The sea was quiet today.

  Kai crouched beside an old kayak, its worn wood creaking beneath his fingers as he traced a fresh gash along its hull. Salt clung to his skin, mingling with the scent of engine oil and brittle leaves. Overhead, seagulls wheeled lazily through the sky, their cries lost to the rhythm of the lapping tide.

  It had been six months since he’d settled on Lazarus Island, and still he felt like a stranger. A guest in a place meant for healing.

  He kept to himself, brushing off invitations more often than not. Occasionally, he shared a meal with Duff and Lee, but never stayed long. When loneliness pressed in too tightly, he wandered down to the Banana Cabana. Nana Splitz always had a drink waiting and a barb sharp enough to cut through the fog in his chest.

  Still, Kai reminded himself—this was only temporary.

  A shadow fell across him. A lean woman approached, the brim of her cap barely containing short black hair streaked with auburn. Despite Kai’s honed hearing—refined during his years as an assassin—he hadn’t heard her coming.

  “You patching her up again?” Aria’s voice was bright, teasing.

  Kai didn’t look up. “She’s not ready to die yet.”

  Aria chuckled and dropped a bag of tools beside him. “Like you, then.”

  Kai allowed himself a faint, private smile. He reached into his memory, past the Pale Curtain, and murmured a phrase in a forgotten dialect—an offering of blood for a minor mending spell. A moment later, a spirit stirred.

  Vitaedrinker, his bonded companion, roused in the back of his mind.

  Blood. Hunger.

  Kai gritted his teeth, suppressing the spirit’s instincts, pressing it back into slumber.

  Not now.

  He turned back to the kayak. Pulling a strip of woven sealing bark from his belt, he pressed it into the crack, whispering the words the spirit had shared. A faint green light pulsed beneath his fingers, stitching the wound shut.

  Magic—simple and old. The kind no one bothered with anymore.

  “Is that the Old Tongue?” Aria asked, crouching beside him. “First time I’ve seen a Calling in real life.”

  Kai nodded, the faint smile returning. “Magic’s just manipulation of the Pale Curtain. But only shamans like me can reach across and Call a spirit. You need the Old Tongue for that—only with it can a shaman see, speak, and bargain with them on equal footing.”

  Aria tilted her head. “Who taught you?”

  Kai made a face.

  “A shaman must never demand—only offer.”

  The words came unbidden to Kai’s mind, Silas’s voice calm and patient as it echoed in the stillness of his thoughts. He whispered the phrase again, summoning the spirit’s presence once more.

  Kai had been a natural at this. The first time he’d performed the ritual, it had been effortless—smooth, like a dance. The spirit had come to him with ease, and even Silas, his adoptive father and the ruthless head of the Obsidian Dagger, had paused. For a moment, there had been a flicker of surprise in Silas’s dark eyes.

  “You’ve got a knack for this,” Silas had remarked, his voice a careful balance of admiration and unease. There had been no room for pride in Silas’s words, only an acknowledgment of something dangerous.

  That had been years ago, but the memory still stung like a fresh wound. Silas had always kept his distance, both father and teacher, guiding Kai with a harsh but steady hand.

  At the time, Kai had been too young to understand why Silas’s praise had felt so cold. Now, standing here on Lazarus Island, with the sea stretching out before him, he could almost hear the weight in his mentor’s voice again. The old shaman had always said that power came with a cost—but he never explained what that cost would be, not really.

  Aria’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “So, who taught you?” she asked again, curiosity edging her tone.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Kai’s lips twisted into a slight smile, but it was distant, almost as if the question hadn’t really reached him.

  “Silas,” he said, the name like a shadow in the air. He didn’t add anything more. He didn’t need to.

  The name dropped like a stone into still water. Heavy. Final. He didn’t need to explain more.

  Aria didn’t press. Instead, she sat down on the edge of the dock, legs swinging lazily over the waves. “You know,” she said, her voice lighter than her eyes, “most people around here think you’re some kind of monk. Quiet. Helpful. Always alone. Never swears. Shows up at the Banana Cabana, orders one drink, then disappears.”

  She gave him a sideways glance, smirking. “Well… not always alone. Nana swears you’ve left with someone a few times. And the gay witches? They were buzzing when you first showed up. Broody, handsome, looked like you wrestled shadows for a living. You were practically a walking thirst trap.”

  Kai winced.

  He didn’t deny it. There were nights when the silence pressed too hard, when the ghost of Dario’s touch clawed at the edges of his sanity. He’d chased warmth where he could find it—temporary strangers with dark eyes and soft hands. But each time ended the same: a moment of comfort followed by a deeper emptiness. The body remembered. The heart refused.

  “And still,” Aria went on, “they like you. Even if they think you’re a little... haunted.”

  “Are they wrong?” Kai asked quietly.

  A shadow stirred within him. The vampiric curse—Silas’s final gift—thrummed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. He’d scoured grimoires, begged spirits for answers, bartered knowledge with questionable allies. For six months, he’d searched for a cure, a counterspell, anything to break the hunger buried inside.

  Nothing worked.

  Only Blood Asura kept it at bay, the spirit blade suppressing the corruption—but it came at a cost. Every time Kai considered drawing real power from the sword, the curse stirred with it. Waiting. Watching. Hungry.

  When he was tired, when he slipped… he could feel it flare. The craving. Fresh, hot blood. The memory of it sang in his gut, a sweet ache.

  That’s why he kept his distance. Why he avoided crowds. Why he never let anyone get close for long.

  He was a dam holding back a tide. And one crack was all it would take.

  Aria was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, softly, “You never talk about what you used to be.”

  Kai stood, brushing the bark and dust from his palms. “Because that version of me doesn’t serve a purpose anymore.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said.

  He glanced over. She was leaning back on her hands, face tilted toward the sun, eyes closed. The picture of ease. But her voice was steady. Certain.

  “He’s useful,” she continued. “Just not to you.”

  Kai didn’t answer. Instead, he looked out at the water.

  The sea glinted gold under the rising light, its surface calm and endless. From here, it could’ve been peace. But he knew better.

  These hands had once been soaked in blood. His name had once meant fear. He had been the blade that ended lives, the shadow that moved unseen. A ghost in the dark.

  He turned from the thought, returning to the broken rudder pin beside him. It was splintered clean through—a small repair. Manageable. Honest work.

  “I need more yew,” he said finally, his voice even. “If you’re going into town.”

  Aria nodded. “I’ll grab it.”

  She hesitated, then added, “Oh—Duff invited you to dinner. Lee’s back from the Ninth Precinct. And Nana wants you to pick up those cookies she baked yesterday. Still convinced you’re too thin.”

  “Tell her thank you.”

  Aria hopped up and started down the path, then paused.

  Kai glanced up. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. Then, with forced casualness: “Hey… wanna grab a drink at the Banana Cabana tomorrow? I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”

  Kai gave a slow nod. “Sure.”

  Once she was gone, and the dock had quieted—only the wind and gulls left to speak—Kai knelt again beside the boat. His hands rested on the worn wood, still and tense. Magic stirred faintly in his blood, coiling like a serpent beneath the surface.