Chapter 25: Zorak

Bol nodded at the old woman and stepped back. She clutched her grocery bag tighter and hurried away.

Cheryl sat on the curb, legs crossed, toying with a porcelain doll. Its painted eyes stared at nothing. She hadn’t spoken in ten minutes.

“Another dead end,” Bol muttered.

The street was quiet. Sunday afternoon heat pressed down on the cracked pavement. A few locals drifted past, eyes averted. No one wanted to talk.

The old woman had been the fifth person he’d approached. Same story every time.

Makun was a ghost.

No one knew him. No one spoke to him. The few who remembered him at all mentioned bad luck. Terrible luck. The kind that made people cross the street to avoid him.

“They treat him like a plague,” Bol said.

Cheryl didn’t look up. Her fingers moved along the doll’s porcelain arm, tracing invisible patterns.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” Cheryl said. Her voice was flat. “They’re afraid. Fear is useful.”

Bol crouched beside her. “We need more than fear. We need a location.”

Bol stood back up, walked to the middle of the empty street and exhaled slowly.

The situation was getting worse. He had no information to work with. Nothing solid. Just rumors and fear.

The only lead was the place where the signature disappeared.

They’d already checked. Makun had been evicted. Never came back. The apartment was cleaned out. Empty. Useless.

Bol turned to Cheryl.

“We might need some help,” he said. “Perform your ritual. Contact a lesser spirit from the dream cycle. We’re tracing his movements the day before the signature vanished.”

Cheryl stopped humming. She set the doll down carefully and stood.

“Finally,” she said. “I was getting bored.”

Cheryl walked to the center of the street. The pavement was cracked and stained. No cars. No people. Just heat and silence.

She pulled a piece of chalk from her pocket and knelt.

SCRRR!

Four circles. One at each cardinal point. North. South. East. West.

Her hand moved with precision. Each line glowed faintly as she finished. The chalk wasn’t normal.

There was energy bleeding from it.

She drew the final circle and stepped into the center.

The formation looked like a compass. Four points radiating outward. Cheryl sat in lotus position at the heart of it.

Her hands rested on her knees. Palms up. Eyes open.

Then she began.

The words came low and steady. Not English.

“Udug-hul…” she started, her voice getting sharper

“Ki-bi-še…” wind blowed as her voice quited

“Ge-en-gi!”

Old syllables came out. Heavy with meaning.

The circles flared.

Energy pulsed outward in waves. The air thickened. Pressure built in Bol’s chest.

Cheryl’s voice dropped lower. The incantation stretched and twisted. Her lips moved, but the sound felt distant. Disconnected.

Then she closed her eyes.

Her mouth shut. No breath. No sound.

Her body went still.

Bol watched.

Cheryl’s form flickered. For a moment, she was solid. Then translucent. Then solid again.

Reality bent around her. The street looked wrong. Too bright and too dark at the same time.

Bol’s hand moved to his side, but he didn’t reach for a weapon. He just waited.

This was projection. Dangerous. Only Grade 3 elites and above could access the second layer of The Deep with their physical body. Cheryl wasn’t Grade 3. Not yet.

She was leaving herself exposed. Vulnerable.

If something went wrong, her body would die here. Empty. Lifeless.

This was an act of trust.

Bol kept watch.

Fifteen minutes passed.

The circles dimmed. The pressure in the air eased.

Cheryl’s body jerked.

Her eyes snapped open. She gasped and doubled forward, catching herself with both hands on the pavement.

“Cheryl.”

She didn’t answer. Her chest heaved. Sweat dripped down her face.

Then something appeared beside her.

A shape materialized in the air. Translucent. Bird-like. Its wings were too long. Its body too thin. It didn’t have a beak. Just a hollow space where a face should be.

It flickered in and out of reality. One second solid. The next, smoke.

Then it screeched.

The sound was sharp and high. Metal scraping glass.

Cheryl stood slowly. Her eyes locked on the creature.

The bird-thing hovered, phasing between visible and invisible. It darted forward in bursts, vanishing and reappearing twenty feet ahead.

“Let’s follow it,” Cheryl said.

She grabbed her doll and ran.

Bol swore under his breath and followed.

….

The room was small and dim.

Two chairs. A low table. Incense burning in the corner. The same space where Zuri always received her clients.

But this time, the man seated across from her was different.

Massive. Six foot four. Broad shoulders. Muscle layered thick across his frame. Scars covered his arms and neck. Small ones. Deep ones. Stories written in flesh.

But the most distinctive mark was the deep scar running under his left eye. Jagged. Old. It disappeared into his beard.

“Why did you call for me, Zuri?”

His voice was low. Calm. Dangerous.

Zuri sat opposite him in her usual chair. Her hands were folded in her lap. She looked smaller than usual.

“I need your help, Zorak.”

Zorak tilted his head.

Who could cause trouble for Zuri in Naija City? The mystic circle was limited. Not many people. Everyone knew she was under his protection.

Who dared?

“What is troubling you, Zuri?” he asked.

He waited. Whoever it was, they were going to pay.

“Well…” Zuri hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

She glanced at the table. The candles. The small bowl of water. The scattered cards she’d used for Makun’s reading the day before.

“I did my usual readings yesterday night,” she said. “It showed great trouble for myself. And it showed you as the solution.”

Zorak looked at her deeply.

Zuri was not one to lie. In fact, Zuri was the most cautious person he knew. She did everything to avoid trouble. Always careful. Always measured.

Zorak knew that.

She was a third-grade apprentice seer. Seers were rare. Extremely useful. The more advanced they became, the more they could pierce through reality. Some had abilities to reshape the past. Play with the future.

They were huge resources. With their guidance, one could safely advance on the path to reconnection.

Knowing the value of such a person, Zorak had taken Zuri under his wing in exchange for her service.

It seemed now was the time to pay her back.

“Ok,” he said. “I’m going to help. Later, tell me who put you in such a situation.”

He huffed. Already imagining the culprit. Already planning what he’d do to them.

“So tell me,” he said. “When do you expect the troubl—”

KNOCK!

KNOCK!

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