Makun sat on his couch, staring at the eviction notice on the wall.
Forty-eight hours. Now more like thirty-four.
His phone showed 6:47 PM. Friday evening. The Old Town market wouldn't start until midnight.
Five hours to figure out how to sense spiritual energy well enough to find it.
This is insane.
But what choice did he have? Stay here and go crazy from the particles floating through his apartment? Get evicted tomorrow and end up on the streets?
At least if I go crazy trying this, I'll know why.
Makun leaned back, watched the translucent masses drift through his living room.
What am I actually seeing?
Normal human eyes weren't supposed to see particles. Atoms. Energy. The stuff that existed at the microscopic level was invisible to regular vision. Always had been.
So what changed?
The presence. That feminine voice in the darkness. She had done something to him. Changed something fundamental.
Already granted gift.*That's what she'd said. The broken chain.
Maybe the chains hadn't just been holding him back. Maybe they'd been holding back his ability to see what was really there.
The spiritual world. The layer beneath normal reality.
Makun stood up, walked closer to one of the particle streams.
They moved like they had purpose. Intelligence. Not random atomic motion but directed flow.
If this is what I can see now, what else is out there that I've been missing my entire life?
Twenty-three years of bad luck. Twenty-three years of everything going wrong.
But if she's right, if I can learn to use this...
Maybe his luck could change. Maybe he could finally fight back against whatever had been dragging him down.
First, I need to understand what I'm looking at.
Makun closed his eyes, tried to focus on the translucent masses he'd been seeing since this morning.
They were still there. Drifting slowly through the air like dust motes. Some clustered near the windows. Others floated randomly through the room.
Meditation. Like those videos online.
He'd never tried meditating before, but desperate times.
Makun sat cross-legged on the floor, closed his eyes, and tried to empty his mind.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on the particles.
The translucent masses became clearer when he wasn't trying to see them with his regular vision. They had weight. Density. Texture.
Some feel heavier than others.
Most particles drifted aimlessly. Random motion. But others moved with purpose. Direction.
There's a pattern here.
The purposeful ones flowed in streams. Rivers of energy moving through his apartment like invisible currents.
Follow the ones with direction.
Pain shot through his frontal lobe when he tried to reach for them.
Not reach. Just... observe.
Makun spent forty minutes just watching the particles flow through his apartment. Learning their patterns. The random ones that bumped into walls and furniture. The purposeful ones that moved in streams.
The streams all flow east. Toward Old Town.
When he opened his eyes, his head was pounding, but he understood something new.
The energy has texture. Weight. The heavier particles move with intention.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
Probably a telemarketer.
Makun ignored it. Thirty seconds later, it rang again. Same number.
What the hell.
He answered. "Hello?"
Static. Then a click. Dead line.
Weird.
Makun set the phone down, started to refocus on the particles.
The phone rang again. Same number.
"Hello?" More aggressive this time.
"Is this Makun ?" A woman's voice. Professional. Cold.
"Who's asking?"
"This is Rebecca from Atlantic Collections. You have an outstanding debt of four thousand, two hundred dollars from Marcus Industries. We need to discuss immediate payment arrangements."
The tablets from the warehouse. They're actually trying to collect.
"I don't owe that money. I was fired for something that wasn't my fault."
"Sir, the debt has been assigned to our agency. Failure to pay will result in legal action. We need to arrange—"
Makun hung up.
Of course. Even when I'm trying to figure out mystical energy, bill collectors find me.
The phone rang again immediately.
This time he powered it off.
My luck is still shit. Awakened powers or not.
But maybe that would change once he understood how to use whatever the presence had given him.
7:58 PM. He was running out of time.
Makun returned to his meditation position, closed his eyes, tried to recapture the sense of the energy streams.
They were still there. Flowing east through his apartment and out into the city.
The market draws energy like magnets. So I should be able to follow these streams to the source.
When he opened his eyes this time, his head still hurt, but the pain was manageable.
I can feel them even with my eyes open now.
Makun stood up, walked to his window. Even with his regular vision active, he could sense the particle streams flowing past the glass.
East. Toward Old Town.
Time to test this outside.
Makun grabbed his jacket, checked his wallet. Twenty-seven dollars. Everything he had left.
Better than nothing.
The hallway particles were fainter but still visible. The eastward stream continued past his door, down the corridor, toward the stairwell.
Ican follow this.
Outside, tracking the particles was harder. Streetlights and neon signs created visual noise. But when he closed his eyes and focused, the streams were still there.
Don't try to see them. Feel them.
Makun walked east for six blocks, stopping every few minutes to close his eyes and reorient himself.
The stream held steady until Harbor Street. Then it scattered.
Lost it.
Panic crept up his throat. This was his only lead.
*Stay calm. Try the meditation technique.*
He found a bus stop bench, sat down, closed his eyes, emptied his mind.
*Feel for the weight. The direction.*
Beneath the pain in his skull, a new sensation emerged.
A tugging. Like someone had tied a string to his sternum and was pulling him southeast.
*There it is.*
The pull was faint but steady. Different from following the particle streams. This felt more... personal.
*Like something calling specifically to me.*
Makun opened his eyes, started walking southeast.
Three blocks in, the string became a rope.
Six blocks, and the rope had weight. Real physical sensation in his chest.
Getting stronger. This is working.
But his head was splitting. The new sense was too raw, too untrained. Like trying to lift weights with a broken arm.
Need to pace myself.
Makun found another bench, rested for twenty minutes until the pain receded.
9:43 PM. Still had time.
He tried again, more carefully this time. Short bursts of sensing followed by rest periods.
Don't force it. Let it guide me.
By 10:30 PM, he was deep in Old Town. Cobblestone streets. Buildings that looked older than anything else in the city. Architecture that felt like it had been standing for decades.
The pull in his chest was strong now. Consistent. Pointing toward the heart of the old district.
Almost there.
Makun checked his phone. 11:15 PM.
Forty-five minutes until the market starts.
Whatever the presence had awakened in him was getting stronger. The ability to see energy, to follow spiritual currents, to sense things that normal humans couldn't perceive.
If this can help me understand why everything in my life goes wrong...
If this could help him fight back against twenty-three years of bad luck and misfortune.
Then I'll learn everything I can.
Time to see if all this training would pay off.
The energy was calling him deeper into the maze of narrow streets.
Ready or not.
Makun followed the rope-like pull into the depths of Old Town.