The world outside the mansion was quiet that morning, but not peaceful.
It was the quiet of something waiting — a silence pregnant with storms yet to arrive. The air was heavy with heat and dust, the kind that clung to skin and clothes, the kind that carried whispers of fear.
By the third day after the living-room incident, rumors had begun to spread like wildfire. Servants in hushed tones spoke of her differently. Not as a fragile girl, but as something dangerous. Something untouchable. Something carved from pain and silence.
They spoke of the stitched hand. They spoke of her refusal of help. They spoke of a storm in her that no one could name.
And they were right.
Maya knew it. She felt it.
She had been sitting in the living room when they came. Alone. The notebook lay closed beside her, the wound on her palm hidden beneath folded cloth. Her stitched hand rested across her lap as she stared at nothing, as though she was no longer part of the world.
The courtyard was alive before she sensed them. A strange presence swept through the air, colder than wind, heavier than shadow. The marble floor of the front hall seemed to shiver under it. Servants stopped moving mid-step. The guards froze, their hands tightening on their swords.
Then they stepped inside.
Seven figures. Seven silhouettes carved in darkness. They moved without sound, without warning. Their arrival was not heralded by noise, but by a shifting of the air itself — an unnatural weight pressing on the lungs.
They called themselves the Ghosts of Hell.
Their faces were half-hidden beneath masks and hoods. Their clothing was black, stitched with crimson, their movements synchronized like a single organism. Behind them was a presence that seemed older than time itself, as though they carried centuries of suffering between them.
When they stepped into the courtyard, Maya looked up. Not startled. Not afraid. Just quiet.
They stepped forward together, each one carrying the air of those who had survived horrors no living soul should know. The moment they approached, the courtyard seemed to darken — the sunlight dimmed as though swallowed by shadow.
Their leader came first. Tall. Broad-shouldered. His face hidden beneath a mask of black steel. His voice was deep and slow when he spoke:
"We are here for you, Maya."
They were seven. Seven souls bound together by a shared wound, each marked by the same cruelty that had shaped Maya's past. They were victims of the Holo of Fair, test subjects in experiments that stripped flesh, mind, and soul.
Each of them bore scars, not just of flesh but of memory.
Each of them carried something heavier than chains.
They were:
Kaelen — The leader. A man of few words. His body was a living map of suffering: burns that never healed, strange metallic plates embedded beneath his skin, scars that moved as though alive. The Holo of Fair had stripped him of his name, but he bore theirs still.
Tharos — His voice was steel wrapped in silence. His hearing had been destroyed deliberately, leaving him in a world of pain and echo. He wore no mask, yet his face was unreadable. His silence was a weapon.
Veyra — The only woman. Her body had been reshaped, broken and rebuilt until it was no longer hers. Her eyes were dark pools that reflected endless suffering. Her voice was rare, but when she spoke, her words were sharp as glass.
Drenic — Once a boy. His body twisted from chemical experiments. His flesh carried burns and unnatural seams. His voice was soft, almost childlike, but it carried the weight of finality.
Neryth — His skin bore strange markings, almost runes, carved deep. He had been stripped of memory, left with fragments of himself that were nothing but pain. His silence was his answer to the world.
Oris — A figure who moved slowly, deliberately. His limbs were fused unnaturally. His shadow was heavier than his body, as if carrying more than weight. He was both alive and a hollow vessel.
Eryth — The youngest. His wounds were invisible, buried deep in his mind. His eyes held a quiet terror, as though he had never truly escaped the experiments.
Each of them had been made into something unnatural. Each had endured. And each owed their survival to Maya.
Because she had helped them escape.
When they stepped fully into the courtyard, the air grew colder still. The servants scattered. The guards stepped back. Even the wind seemed to hush.
Maya rose slowly. Her stitched hand hung at her side. Her voice was soft, almost detached.
"Why are you here?"
Kaelen stepped forward, his boots soundless against the stone. His voice was low, deliberate.
"Because we owe you."
Maya's lips pressed into a thin line.
"I never asked for your debt."
Veyra stepped forward, her voice a whisper.
"You saved us, Maya. When we were trapped. When we were dying. You gave us freedom."
Maya's eyes darkened. "Yes. But I told you not to follow me."
Tharos moved forward, his face unreadable.
"You did not tell us to stop. Not when we could choose. We follow because we have no other path."
Drenic stepped closer, his voice soft but certain.
"You saved us. Even though it cost you more than safety."
Maya's voice remained calm, almost cold.
"It cost me more than safety."
Neryth stepped beside Kaelen.
"Three days," he said quietly. "They kept you for three days. They broke you."
Kaelen's voice was hard as stone.
"We know what they did. Every wound. Every scar. We know because we suffered too."
Maya's gaze was steady. "I did not ask you to come here."
Eryth's voice was barely audible.
"Then why did you let us?"
Maya says, "Do you know that if you follow me, you will not get anything. If you follow me, there will be no other way but to go to hell."
Then Rahi replied , "We were already in living hell once ."
Maya said nothing. Her silence was heavier than words.
Kaelen stepped closer. "We will not leave you. Not now. Not ever. You saved us when no one else would. You stood against the Holo of Fair. You carried pain we cannot imagine. If we stand with you… it will be because you gave us something worth standing for."
Maya's eyes fell to the ground. The courtyard was thick with silence, charged and waiting.
Finally, her voice broke the stillness.
"I said you would not follow me."
Tharos stepped forward.
"We do not follow, Maya. We stand beside."
Veyra's voice was low but certain.
"You gave us a choice once. We give you ours now."
Maya's stitched hand tightened around her arm.
"When I was taken," she said softly, "they kept me for three days in darkness. No air. No water. No light. They made me bleed, burn, scream until I could no longer tell where I ended and they began."
Kaelen stepped closer, his voice steel.
"And yet you live. That is why we are here. Survival like yours is not something we forget."
Maya lifted her eyes to meet them, her voice low.
"Do you know what it means to live with pain as your only companion? To wake every day knowing it is there? To stitch your own wounds because no one else will?"
There was silence.
Eryth's voice broke softly.
"We know."
Maya said nothing for a long moment. Then:
"Why stand here? Why risk yourselves for me?"
Kaelen's voice was steady.
"Because we are bound by the same fire. We are ghosts who cannot rest. And if we leave you… the fire will..... ."
Maya pressed her stitched hand to her chest. "Then know this. I am not the girl you think I am. I am not your saviour. I am something they tried to destroy. And I am still standing."
Tharos stepped forward. "You said you did not want us to follow. But whether you wish it or not… we will follow. To let you walk alone is impossible."
Veyra stepped beside him. "We owe you that much."
The courtyard was silent except for the faint sound of returning rain. It fell in thin threads, washing the air clean.
Maya's voice was soft. "I told you. You would not follow me. But perhaps… some things cannot be stopped."
Kaelen inclined his head.
"Then we stand with you."
She looked at them for a long moment, then turned away. Her shadow stretched long across the courtyard. Behind her, the seven ghosts stood as one — bound by suffering, bound by her.
In that stillness was a promise. A storm gathering.
The world was no longer safe for Maya.
And neither was it safe for those who chose to walk with her.