Chapter 5 The Survival

The first order of business was survival.

I couldn't plan revenge if I were dead. Couldn't build an organization if I couldn't stand. Couldn't do anything except die in this shack like Liana had, and I hadn't clawed my way back from the grave just to repeat her fate.

So I started with the basics.

Water first. The bucket was foul, but there was a stream not far from the shack, which I remembered from Liana's memories. A place she'd gone sometimes when she needed to escape, to sit and watch the water and pretend she was somewhere else.

I made it there on my third attempt. Fell twice. Crawled the last few feet. But I made it.

The water was cold and clean, tasting like life itself. I drank until my stomach cramped, then drank more. Felt the liquid spreading through my body, waking cells that had been dormant, reminding my new flesh what it felt like to be alive.

Food next. The three copper coins bought me a loaf of bread from a baker who didn't look twice at a ragged girl with hollow cheeks. I ate half of it sitting in an alley, forcing myself to go slow, to let my starved stomach adjust. The other half I saved for later.

Shelter. The shack was terrible, but it was free, and it was private, and no one came near it. Liana had been forgotten in life; she'd be forgotten in death. No one would look for me there.

So I went back. Ate the other half of the bread. Drank more water from the stream. Slept for twelve hours straight, my body finally able to rest now that it wasn't actively dying.

When I woke, the sun was rising, and the ghost in my chest was quiet.

I stood. My legs shook less than yesterday. My head spun less. Progress.

"Day one," I said to the empty room. "Let's begin."

The next two weeks were a blur of small improvements.

I found work, the kind of work that asked no questions and paid in coins. Cleaning fish at the docks. Hauling water for a washerwoman. Running messages for merchants who didn't want to use official channels. Nothing that required strength I didn't have, nothing that drew attention, nothing that couldn't be abandoned in an instant.

Every coin I earned went into a hidden pouch I'd sewn into the lining of Liana's only dress. Every spare moment went into training.

The body was weak, but it was young. Youth heals quickly; muscles remember how to grow. Each day, I pushed harder, walking farther, running faster, lifting anything I could. The washerwoman let me practice with her heavy baskets. The dockworkers laughed when the skinny girl tried their crates, but when I lifted them, the laughter stopped.

I found a secluded spot in the forest near the shack, a clearing no one went to, hidden by undergrowth and fallen trees. There, in the hours before dawn and after dusk, I trained.

I started with forms. The basic stances I’d learned as a child, before I became Specter, before I was anything but a girl trying to survive. Feet planted, weight balanced, center of gravity low. Every movement was precise and deliberate.

Then strikes. Punches at first, because I had no weapons and needed to learn what this body could do. Then kicks. Then, when I'd saved enough coins, I got a knife from a pawn shop, cheap and dull, but sharp enough to practice with.

I drilled the forms until my muscles screamed, until my arms hung useless at my sides. I collapsed in the grass, staring up at the stars, wondering if Corvus watched the same sky, unaware his victim still drew breath.

Soon, I promised myself. Soon.