Frieren: Twin Souls

Chapter 17 Death that learned to speak

Geist knelt beside the corpse. His hand became shrouded in dense, tar-black mana, and his eyes flared with a violet glow. Frieren and Fern watched in tense silence. This was pure necromancy—a rare and dangerous art.

"Return for a moment from the edge of nothingness... and tell me your story," he whispered.

A pale, trembling specter began to emerge from the body. The man's spirit stared ahead with an empty gaze, his lips moving with visible effort. Every word seemed painful to utter.

"Came..." the ghost groaned. "De... mon. Ano... ther. Awa... kened. That... is... what... he... called... him... self."

Geist narrowed his eyes, maintaining the spell.

"What did he do? Where did he take the people?"

"Forced... every... one... to... fol... low... him. I... saw... him... kill... his... own... bro... ther. Ano... ther... de... mon... called... him... a... trai... tor. The... Awa... kened... knew... no... loy... al... ty."

The spirit trembled, and its form began to dissolve. Geist could feel that little time remained.

"That is enough. Go to Aureole. May the North receive you," he said gently, withdrawing his mana.

The specter vanished with a faint sigh, and silence once again settled over the stable.

Geist rose to his feet and looked at Frieren. His expression had turned grim.

"The Awakened," he repeated quietly. "A demon who kills his own kind and leads humans into the unknown. That doesn't sound like an ordinary invasion. It sounds more like an army in need of livestock... or sacrifices."

Frieren turned her gaze toward the Tomb of the Northern Star.

"If this 'Awakened One' is heading where I think he is, then the people of your village didn't leave in order to live. They left to become part of something far darker."

The group immediately followed his trail. Barely visible footprints left by thousands of people stretched toward the Tomb of the Northern Star looming on the horizon.

Fern remained silent for a long time, but eventually matched her pace with Geist's. Her curiosity had finally overcome her unease toward dark rituals.

"That spell you used in the stable..." she began hesitantly. "I've never seen anything like it in any grimoire. Is it connected to your pact?"

Geist shook his head. Tod the raven let out a quiet caw, as though he too remembered ages long past.

"No, Fern. It is a very old form of magic, nearly forgotten. It was practiced by those known as the Speakers of the Beyond," he explained calmly. "They lived long before Flamme was born. They were not necromancers in the modern sense of the word. Their purpose was far more... compassionate."

For a moment, he looked up at the gray northern sky.

"They helped those whom fate had cruelly separated. People who never had the chance to say goodbye to their loved ones, or those who died with unresolved conflicts weighing on their hearts. The Speakers allowed them a final exchange of words, a chance for reconciliation, so their souls could depart in peace. What you witnessed was merely an echo of their art, adapted to extract information from those unfortunate enough not to survive."

Walking beside him, Frieren nodded.

"I've heard of them. Flamme once said their magic faded away because people grew more afraid of the whispers of the dead than of death itself. It's a shame. It was one of the few forms of magic that truly helped bring closure."