"Morvain," Draven called, tone laced with warning as if telling him not to try anything foolish.
Morvain clicked his tongue, amused, stepping away from Jasmine. She exhaled, relief washing over her in shaky waves.
"You boring fella," he muttered, rummaging through a stack of old parchment.
"Let me guess… you're here for the map?" he said, turning to Draven.
Draven didn't bother answering.
Draven's eyes narrowed. "I see you've collected more souls over the years. Poor bastards. You'd think people would learn not to strike deals with a cursed immortal."
Draven's gaze finally shifted from the floating relics around them, coldly meeting Morvain's. The smile on Morvain's lips dimmed, no longer reaching his eyes.
But he blinked the moment off and redirected his attention to Jasmine.
"I see you brought company this time," he said, and in a blur, he was suddenly in front of her.
Jasmine gasped, instinctively frozen. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, his presence swallowed the air between them. Her body felt like stone, her mind trapped in the magnetism of his gaze.
"Didn't he warn you?" Morvain's voice dropped to a whisper his voice sipping into her mind, it felt very intrusive and she recoiled. "You never look a stranger in the eyes not in these parts."
His presence wasn't just overwhelming it crawled into her. Something coiled around her ribcage, invisible and ice-cold, probing. She felt her memories stirring, something tugging at the seams of her mind. Her vision shimmered as if reality itself was fraying.
He was beautiful in the way storms are beautiful, terrifying, untouchable, destined to destroy.
Up close, the glamour faded. The blonde hair tied neatly at his nape seemed almost too human. But beneath the skin, something older moved something far less kind. His eyes weren't mortal at all. And Jasmine, for the first time in a long while, felt small.
"Morvain!" Draven's voice cracked like a whip, his eyes darkening to something almost inhuman. "Step away from the girl."
Morvain didn't flinch. He remained exactly where he was, peering into Jasmine's wide eyes with a wolfish interest. Then, slowly, he turned to Draven, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
"Well, well… I don't think I've ever seen you this rattled." He chuckled softly. "But no problem. I'll step away."
He raised his hands in mock surrender, the air around his fingers crackling faintly as if the shadows themselves recoiled from his touch. Before he backed off, he threw Jasmine one last lingering look, his grin tipping into something disturbingly flirtatious.
Jasmine stood frozen at the center of it all, a silent witness to their exchange and very much the unwilling subject of it.
Of all the things she expected today, being dragged into a standoff between a death-stained immortal and what appeared to be a flirtatious psychopath hadn't made the list.
Maybe if Draven had mentioned that part.
Hey Jasmine, want to come meet a soul-hoarding lunatic who feeds on regret and stares into your soul like it's dinner?
She would've politely declined.
Now all she wanted was to leave…before Morvain changed his mind.
Great. Just great. She was standing in what looked like a floating tomb of cursed souls, held hostage by a smug immortal with boundary issues, while her so-called guide—Draven, stoic, broody, and apparently too cool to share basic survival intel decided now was the perfect time to play territorial.
Lovely.
Jasmine straightened slightly, trying to reclaim at least an ounce of dignity.
She could still feel Morvain's presence clinging to her like a second skin, invisible but definitely violating personal space laws. If he so much as blinked in her direction again, she might throw a glyph stone at his head and call it self-defense. Probably wouldn't work, but it'd be worth the satisfaction.
Draven gave her a brief glance, his expression unreadable as ever.
Jasmine resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
She'd signed up for answers, maybe some cryptic warnings and cool secrets, not an impromptu starring role in The Psychotic Exorcist and the Soul Merchant from Hell.
"Next time," she muttered under her breath, "I'm bringing holy water… or a priest."
Morvain, already back to rifling through his hovering parchments, shot her a sideways smirk as if he'd heard her.
Which, of course, he probably had. Because why not add mind-reading to his list of charming party tricks?
Morvain finally turned his attention back to Draven, though the smirk he gave Jasmine lingered like a stain in the air.
"So… the map," he said, dragging the word out like it bored him. "Still after that old thing? Honestly, I expected you to have given up by now. It's not like you've ever made it past the first gate."
"I didn't come to debate my past failures," Draven said coolly, stepping forward. "You have the map. I want it."
"Oh, you want it," Morvain echoed with a theatrical sigh. "That changes everything. Shall I roll out a red carpet too? Or should I tell my friends at the gate that. Hey I have a little psychopathic daredevil who wants to go into Ghulvale because he likes to get killed"
Draven's eyes narrowed. "Name your price."
Morvain's smile faded, just a flicker. He turned to the glowing scrolls orbiting his shoulder like lazy moons, fingers brushing over them. Jasmine noticed that each parchment seemed alive one flared as he touched it, another recoiled like a wounded animal.
"The map you seek," he said finally, voice lower now, "isn't just a drawing. It's bonded. Sealed in layers of old magic, tethered to a very specific… cost."
"Stop speaking in riddles. What do you want, Morvain?"
Morvain tilted his head, gaze returning to Jasmine for an uncomfortable moment too long.
"She doesn't even know, does she?" he said, half-laughing. "Poor girl. Still thinks you dragged her here for protection. A little company. Maybe to impress her with your deep brooding silence and deadpan charm."
Jasmine blinked.
Wait—what?
Draven didn't respond, the bastard didn't deny it either.
"Oh gods, seriously?" Jasmine scoffed, arms folding. "I'm bait?"
"Not bait," Draven said without missing a beat. His voice was calm but there was an edge now, it was cold and unyielding. "You chose to come here, Jasmine. No one dragged you." Then his eyes flicked to Morvain, hardening. "And stop listening to him," Draven snapped, the words cutting like ice.
"Oh, wow, that's better. That's so much better." She threw her hands up. "Any more fun surprises, or is that the full betrayal package for today?"
Morvain was absolutely delighted. He twirled in place, the floating parchments responding in a chaotic dance. "This is why I like mortals—they add such spice to the doom and gloom, they can be dramatic."
Like he wasn't already
Then he stilled.
"But I wasn't lying. The map is bound to blood. And if you want to unseal it…"
His eyes gleamed.
"…you're going to need hers."
Draven's eyes flicked to Jasmine for the briefest moment before returning to Morvain.
"She was a mortal until a few days ago, when she discovered she wasn't."
Morvain let out a soft laugh, low and amused. "Oh, Draven dear… you always do this." He wagged a finger like a disappointed teacher. "You ask for answers, but forget the cost. You know the rules every truth demands a trade."
He paused, tilting his head, expression sharpening. "But fine, let's move on before your little key starts trembling again."
He spread his arms wide, mocking grace. "i will be generous, this time I will let you decide what you are willing to offer me it must be important"
Draven didn't flinch. "I've already paid."
Morvain's smile faltered just slightly. "What?"
"The cost you demanded. I left it at the gate. Three days ago."
There was a beat of silence, cold and sharp.
Morvain narrowed his eyes. The floating parchments around him stirred, reacting to his sudden stillness.
"You sly bastard…" he murmured, voice suddenly void of its earlier amusement. "You actually did."
Jasmine blinked, glancing between them. Did what? What the hell had he paid?
Morvain's gaze darkened. "You left your name, didn't you?" A low chuckle slipped from him, dry as bone. "Clever. Dangerous hmm....but clever. You traded the memory of your name. That's why the spirits didn't follow you back. It won't take long before he fail to recognize yourself."
Jasmine's stomach dropped.
His name? Memory? What kind of nightmare bartering system was this?
Morvain turned away, muttering to himself. "A name like yours… it'll feed the Dead Chorus for decades. No wonder the seals responded."
He faced Draven again, more sober now. "Fine. I accept the cost. The map is yours, though how you plan to use it without your name… that's your curse to carry."
With a lazy gesture, one of the glowing parchments peeled away from the rest and floated toward Draven, unfolding midair like a living thing.
Morvain's eyes flicked once more to Jasmine. "You're lucky," he said to her, tone quieter. "What you are seeking is just at the tip of your memory" he chuckled lowly. Elandra did quiet the job.
"Elandra who was that somehow, the name tug at her memory but just as how it came it left again
Draven caught the map as it solidified in his hand, eyes still locked on Morvain. "I will leave you to your device now," Draven said the map disappearing into his coat as he turned to leave.
"Ah, ah… Jasmine, dear…" Morvain's voice slithered toward her like smoke, soaked in mischief.
She turned reluctantly, slowly as if not facing him might somehow keep him away. She prayed he wouldn't cross the invisible boundary of her space again. But really, who was she kidding?
Before she could take a step back, he was already there right in front of her. A blur of movement, too fast to track. He took her hand in his with unnatural ease, his touch cold and dry.
Jasmine tensed, heart skipping in her chest.
Seriously? Again? Does personal space mean nothing to this immortal creeps?
Draven moved slightly, the temperature in the room seeming to drop as his eyes locked onto Morvain. A warning without words. But Morvain, of course, didn't care.
With a smirk, he raised her wrist, as though admiring something only he could see. "A little present for a beautiful lady," he murmured, before placing his hand over her wrist.
Jasmine felt a spark something tingled beneath her skin, foreign and crawling and when he stepped back, a bracelet now shimmered there. A delicate silver bracelet, and undoubtedly cursed in fifty different ways.
Her breath hitched.
"What is this?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. She didn't trust gifts that appeared out of thin air—especially from men who talked like ship but is actually a devil.
Morvain only winked. "Good luck to you, sweetheart. Truly. I do hope we meet again."
Then he turned, vanishing into the shadows with a casual flourish, as if he hadn't just left a mystery clasped around her wrist like a ticking spell.
Jasmine stared at the bracelet, brow furrowed. It was light almost weightless, but it pulsed faintly.
She rubbed at it instinctively, half-expecting it to vanish like the rest of Morvain's theatrics.
It didn't.
Of course it didn't.
Draven stepped beside her, silent as always. His eyes flicked to the bracelet but he didn't comment. Not even a grunt. Typical.
"So that's it?" she muttered, not bothering to hide her annoyance. "He just slaps some creepy magical jewelry on me and you're not going to say anything?"
"It's better than what he could've done," Draven said flatly. "Who knew you'd catch the attention of a cursed immortal lord? You really know how to make an entrance… diva."
"Oh, wow. That's comforting. 'Could've cursed you harder' what a relief."
She turned the bracelet in the light, watching the metal catch faint blue and violet hues. Tiny etchings shimmered along its surface, symbols that seemed to shift the longer she looked at the it.
"…I hate this place."
As if on cue, the store began to shift its walls groaning, shelves warping, the air thickening and changing. In the blink of an eye, the space transformed into an old, shadow-choked storeroom. The big vial with transparent figures were gone, replaced by crumbling wooden beams and rows of dust-caked barrels. Cobwebs clung to every corner, and the scent of rot and time hung heavy in the air.
Jasmine blinked, stunned. How was that even possible?
As if reading her thoughts, Draven spoke. "His store goes wherever he does. You didn't expect him to leave his precious collection out in the open, did you?"
"That's ridiculous," she muttered. "How does anyone even find him if they need to?"
"You don't," Draven replied, already stepping out into the night. "Your thoughts lead him to you."
Jasmine followed, eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah… that's not creepy at all."