The rain fell soft and steady, drumming against the windowpane in a rhythm that might have been calming — if Gerie hadn't been listening.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, hand resting lightly over his chest. The mark was warm, steady, a quiet pulse beneath his palm. He wasn't trying to call anything. He wasn't trying to force or command. He was just… listening.
At first there was nothing — only the rain, the wind, the distant hum of the city. Then, slowly, like water seeping through cracks in stone, something else began to rise. Faint. Indistinct. A murmur.
…here…
…he is here…
…the blood… it wakes…
Gerie's breath caught. He leaned forward slightly, his hand pressing a little harder against his chest. "Who are you?" he whispered.
The voices didn't shout. They didn't roar or demand. They simply were — thousands of them, layered like soil, like stones, like years. Some sounded old. Some sounded young. Some carried the weight of centuries; others, the fresh, sharp grief of lives cut short.
…remember us…
…we waited…
…not a master… one of us…
"They know me," Gerie said, his voice trembling. "They've been waiting for me."
The black cat lay curled on the windowsill, half in shadow, its golden eyes slitted but alert. It watched him, listening to the voices too — or perhaps listening to him.
They have been waiting longer than you have been alive, it said, its voice soft but clear in his mind. Longer than your parents. Longer than the city. They remember the last time one like you walked the earth. They remember what was lost.
Gerie opened his eyes, staring at the floorboards as if he could see straight through them, down into the dark earth below. "What do they want?"
To be heard. To be remembered. To know they are not forgotten. The cat stood and stretched, moving with that slow, ancient grace, and padded over to sit beside him. People fear the dead because they think they are monsters. They think they hunger for flesh, for blood, for vengeance. Most are not. Most are just… resting. Waiting. Hoping someone will speak their name again.
Gerie closed his eyes once more, reaching out — not with power, but with intent. With kindness.
"I hear you," he whispered into the silence. "I see you. You are not forgotten."
For a moment, the voices swelled — a wave of warmth, of relief, of something like joy. Then they settled, soft and steady, like a lullaby carried on the wind.
…he hears…
…the rose… it blooms again…
Gerie's eyes snapped open. His heart hammered against his ribs. "They said…"
I heard, the cat said, its tone suddenly grave. They named it. Not as a word. Not as a label. As a memory. As a truth.
"Why don't you ever call it that?" Gerie asked, his hand tightening over the mark. "You call it my ability. What burns inside me. But never… that."
The cat looked away, toward the rain-streaked window, toward the darkening sky beyond. For a long moment, it said nothing. When it spoke, its voice was quieter, heavier, stripped of its usual pride and sharpness.
Because names have power. And that name… carries too much weight. Too much history. Too much pain. It turned back to him, golden eyes deep and serious. One day, you will carry that name too. But not yet. Not until you are strong enough to bear it without breaking.
Gerie sat in silence, the rain tapping against the glass, the voices murmuring soft and constant beneath the floor. He didn't understand everything. He didn't know the full story. But he knew one thing for certain — he wasn't alone. Not in this room. Not in this life. Not even in this world.
"They're with me," he said, realization dawning slow and bright. "All of them. Every step."
They are, the cat confirmed. And they will remain. So long as you remain true to what you are. It paused, then added, its tone shifting back toward its usual self-important authority, Now. That was very touching. And also very emotional. All this feeling makes me hungry. I require sustenance. And do not give me that dried fish again. I have already told you — I have standards.
Gerie laughed, the sound mixing with the rain and the soft, endless murmur of the dead. "Standards noted. I'll get you something better."
See that you do, the cat replied, but there was warmth in its voice — old, deep, and quiet. And Gerie?
"Yes?"
Listen to them. They are wiser than they appear. And they are on your side. That is more than most can say.
Gerie touched his chest one more time, feeling the mark hum in answer, feeling the voices rise and fall like a tide. He wasn't just carrying a power. He was carrying a legacy. A memory. A promise.
And somewhere deep beneath the earth, thousands of voices whispered back — we are with you.