After watching those cowards flee into the darkness, a surge of adrenaline hits me. I can make contact! The realization electrifies my ghostly form. If I could kick a log and hurl coins, I could finally get that boy down myself. I don't need to be a silent observer anymore.
I sprint back toward the village, my feet barely touching the ground as I cover the distance in minutes. I reach the center of the square, gasping for breath, and my eyes fly upward to the top of the rod.
But the sky is empty.
The boy is gone.
I stumble to the base of the pole, my translucent hands trembling as I look at the ground. The heavy hemp ropes aren't just frayed—they have been sliced through with a single, surgical precision.
Did someone rescue him? Is he safe?
