The last ferry had departed for the mainland, leaving Lazarus Island steeped in twilight. The remnants of the day’s tourists—their laughter, chatter, and careless excitement—had faded into memory, swallowed by the rhythmic crash of waves against the dock.
Now, the island breathed differently.
With the outsiders gone, the locals shed their daytime masks. The once-lively boardwalk stretched empty, its lights flickering like tired sentinels against the encroaching night. Most had retreated to the Banana Cabana, where the real magic began.
The Banana Cabana was doing its usual dance with chaos—fairy lights tangled in jungle vines, enchanted ukulele music strumming itself from a levitating booth, and coconuts on the bar that occasionally winked at customers before exploding into glitter.
Kai sat at the far end of the patio, near the waterline, nursing a drink that smelled vaguely of lime, ghost pepper, and regret. The sea breeze tugged at his hair. He didn’t mind. The Cabana was loud enough to drown thought—for once, he welcomed the noise.
“You brood like it’s an art form,” came a familiar voice.
Aria slid into the seat across from him. Her dark lipstick shimmered with protective runes, and her bangles whispered to one another like gossiping spirits. A longtime enforcer with sharp eyes and sharper instincts, Aria had built a reputation on seeing danger before it saw her. But tonight, something in her stance was off.
Kai didn’t look up. “Hello, Aria.”
“You’re still alive,” she said, flagging down a waiter with a flick of her nail. “I owe Lee five credits.”
Kai raised an eyebrow. “You two still betting on me?”
“Only when you disappear long enough for the corpses to start smelling.”
Their banter was cut short as Nana swept over, dressed in a simple black dress that contrasted wildly with her extravagant hair, piled high and adorned with seashells and softly glowing pearls.
“Darling Aria,” Nana cooed, her voice a practiced melody, “what can I do for you?”
“Oh, a great deal,” Aria replied, smiling as she met Nana’s gaze.
Maybe a beat too long.
“But for now, maybe just a whiskey.”
Nana winked. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”
She drifted away like a queen between realms.
Dario, seated nearby with a half-finished drink, had been watching the exchange with interest. He leaned over.
“So… is there something between you and Nana?”
Aria shrugged. “Harmless flirting does one good.” She sipped her drink as it arrived, eyes scanning the Cabana. “Besides, look around. Half this place still carries a torch for you, Dario. You just haven’t noticed.”
Kai ignored her and stared out toward the water instead.
Across the strait, the Singapore skyline loomed—cold, sharp, and radiant. Mirrored towers pierced the storm-heavy sky like obsidian blades, their artificial glow stretching across the horizon like something alive, shifting and pulsing with hungry light.
“You miss it?” Kai asked, his voice low.
Aria exhaled slowly, watching the skyline with unreadable eyes.
“That city’s never full,” she murmured. “No matter how much it takes, it always wants more.”
Kai followed her gaze. Cargo ships drifted into the harbor like phantoms—silent, colossal things hauling the lifeblood of the nation: trade, wealth, desperation. The neon blaze from Marina Bay’s financial district flickered like false stars, harsh and blinding against the encroaching storm.
“Debt,” Aria said, voice steady as the tide. “That’s what keeps it running. Students. Shopkeepers. Even cops. Everyone’s drowning in it. All looking for a way out.”
She flicked the ash from her cigarette, the ember glowing briefly before vanishing into the wet wooden slats of the boardwalk.
“That’s when the predators show up.”
A vendor passed by, placing a steaming bowl of bak chor mee in front of her. He said nothing—just gave a grunt and shuffled back toward the kitchen.
Aria didn’t touch the food. Instead, she picked up her whiskey, stirring it with the straw like she was thinking through something darker than words.
“It’s worse for witches,” she muttered. “No jobs. No protections. You either get collared, or you vanish. The government marks them like animals—locks their power down with spells that eat into the soul. If you want to survive, you go underground.”
She gave a short, bitter laugh.
“And that’s when the loansharks come knocking.”
Kai didn’t flinch, but he understood—all of it.
The system didn’t just regulate magic. It strangled it.
Shamans, witches, mediums—anyone with a gift—had to wear a government-issued collar, a visible seal that bound them to the Ninth Precinct’s registry. To most citizens, it was a safety measure.
To Kai, it was a leash.
“People borrow,” Aria said softly, the glass in her hand trembling ever so slightly. “Thinking they can handle the price.”
She shook her head.
“They never can.”
Kai had seen it. Men and women with nothing left, signing contracts in blood.
Witches trading years of their life for freedom they’d never truly own.
Debtors hunted like prey. Magic turned into collateral. Souls used as payment.
It was a world built on hunger.
And the Scarlet Frangipani had learned to feed.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of salt and rain. Somewhere near the beach, someone laughed too loud, and the enchanted ukulele in the corner tried to match the tone with a jarring chord. It failed, fizzled, and fell silent.
Kai leaned back in his chair, gaze still fixed on the horizon. He didn’t speak, but the tension in his shoulders had softened. Just a little.
Aria sipped her whiskey, then set the glass down carefully. Her fingers lingered on the rim, tracing idle circles.
“You ever think about what you’d be if they hadn’t taken you?” she asked.
Kai didn’t answer right away.
The question hovered between them—not accusatory, not bitter. Just... tired.
“Sometimes,” he said. “But not often. Doesn’t change where I ended up.”
Aria nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s the trick, isn’t it? Doesn’t matter how the maze starts—only that we all learn to crawl through it.”
They sat in silence for a while, the sea stretching out before them, endless and unknowable. The lights of the city shimmered like false constellations—beautiful, blinding, and far too distant.
“I used to think I could fix it,” Aria said. “Make things better from the inside. Use the system against itself.”
Kai turned his head slightly. “And now?”
She gave a small, bitter smile. “Now I just try not to drown anyone else with me.”
A few tables away, the fairy lights flickered and rearranged themselves into glowing kanji—home, debt, ghost. No one else seemed to notice.
Kai studied Aria’s face in profile—how the firelight caught the edges of her jaw, the flicker of something raw behind her eyes. Not fear. Not guilt. Just the weight of too many lines crossed, too many debts left unpaid.
“You ever wish you could walk away?” he asked.
Aria’s expression didn’t change.
“Every night.”
She looked at him then.
“But we don’t get to walk, Kai. Not anymore. We stay. We fight. Or someone else pays the price.”
Kai looked down at his hands—scarred, steady, silent.
“Then I guess I’m done pretending I’m not still in it.”
Kai tilted his head, studying her through the smoke.
“And you? What are you looking for?”
Aria smirked, dragging on her cigarette. The smoke curled around her face like a veil.
“Me?” she echoed. “I just want to get Mei out before it’s too late.”
Mei.
The daughter Aria had been trying to smuggle off the mainland.
“Where is she now?”
“With my ex-husband’s cousin. I pay them well every month to keep her safe. But she’s finally ready to move,” Aria said softly.
Something in Kai’s gut twisted.
The words were right.
But the tone was off.
Aria was always careful. Calculating. She weighed every word like a blade.
But tonight, her voice held too much finality. Like a woman saying goodbye before the war begins.
Her jaw tightened.
“Duff never mentioned anything about Mei coming to Lazarus Island,” Kai said quietly. “Where are you taking her?”
Aria didn’t answer. Just took another puff, exhaling slowly.
Kai straightened, pushing off the counter. His movements were slow, deliberate—the air between them heavy with unspoken tension, thick as the island’s night humidity.
“You’re hiding something.”
Aria stubbed out her cigarette. The ember sizzled against the ashtray.
She didn’t deny it. Didn’t deflect or charm her way out of it.
And that, more than anything, set Kai on edge.
She glanced at him. Smiled—her usual smirk.
But it was a mask, thin and brittle. It didn’t reach her eyes.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“You ever think,” she said, voice dropping lower, “that maybe being here, in Lazarus Island... it’s just another kind of running?”
“Eventually, trouble comes back.”
Kai felt it—a cold coil tightening in his gut.
Something was wrong.
Aria had always been a survivor.
But tonight? She wasn’t in a rush.
And she wasn’t planning to stay.
When she finally set her bowl aside, she wiped her fingers on her pants—smoothing out creases that weren’t there.
“I’ll contact you when I collect her,” she said.
Kai’s hand shot out, closing gently around her wrist before she could turn away.
“Aria.”
She stilled.
Didn’t pull away.
But didn’t meet his eyes either.
He didn’t know what he was searching for in her expression—fear? hesitation? regret?
But whatever it was, she had already buried it too deep to reach.
“You’re clearly planning something.”
She sighed—quiet, tired.
“You always were too sharp for your own good, Kai.”
Her voice was light, almost teasing.
But the way she said his name—soft, like something she wasn’t ready to let go of—made something heavy settle in his chest.
His grip tightened briefly.
Maybe if he held on, she wouldn’t slip away.
Maybe if he pressed, she’d finally tell him the truth.
But Aria was not the type to be stopped.
She just looked at him with those dark, knowing eyes—eyes that had seen too much, survived too much—and smiled.
A soft, sad smile.
Kai let go.
Aria huffed a laugh, dry as salt-tinged wind.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
She stepped back, then another.
For a moment, Kai considered following.
Stopping her.
Asking her what she wasn’t saying.
But the look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know.
It was already too late.
She slipped into the shadows of the docks, her silhouette dissolving into the neon haze and the hush of restless waves.
Kai watched her go.
Watched until the darkness swallowed her whole.
His fingers curled into a fist, the phantom weight of her wrist lingering in his palm.
He wanted to go after her.
To demand answers.
To drag the truth out from wherever she’d buried it.
But the figure beside him made it clear:
He had bigger problems now.
In the meantime, a younger man had slipped onto the barstool beside Kai, jittery and pale. His cheap, knockoff sports jacket tried to mimic high fashion but looked more like market stall regret—faded logos, frayed cuffs, desperation stitched into every thread. Despite the cool sea breeze, sweat clung to his brow. His wide, darting eyes scanned every dark corner, like he was waiting for something to reach out and drag him away.
Kai glanced at him once and sighed.
“Why are you here?” he asked, voice low and edged with quiet disapproval.
He flicked his cigarette toward the water. The ember hissed out on the damp ground.
“Something happen?”
Bai exhaled shakily, dragging a trembling hand through his damp hair, but said nothing.
Kai’s gaze flicked toward the bar.
“Before that—” he muttered. “You want a drink?”
Bai hesitated. Then nodded.
“I… I could use some food too.”
Kai gave Nana a silent signal.
The bar matron approached, her towering seashell-studded hair glowing faintly in the lights. She poured the drink with mechanical grace, but her eyes lingered on Bai.
Too long. Too sharp.
“What’s he doing here?” Nana murmured as she set the glass down, her tone low but pointed.
Bai didn’t meet her gaze.
“Wait here,” Kai said.
He stepped away, heading to the nearby food stall where a couple manned a smoking grill. With practiced ease, he ordered skewers—grilled meats, nothing fancy—and dropped a tip into their worn bowl.
When Kai returned, Bai had already downed his whiskey in one gulp.
The glass clinked empty against the counter.
Nana lingered nearby. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“He shouldn’t be here, Kai.”
She was right.
Bai had a reputation.
A gambler with more charm than sense, running on the fumes of minor luck magic that always ran out when it mattered most. He drifted from woman to woman like a ship without anchor, each one another attempt at stability he could never hold onto. Duff hated him. Never granted him permanent stay on Lazarus Island. Called him a risk, a ticking curse.
Kai had met Bai’s latest girlfriend. He hadn’t liked her either.
“He’s probably in trouble,” Kai said flatly. “I’ll ask.”
The skewers arrived. Kai handed over the food without a word. Bai tore into them like he hadn’t eaten in days—fast, frantic, chewing through silence and shame.
Kai watched.
He didn’t interrupt.
Debt. That much was clear.
Bai wouldn’t be here otherwise.
“You owe money?” Kai finally asked, voice even.
Bai paused mid-bite, chopsticks hovering before he slowly lowered them.
“How bad?” Kai pressed.
Bai exhaled sharply, rubbing both hands over his face.
“Bad enough,” he muttered. Then, after a beat, his eyes flicked to Kai—wide, pleading. “But not, like… hopeless. I just need more time.”
Kai’s tone sharpened.
“You wouldn’t be here if you had time.”
Bai flinched. His fingers curled into fists on the counter before he forced them open again.
“Shit, man, I know. But it’s not like I had a choice!” His voice cracked, frustration rising beneath the surface. “Do you know how expensive Yuki’s tastes are? Designer bags, rooftop dinners, Bali getaways—” He stopped himself, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I just… I wanted to give her everything.”
Kai exhaled slowly through his nose.
“So you took out a loan.”
Bai’s mouth twisted.
“It wasn’t supposed to be that kind of loan. Just a short-term thing. Easy money. I’d pay it back—done. No strings.”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“But the Scarlet Frangipani doesn’t do favors.”
Kai’s jaw tightened.
He’d heard the rumors.
The Scarlet Frangipani weren’t your average loansharks—they were a vampire gang, one that fed on both blood and desperation. They’d tried to muscle into Lazarus Island once, just like the Ghost Lanterns. Duff had thrown them out. The island stayed neutral. Free of the wars.
Kai’s cigarette burned low. He crushed it out against the counter, eyes still fixed on Bai.
“How much do you owe?”
Bai swallowed. His throat bobbed.
“Bai.”
A pause.
“Five hundred grand,” he whispered.
Kai went still.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was!” Bai’s hand shot up, yanking through his hair. “I was doing okay at first. Made the first few payments. But then…” His voice faltered. “My gambling streak dried up.”
Kai’s voice tightened further.
“Let me get this straight. You borrowed half a million dollars from a supernatural loanshark—because your girlfriend wanted designer bags. And when you couldn’t pay it back, you thought you’d win it back at the tables.”
Bai cringed.
“When you say it like that—”
“Like an idiot?”
“—it sounds worse,” Bai muttered.
Kai pinched the bridge of his nose.
Gambling was reckless. But borrowing from a blood cult to cover it?
That was suicide.
“Do they know you’re behind?”
Bai gave a bitter laugh.
“Of course they do. That’s why I’m here.”
Something in his voice made Kai’s skin crawl.
“When was your last payment?”
“Two weeks ago.”
Kai’s eyes narrowed.
“They gave you two weeks—and you’re still walking?”
The Scarlet Frangipani weren’t known for mercy.
“They took something, didn’t they?” Kai’s voice dropped, sharp and flat.
Bai didn’t answer right away.
Then, with trembling hands, he rolled up his sleeve.
A sigil, black-red and jagged, snaked from wrist to elbow. The skin around it was pale and bruised—drained-looking.
“I thought it was just to scare me,” Bai muttered. “They threw me in a basement. Cut my arm a little. Then burned this in.”
Kai stepped closer.
Blood magic. Not punishment. Harvesting.
“Since then…” Bai’s voice faltered. “I’m tired all the time. My hands go numb. And I keep dreaming—no, not dreaming. Something watches me. In the dark. It whispers. The sigil burns when I wake up.”
He looked up, eyes rimmed red.
“I swear, I feel something missing.”
Kai didn’t respond immediately.
He knew this kind of sigil. Knew its origin.
Silas had taught it to him.
His stomach turned cold.
“You’re not just in debt,” Kai said quietly, collecting himself. “They’ve marked you.”
Bai’s eyes widened.
“Marked?”
He swayed slightly, like the word had hit him physically.
“Shit,” he whispered. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Kai flicked away the last of his cigarette.
“You need to disappear. Now.”
Bai laughed bitterly.
“Disappear? You think they’ll just let me walk away?”
Kai didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
Bai’s shoulders slumped.
“So what do I do?” he asked, voice hollow.
Kai looked again at the sigil. It pulsed faintly—alive, parasitic.
“You stay on Lazarus Island,” Kai said. “You don’t leave until I say so. Go to WIFI. Ask for sanctuary.”
Bai’s head jerked up.
“What? Kai, come on—you know Duff doesn’t—”
“I’ll talk to him,” Kai cut in. His voice was final. Unmovable.
“You’ll stay hidden. And I’ll ask Duff to look into the Scarlet Frangipani.”
Bai opened his mouth to argue, but paused.
The look in Kai’s eyes shut him down.
This wasn’t a suggestion.
