— Oral Record: Ashcroft —
With Adrian's grim acceptance of the spirit marriage,
the name "Ashcroft" resurfaced—
not as a location, but as something long buried and deliberately forgotten.
"Does anyone know where Ashcroft is?" I asked.
No one answered right away.
The silence that followed wasn't confusion—it was absence. As if the name itself failed to anchor to any living memory.
Selene frowned slightly and pulled out her phone, her fingers moving with habitual efficiency as she opened a maps application. She tried several spellings. The results were sparse.
Three locations appeared.
All to the south or east.
None to the north.
She turned the screen toward us. "Nothing up here," she said. "If this place ever existed, it's under a different name now."
An older name, then. One that no longer officially existed.
Just as the search seemed to reach a dead end, Clara spoke—quietly, almost reluctantly.
"I know a place... that used to be called Ashcroft."
Her voice was low, careful, as though the name itself required restraint.
"Where?" I asked.
"Not far," she replied. "Near my hometown. It's still within the Novalis District, but... remote. Far enough that people rarely go there now."
Selene blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Your hometown is Restvale, isn't it?"
"Restvale is what it's called now," Clara said. "But when I was young, the older villagers still called it Ashcroft. Or rather... they said that was its old name."
She paused, then added, "I can't be certain it's the same place you're looking for."
Her tone remained steady, but there was tension beneath it—an effort to remain precise.
After a brief silence, she continued.
"It also has another name."
We waited.
"Ashcroft Ghost Village."
Ghost Village.
The words settled heavily in the room, drawing a short, instinctive silence. Before I could speak, Edward leaned forward slightly.
"Why would they call it that?"
Clara glanced around, as if measuring whether anyone might interrupt her. Then she exhaled and began recounting what she had heard growing up—stories passed down in fragments, never written, never confirmed.
---
According to oral accounts, the original village hadn't stood where it does now.
It was deeper in the mountains, hidden within overlapping ridges where mist lingered year-round.
At first, it was said to be ordinary. Quiet. Poor, but stable.
Then one year, a one-eyed elder arrived.
No one knew where he came from. He claimed knowledge of medicine and ritual practices, and he asked for nothing in return. He treated the sick. He eased pain. When livestock fell ill, he helped. Over time, the villagers began to trust him.
Not long after, women began to disappear.
First, young girls.
Then married women.
Eventually—even children.
Panic spread. The villagers turned to the elder for answers.
He told them it was the work of a malevolent spirit.
He warned them repeatedly: once the sun set, bar the doors. Do not go outside.
At night, behind sealed windows and locked entrances, people heard weeping—women crying, screaming—coming from the direction of the elder's house.
Most believed he was performing rites to suppress the spirit. They told themselves the sounds were proof of his efforts. Their gratitude deepened.
Later, the elder died.
He was found in the cellar beneath his own house.
He left a letter behind, instructing the villagers not to disturb his body. He claimed that even in death, his remains would serve as a seal—binding and suppressing the female spirits.
For a time, it seemed to work.
The crying stopped.
The disappearances ceased.
Life resumed its fragile rhythm.
Clara paused.
Her jaw was set, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. This wasn't just a folktale to her—it was something she had grown up with, a presence that lingered even when unspoken.
"He protected the village in life," Selene murmured, almost reverently. "And suppressed the ghosts after death. People like that... are rare now."
Clara shook her head.
"It didn't last."
Decades later, the hauntings returned.
Young women vanished once more. Their bodies were often discovered near the elder's abandoned house. At night, the crying resumed—louder, closer.
An exorcist was eventually brought in. After assessing the situation, he declared the entity too powerful to be eradicated.
His advice was simple.
Leave.
The villagers couldn't live with the fear. So they relocated, abandoning the old settlement entirely.
Silence followed her words.
One-eyed elder.
Disappearances.
Hauntings.
Each detail aligned too precisely with what Elena had described.
From the information available, I was now reasonably certain—
This was the Ashcroft she meant.
---
— Proposed Site Visit —
"Can vehicles get in?" I asked.
"Yes," Clara replied. "But the roads are in poor condition. You'd need a four-wheel drive."
She nodded once, as if confirming the reality to herself.
"In recent years, some people have gone in anyway. They call it urban exploration."
She unlocked her phone and handed it to me.
On the screen was a young female streamer. Her channel consisted almost entirely of abandoned locations—derelict hospitals, deserted funeral homes, condemned residential blocks. Each thumbnail carried the same performative bravado.
Her most recent upload was dated one week ago.
The geotag matched the region Clara had just indicated.
I didn't comment. I simply handed the phone back.
"How long from here to Ashcroft?" I asked.
"About six hours."
The moment the words left her mouth, her expression shifted. It was subtle, but unmistakable.
"Rhan..." she said carefully. "You're not actually planning to go, are you?"
"I am."
I didn't soften it.
"Based on what we know, the spirit capable of stabilizing Adrian is most likely there. I need to confirm it."
I paused, then looked directly at her.
"You know the way. If you're willing to come, it increases our chances."
Her gaze flicked toward Selene. She didn't answer right away.
"I want to come too," Selene said, her voice caught between concern and excitement.
I shook my head immediately.
"You're not coming. You have class tomorrow. And this trip..."
I let the thought finish itself.
"There's no telling how long it will take."
The disappointment on her face was immediate and unguarded.
"But—" Clara began, then hesitated. "I don't know how to drive. I don't have a license."
I turned to Edward without pause.
"Then you'll come. You drive."
There was no debate.
"We leave in the morning," I said. "Prepare supplies for at least five days."
The plan had taken shape. I was about to leave when a detail—important, and nearly forgotten—surfaced in my mind.
I stopped and looked at Aya.
"Do you know of The Meta Order?"
It was the condition Elena had specified.
Only a member of The Meta Order could break the ward.
Aya nodded once.
"I know of them."
Her tone was calm, distant—untouched by urgency.
"In my era, witchcraft, astrology, the I Ching, and the esoteric arts were studied as a unified discipline. My father spoke of The Meta Order."
She paused, as if recalling something half-eroded by time.
"They trace their origins to the era of Fu Xi in the East. Among practitioners, they were regarded as the pinnacle of the mystical arts."
She continued:
"They possess the oldest transmissions of the I Ching, but they never appear openly. When they involve themselves, it is only during calamities—events on the scale of extinction."
Her eyes lifted slightly.
"During the great flood that once swept the world, it was their arrays that contained it."
That aligned with my own conclusions.
"Can you contact them?" I asked.
"No."
Aya shook her head.
"To me, they are only legend."
I didn't press further.
She had been sealed away for a thousand years. Whatever became of The Meta Order afterward—she would have no way of knowing.
---
Back at my apartment, I began packing.
Communication devices.
Spare batteries.
Notebook.
Three ritual objects.
Each item was checked, then checked again.
On the map, I marked three breaks along the route to Ashcroft. Two had no record of recent maintenance.
According to Clara, signal stability would deteriorate sharply once we entered the old village zone.
I noted it all down.
The risks were recorded.