The air in the lobby was thick with the scent of ozone and stale parchment. Raka stood his ground, though his knees felt like they might give way. He had seen the way Nikolai moved, the effortless, almost insulting grace of a man who treated combat like a minor annoyance."Master Nikolai," Raka said, his voice trembling only slightly. "I didn't come here to cause trouble. I came because you're the only one who can identify the mark on my teacher’s chest."Nikolai took a slow, deliberate sip from his glass, the liquid swirling like ink. He didn't look at Raka; he looked at the ceiling as if counting the cracks in the plaster. "You’re an interesting creature, aren't you? Most people who crawl into my presence have the good sense to be terrified. You, on the other hand, are just loud.""I don't have time for your condescension," Raka snapped, his frustration overriding his fear. "He’s dying. The curse is geometric, and it’s accelerating. If you're as good as the rumors say, you've seen i

The city walls receded into the grey haze until they were nothing more than a memory, replaced by the jagged, iron-wrought gates of the Old Mourning Grounds. The air here didn't just feel cold; it tasted of copper and stagnant earth, a heavy shroud that clung to Raka’s lungs with every ragged breath.Nikolai stopped abruptly. He didn't even look back, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his charcoal coat."Stay close, kid," Nikolai said, his voice flat. "The fog here is thick with lingering resentment. You stray more than three feet from me, and you’ll find yourself having a very long, very painful conversation with things that haven't had a tongue in a century."Raka gripped his pack straps, his knuckles white. "I know how a graveyard works, Nikolai. I’m not a child.""Could’ve fooled me with that heroic posturing back in the city," Nikolai muttered, shifting his gaze toward the swaying, leafless trees ahead. "Are you going to keep standing there vibrating with anxiety, or are

The walk away from the Old Mourning Grounds was a jagged, uneven affair. Nikolai moved with a forced, rhythmic precision, but Raka, trailing just a few steps behind, caught the way his mentor’s left shoulder slumped every third or fourth stride. The cold, biting mist of the valley seemed to cling to them, refusing to dissipate even as they cleared the iron-wrought gates."Are you going to keep staring at my back, or are you going to help me find a place to hunker down?" Nikolai’s voice cut through the damp silence, sharp and thin. "There’s a waystation about a mile north. It’s not five-star, but it’s dry.""You’re favoring your left side," Raka said, ignoring the dismissal.Nikolai didn’t break his stride. "I’m tired, Raka. It’s called being human. You should try it sometime; it’s a fascinating, albeit pathetic, experience.""It’s not fatigue," Raka pressed, quickening his pace to stay alongside him. "That thing, the Titan, it scratched you. I saw the way the shadows moved under your

The alleyway didn’t just grow dark; it began to breathe. The cold, stagnant air pressed against Raka’s skin like wet velvet. High above, those multi-faceted eyes retreated into the rafters of a structure that seemed to shift and expand, turning the narrow lane into a grand, velvet-draped ballroom."Hey! Come back here!" Raka shouted, his voice sounding thin and hollow, as if he were yelling into a deep well."Are you looking for something, little spark?" A voice purred. It wasn't one voice, but a dozen, overlapping like silk ribbons sliding over each other.Raka spun around, his hand glowing with a desperate, frantic pulse of gold. "Who’s there? Show yourself!"The shadows shifted, coalescing into a figure draped in shimmering, translucent fabric that seemed to change color with every heartbeat. She stepped out from behind a pillar that hadn't been there a second ago. Her face was beautiful, sharp, and entirely devoid of warmth."You’re a long way from your master, aren't you?" she ask