Ciel walked slowly toward the rotting fields by the bay, the wind dragging the scent of brine and decay across the land like a warning. The grass crunched under his feet—dry, yellow, and twisted as if the soil had long forgotten what life felt like. It was eerily quiet, no birds, no bugs, only the slow creak of trees bending toward the field, as if trying to whisper something he couldn’t quite hear.

“Master, I could handle this matter myself,” Sebastian said smoothly, his gloved hands folded neatly behind his back as he followed the boy. But even he glanced warily at the field ahead. His smile, as always, was perfect—yet something behind it faltered as the shadows grew longer around them.

Ciel didn’t respond. He only walked faster, his expression set, determined to confront whatever spirit the townspeople had begged him to investigate. Then he stopped. Just ahead, framed by the decayed vines and blackened soil, was a small figure—motionless, dressed in white stained with dust and old blood. Her hair hung limp, her face eerily serene. She looked like a doll left out too long.

“There she is, my young lord,” Sebastian said, his voice quieter now. He didn’t step forward. In fact, he remained very still.

Ciel turned to him with disbelief. “She looks like she’s six! This is ridiculous!” he snapped. “You said she was powerful, not some ghost of a child—” But then he saw it: the way Sebastian’s eyes lingered on her, not with curiosity, but recognition. A flicker of something almost human passed over his face. And then the ghost’s head turned. She didn’t blink. She didn’t breathe. But her gaze cut through the air like a blade.