PA4-13 | The Saintess Sealed Beneath the Reservoir
— The Haunting at Noon —
My eyes kept darting from my watch to the excavator's bucket. 12:30 PM. Only half an hour left until the peak of the sun's power passed. I needed Lucky to stop before then. Whatever lay buried shouldn't be disturbed once the light began to fade.
The steel claw bit deeper into the earth. Soon, a dark crimson shape began to emerge from the soil. A statue of some kind—its surface blood-red, its form still half-buried.
12:55 PM. Five minutes left. Curiosity burned in me—what was that red stone figure?—but time was the enemy now. I cupped my hands around my mouth.
"Lucky! That's enough! Stop the machine!"
He should have heard me. The engine was loud—but not loud enough to drown me out. Yet the excavator arm kept moving. I sprinted to the front of the cab, waving my arms.
Then I saw it.
A wisp of shadow—black and oily—flickered across Lucky's face. His expression twisted, turning cruel and alien. That wasn't Lucky.
My gut tightened. He'd been taken.
No time to hesitate.
I vaulted onto the side of the machine, wrenching the cab door open. From inside my jacket, I pulled the Heavenly Cross—an old warding talisman—and pressed it hard against his forehead from behind.
A soft white light pulsed from the metal. Lucky jerked as if electrocuted, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat.
"What...what happened?"
His eyes were clear again.
"Stop it now, Lucky!" I barked.
He didn't question it. His hands flew over the controls, killing the engine.
Silence crashed down, broken only by our ragged breathing. I checked my phone: 12:59 PM. We'd made it. A shudder of relief escaped me as I jumped down.
Lucky scrambled out after me, pale and shaken. Michael was already there, his voice tense.
"Rhan? What the hell was that?"
"Rhan, that was insane! You could've been hurt!" another voice added.
"It's fine," I said, forcing calm into my tone. "Lucky had a...momentary lapse. The thing down there reached for him."
"It reached for me?" Lucky stepped closer, running a hand through his hair. "No wonder...everything just went dark. What kind of thing does that, Rhan? Right under your nose?"
We all looked toward the excavation pit. The crimson statue was now half-exposed.
"That kind," I said quietly. "Looks like a lion."
Maybe. Its head was still buried. And I had never seen—or heard of—a guardian lion carved from blood-red stone. More unsettling was the contradiction. Silas Nightseer's account had been clear: the saintess was bound by nine dragons. The anchor relic described in his records should have borne draconic iconography.
Not leonine.
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Not even close.
---
The ride back to the rented house was quiet, tension humming in the air. Finally, Michael spoke from the passenger seat.
"Rhan, if you've already laid the suppression formation, why can't we just keep going? Not questioning you, sir. Just...trying to understand."
I stayed silent, watching the dusty road slide past.
From the back seat, Jasper let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Did you miss the part where Lucky got puppet-ed? Something grabbed hold of his soul, Mike. Keep digging, and next time it might be you. Or all of us."
"Oh," Michael murmured, wiping his brow. "Right."
Jasper's explanation was sound, but it didn't touch the real problem.
My Binding Demon Formation was active—a suppression array woven into the very ley lines of the site. It should have neutralized any malignant influence, especially at the height of the sun's power, when such forces are at their weakest. For something to bypass it, to manifest so forcefully and possess a man...
This was no ordinary residual haunt.
This was something with will.
With power.
---
— A Visitor at Dusk —
I went straight to my room, exhaustion settling into my bones. Tonight, during the natural cycle of residual and living energy, I would need to check the perimeter. The formation might hold...or it might crack.
When I woke, the room was dark. The digital clock glowed 8:00 PM. Clara was sitting in a chair by my bed, her hand half-raised as if to shake me awake. My sudden movement made her flinch.
"You okay?" I asked, propping myself up.
She nodded quickly. "I'm fine. I came to see if you were hungry."
"Did you cook?" I asked, a little embarrassed.
"No. We ate in the village. We brought something back for you." She gestured toward a takeout container on the dresser.
I thanked her and glanced toward the silent living room.
"Where is everyone?"
"Out," she said. "Jasper went with Lucky to the Fraser house. Michael said he was meeting someone for coffee. Do you need them?"
"After I eat, I'm heading back to the reservoir site."
"Should I call them back?"
I considered it. "No. I'll go alone."
"Let me come with you."
"Not tonight," I said gently. "I don't know how long I'll be, or what I'll find."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Just...be careful."
---
The construction site at night was a different world. Skeletal frames of machinery stood like silent giants against the indigo sky.
At the main gate, a figure waited.
He turned slowly, sensing my approach long before I made a sound.
"Rhan. Is that you?"
The voice was gravel and age—Silas Nightseer.
A shock ran through me. Silas was blind. He rarely left his home. Yet here he stood, in the deepening gloom, as if he had known I would come.
"It's me," I replied, keeping my voice level. "What brings you here, sir?"
He did not answer at once. His sightless eyes seemed to scan the darkened worksite.
"You broke the ground today," he said finally.
"I did."
"I felt it. The surge of constrained power...a formation based on the zodiac constellations. A Binding Demon Formation, if I am not mistaken."
The precision of his perception was unnerving—too precise for any ordinary human.
"You're not mistaken," I confirmed.
A slow nod. "Good. Then I was right about you. You are the pivot."
He reached into the folds of his heavy coat and withdrew an object. It caught the faint starlight—a dagger, about a foot long, forged from dark bronze. Its hilt and blade were covered in intricate, time-worn carvings.
"What is this?"
"The Nine Dragons Dagger. It carries the essence of the bindings. Use it against the saintess. Strike true, and it will do what must be done. It is the only thing that can truly end her."
I took the blade. It was cold, heavier than it looked. My fingers traced the carvings—nine dragons, intertwined in a furious, frozen dance.
"This blade has tasted blood," Silas said, his voice a low rumble. "Mortal and spirit alike. It has ended scores of vengeful ghosts. It is the very blade the old monk used to wound the saintess before her imprisonment."
Understanding dawned—followed by a sharper question.
"How can you be sure it's the same one?"
Silas fell silent, lost in memory.
"The monk knew her prison would not hold forever. He entrusted the blade to his successor, as a master entrusts his seal. It has been passed down through my line...for over two thousand years."
The air left my lungs.
His line. This blind recluse was not merely an informant—he was a successor. A lineage holder.
The dagger's weight in my hand became profound, historical. If he did not name his line, I would not ask. I secured the blade inside my jacket.
"Thank you."
A faint, dry smile touched his lips.
"The thanks are mine to give."
"There's something else," I said, the day's puzzle resurfacing. "You told me the seal was nine dragons. What we uncovered...it's a statue. Red stone. It looks like a lion."
"A lion?" All trace of the smile vanished. His head tilted, like a predator catching a scent.
"Describe it."
"I can't. Not fully. But it isn't a dragon. Not even close."
The shock on Silas's face was palpable—a crack in his ancient composure.
In the heavy silence that followed, even the night seemed to hold its breath.
The mystery had just deepened.
And the rules had changed.
