10,000 Years Too Late

Ash drifted under a pale sky as Voss Thane led them into a cramped courtyard behind the safehouse. The chipped stone walls still carried old soot marks, remnants of forgotten fires. A bench stood in the middle, laden with an odd array of gear: halberds, short blades, crossbow-like devices, and small vials tinged with gray or blue.

They had walked in uneasy silence, aware that today's lesson would focus on creatures Voss had called "Spectrals." At the courtyard's center, he turned to face Riley (Reveen), Shen, Surya, Angela, Alexander, and Listik.

"We'll talk about these spirits now," he said. "You've heard the rumors: they're leftover souls from the dead, loose in the Undawild."

Surya crossed his arms. "Sounds like ghost stories."

Voss picked up a halberd fitted with a faintly shimmering tip. "Stories, yes. But enough raiders claim to have met them and lived, so we prepare." He tapped the metal. "A normal blade won't do much against something half-intangible."

Riley frowned, resting a hand on her hip. "How're we supposed to fight a ghost?"

"You use special weapons," Voss said, "and specialized ash. Think of it as... something that disrupts a Spectral's form—part intangible, part still anchored to what's left of its dead body." His voice turned grim. "Hard to pin down, but we work with what we have."

Shen glanced at the crossbow-like contraptions on the bench. "And these are for shooting intangible spirits?"

Voss offered a short nod. "We call them Spectral Bolts or Spirit Shots. They're loaded with dust that'll cause a ripple if the Spectral has materialized enough. Not foolproof, but better than flailing a normal arrow."

Alexander examined one, running a thumb over the glass tip. "So if it's fully intangible, we're out of luck?"

"You wait for a moment it goes solid, even slightly," Voss said. "Hesitate, you'll miss."

A dull hush settled. Surya exhaled and picked up one of the crossbows. "Well, I'd rather have something than nothing," he muttered, trying not to sound nervous.

Angela let her gaze drift across each piece of gear. "So no one really knows what these Spectrals are, other than drifting souls?"

Voss shrugged. "Some blame old magic, some blame the city's sickness. Maybe a bit of both. The Terminal Society's tried to study them, but nothing conclusive. If they had answers, we'd see less speculation."

Listik eyed a short sword dusted with faintly luminescent ash. "And if I slash one of these half-there ghosts, I might do real damage?"

Voss lifted a shoulder. "If you're quick enough. This ash-laced edge can scatter them. Or so we believe." He paused. "There's still plenty we don't understand."

Shen tapped the binding of a small notebook he carried. "No official record, then?"

"Only scraps," Voss replied. "Raiders share tips in hushed corners. You'll see for yourselves eventually." He gestured at the bench. "We'll test these first. A short demonstration."

Riley accepted a halberd. "So we can't punch a ghost, but we can poke it with shiny dust."

Voss's lips twitched. "Accurate enough."

He walked along the bench, labeling each object: halberds with embedded crystals, short swords dusted in an ashen coat, crossbows with small vials attached. Finally, he picked up a battered chart with partial instructions scrawled on it. Surya leaned in to glimpse it, understanding maybe half the words.

"Let's get started," Voss said. "If you have questions, ask now. But know that most answers in this city are half-guesses."

Surya eyed the crossbow in his grip. "Guess we're rolling with half-guesses on intangible ghosts. Sounds normal for Sveethlad."

A faint laugh rippled across the group. Even Shen managed a slight smile, though his mind buzzed with questions. He noted how these weapons and ashes, built on guesswork, paralleled the city's own precarious state. If the Undawild churned out intangible spirits, it made sense everything about them felt intangible, too.

Riley lifted the halberd, testing its weight. "This tip's heavier than I thought."

"An extra heft," Voss said, "meant to cut through partially solid forms. You see a flicker of the spirit? Swing without hesitation. Keep your arms steady, or you'll whiff the blow."

She nodded, setting her stance. Angela yawned softly, but her gaze stayed alert. Shen noticed how Angela's half-lidded calm hid a flicker of tension in her posture. None of them enjoyed the idea of fighting an enemy they could barely see.

Listik turned to Surya. "Sure you're ready to shoot first? Or do you want me to lead?"

Surya smirked. "I'll manage." Then he raised the crossbow, pointing it toward a straw dummy at the courtyard's edge. "Pretend that's a ghost?"

Voss inclined his head. "Practice shot. Don't blow yourself up, though."

He steadied Surya's elbow. Surya exhaled, squeezed the trigger. A bolt hissed free, thunking into the straw. Bits of ash flicked off the tip, forming a faint cloud. Surya's brow rose. "Weird, but it'll do."

"Yes," Voss said. "In the real Undawild, that swirl of dust might disrupt the spirit enough to land a second strike."

Alexander stepped forward next, surveying a short blade. "This is my style," he said quietly. "Close quarters if I have to."

Voss nodded. "Keep it coated, though." He gestured to a small jar of ash mixture. "A second of dryness, and it's just a normal sword again."

The group traded glances, each weighing the surreal notion of intangible foes. The morning sun crept higher, glancing off the chipped stones, and Shen felt the quiet dread that came with incomplete knowledge. They were about to face intangible spirits with half-baked solutions. But in Sveethlad, half-baked was often enough.

At last, Voss set down the battered chart. "That's the gist of Spectrals. In the next lesson, we'll talk about how we gather special ash underground—yeah, Surya, I know you call it 'looting the dead.' And maybe it is. But it's how Sveethlad survives."

He waved them to put the gear aside, and a hush fell. They all sensed how precarious and essential this knowledge was. If the city's illusions and half-explained tactics were all that stood between them and the ghosts of the Undawild, they'd better learn fast. Surya tried a wry grin, but no one laughed. Even an intangible threat was still a threat.

They stood in the old courtyard long enough for the air to warm with midday light. The chipped walls bore faint streaks of soot, and a single table had been dragged to the center, covered with small glass canisters of powder. Voss Thane gestured at these canisters, a cool calm in his voice.

He said they were about to learn a new method: inhaling ash for a sudden burst of strength or focus. It was never a comfortable notion, he warned. Some raiders coughed until their throats bled, but if done properly, it could save a life when facing a Spectral in a cramped tunnel. He lifted one canister and uncapped it, letting them catch a whiff of its chalky scent.

Riley frowned at the swirl of dust. She asked how exactly this helped. Voss explained that, when inhaled, certain ash blends turned adrenaline sharper, reflexes quicker, or senses keener. Angela half-yawned as she peered into a funnel meant for dosing. Listik volunteered to try first, inhaling a small pinch, then hacking out a short cough.

He said it tasted of grave dirt, which drew a tight grimace from Shen, who scribbled mental notes about the chemical tang that seemed to linger in the air. Surya stood aside, arms crossed, quipping that he preferred not to sample "dead people's dust" unless he had to. Alexander took a measured breath, eyes narrowing as though scanning his body for changes.

They all sensed the faint charge in Listik's bearing, or the subtle tension in Riley's Zelion arms when she tested a dose. Even Angela's half-lidded manner sharpened for an instant. Voss gave them space to recover, reminding them not to overdose. In the tunnels, a pinch or two at the right time could mean the difference between striking a manifest Spectral or missing the opportunity entirely.

Then came the weapons. Voss walked them to a small rack where squat pistol-like devices lined a shelf. Each had a loading compartment near the handle and a faintly metallic smell. He called them ashen firearms—some Terminal Society experiment. When fired, a tiny spark ignited ash-laced pellets, launching them at close range.

Surya handled one first, turning it over and asking how often it jammed. Voss shrugged, admitting it was fussy and overheated if fired repeatedly, but offered a strong punch up close. Riley tried a test shot at a beaten plank across the yard. The weapon kicked, releasing a puff of ash-laced smoke, embedding a pellet in the wood with a satisfying pop. She nodded at the result, though her eyes flicked with unease at the concept of "ash bullets."

They took turns, wrestling with the recoil. Shen noted how each shot left a faint sting in the air, the acrid taste of burned dust. Listik nearly misfired once, prompting a quick correction from Voss. Angela asked if they should worry about intangible foes being simply unaffected. Voss said yes—if a Spectral wasn't partly solid, the projectile might do nothing. All of this, he emphasized, was guesswork in a city that had lost count of how many theories had come and gone.

Surya observed they were essentially using the dead's remains to fight the undead, letting out a short, bleak laugh. Voss gave him a grave nod. They had little choice; Spectrals wouldn't spare them courtesy. When the last shot was fired, a stale hush settled. The group felt the day's labors in every breath: inhaling spectral ash, practicing firearms that reeked of uncertain science. At least they were better armed for the intangible horrors they might soon face.

Voss collected the gear. They'd need to log each pellet spent, each pinch of ash inhaled. He added that next time, they would learn how raiders actually gathered and burned ash underground—something Surya had already called "looting the dead." Shen thought it probably fed back into Sveethlad's ecosystem, but he kept that to himself, focusing instead on the faint worry etched into everyone's expressions. If even these measures were half-guesses, what real chance did they have?

Afternoon light fell slantwise through a gap in the courtyard wall, painting their uneasy faces with a dim glow. Voss told them to get some rest, for they would need it when they faced spectrals in real corridors. No one argued. They filed back into the safehouse, the ashen dust still clinging to their throats, each footstep echoing with the knowledge that life in Sveethlad had never been more perilous—or more reliant on the dead to keep the living safe.