The villagers didn't speak to her.
Just like they didn't speak to him.
Maybe that's why Lumen liked her already.
She stood beneath his perch, eyes sharp and unreadable. Her hand didn't leave the hilt of her blade, but it wasn't threatening. Just... natural. Like someone who had grown used to drawing steel before speaking.
"So," Lumen said, sack mask tilting. "You're not afraid of ghosts. That mean you're dead too?"
She gave a short snort. "Only inside."
"…Relatable."
Rin's lips twitched. That was the first sign she had any softness at all. The rest of her looked like she'd been carved from stone.
He hopped down from the wooden beam with a thump and dusted himself off. The frost crunched beneath his boots.
"You here to hire me?" he asked. "Or hunt me?"
"Neither," she said. "I'm here to see the one the crows talk to."
He stiffened slightly. But didn't show it. Not much, anyway.
"And if I said that's not me?"
"I'd say you're a liar," she said. "Or scared."
Lumen tilted his head.
"Ghosts don't lie. And they're already scared of everything."
They ended up sitting by a dying fire near the edge of the fields. The crows had taken to circling again, though farther now. Watching. Listening.
Rin offered no more details than her name. Lumen didn't ask.
"I had a dream," she said finally. "I saw a scarecrow hanging in a storm. It had no heart. No soul. But the threads binding it were singing."
Lumen stared at the flames. "...And?"
"And I followed the threads."
She showed him the mark on her wrist — a faint glowing brand, shaped like a gear crossed with a sword. Not a common sigil.
Definitely not.
[System Update: Compatible Link Detected]
Connection: Provisional
Status: Partial Sync — Incomplete Data Merge
He felt something shift inside him. A thread in his soul pulled taut, like the wind had gripped his thoughts.
"You're not normal," he said flatly.
She smirked. "You just figured that out?"
Over the next few days, she stayed.
Slept near the outskirts, ate from her own supplies, sparred with the air like she was itching for a fight that never came. The villagers avoided her, same as him.
And maybe that's why they started talking more.
"You always wear that mask?" she asked on the second night.
"Only when I'm awake," he said.
"That… doesn't really answer the question."
He shrugged. "It's part of the vibe."
She chuckled once. "You're weird."
"I'm a scarecrow. It's in the job description."
One afternoon, they stood atop a ridge watching smoke rise from the southern woods.
"Bandits," Rin said.
"You sure?"
She tapped her temple. "I've tracked them for a week. They burn the weak settlements. Take children."
Lumen tensed. "That's a little too classic villain, don't you think?"
She gave him a dry look. "I don't think they care about genre conventions."
That night, she gave him a knife.
"This isn't charity," she said. "Just means you'll be useful tomorrow."
He turned it over. It was old but clean. Balanced. He tested the grip.
"Still not afraid of ghosts?" he asked quietly.
Rin's gaze didn't waver. "Only the kind that leave others behind."
By dawn, they'd mapped the bandits' camp and marked the weakest spot — between the storage carts and the fire ring.
As they crouched behind a fallen log, Lumen whispered,
"You sure this is a good idea?"
Rin didn't look at him. "No. But it's better than letting them raid another village."
He glanced down at the knife. "I was kinda hoping 'useful tomorrow' meant holding your cloak or something."
She smirked. "If you die, I'll get it back."
Lumen sighed. "Comforting."
Then she gave a sharp whistle.
The ambush wasn't perfect.
But it was smart.
Three bandits sat by the fire, half-drunk. One leaned against a cart. The lookout — younger, alert — stood on a stump, scanning the trees.
That's the one Lumen went for.
He tossed a stone into the brush behind the camp. The lookout turned — and a strand of thread shot from Lumen's fingers, wrapping around the man's ankle.
Yank.
He toppled. Lumen leapt, blade hilt striking temple. Out cold.
Rin was already moving — her blade cut through the first man before he stood. Another lunged; she flipped him into the fire.
The last one — huge, with a double axe — swung at her.
Too wide.
Lumen had already reached the crates. With a flick of his thread-sigil, the ropes snapped.
They fell — one cracking against the brute's shoulder.
He stumbled. Rin finished it.
The hilt of her blade struck the back of his neck.
Silence.
They stood over the unconscious men, breathing hard. Rin wiped her blade. Lumen checked for pulses. They were all alive — barely.
"You planned that crate drop," Rin said.
Lumen smirked beneath the mask. "Smart beats strong. Most of the time."
She gave a rare nod. "Useful."
They tied the bandits to trees using vines and old rope, tightening knots with practiced hands.
Lumen looked at the wrecked cart. "We leave them here?"
Rin nodded, stepping back to admire her work.
"Forest spirits are hungry this time of year."
He blinked. "You're joking… right?"
She didn't answer.
And he wasn't sure he wanted one.
Back at the village, no one cheered. No one asked where they'd gone. But one of the children — the same one who used to bring Lumen food — offered Rin a piece of bread.
She smiled softly.
For a moment, the storm behind her eyes cleared.
That night, they sat beneath the stars. The fire between them cracked like an old wound healing.
"You ever wonder why the system picked you?" she asked.
"All the time," he said. "Still don't know if it was a blessing or a joke."
"I think," she said, "it picks people who don't fit. People who… break things just by existing."
He was quiet a long time.
Then said, "Maybe that's why we're dangerous."
She looked at him for a while.
"Or maybe that's why we matter."
[System Recognition Triggered]
Mission Complete: Small-scale Intervention
Reward: New Ability Unlocked — "Snareweave" (Basic Thread Control)
Sigil Progression Increased
Title Retained: "Scarecrow"
Companion Bond: Active — Rin
The crows circled again. Louder this time. Closer.
And Lumen felt something blooming in his chest — not warmth. Not comfort.
But purpose.
Maybe this was what it meant to be remembered.
To be named.
To stop being just a shadow in someone else's dream.