11:15 PM.
The pull in Makun's chest was stronger now. What had started as a string was definitely a rope. Thick. Insistent. Dragging him through the narrow streets of Old Town.
This is it. I can feel it.
He followed the sensation deeper into the maze of cobblestone alleys. Ancient buildings leaned over the streets like old men sharing secrets. Some of the architecture looked older than anything else in the city.
How far back do these buildings go?
The spiritual energy here was thick. Dense. The translucent particles floated through the air like snow that never settled.
This is insane. He kept walking. Following invisible energy through the city at midnight. If anyone saw me...
No one was out. The streets were empty except for the occasional drunk or late shift worker. Makun avoided eye contact with everyone.
Don't draw attention. Not tonight.
He passed a homeless man sleeping in a doorway. Empty bottles scattered around him. As Makun walked by, one of the bottles rolled directly into his path.
His foot caught it. He stumbled, barely caught himself on a wall.
Even here. Even now.
The homeless man didn't wake up. But Makun noticed the man's shopping cart. One of the wheels had broken off and was sitting right where Makun had just been walking.
If I hadn't tripped on the bottle, I would've stepped on that wheel and probably twisted my ankle.
His bad luck protecting him from worse luck.
That's a new one.
The rope sensation was still there. Pulling him forward.
Getting close.
11:32 PM.
Makun turned down what looked like a promising street. The pull was strongest in this direction.
Twenty steps in, he hit a dead end.
Brick wall. No way forward.
The energy trail vanished like someone had cut the rope.
Shit.
Makun backtracked, tried to pick up the sensation again. Nothing. Just the faint ache in his skull and the floating particles that seemed dimmer now.
12:23 AM.
I'm going to miss it. The market runs until 4, but what if I can't find it at all?
Panic crept up his throat. This was his only lead. His only chance to understand what was happening to him.
He closed his eyes, tried to focus like he had in his apartment. Feel it. Don't think about it, just feel.
The particles were still there. Drifting around him like dust in sunlight. But when he reached out with whatever sense was developing in him, they felt... different.
Some moved randomly.
Others had direction.
Follow the ones with purpose.
Makun opened his eyes, started walking again. This time he ignored the streets and focused on the energy patterns. The purposeful particles led him down a different route.
Two blocks over. Then left. Then right down an alley so narrow his shoulders nearly touched the walls.
The rope sensation returned. Stronger than before.
12:41 AM.
The alley opened onto a small plaza. Ancient looking. Cobblestones worn smooth. A fountain in the center that hadn't run water in years.
And absolutely nothing else.
This can't be right.
But the energy here was thick. Almost visible. The particles swirled around the plaza like a slow tornado.
Makun stepped into the space.
The world shifted.
Not dramatically. Just enough to make his stomach drop. Like the ground had tilted by a degree or two.
The fountain was running now. Clear water catching streetlight that came from lamps that hadn't been there seconds before.
And there were people.
They stood in shadows around the plaza's edges. Hooded figures. Quiet conversations. Some carried bags or baskets. Others held objects he couldn't identify from a distance.
The market.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
I found it. I actually found it.
Makun took a step toward the nearest group.
"Stop."
The voice came from directly behind him.
Makun spun around.
A figure stood at the plaza's entrance. Tall. Wearing dark clothes and a silver mask that covered half their face. Ornate designs etched into the metal. Geometric patterns that seemed to move when he wasn't looking directly at them.
"Who are you?" The voice was neither male nor female. Processed somehow. Like it was coming through water.
"I..." Makun's mouth went dry. "I'm looking for information."
"Everyone here is looking for information." The masked figure stepped closer. "The question is: do you belong here?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Can you see the market?"
Makun glanced around. The hooded figures. The running fountain. The lamps that cast warm light on weathered stone.
"Yes."
"Can you see me?"
"Obviously."
The figure tilted their head. "Many people walk through this plaza at night. Most see empty space and a broken fountain. They walk through without stopping. You stopped. You can see. But can you pay?"
"Pay for what?"
"Entry. Knowledge. Safety." The figure's mask caught the lamplight. "Everything here has a price. Are you prepared to pay it?"
Makun thought about Zuri's warnings. About the paper in his pocket with the list of safety signs.
Silver jewelry.
He couldn't see any jewelry on the figure. But the mask was silver. Did that count?
Eye contact.
The mask covered part of their face, but their eyes were visible. Dark. Fixed on his.
Bloodline questions.
They hadn't asked about his family.
"What kind of price?"
"Depends what you want." The figure stepped aside, gesture toward the market. "Entry is free for first-timers. But once you're in, you play by our rules. Understand?"
"What rules?"
"No violence. No theft. No questions about real names or addresses. Payment in full before services rendered. And if you can't pay..." The figure's voice dropped. "You leave. Immediately."
Makun nodded. "I understand."
The masked figure studied him for another long moment. Then stepped fully aside.
"Welcome to the Night Market, newcomer. Try not to get consumed."
Makun walked past them into the plaza.
The moment he crossed some invisible threshold, the energy around him changed. Became electric. Like the air before a thunderstorm.
And he realized the hooded figures weren't just standing around talking.
They were conducting business.
The stalls hadn't been visible from the entrance.
Now they were everywhere. Wooden tables. Cloth-covered booths. Blankets spread on the ground with objects arranged in careful patterns.
And the objects...
Makun walked slowly through the market, trying not to stare.
A woman sold bottles of various sizes. Each one glowed with different colored light. The labels were handwritten. Childhood Wonder.First Love. Mother's Lullaby. She was haggling with a customer over a small vial marked Wedding Day.
"Three years off your natural lifespan," she said. "Final offer."
"Two years," the customer countered. "It's only a partial memory."
"Two years and six months. The memory includes emotional resonance."
They shook hands. The customer's hair turned slightly grayer. The woman handed over the bottle.
They're trading memories. Actual memories.
Makun moved to the next stall.
An old man sat behind a table covered in jewelry. But not normal jewelry. The pieces moved. A necklace of silver links that crawled across the table like a snake. Rings that changed color as he watched. A bracelet that hummed with barely audible music.
"Protection charms," the old man said, noticing Makun's attention. "Luck enhancers. Spiritual shields. What's your poison?"
"I'm just looking."
The man's eyes sharpened. "First time?"
Makun nodded.
"Word of advice. Don't just look. Someone will think you're casing the place. Buy something small or move along."
"What do you recommend?"
The old man reached under his table, pulled out a simple copper bracelet. "Basic spiritual awareness. Helps you sense when something supernatural is focused on you. Fifty dollars."
"What's the catch?"
"Smart question. No catch. It's entry level. Like training wheels." The man leaned forward. "But I can see you've got bigger problems than basic awareness. Something's been feeding on you for a long time."
Feeding. The word sent ice through Makun's veins. "How can you tell?"
"Your spiritual signature. It's... depleted. Drained. Like someone's been siphoning off your life force for years." The man's expression grew serious. "That's not random bad luck, boy. Someone's been farming you."
Farming. Just like zuri had said.
"Who would do that?"
"Could be anyone with the skill. Rival. Enemy. Someone who wanted to keep you weak while they harvested your energy." The old man studied him closer. "But you're awake now. Which means either the farmer is dead, or the harvest is ready."
Makun's hands started shaking. "Ready for what?"
"Collection."