Spirit Pact Hundred Scenes Record

Chapter 4 Hiding

Karen had never felt the journey from the east side of town to the government building was so long.

The cub in her arms trembled weaker and weaker, like a flame gradually dying out, its golden down matted with blood and dust. Each painful convulsion was transmitted directly to Karen's consciousness through that strange mental connection. The excruciating pain at the broken wing, the burning sensation from the crimson flames encroaching on its abdomen, and the chill emanating from its very marrow—signs of excessive blood loss and depletion of psionic energy.

But he can't stop.

Behind them came the sounds of soldiers' rough searching: wooden crates were kicked over, rotten planks were smashed, and there were hushed curses. They hadn't caught up yet, but soon they would find the marks of a broken side window and trace the bloodstains and footprints in the weeds.

Karen squeezed into an alley, pressed his back against the cold stone wall, and gasped for breath. Sweat streamed down his forehead, mingling with the dust and leaving streaks on his face. He looked down at the cub in his arms; its amber eyes were half-open, its pupils unfocused.

"Hang in there," he whispered, his voice so dry it was almost hoarse. "We'll be there soon."

The cub didn't respond. But a faint light and shadow floated in Karen's mind: a warm golden light, like the sunlight at dusk, enveloping it. It was the wings of its mother in its memory, the psionic shield woven together by the pack during their migration, the only warm illusion it could grasp in its fall and pain.

It regarded him as that light.

Karen gritted her teeth and started running again.

The back alley of the government building was deserted. The cult's attention was clearly focused on patrolling the warehouse district and the main street. The stone building stood silently in the night, like a giant tombstone. Karen went around to the north side—there was an inconspicuous side door there, usually only used by the cleaners, the key hidden in a gap above the door frame.

He tiptoed and felt around, his fingertips touching the cold metal. The key was still there.

He opened the door, slipped inside, and locked it behind him. The movements were swift and seamless.

Inside the door was a narrow, cluttered passageway, piled with brooms, buckets, and worn-out mops. The air was thick with years of dust and the smell of cheap soap. Karen walked along the passageway, past the kitchen and the storeroom, until she reached the staircase leading to the main hall.

Footsteps came from upstairs.

Karen's heart nearly stopped. He ducked into the shadows below the stairs, clutching the cub tightly to his chest and completely wrapping it in his coat. The cub seemed to sense the danger too; even its trembling stopped, and it stood like a cold, golden sculpture.

"...Is the mayor still in the meeting room?"

"Yes, with those old spirit masters. The order only gave them three days, and they're discussing how to stall for time."

"Delaying? I think they're discussing how to save their lives. Captain Roland's eyes... I bet he really would kill someone."

The conversation between two government office clerks grew louder as it approached, then passed over the stairs and gradually faded away.

Karen waited until the sounds completely faded before emerging from the shadows and tiptoeing up the stairs. The archives were on the third floor, deep inside, far from the main office area. The oil lamps along the corridor had long been extinguished; only moonlight seeped in through the arched windows, casting blurry windowpane shadows on the floor.

He stopped in front of the archives room.

The lock was a simple brass lock, and he had a key—one of the few privileges he possessed as a scribe. But at that moment, his hands were trembling so badly that he had to try twice before he could insert the key into the lock.

Click.

The door opened.

Karen slipped inside and immediately locked the door. The archives were pitch black, but he knew every inch of it as well as the back of his hand. Holding the cub, he walked around the long table in the center and headed towards the bookshelves at the far end.

The fourth bookshelf, made of oak, was half a head shorter than the others and looked like it had been added later. Karen crouched down, temporarily placing the cub on the ground, and reached under the bookshelf to feel around.

On the right edge of the third plank, there is a barely visible dent.

He pressed down hard, and the wooden board slid open silently, revealing a half-meter square hole behind it. This was a design flaw in the construction of the archives—the gap between two load-bearing walls had been converted into a secret storage space by early administrators. Karen discovered it by accident while organizing a batch of architectural drawings from two hundred years ago, one of which marked this "structural redundancy area."

He later measured it himself; the space was about 1.2 meters long, 80 centimeters wide, and less than half a meter high. An adult couldn't hide inside, but it was more than enough to store some personal belongings or... an injured spirit cub.

Karen climbed inside, making sure there were no spider webs or signs of insect damage, and then carefully carried the cub inside. The space was covered with a thick layer of dust. He took out a spare handkerchief from his coat pocket—a common item for scribes to wipe ink-stained fingers—and swept away the dust before letting the cub lie down.

As soon as the cub touched the ground, it let out a faint whimper.

Pain... cold...

"Almost done," Karen whispered, climbing out of the Mig and back to the bookshelf.

He needs two things: light and herbs.

Open flames were forbidden in the archives, but he had an emergency psionic lamp—one of his father's heirlooms, its core a small energy storage crystal that could glow for hours when activated, emitting almost no psionic fluctuations. The lamp was kept in the drawer of his usual desk.

He fetched a lamp and turned it to its lowest brightness. Soft white light filled the interior of the chamber, illuminating the cub's horrific injuries.

Then came the herbs.

The government archives naturally wouldn't have medical supplies. But Karen remembered seeing a complimentary "Collection of Common Herbal Specimens from the North" while sorting through a batch of folk records from fifty years ago, which included some dried plant samples. He found it interesting at the time and categorized it in the "Folklore and Folk Knowledge" section.

He strode to the third shelf and pulled out a thick, leather-bound book from the middle shelf. Inside, various withered plant specimens were held together by thin string, with handwritten labels and brief descriptions below.

Silverleaf grass, commonly found on damp rock walls, can be crushed and applied externally to stop bleeding and relieve pain.

"Sunlight moss grows on sunny tree trunks. When dried and ground into powder, it has a neutralizing effect on burns caused by psionic energy."

"The rootlets of the ground vine, the underground part, can be boiled down to make a decoction that promotes wound healing."

Karen carefully removed a few silverleaf specimens, a small pinch of sunscald powder (in a small glass bottle), and a few pieces of ground ivy tendrils. These specimens had been stored for decades, and their medicinal effects were certainly not as good as before, but they were better than nothing.

Back at Mig, he was in a dilemma: without a mortar and pestle, without clean water, how could he process these herbs?

My gaze swept across the archives and landed on the washbasin in the corner—a place prepared for the scribes to clean their hands, containing a ceramic basin and a small jar of cheap soap. The basin was half-filled with water, probably left over from yesterday.

We'll have to make do.

Karen placed the silverleaf and groundroot tendrils on a smooth stone slab paperweight (also one of his tools) and carefully ground and crushed them with the edge of another paperweight. The dried plant fibers broke apart, emitting a faint bitter and earthy smell. He added a little water and continued grinding until a coarse paste was formed.

Then he returned to the cubs.

Under the light, the wounds looked even more horrific. At the tear in the wing, the broken light-energy bones stood erect like shattered crystal, the surrounding tissue swollen and purplish. The burns on the abdomen had grayish-white edges, but the center had turned black, emitting a faint putrid odor.

Karen treated her abdomen first.

He used a clean handkerchief dipped in water to gently clean around the wound. The cub's body trembled violently, but it didn't make a sound. It just stared at him with its amber eyes, a mixture of pain, wariness, and a hint of...trust?

"It will hurt a little," Karen said, then realized that it didn't understand human language—or at least shouldn't.

But the cub's eyes flickered slightly, as if in response.

Karen held her breath and evenly sprinkled the sunscald powder onto the burn surface. The moment the powder touched the wound, it emitted a faint hissing sound and a wisp of almost invisible smoke. The cub's body convulsed violently, and Karen could clearly feel the burning pain intensify and then gradually subside—the corrosive psionic energy of the Azure Flame was neutralized by the sunscald.

Next, he applied the mashed herbal paste to the wound and secured it with strips of clean cloth (from another spare shirt).

Then comes the most difficult part: the wings.

Karen stared at the broken energy skeletons. He had never encountered such a structure before—it looked solid, yet shimmered with a faint glow of energy. He tentatively reached out a finger and gently touched one of the broken bones.

A slight tingling sensation spread through my fingertips, like being struck by a weak electric current. At the same time, the cub's consciousness surged in:

Don't... touch there... it hurts...

"It has to be reset," Karen whispered, both to the cubs and to encourage herself, "otherwise it will never grow properly."

He recalled the skeletal structure diagram of the winged lion he had seen in the encyclopedia. The cub's wings were not yet fully formed, and its main skeleton consisted of only three primary bones and a dozen or so secondary bones. Now, two primary bones were broken, and four secondary bones were misaligned.

Karen took a deep breath.

He gently supported the cub's back with his left hand, stabilizing its body. His right hand carefully held a broken main bone, sensing the direction of its psionic flow. The winged lion's skeleton was not only a supporting structure but also a channel for psionic energy transmission; it had to be repositioned according to the flow of psionic energy.

He slowly moved the broken bone, aligning it with another broken section.

Instantly, the cub let out a piercing, silent scream!

The scream exploded directly into Karen's mind, like a red-hot awl piercing his skull! A flood of pain, fear, and despair surged over him, almost overwhelming his consciousness. His vision blurred, and his hands trembled uncontrollably, nearly giving way.

But he didn't.

He clenched his teeth, blood seeping from his gums, forcing himself to keep his hands steady. The broken edge drew closer, and the psychic glow began to respond and leap, like a broken circuit reconnecting.

Finally, the two broken bones were perfectly aligned.

A strange thing happened: fine filaments of light automatically extended from the broken surface, intertwining and merging like living things. In just a few seconds, the crack disappeared, the bone was restored to its original state, leaving only a faint, glowing scar at the joint.

Karen was stunned.

But there was no time for surprise. He repeated the process, treating the second main bone and the four misaligned secondary bones. Each touch brought a violent reaction of pain to the cub, and each repositioning drained something indescribable from himself—not physical strength, but a more intrinsic, spiritual power. He felt dizzy, his nasal passages burning, and some warm liquid flowing down his throat.

is blood.

He wiped his nose, his hand covered in bright red blood.

But the wings were complete. All the broken and misaligned bones had been reset, and the light filaments were repairing the cracks on their own. Although they couldn't fly or even move yet, at least they had the foundation for proper healing.

Finally, he applied the remaining herbal paste to the tear at the base of the wing and gently wrapped it with strips of cloth—not too tightly, so as not to affect the flow of psionic energy.

After doing all this, Karen slumped down beside the bookshelf, leaning against it, panting heavily. Sweat soaked through her shirt, clinging coldly to her skin. Her nose was still bleeding; she covered it with a handkerchief, and it took a while for the bleeding to stop.

Migri, the cub lay quietly.

Its breathing became more even, its abdomen rising and falling slightly with each breath. Its amber eyes were half-open, their gaze fixed on Karen's face, their expression complex and difficult to decipher.

A long silence.

Then, a faint, tentative thought, like the first ripple of melting spring water, gently flowed into Karen's consciousness:

Golden human...why...are you not afraid of me?

Karen paused, then looked at the cub. It remained staring at him, waiting for a response.

"I..." Karen began, then stopped. He was speaking to a spirit, and it seemed to be truly listening. "Why should I be afraid of you?"

The cub's eyes flickered.

Other humans... are afraid. I've seen it... when they see their mother's race flying through the sky, they hide, they take out glowing sticks (staffs? weapons?). Those black humans just burn us with white fire... but you're not afraid. You touch my wounds, you hug me, you hide me... why?

Karen fell silent.

Why?

Five years ago, when he stood before the Resonance Stone, his wrist empty, he tasted the bitterness of rejection. Because he had copied countless records about spirits in the archives, knowing they were not monsters, not tools, but intelligent beings with emotions, families, and communities. Because his father's notes revealed respect and curiosity for spirits, not fear and conquest.

And also because... when the cub's thoughts first flooded his mind, he felt not a threat, but pure pain and loneliness. So similar to what he himself had buried deep within his heart all these years.

"Because you're not in danger." Finally, Karen said softly, "You're just hurt, scared, and want your mom."

The cub's ears—those two tufts of fine down—stood up slightly.

You... can understand me? You really can? This isn't a guess? This isn't a hallucination?

"I don't know," Karen confessed, "but I can definitely... sense what you're thinking. Like right now, you're thinking: 'Is this human insane?'"

The cub's eyes widened.

Then, something incredible happened.

It made a sound—not a whimper, not a wail, but a soft, tentative purr, like the sound a house cat makes when it's comfortable. At the same time, a warm, furry image floated into Karen's mind: the cub gently nuzzling his palm with its head, just as it used to do to its mother.

The image was so clear, so real, accompanied by an emotion Karen had never experienced before: trust. Pure, unreserved trust.

Golden human... Thank you.

Karen's throat tightened slightly.

"My name is Karen," he said. "Karen Everett."

Karen. The cub's thoughts repeated the name, as if learning a new word. Then it conveyed its own name—not as a syllable, but as an image: the first ray of sunlight at dawn piercing through the clouds, illuminating the darkness and bringing warmth and hope.

Dawn.

Its name is Xiguang (Dawn).

Karen nodded, reached out, and gently placed her hand on the cub's head. The fur was incredibly soft, carrying the warmth unique to life. Xiguang didn't flinch; instead, it nuzzled its head closer to her palm, its eyes slightly narrowed.

That strange connection still existed, but now it no longer transmitted pain; instead, it was a calm, reassuring warmth that circulated slowly between them. Karen could feel Xiguang's injuries slowly healing, could feel its spiritual energy gradually regrouping, and could feel its deepest fear being dispelled little by little by this newfound trust.

Outside the window, the sky was beginning to lighten.

The first true rays of dawn are about to arrive, and with dawn comes the first day of the Order's three-day deadline, and inevitably, an even more thorough search.

But at this moment, in the dimly lit Migrid, a man and a lion quietly nestled together.

Xi Guang licked Karen's hand, the rough surface of her tongue tracing across the skin, conveying a final, clear thought:

Karen...don't be afraid...I will protect you...

Karen didn't answer, but gently rubbed its ear.

He knew how unrealistic that promise was coming from a badly injured cub that could barely stand.

But for some reason, he believed it.