone was suffering.”

Someone was suffering, so they had come.

It was a possibility Vaid had never considered—that he was simply rescued by a group of good people. It was hard to believe at first, but later experiences convinced him that this was the truth.

Perhaps that truth was what brought him here now.

Vaid slipped silently into a shadowy corner, behind a house partly shielded by another burning building. The view was poor.

He stepped on something soft and warm—the entrails of a man’s corpse. The man wore simple linen; his abdomen had been slashed open, intestines spilling onto the snow, slowly losing heat. His eyes stared blankly forward, fingers clawing at the snow as if trying to grasp something.

Ahead, cruel laughter mingled with helpless sobbing.

A lone pirate crouched in the corner. He wrenched a woman’s arms behind her back, binding her wrists with rope. The hilt of his sword struck her back and head, forcing her compliance.

“Don’t move!” he barked.

His sword pointed at a bundle on the ground—an infant wrapped in swaddling. The pirate seized the woman by her hair. She fought to remain silent, though tears streamed down her face.

The infant still lived, whimpering weakly.

The woman ceased struggling, closing her eyes. Amid the rustle of cloth, the pirate undid his belt.

Vaid approached soundlessly; the pirate, breath quickening, dropped his sword, too engrossed in his own depravity to notice anyone behind him.

Vaid did not hesitate. He seized the moment and struck.

The sword flashed; something small, like a bird, thudded onto the snow.

With the keen curved skinning blade, Vaid slit the pirate’s throat.

The pirate had no chance to cry out. He collapsed, eyes wide with terror, blood pouring from his neck and groin.

Vaid struck again, piercing the man’s heart.

After killing the pirate, Vaid severed the ropes binding the woman’s wrists. He crouched and gently placed the infant back into her arms.

There was no one else in the nearby houses—no pirates, no villagers. Vaid tapped the door with his blade, breaking the lock, and gestured for the woman to take her child inside.

She bowed slightly and slipped into the house.

He didn’t know if she had seen his skull beneath the hood—probably not. Vaid wore his hood low and kept his back to her; in such dimness, it was nearly impossible to see anyone’s face clearly.

But he had heard her voice.

She had said, “Thank you.”

The same words Vaid had spoken on the day of his own rescue.

In those unbearable nights, Vaid had often longed for a hero to come and save him. He remembered the elven mage breaking his shackles; for the first time, he thought the sky was so blue, the clouds so white, the sunlight so beautiful.

He hoped those who had rescued him never regretted their choice.

Now, he would do whatever he could—not to slay countless pirates, but to save a few more souls like his own, who suffered as he once had.