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.

  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.

  “You know,” Aria said, settling onto the edge of the dock with her legs swinging over the water, “most people around here think you’re some kind of monk. Quiet, helpful, always alone. Never swears. You only show up at the Banana Cabana, and even then, always solo.”

  She glanced sideways, smirking. “Well… not always solo. Nana swears you’ve left with someone a few times. And hey, I wouldn’t blame you. The gay witches were all buzzing about the broody, handsome bear when you first arrived.”

  Kai winced.

  Sometimes, when the loneliness crept too deep, he’d sought out company—nameless, fleeting encounters with pale, dark-haired men who blurred into one memory. In their arms, in the dark, Dario’s face would rise unbidden. And every time, it left him emptier than before.

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

  “Are they wrong?” Kai asked softly.

  Vitaedrinker stirred within him again, a low, pulsing hunger. Silas had forced the bond—given him the means to complete their blood-soaked missions for the Obsidian Dagger. Swordplay, blood magic, necromantic control—Kai had mastered it all. But the cost whispered in his bones.

  Sometimes, when he let his guard down, the craving surged. Blood, hot and fresh. The ache of it curled in his gut.

  That’s why he avoided people. Who knew when the monster would rise?

  Aria was quiet for a moment, unusually still. Then: “You never say what you used to be.”

  Kai stood, brushing bark dust from his palms. “Because that person isn’t useful anymore.”

  “You’re wrong.” Aria leaned back on her hands, eyes closed against the sun. “He’s useful. Just not to you.”

  Kai didn’t reply. He looked out over the water instead. The sea shimmered gold under the morning light, calm and endless.

  Hard to imagine these hands had once been soaked in blood. Harder still to believe that, in another life, his name had been a curse whispered in fear. A blade in the dark. A ghost in the night.

  He turned away from the memory and picked up the next task: a snapped rudder pin. Small. Manageable. Honest work.

  “I need more yew,” he said. “If you’re heading 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.

  He remembered when he first arrived at Lazarus Island.

  _______________________________________________________________________________

  The sun had barely risen, casting long, golden shadows across Marina South Pier, but the terminal was already alive with movement. Ferries to the outlying islands drew crowds of tourists and locals alike, forming neat, shuffling lines under the open-air canopy. In the crisp morning air, quiet conversations blended with the occasional overhead announcement, forming a subdued but constant hum.

  Vendors manned makeshift stalls along the perimeter, selling bottled water, fish snacks, and last-minute souvenirs. Few lingered. Most travelers were eager to escape the mainland, chasing sunlit beaches or family retreats.

  But one line felt different.

  There, anticipation mingled with unease. Some passengers fidgeted, casting furtive glances at the security booth. Others stood stiffly, their eyes hard, as though bracing for something unseen. Among them, Kai kept his hood low, blending in with the rest.

  His attention drifted from the present.

  He thought of Shawn O’Dubhslaine—the old man who’d once been his mark. For weeks, Kai had tracked him through London’s underworld. The target was cautious, slippery. Kai had mapped his patterns, anticipated his routes, even learned the rhythm of his footsteps.

  He was sure he had him cornered.

  It happened in a narrow alley beneath the city, dim and slick with rain. Kai had waited in the dark, blade in hand, breath held.

  But it was a trap.

  O’Dubhslaine had led him there deliberately. The old man had baited him, drawn him close—then turned the ambush on its head. One misstep was all it took. A single wrong assumption. Kai had ended up disarmed, pinned to a wall, staring into the amused eyes of the man he was supposed to kill.

  “If you ever tire of being a weapon,” O’Dubhslaine had murmured, voice low and knowing, “look for Lazarus Island. It’s where the hunted become free.”

  Now, years later, Kai stood on the threshold of that promise.

  He had spent months chasing whispers. A smuggler in Bangkok, an occult map dealer in Jakarta, a half-mad prophet in Malacca. All trails had led here—to this pier, this queue, this moment. And yet, doubt gnawed at him.

  “First time?” a voice broke through his thoughts.

  An elderly man stood beside him, smartly dressed in a polo and navy blazer, one hand resting on a polished cane. His wife, graceful in a purple sundress and oversized sunglasses, offered a kind smile.

  Kai nodded. “You?”

  “Oh, we’ve been here before,” the old man said. “But I remember when Lazarus was something else entirely. In the ’70s, it was a detention center, drug rehab facility, even a refugee camp. Then a witch—no one remembers her name—transformed it into a haven for magical outcasts.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?” Kai asked, careful not to sound too interested.

  The man chuckled. “Of course. Lazarus was an anomaly. A blight, some said, on Singapore’s clean, conservative image. But it survived. Why? Who knows. Influence. Magic. Coin. Maybe all three.”

  His wife leaned in. “It’s not what it used to be, though. These days, it’s been dressed up for tourists. The wildness is still there, but more… curated. And as for residency—” She shook her head. “No new entries without months of screening. Maybe years. The waiting list’s ridiculous.”

  Kai’s stomach dropped.

  Still, he clung to the memory of O’Dubhslaine’s voice. He hoped the old man hadn’t forgotten him. That his name—or his skill—might still carry enough weight to open the gates.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  He had nothing else left to bargain with.

  “So why are you here?” the man asked.

  “Just visiting,” Kai replied quietly.

  The man’s eyes flicked to the collar around Kai’s neck. He didn’t press further.

  A subtle tension hung in the air, urging people to keep their heads down and move along. Flanking the queue, pairs of uniformed men stood watch—blue-grey flannel shirts, brown khaki shorts, black berets tucked neatly against their shoulder straps. Their uniforms were immaculate, their presence unmistakable. A silver lion glinted on their shoulders, subtly magical, a mark of authority.

  Their eyes were sharp, practiced—scanning, always searching.

  “Who are they?” Kai asked, nodding toward the men as one pair passed by. “Doesn’t look like standard police.”

  “That’s the Ninth Precinct,” the man said. “Singapore’s Witch Hunter Order. Don’t worry. They’re just here to check IDs. The restrictions are really only for high-level mages.”

  Every few minutes, one of the sergeants moved down the line, hands outstretched for identification. The Ninth Precinct operated with methodical precision. Every ID was scrutinized, every official stamp verified. Anyone with supernatural abilities—witches, shamans, cursed-blood—had to wear a government-issued collar, marked with a magical seal. Without it, passage to Lazarus Island was denied.

  But the collar was more than just proof of registration. It was a leash.

  Ahead of Kai, a man with dark hair stepped forward. His collar wasn’t standard-issue—black, sleek, and faintly etched with glyphs. It marked him as someone powerful… or someone hiding something. Kai recognized it immediately.

  The man moved through the checkpoint without issue, his posture calm, his face unreadable.

  Kai’s fingers drifted to the charm hidden beneath his shirt—an old talisman from the Obsidian Dagger. He didn’t need it anymore. And yet, it was always there.

  Years of work as an assassin had trained him to read people, and something about the man with the black collar unsettled him. Too composed. Too smooth. Like someone used to slipping past walls.

  The officer barely hesitated before handing the man’s documents back. No alarm, no questions.

  But Kai could feel the tension rise with each step closer to the checkpoint. His own documents were forged—painstakingly—but not flawless. His collar, like many used on the black market, bore a seal he’d crafted himself. His magic wasn’t registered. If they saw through the deception, there would be no warnings. Just an arrest. Or worse.

  He glanced at the ferry, its hulking shadow looming over the dock, just beyond the checkpoint. So close.

  Lazarus Island had to be real. Had to be safe. It was the only place left he could go without a trail of blood behind him.

  As Kai reached the front of the line, an officer stepped forward. His stance shifted slightly, alert.

  “Name?” The voice was clipped and professional—but edged with suspicion.

  “Kai,” he answered evenly, locking eyes with him.

  The officer flipped through the documents. His gaze lingered on Kai’s collar, eyes narrowing slightly at the seal.

  Kai’s heart thudded. A drop of sweat slid down his spine.

  Then—without a word—the officer handed the papers back.

  “Pass. Go ahead.”

  Kai exhaled slowly. His shoulders relaxed for the first time since arriving. He nodded and moved forward, brushing past the officer and heading toward the ferry.

  His fingers grazed the hilt of the dagger hidden at his side. Still with him. Just in case.

  Behind him, the elderly couple passed through as well. No one stopped them.

  Just as the ferry prepares to depart, a ripple cuts through the crowd.

  A squad of Witch Hunters strides onto the dock, uniforms sharp and gleaming, slicing through the morning haze like a blade. Their leader raises a gloved hand, signaling the crowd to freeze.

  “Routine inspection,” he announces. “Standard protocol. A quick sweep for magical dissidents.”

  Kai doesn’t move.

  He watches. Waits. He’s learned not to react—reaction gets you killed.

  Then it happens.

  The man with the black collar runs.

  For a heartbeat, everything holds still.

  Then chaos erupts.

  Silver chains lash out, fast and unerring. They coil around the fugitive’s legs, yanking him to the ground. He fights, thrashes, curses—but it’s over before it starts. Runed cuffs snap around his wrists, locking shut with an audible crack.

  The crowd recoils in stunned silence. Some look away. Others stare, horrified, as the man is dragged to his knees.

  Kai’s fists clench. He knows that look—the wild, haunted panic of someone with no way out. He’s seen it. He’s lived it.

  And then the real danger begins.

  The lead Witch Hunter turns toward the ferry. His voice cuts through the air, calm and merciless.

  “Lock it down. No one leaves until every passenger is questioned and inspected.”

  A quiet ripple of dread passes through the crowd.

  Kai’s heart rate doesn’t spike—but he feels the noose tighten all the same.

  He has seconds. Maybe less.

  Options race through his mind—fight, flee, or vanish.

  Keeping his posture loose, Kai eases backward into the shifting crowd, letting their fear blur his outline. His fingers twitch, blood magic stirring beneath his skin like a whispered warning. A pulse. A thread. A subtle call to the Pale Curtain.

  His eyes lock on a man nearby—nervous, shifting from foot to foot, practically sweating fear. Perfect.

  Kai lets his magic slip into the man’s bloodstream—just a touch. A whisper. Enough to elevate his heart rate, spike the adrenaline already building.

  The man twitches. Breath stutters. Eyes wide.

  “I didn’t do anything!” he blurts, backing away from the approaching guards.

  But panic is guilt in the eyes of the Ninth Precinct. They move without hesitation, descending on the man like wolves.

  The distraction blooms. Voices rise. The crowd stirs, a ripple of unrest.

  And Kai moves.

  He slips behind a stack of crates, melting into the dock’s shifting shadows. He’s watched the cargo—netted supplies, heavy bundles, crates lashed and hoisted beneath deck. Timing is everything.

  Sliding between barrels and sacks, he edges toward the water. A locked hatch. A slim opening in the cargo path.

  With a flex of magic, blood reinforces his grip. He pries the hatch open, slips through, and hauls himself up just as a winch swings overhead.

  The dock shrinks behind him.

  By the time the inspection ends, Kai is already below deck, swallowed by shadows. His breath steady. His presence unnoticed.

  He wipes the last trace of blood from his fingertips and listens to the slow, steady groan of the ferry pulling away from shore.

  He’s on board.

  And for now, no one knows.

  In the darkness beneath the deck, Kai waited.

  Only when the ferry horn sounded—low and long—did he finally exhale, a thread of relief loosening in his chest. The boat was leaving the mainland. He was moving forward.

  But the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.

  The run-in with the Ninth Precinct clung to his thoughts like a shadow. No place was truly safe. Not really. Lazarus Island had a reputation as a haven, but if the Singaporean government ever decided to shut it down, people like him would be the first to fall.

  He was running out of places to hide.

  The Obsidian Daggers would eventually track him down—Silas always did. Kai had burned through the last of his resources during his six-month flight. What Silas didn’t own, he had stripped from Kai by design. What little Kai had claimed for himself was nearly gone.

  The ferry slowed. He felt the shift before he saw it—the air thickened, a low hum brushing against his skin. The magic here was old. Not aggressive, but pervasive, like a lullaby murmured just beneath awareness.

  It wasn’t soft.

  The Pale Curtain was thinner here. The boundary between spirit and matter shimmered like silk in the wind. Vitaedrinker stirred in response. Hungry. Curious.

  Kai closed his eyes, pressed the spirit back into sleep.

  Not now.

  As his boots met the weathered planks of the island’s dock, a fine mist parted to reveal a narrow trail leading into dense green forest. The air was warm and damp, thick with the scent of wild herbs and blooming things.

  Every step forward felt heavier.

  He wasn’t just running from the Obsidian Daggers anymore. He was running from himself.

  The assassin. The shaman. The weapon Silas had forged and loosed upon the world. The man whose hands, no matter how often he washed them, still stank of blood.

  Then—laughter.

  Kai turned in time to see a young boy dash across the deck, clutching a plastic airplane in one hand. The toy skittered out of his grip and landed at Kai’s feet. The boy skidded after it, his father a step behind, gently pulling him back from the edge by the straps of his tiny backpack.

  Kai bent and handed the plane back without a word.

  The boy grinned. “Thanks!”

  For the first time in what felt like forever, something small and forgotten stirred in Kai’s chest. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. The simplicity of the moment felt like a memory from a different life.

  The trail wound deeper into the forest. Shrines dotted the path, nestled into roots and rocks, carved from aged stone and dark wood. Coins, flowers, and polished stones lay in quiet offerings at their feet.

  Kai paused at one of them, fingers brushing a weathered carving. It hummed under his touch—faint but unmistakable.

  He bowed his head—not in worship, but in respect.

  This place had power.

  And he wasn’t arrogant enough to ignore it.

  The trail opened into a wide clearing.

  Wooden cabins and moss-covered stone buildings blended seamlessly into the landscape, as if they had grown from the soil itself. A river wound lazily through the center of the village, its surface shimmering faintly, touched by some quiet enchantment.

  People moved without haste. A woman with sap-stained fingers carried a basket of herbs. A man by the river mended a fishing net with slow, steady movements. Children chased flickering orbs of light that drifted between the trees, their laughter bright as wind chimes.

  Kai lingered at the edge of the clearing.

  He felt like a ghost. An outsider.

  But when he stepped forward, the villagers didn’t flinch or turn away. They glanced at him with calm interest, a few offering quiet nods.

  An elderly woman passed him, leaning on a staff etched with worn glyphs. She met his eyes and smiled gently, inclining her head in welcome.

  Kai stood there, unmoving, as the sounds of the village washed over him.

  He had made it.

  “Welcome to Lazarus Island, Kai.”

  The voice came from behind.

  Kai turned sharply, muscles tensing. Vitaedrinker stirred within him, ready to answer his call. His fingers twitched, prepared to summon the spirit-forged nodachi.

  A wiry man stood a few paces away, dressed in loose, earth-toned clothes that blended seamlessly with the forest. His salt-and-pepper hair was tied into a simple braid, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. Around his neck hung a pendant shaped like a lion, pulsing softly with latent enchantment.

  Kai’s breath caught. That symbol—he knew it.

  Ninth Precinct.

  “No worries,” the man said, holding his hands up in playful surrender. “I’m retired.”

  Kai didn’t lower his guard, but he sensed no threat in the man’s aura. No malice. Just quiet confidence.

  “How do you know my name?” Kai asked cautiously.

  The man studied him a moment, eyes sharp but unreadable. “I’m Lee. Duff asked me to welcome you.”

  Kai frowned. “Duff?”

  “Yeah. Short for O’Dubhslaine,” Lee said with a shrug. “He prefers the nickname.”

  Kai’s wariness deepened. He had come here on instinct, on hope. How had they known he would arrive? Was this whole thing a setup?

  Lee seemed to read the doubt in his face but didn’t push. Instead, he turned his gaze over the village, relaxed and familiar, like someone who belonged here.

  “You’ll find this place isn’t like anywhere else,” he said. “Lazarus Island has a way of changing people.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back and met Kai’s gaze again. “Duff told me about you. This is your home now—if you choose to make it so.”

  Kai said nothing.

  A home.

  That word felt foreign. Fragile.

  His eyes drifted back over the village—the woven cabins, the spirit-touched river, the people who smiled without suspicion. It was peaceful in a way that unnerved him. He hadn’t known peace in years.

  But the shadow of his past still clung to him. Heavy. Constant.

  After a long moment, he exhaled and nodded once. “I’ll stay,” he said quietly. “But I can’t promise I’ll be here forever.”

  Lee smiled, the expression warm and knowing. “No one stays forever. But while you’re here, you’ll find what you need.”

  Kai wasn’t sure if that was true.

  But it was something.

  He took another step forward, boots crunching softly on the path.

  The past still loomed behind him, silent and watchful.

  But for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel quite so suffocating.

  And for now, that was enough.