Chapter 12: The Book

Makun stared at the different charms placed on the old man’stable.

Collection. Harvest. Farming.

The old man’s words didn’t line up with what the presence had told him.

Already granted gift. That’s what she’d said. The broken chain.

She hadn’t mentioned anything about a harvest being ready. Or a farmer collecting him. She’d broken the chain herself. Given him access to the Mystic world.

So either this old man is wrong, or he’s only seeing part of the picture.

And from what Makun had heard from the presence and Zuri, from how powerful those behind these chains were, he wasn’t sure some random luck charm could help him.

But he wasn’t about to dismiss anything. Not when information was the only thing that had kept him alive this long.

Knowledge is survival.

That’s what he’d learned growing up. When you had nothing else, you learned. Laws so people couldn’t cheat you. First aid because hospitals cost money. Basic martial arts because the streets weren’t safe.

Information saved me more times than luck ever did.

And now he needed information about this world. The Mystic world. The world that had been feeding on him without his knowledge.

If I don’t learn the rules, I’m dead.

Makun looked at the old man more carefully.

Zuri’s been practicing for fifteen years. Started as a kid. And she needed time to figure out what was wrong with me.

This old man had seen it instantly. Read his spiritual signature like someone reading a name tag.

He knows more than he’s letting on.

“Do you have any books?” Makun asked.

“Books to lead me into the road of true Mystics?”

The old man looked up. His eyes sharpened again.

“Books? You want written knowledge?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” The man studied him. “Information. I see. You probably trust no one.”

Got that right.

“I don’t have anything here,” the old man continued. “But I can get something for you. You should be ready to pay, though. That kind of information is precious.”

He looked up at the sky, then back at Makun.

“Look around. Browse. Next week, come by with something interesting.”

Something interesting?

“What do you mean? What’s the price?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.” The old man smiled slightly. “Interesting things have a way of finding people like you. Bring me one, and we’ll talk.”

Yeah, With how unlucky I am, trouble does find me.

Makun wanted to push for a clearer answer, but the old man had already returned to organizing his table.

Vague pricing. Everything here is a negotiation.

Fine. He had a week.

Makun walked deeper into the market, scanning the remaining stalls.

He passed a stall selling what looked like preserved organs in jars. Another offering maps drawn on animal skin. A third with stone tablets covered in symbols he couldn’t read.

This world is deeper than I thought.

The night market stretched before him. Stalls lined both sides of the plaza. Hooded figures conducted business in hushed tones. The spiritual energy was thick here, pressing against his partially opened third eye.

He saw vendors selling what looked like dried herbs. Another haggling over a small glass vial that glowed faintly blue. A woman whispered about protection wards to a nervous customer.

Makun kept moving. Looking. Searching.

Mainly for information.

His eyes scanned each stall. Most sold Objects he didn’t understand yet. Services that made no sense to someone just entering this world.

He needed something concrete. Something he could study on his own. Something that didn’t require him to trust strangers who spoke in cryptic phrases.

Then he saw her.

A woman sitting behind a blanket spread on the cobblestones. She wore a veil that covered her face completely. Only her eyes were visible. Dark. Unblinking.

Around her neck, a silver necklace. Elaborate. The links moved slightly, like they were alive.

Silver. Safe.

On the blanket: small bowls of ash. Dried plants he didn’t recognize. Animal bones arranged in careful patterns. Clay figures. Stones with painted symbols.

And a book.

Thick. Worn leather cover. The spine was cracked from use. The pages yellowed with age.

The title was simple, burned into the leather in plain letters:

The Goal of a Mystic

Makun’s heart jumped.

That’s exactly what I need.

He stepped toward the blanket.

His bad luck had taken everything from him. His apartment. His job. His entire life had been one long string of failures and accidents.

But maybe this book could change that. Maybe understanding the mystical world would give him the tools to fight back against whatever had been feeding on him for twenty-three years.

“Excuse me,” he started.

“I want that book.”

The voice came from his right.

Makun turned.

A man stood two steps away. Tall. Lean. Wore a dark coat that looked expensive. His face was sharp, angular. Eyes too bright. Too focused.

He was staring at the book on the blanket.

The veiled woman looked up at both of them. Her eyes moved from the newcomer to Makun.

She said nothing.

Of course. Of course someone else wants it.

Makun’s jaw tightened. Twenty-three years of bad luck. Even here, in a mystical market in the middle of the night, his timing was shit.

The tall man stepped closer to the blanket. “How much?”

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