Rain poured over Ridgeview City like shards of silver glass. Neon signs flickered, their colors bleeding into puddles that mirrored the chaotic streets. Ayan Verma sprinted down a narrow alley, shoes slipping on wet asphalt, backpack bouncing against his back. He didn't know why he ran—instinct, maybe, or the nagging feeling that something tonight would change everything.
At sixteen, Ayan had mastered invisibility—not literal, but social. Walk through classrooms, hallways, the cafeteria… and no one would notice him. He was ordinary. Forgettable. Safe. Until tonight.
At the far end of the alley, a shadow shifted. It moved with a fluid grace that was anything but human.
"You… can see me."
Ayan froze. Heart hammering, chest tight. "I… I don't understand."
"You can," the voice whispered. "Most cannot. You're… different."
She stepped closer. Her hair clung to her pale face, wet and flowing like smoke, eyes glowing faintly in the rain. Fear, desperation, and something else—hope, maybe—burned in her gaze.
Before Ayan could react, footsteps echoed in the alley. Not ordinary. Calculated. Fast. They weren't human. Exorcists.
"You have to take this," the girl said, pressing something cold into his palm. A mark, black and faintly glowing, pulsing like it had its own heartbeat. "Bind me… only then will you survive."
The world tilted. A voice, mechanical and calm, filled his mind:
[SYSTEM ACTIVATED: SPECTRAL CONTRACT SYSTEM]
Ayan staggered, trying to catch his breath. Everything around him—the slick pavement, dripping walls, neon lights—was the same. Yet he felt… different. Sharp. Alive. A strange awareness prickled through him, and suddenly he could see things that weren't meant to be seen: shadows with faint outlines, figures lurking in the rain, spectral eyes watching him.
From the darkness, two figures emerged, cloaked in black robes. Their eyes glowed red, calculating, unblinking.
"System bearer… so it begins," one hissed.
"Wait! I don't even—" Ayan tried to speak, but his voice failed.
The other stepped forward, a cruel smile curling his lips. "You accepted the mark. That makes you our target."
Panic ignited adrenaline in his chest. He bolted, weaving through alleyways, puddles spraying around his feet. The robed exorcists followed, unnaturally fast.
Then the system spoke:
[MISSION 1: SURVIVE. BIND YOUR FIRST SPIRIT. TIME LIMIT: 5 MINUTES.]
Bind a spirit? Survive five minutes against these… things? His mind screamed, and his heart slammed against his ribs.
A shadow flitted at his side. Reflexively, he grabbed it. It wrapped around his wrist, cold yet alive.
"I am bound to you now," the voice said in his mind. "Together, we will survive. Together, we will fight."
Ayan stumbled. Something powerful and dangerous was now linked to him.
The first exorcist lunged. His heart jumped. The bound spirit surged forward, forming a dark, wraith-like whip that slammed into the attacker, sending him sprawling into the wet wall. Energy surged through Ayan's arm. System feedback appeared in his vision:
Bound Spirit Level: 1 → 2
Skill Unlocked: Shadow Grip
EXP Gained: 50
He barely understood what had happened. He had power. Real, terrifying power.
Another exorcist charged. Faster than humanly possible. Ayan ducked instinctively. The bound spirit reacted before he could think, binding the attacker in dark energy, leaving him stunned.
[NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: PHANTOM STEP]
The system pulsed in his mind, guiding him. Reflexes he never had, strength he never knew, coursed through him. He dashed through a narrow gap in the alley. Puddles sprayed like fireworks, and the exorcists hissed behind him, regrouping.
The timer ticked down in his vision: 3:40… 3:20… 3:00…
Ayan's legs burned, chest heaving. The system's calm voice echoed: survival wasn't enough. He needed strategy, control, awareness. His bound spirit whispered guidance, pulling him forward, shielding him, linking with his thoughts in a way that felt alive.
A narrow alley forked ahead. A shadow moved unnaturally fast on the left path. Instinct screamed left. Ayan veered sharply, barely avoiding a wall. Behind him, the exorcists stumbled, their eyes glinting red in the neon rain.
Suddenly, a tall figure appeared ahead. Cloaked, face hidden under a hood. Not one of the exorcists—but ancient. Calculating. Powerful. Watching.
"You carry the mark," the figure said. Voice deep, echoing in Ayan's mind. "And yet… you do not understand its power."
Ayan shook his head. "I… I don't even know what I'm doing!"
The figure tilted its head. "Then survive. Learn. Or die."
Adrenaline drove Ayan forward, twisting the alleyways like a maze. Rain drenched him, soaking through his coat, mixing with sweat and blood from a minor scrape. Every step reminded him of the truth: his life had changed forever. The invisible boy, the one no one noticed, was gone.
Finally, he stumbled into a dead-end alley. Walls rose on either side like cliffs. His breath came in ragged gasps. The exorcists closed in, their red eyes blazing. Ayan's back hit the wall. Trapped.
The system pulsed:
[MISSION COMPLETE: SURVIVE.]
Bound Spirit Level: 2 → 3
Skill Gained: Phantom Step
Next Mission: Discover the identity of your bound spirit
Ayan's chest heaved. He had survived—but he knew the danger wasn't over. Not even close.
His bound spirit materialized fully for the first time. Pale, flickering, almost human—but not entirely. Eyes bright, curious, observing him.
"I am Lyra," the spirit said softly. "And this world… is far more dangerous than you imagine."
Ayan swallowed hard, staring at the glowing mark on his palm. Ordinary life was gone. Gone forever.
Then, from the shadows, a faint whisper:
"The boy has awakened…"
A cold hand pressed against his shoulder. Not human. Not Lyra. Something alive, hidden in the darkness.
He spun around. Nothing.
The system pulsed a warning inside his mind:
[WARNING: Unknown Entity Approaching. LEVEL UNKNOWN. PREPARE FOR COMBAT.]
Ayan's eyes widened. His first fight was over—but the real danger had just begun.
The alley fell silent. Too silent.
And somewhere in the darkness beyond the rain, eyes watched him, unblinking, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The night the ghost chose him was only the beginning.