The subway car was a microcosm of the city's evening rush – tired faces, blaring headphones, the rhythmic rattle and squeal of the train on the tracks.
Elias sat near the doors, his go-bag resting on his lap, outwardly calm, inwardly a coiled spring. The city map in his mind was overlaid with the glowing red blip in the public square, a beacon of chaos silently screaming its presence through his network.
It was a stark contrast to the contained, sorrowful hum of the music box back in his apartment. That was a crafted curse; this felt raw, volatile, deliberately unleashed.
He reviewed the details in his head:
high energy manifestation, rapid growth, centered on a known public space. This wasn't an old, dormant object accidentally triggered. This was new, active, and placed specifically to affect a large number of people. It fit the pattern suggested by the rival's appearance at the antique shop – not just interested in existing objects, but involved in causing them.
Exiting the subway station two stops early, Elias navigated the final blocks on foot, allowing him to shift tactics if he felt observed. The air grew warmer, the sounds of traffic slowly replaced by a distant, rising din that wasn't just city noise.
As he approached the square, the distinct murmur of a crowd grew louder, but woven into it was a discordant thread – raised voices, sharp exclamations, the unmistakable tension of frayed nerves.
The square opened up before him, a wide expanse usually filled with easygoing energy. Tonight, it was different. People clustered in tight knots, faces flushed, gestures sharp. The air crackled with an almost palpable irritation.
A street musician packed away his guitar, looking frustratedly at patrons who were arguing over space. A couple stood frozen mid-scream near a food truck, forgotten burgers growing cold in their hands. Children were crying, not with the usual tired whimper, but with frustrated, angry wails.
The cursed object's effect was clear: it was amplifying negative emotions, turning minor annoyances into major conflicts, breeding paranoia and aggression in the close quarters of the crowd. A low-level societal disruptor. Nasty, and effective in a public space.
Elias pulled out a small, handheld device disguised as an old-fashioned digital camera. It wasn't for taking pictures, but for scanning ambient mystical energy and pinpointing its source.
He held it discreetly, sweeping it across the square as he walked, weaving through the agitated crowd. The device hummed softly, its small screen displaying fluctuating energy levels. The source wasn't mobile; it was fixed.
He followed the rising signal intensity, his path taking him past a stone fountain, around a group of teenagers shoving each other over a dropped phone, towards a line of park benches near a large oak tree.
The signal peaked sharply near one particular bench, where an elderly couple were arguing fiercely over something as trivial as a misplaced grocery list.
Kneeling to tie his shoe near the bench, Elias scanned the area closely. Tucked beneath the edge of the bench, partially hidden by a discarded newspaper, was a small, tarnished brass locket.
It was simple, heart-shaped, utterly unremarkable in appearance. The energy signature radiating from it, however, was anything but.
It pulsed with that same raw, chaotic power his network had detected, the kind that felt forcibly ripped from some unseen source and crammed into a physical object.
This was it. The new cursed object. Placed deliberately on a busy bench in a popular square during peak hours. A perfect delivery system for mass emotional contagion.
Elias's mind raced. He needed to contain it without drawing attention, without causing a panic in this already volatile environment. A direct grab might cause the object to react violently, or worse, trigger a cascade effect in the agitated crowd. He needed a distraction.
He spotted one across the square – a magician was setting up, laying out a deck of cards and a few props, trying to attract an audience despite the pervasive bad mood. It wasn't ideal, but it was a focal point.
Elias straightened up, moving with practiced ease towards the magician. He pulled a handful of coins from his pocket, affecting the air of a casual passerby considering the show. He sidled closer to the bench as the magician started his act, drawing a few grudging eyes.
He palmed his containment device – a sleek, dark cylinder that fit snugly in his hand. It generated a localized, temporal-spatial bubble, momentarily freezing the object's magical effect and allowing for safe retrieval. It was effective, but required close proximity and a steady hand.
He reached the bench, keeping his body low as if still fiddling with his shoe. His hand snaked out, reaching for the locket under the bench.
His fingers brushed the cold metal. Just a second more, trigger the device, secure the locket in a shielded pouch…
Just as he depressed the activation button on the cylinder, a sharp, bright crack split the air near the fountain. Not the sound of breaking glass, but of displaced energy. A nearby streetlamp overhead flickered violently, showering sparks. And for a terrifying instant, the air around it shimmered with that familiar cool, metallic blue light – the rival's signature.
It was a brief, deliberate burst of magic, designed purely as a disruption.
The sudden crackle and light show near the fountain drew a surge of attention. People flinched, some cried out, and the simmering aggression in the crowd spiked, voices rising in confused anger.
The containment bubble around the locket, momentarily destabilized by the nearby energy surge, sputtered.
Elias cursed under his breath. The rival wasn't just observing; they were actively interfering. They knew he was here, knew he was going for the object, and were making his task harder.
He couldn't wait for the bubble to restabilize. He had to risk it. Gripping the locket, he hit the containment device's button again, forcing the bubble closed around the locket with a faint pop. The locket went dead in his hand, its chaotic energy instantly suppressed.
He snatched it up, shoving it into a shielded pouch deep within his go-bag. The aggression amplification in the square didn't vanish immediately – the residual energy and the stirred-up emotions took time to dissipate – but the source was gone.
He stood up, trying to look like anyone else caught in the sudden confusion caused by the lamp.
He scanned the crowd, searching for the source of the blue signature, but saw only agitated faces and lingering irritation. The figure he'd seen on the monitor earlier was nowhere in sight.
They had done what they intended – disrupted his containment, perhaps measured his reaction time, and then vanished back into the city's anonymity.
Moving away from the bench, trying to blend back into the thinning crowd near the square's edge, Elias felt a familiar shape under his hand. Still agitated, he pressed his palm against the back of the stone bench where the locket had been hidden.
Beneath the grime and the roughness of the stone, his fingers found it – a small, recently carved etching. Two intertwined crescents, one upright, one inverted, with a single dot between them.
Not just at the shop. Here too. Left near the object, a deliberate sign. It wasn't a coincidence. It wasn't a warning. It was a breadcrumb. Or perhaps, a taunt.
The rival wasn't just interested in these objects. They were announcing their involvement, marking their territory, perhaps even guiding Elias to their work. Why? To observe him? To test him?
Elias clutched his bag, the dead locket inside a cold weight. He had the object, but the rival was still out there, creating chaos and leaving clues.
The game had indeed started. And he was just figuring out the rules. He needed to get this locket back to the safehouse, analyze it, and try to understand not just its curse, but the message left by its deployer.