The graveyard was haunting in that quiet, suffocating way that made even the dead feel alert. Mist clung to the crooked tombstones like old regrets, and the sky sagged low, swollen with unsaid things.

  The Man paused beside a freshly opened grave and fished a loose cigarette from his coat pocket. He lit it with a flick of his fingers. For a heartbeat, the flame carved his smirk into the dark.

  Conduit hated everything about this.

  The Creature made him feel hunted.

  The graveyard made his skin crawl with that cold, marrow-deep dread.

  And the Man… the Man made him feel like a tool that thought it was a person.

  The jade ring on Conduit’s finger itched. It had slipped onto his hand early in the night and refused to stay off; every time he removed it, it reappeared seconds later. After the fifth attempt, he’d stopped trying. Now he just endured the constant prickle beneath his skin.

  So he watched.

  The Creature hadn’t interrupted once during the Man’s tale about Kitai. Hours had passed. For a being legendary for its predatory impatience, its stillness was wrong.

  Eerie.

  “I think I’ll stop here,” the Man said at last, rising from the grave edge with unhurried ease. He sauntered toward the Creature with the lazy assurance of someone who had already won and was simply savoring the epilogue.

  He stopped inches away.

  The Creature did not move.

  “You may speak,” the Man said.

  The response was a shriek, ragged and raw.

  “What did you do to me!?”

  Fear and fury tangled in its voice like brambles.

  “I siphoned your Fables,” the Man replied, as casually as if he’d borrowed a coat. “Our connection was the trade.”

  He flicked the cigarette into the dirt, grinding it out with his heel. His coat shivered, then shifted, morphing into a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants. Inked glyphs covered his arms from wrist to shoulder, each sigil pulsing softly in a constellation of muted colors.

  “That shouldn’t be possible!” the Creature bellowed, trying to lunge and finding its limbs unresponsive. “The laws of the Soul apply to all trades!”

  The Man shrugged. “True. But haven’t you been listening?” He tilted his head, eyes bright with amusement. “There are always exceptions.”

  He winked.

  Something in the Creature buckled. Its form twitched, black ooze shivering as realization dawned.

  “...Lafiya,” it hissed.

  The name dripped from its mouth like poison. It was never the predator here. It had been prey from the start.

  “Ding, ding, ding,” the Man said, each word accompanied by the distant chime of an unseen clock.

  “I was finished siphoning before Kitai even met Saon and Adali,” he went on. “I could’ve ended the story there. Killed you. Buried the mess. Gone home.” He smiled, sharp and pleased. “But you were so proud. So loud. I decided to take it further.”

  He turned to Conduit, and the smirk darkened into something more dangerous.

  “Conduit,” he said. “How many Lafiya-owned artifacts are buried in this graveyard right now?”

  Conduit opened his mouth to say he didn’t know.

  “...Eight,” he heard himself answer instead.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  The number slid out of him as if it had always belonged to his tongue. The jade ring on his finger pulsed once in quiet agreement.

  “Good boy,” the Man said. “And what’s the closest one to me, with many limbs?”

  He reached into the Creature’s seething mass, fingers pushing through viscous blackness until they closed around something solid. With a sharp tug, he drew out a jade bracelet that gleamed sickly in the graveyard gloom.

  The Creature writhed, limbs spasming.

  “No!”

  “I said quiet,” the Man snapped.

  The air thickened. Conduit’s ears popped like they were suddenly underwater. Even the mist seemed to hold its breath.

  “Don’t forget,” the Man continued, voice colder now, “there are laws even here. There are guards even here. Nyx-born or not, you’re not above them.” His smile flashed razored white. “Yes, I know what you are, Malkala. I know who you serve. The Exalted Ones.”

  He wiped his hand off on the edge of the open grave and sat down beside it, folding his legs with practiced elegance. It was an odd posture: half king, half jester, all menace.

  “You’ll be my spy now,” he said lightly. “You and your little shadows. You’ll serve me. Is that understood?”

  Malkala strained against whatever bound him. Each attempt made the darkness of his form flash with streaks of viridian, like something rotten trying to bloom.

  “Do you understand?” the Man repeated, power threading through every syllable.

  “Yes,” Malkala rasped. The word sounded dragged out of him.

  “Good.” The Man sighed, satisfied. “Now, I have a mission for you and Conduit. Stop our little friend Kitai from making it to the Tournament.”

  He said it like he was ordering dessert.

  “I believe that was your original task anyway, wasn’t it?” He cocked his head. “That’s why you’re here, sniffing around for her Soulframe?”

  “Yes,” Malkala whispered.

  “Then nothing’s changed,” the Man said. “Your old masters will think you’re still theirs. I’ll know better.”

  Conduit frowned. “Wait. Kitai’s just a story you were telling.” His voice sounded too small in his own ears. “How are we supposed to stop a story?”

  The Man turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he studied Conduit.

  “I’m pretty sure you were smarter the last time we met,” he said.

  Conduit’s stomach dropped. He had no memory of that.

  The Man looked back at Malkala. “Her story is happening right now. Everything I told you was a summary of what my rats in the walls have seen. She’s headed to Thrill Park for the hammer.”

  He rose, slinging the shovel back over his shoulder as if the conversation had simply been a brief interlude.

  “You’ll find her there.”

  Malkala’s limbs folded inward. The seething mass condensed into a humanoid silhouette: tall, wrong, and dripping.

  “Master,” Malkala said, voice low and controlled now. “Your will is my command.”

  “Don’t call me ‘Master’,” the Man replied, lips curling. “Call me ‘Hermit.’”

  He stepped back to the grave and drove the shovel into the dirt with a single, easy thrust.

  “Looking forward to hearing about your success the next time we meet,” he said, giving them both a cheerful little wave. “For now…”

  He smiled, all teeth.

  “Bye.”