The woman didn't move. The air between them thickened, heavy with the smell of wet copper. Damon could hear something breathing beneath the soil, slow and hungry, as if the garden itself were alive.

"You walk upon the mouths of the starved. Every seed here is a promise unfulfilled. They hungered for warmth, for love, for meaning. I fed them their longing until they bloomed."

Damon didn't lose his calm. Garden of Hunger was that the name of this place?

He nodded slowly, glancing at the flowers. He had answered three of her questions, so she was obliged to answer his own. Still, he had to be cautious with what he asked.

"Where do I find the mechanisms to unlock the chains that bind the prisoners of the deepest section?"

The old woman turned her head slowly and pointed into the deep darkness at the heart of the garden.

"You must go forward, to the center."

Damon paused, his eyes narrowing as he glanced toward the center. He had one more question, but uncertainty gripped him. Anything could happen once he asked it.

Finally, he asked the last question.

"Tell me something helpful to me."

The moment he spoke, the old woman reached out and grabbed Damon's arm. Her neck began to elongate with a sickening stretch as she leaned closer, her serrated mouth opening near his ear.

Her whisper was faint, distant, and cold.

"Wake up… you must wake… the one who slumbers."

Then her neck slowly retracted. She returned to her place beside the flowers, moving as though Damon were no longer there. Without another word, she resumed tending to the flesh-blooming garden.

Damon stood still, confusion flashing in his eyes. Wake up? Wake the one who slumbers? He narrowed his gaze, but the grotesque old woman no longer paid him any mind.

Turning away, Damon began walking deeper into the garden. His neck felt stiff, his shoulders heavy.

The Garden of Hunger stretched endlessly before him. In the distance, he saw a figure in chains, walking backward. Its speech came in reverse, like the sound of time itself being undone.

Damon ignored it and continued along the cobblestone path until he found something blocking the way, a long, pale leg stretched across the road, as though someone had carelessly rested it there.

The leg was covered in white fur, shaped like a human's, and beside it, an arm rested lazily against the wall. Whatever it belonged to seemed invisible, lounging across the path as though it owned it.

Damon didn't react. The scene reminded him faintly of the arm that had grabbed Sylvia back in the Duhu Mountains.

He sighed quietly.

Speaking of… Damon also had spirit affinity. That might have been why he was attracting attention here. But this wasn't his body, this was a vessel belonging to his shadow, Ghost. He shouldn't be drawing spirits this easily.

Besides, his shadow wasn't even truly a person. In a place like this, he should have blended in perfectly.

When Damon reached the leg, he tried to crouch under it, but the limb shifted, lowering itself to block his way. He didn't change expression, simply adjusted and tried to go over it instead. Again, it rose, barring his path.

Damon narrowed his eyes, feeling its gaze on him. The malice radiating from the unseen creature was unmistakable.

He sighed softly.

"Your legs are in the way. If you'd like to keep them, move."

His tone was cold, stripped of emotion.

The unseen creature seemed to hesitate, appraising him. Then, slowly, the leg lifted. Damon gave it a final glance before passing through without incident.

He rolled his neck, feeling the stiffness ache through his shoulders. This was proving to be a mentally taxing journey. Still, he pressed on, hoping he was nearing the center.

After a few minutes, he turned a corner around a wall made of dried organs, and froze.

Two large red eyes stared back at him. The creature's body was nothing but long, black strands of hair, flickering in the unseen wind. It stood like a twisted human figure, its form rippling with unnatural movement.

The moment Damon saw it, his blood or whatever passed for it in this form ran cold.

It stared at him. No words were exchanged. No thought followed. Instinct took over. Damon turned into a shadow and darted away instantly.

"Hehe… heh…"

The laughter came from behind him. The creature followed, walking slowly, yet somehow keeping up with his inhuman speed. Each step it took carried a twisted, unnatural grace.

Damon's instincts screamed. This was different. The danger emanating from this one felt beyond everything else he had encountered so far.

Everyone here was supposed to be suppressed to a certain power level in this realm or so Lazarak had said. But this creature… this one was not bound by that rule.

Or at least not as much as the rest of them.

He leapt over the flesh-flowers, slipping past them as if gliding through the shadows. When the creature reached the border of its region, it stopped, unwilling to cross.

Damon didn't waste the moment. He dove into a pavilion beside a fountain surrounded by hedges of skinned human flesh.

He exhaled slowly, his breath trembling. His head throbbed with fatigue.

He shook it off and straightened, preparing to leave. As he walked past a reflective glass door, he stopped abruptly.

His body went rigid. No blood ran through this vessel, yet the sensation that seized him felt exactly like his blood turning to ice.

He turned toward the glass.

His reflection looked normal, the shadowed form of his vessel, dark and featureless. But what caught his eye wasn't his reflection.

It was what sat upon his shoulders.

A woman with long black hair covering her face and tattered clothes was perched there, her head bowed low.

Damon's hands trembled as he looked closer. He turned his head slightly to glance at his shoulder, nothing was there.

But in the reflection, she sat still, unmoving.

His jaw tightened.

Ah… that explains the shoulder pain.

He wasn't just being watched.

He was being haunted.

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