11:15 PM.
The pull in Makun's chest was stronger now. What had started as a string was definitely a rope, thick and 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 where 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 and dense, and 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 and he avoided eye contact with everyone.
Don't draw attention. Not tonight.
He passed a homeless man sleeping in a doorway with empty bottles scattered around him, and as he 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 shopping cart nearby. One of the wheels had broken off and was sitting right where he 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.
He turned down what looked like a promising street where the pull was strongest.
Twenty steps in he hit a dead end.
Brick wall. No way forward.
The energy trail vanished like someone had cut the rope.
Shit.
He backtracked and tried to pick up the sensation again but there was 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.
Closing his eyes, he 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.
He opened his eyes and started walking again, this time ignoring the streets and focusing 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 that looked ancient, cobblestones worn smooth with 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, and the particles swirled around the plaza like a slow tornado.
He 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 having quiet conversations. Some carried bags or baskets while 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.
He took a step toward the nearest group.
"Stop."
The voice came from directly behind him.
He spun around.
A figure stood at the plaza's entrance, tall and wearing dark clothes with a silver mask that covered half their face. Ornate designs were 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..." His 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?"
He glanced around at 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 and 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, or whatever is demanded by the night market." The figure's mask caught the lamplight. "Everything here has a price. Are you prepared to pay it? If not, this place is not for you."
He thought about Zuri's warnings and 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 and fixed on his.
Bloodline questions.
They hadn't asked about his family.
The list Zuri had written for him was useful, somehow.
"What kind of price?"
"Depends what you want." The figure stepped aside and gestured toward the market. "Entry is gonna be free for your first few times in the market, however after a couple weeks you pay. But today, once you're in, you play by our rules. Understand?"
"What rules?"
"No violence, no theft, no questions about real names or addresses unless the opposing person discloses on their own. Payment in full before services rendered, once again unless both agreed otherwise. And if you can't pay..." The figure's voice dropped. "You leave. Immediately."
Makun understood that everything they said could be done. You could ask about someone's name, address, whatever, however they chose whether to report you or not.
If they did you were in trouble.
So it was better to do it when you were sure they were going to answer.
He 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."
He 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 and cloth-covered booths and blankets spread on the ground with objects arranged in careful patterns.
And the objects...
He walked slowly through the market, trying not to stare.
A woman sold bottles of various sizes and 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 and the customer's hair turned slightly grayer as the woman handed over the bottle.
They're trading memories. Actual memories. What can they use that for?
Is it to do with the feeling, the information, or are they gaining something else from it?
Zuri had mentioned practitioners doing things that benefited them, which meant they benefited from memories somehow.
He 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 crawled across the table like a snake, rings changed color as he watched, and a bracelet hummed with barely audible music.
"Protection charms," the old man said, noticing his attention. "Luck enhancers, spiritual shields. What's your poison?"
"I'm just looking."
The man's eyes sharpened. "First time?"
He nodded.
"Word of advice. Don't just look or someone will think you're casing the place. Buy something small or move along."
"What do you recommend?" He asked while looking at the stall in front of him, full of things that made no sense.
The old man reached under his table and 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 his veins. "How can you tell?"
"Your spiritual signature. I cannot feel it, 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.
"What kind of individual carries out these activities?" He started his chase for information.
"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."
His hands started shaking. "Ready for what?"
"Collection."