"I love you, Acksil."
The sound whispered into my ears. I jolted awake, gasping for air. My body was drenched in sweat and harsh sunlight streamed in from the window, exposing my bare belly.
That voice - it was of a woman. I heard it in my dreams for days now. She appears in my dreams, almost daily although I usually forget her face when I wake up. Only the things I remember are her voice and mole beneath her lips. We do a lot of things in the dreams, go on dates, act like a happy couple but never have she ever used this specific arrangement of words.
A sharp glint of light flashes off the window. I shift my torso, propping myself up slightly and gaze outside. No sign of human life. A white cat lay sprawled on a nearby rooftop, grooming her paws, while ravens circled above in the harsh midday sun. I sighed. It was noon and I had overslept again.
Pushing myself up, I tread through a sea of scattered papers on the floor. On the desk, I gently move my wooden compass aside and reach for my pouch. I’d been immersed in an engineering project for a while now—but the new king has no appreciation for minds like mine. He’s more enamored with violent sports and his never-ending list of concubines. I grabbed my maroon headscarf and wrapped it around my head.
I moved out of my room putting the mechanical lock shut and walked down the spiraling stairs of my hostel. I've been living in the capital for three years now. My village offered little in the way of education, and I was never one to settle for growing crops and scraping by on a peasant’s wage. I fought for more. And I made it.
The previous king had admired bright, curious minds. He had established a merit system that allowed rural students like me to enter the world of engineering. I even earned a scholarship. But after his death, everything fell apart. The economy declines and every alternate kingdom has decided to cut deals with ours. The trade sucks. The army is full of fat pigs. And the law and order has fallen. Even my funding was slashed. The professors dismissed my projects. Now, to make ends meet, I work evenings at a rice shop.
I navigated through the sunbaked cobbled streets of the city dodging aggressive salesmen and nimble-fingered street kids. My eyes glanced upon a particular event. The crowd had surrounded and from a thin slit of view between the men, I could see a big brawny vendor beating a weak - seemingly homeless man. The brawny guy grunts, "You people are scumbags. You migrate from your villages to the capital but could never earn enough. And then, you steal." He moves closer to the man.
"You think you can steal from me." He kicks him in the groin. I notice the standing crowd. They neither help the brawny guy beat the man accused of theft nor do they care about that man getting beaten. They stand there - their backs curled and hands lost to their weight. The brawny guy kicks him in the face. He seems unconscious or perhaps even dead.
The crowd is full of low-wage overworked workers. They do not care. They stand there for the show as do I. I am no different than them. Perhaps I might not even be any different than the guy getting it. Nobody verified his theft. Anyways, it is none of my business to care about market politics when I can barely make it to living like the others.
I reach an underground alley. It was filled with shops of all kinds—from locksmiths to low-rent mercenaries. At the very end of the sketchy pathway was - The Food Stall, known for serving the best Hulshya in the city.
"Oi, Acksil! How are you, lad? Let me get you the usual," the shopkeeper called from behind a worn wooden counter. A giant brass bowl of steaming hot Hulshya was kept in front of him.
I gave him a slight nod and took a seat at one of the small tables. A generous plate of piping hot Hulshya—rice, spiced chicken, and onions—was slid toward me. I dug in without hesitation.
I gulped through the delicacy - gulping on the rice, biting through the steamed chicken and crushing through the onions. Oil dripped from the spoon to my palm and spices layed burning on the cuts of my dried lips. I devour it like a beast.
As I was slurping the savory dish, a bearded man settled into the seat beside me. My gaze drifted to him instinctively. He looked like a beggar—filthy and disheveled, even more so than I was. He reeked of sweat and grime, as if he hadn’t seen a bath in months. And people thought I was the dirty one. Still, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that this peculiar gray-bearded stranger was more than just a vagrant. Perhaps a thief or worse, a hired thug.
I adjusted myself in my seat, subtly straightening my posture while keeping my guard up. My hand hovered near the hilt of my spoon as I continued to gulp down mouthfuls of Hulshya. The man beside me finally stirred. Slowly, he reached into the folds of his filthy coat and placed something onto the table.
It was a small black cube, adorned with intricate blue and red patterns on each side. A looped string was attached to one of its corners, making it wearable like a pendant. The design shimmered faintly under the light.
He spoke in a voice both gravelly and calm, “This is an Uruma. Whoever wears it is granted holy sight. You'll need it."
I stared, momentarily captivated by the precision of its design, the way the colors intertwined like ancient script. It was mesmerizing. But I wasn’t naive. I’d dealt with enough con artists in this city to know when someone was trying to sell me something—especially with the classic “mystical artifact” trick.
“Sorry, old man” I said coolly. “I don’t have a single dilor to spare.”
He didn’t flinch. “I’m not asking for money,” he said. “Keep it. You’ll seek me only after you’ve seen it—the reason behind your sleepless nights. Your drained body. Your cursed luck. A Qarinah.”
My heart skipped a beat. A chill trickled down my spine.
“A Qarinah?” I echoed, my voice barely a whisper.
He nodded, leaning in just a little. “Qarinah are spirits that cling to lonely men. They feed on your vitality—not directly, but by siphoning the energy you gain from food. They draw misfortune to you like a magnet.
They appear in your dreams forging seductive traps that bind you to them deeper.
They are beautiful and soft spoken from the outside, but do not be fooled. They are cunning.”
He paused, catching his breath. I stared at him, frozen, a mix of disbelief and fear coursing through me.
"Young man, don't be fooled. They can kill you by draining all your energy. They can take an animal form usually a cat so you might've spotted the one haunting you at some point."
I nodded slightly. I only started to grasp the situation I was in.
The old man rose from his seat, gave me one last shake of his head, then turned and began to walk away.
“Wait!” I called out, suddenly panicked.
He didn’t stop. “You will seek me, Acksil... and you will find me,” he said, without turning back.
Then he was gone—vanished into the crowd, leaving only the strange cube pendant behind on the table.
A moment later, the shopkeeper approached, his expression puzzled. “What happened, Acksil? Did that guy try to rob you?”
I shook my head, still staring at the cube. “No... nothing like that.”
I finished the last few bites of my meal in silence. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, I reached for the cube and slipped it into my pouch.
__________________________________________
The sun had set, and my stomach was full. In my hands, I held the strange necklace the old man had given me. If the Qarinah he spoke of was real, tonight would be the night I’d see her.
To be honest, I was so miserable that even the faintest connection to a woman thrilled me—but deep down, a sense of dread gnawed at me. If this Qarinah was truly the source of my misfortune, I had to get rid of her. Fast.
I clutched the necklace tightly, then slipped it around my neck, tucking it beneath my T-shirt. My fingers trembled slightly as I moved to my desk. Grabbing a charcoal pencil, I began sketching a Quiloth flower in my notebook. My hands were tense, my breath shallow. Each stroke was fast, jagged. The whole act... a silent lure.
Meow.
A sharp, loud meow pierced the silence. I froze.
It came from the window. I glanced sideways.
A white cat stared in at me, her eyes glowing under the soft blue moonlight. The lamp in my room flickered violently, buzzing like it was about to burst. I kept drawing, barely.
Then, the cat began to change.
She shifted—no, she transformed. Her body turned translucent, shimmering like water under sunlight. She rose and morphed into a figure I knew too well: an adult woman, breathtakingly beautiful, with a single mole beneath her lips.
I remembered her face—her exact face—from the dreams.
She passed through the windowpane like mist and slowly floated down to the floor. A glistening white gown hugged her figure, catching the lamp’s light like tiny stars. Her skin was pale, almost luminous, and her black hair fell like silk down to her waist. Jewels glittered along her neckline and in her hair, each piece elegant yet ancient.
Then I saw her eyes—deep, radiant blue. Like twin oceans. Waves rolled behind them, silent breezes flowing through me in the still night. A strange calm blanketed me just from looking at her.
But then she saw me.
Her gaze shifted. Her brows arched. Her eyes widened in shock. She must have realized that I could see her.
I pretended not to notice. I kept sketching.
She glided across the room, passing through the clutter on my floor, toward one of the scattered sketches. I often draw fruits, flowers, vegetables—anything natural. It’s a quiet obsession of mine. I watched her closely. Her expressions were hard to read, but her interest seemed genuine.
I turned back to my drawing, my mind racing.
Is this it? Am I cursed with a beautiful ghost for a fan?
If she were real… if she had flesh and blood, maybe she’d be the reason I’d push through all this mess. But fate doesn’t work like that, does it?
Just as I was shading the flower’s petal, she suddenly emerged from the ground—right in front of me. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her eyes fixed on my pencil. My heart pounded. I didn’t stop.
Then she looked up.
We locked eyes.
Her expression was terrifying—eyes wide open, her face unreadable. A cold sweat ran down my forehead.
She leaned closer. Her hands reached for me. Her lips hovered just above mine. Her gaze got set on my drawing. She leaned on some invisible wall and kept looking at my drawing. Her head was moving from left to right and she had a faint smile. She was blushing. And she was adorable.
I did it again. I slowed down viewing her. As I increased my speed, I checked on her from a side view. Her expression was changing. Her eyes got smaller as her eyebrows contracted. Her lips arose in a pout. She was confused, but about what. Then her gaze turned towards me.
She went upwards and took her stance. Her hair started waving. It felt like she was going to go through me. With all her intent, she moved towards me, head-straight. I twitched. I was horrified, horrified by a glowing white beauty closing her distance towards me.
And suddenly - our heads bumped. A clear shockwave of pain went through both of us. I got launched back into my bed and she got displaced back into the air. I thought she was trying to pass through me, why would she bump her head? Did she somehow understand that I was capable of seeing her?
My eyes were seeing shapes and forms. My body couldn't find equilibrium. But I could see her, slowly coming towards me.
Her translucent hands brushed my chest and I felt it. She reached into my shirt and grasped the cube.
Her voice trembled. "You could see..."
Her eyes were wide-open and her hands got colder. She pulled her hand and slowly levitated herself out of the window. I couldn't just let her go.
I pulled myself up. Both of us were staring at each other. I rose my hands in her direction, trying to calm her but she didn't look convinced. From my other hand, I grabbed my headscarf. I mustered enough strength to my lips to say the word, "Qarinah!" out loud.
She transformed into a cat. I wrapped the headscarf as fast as possible and jumped out of my bed. She was jumping fro m one rooftop to the other. I could not let her go.
Down the spiral staircase I flew, my footsteps echoing like drums. I burst into the pebbled streets of the night market, panting, frantic. My eyes scanned desperately.
There—her. She was far ahead, still sprinting across the street like a flash of white lightning.
So I ran.
The full moon poured silver light over the town, flooding the street with an ethereal glow. One by one, shopkeepers were snuffing out their lanterns for the night, but it barely dimmed the brightness. If anything, it made her silhouette stand out even more. The ghostly white of her cat form shimmered in the moonlight like a guiding flame.
I pushed forward, my legs propelling me faster than I thought possible. In the three years I’d lived here, I had learned every shortcut. Every hidden alley. Every crumbling wall and broken ledge.
I ducked into a narrow lane, vaulted over a vegetable cart, swerved past a group of drunk merchants. I dived, drifted, slid. The rush, the madness—it was like chasing a dream I didn’t want to wake from.
But then, the street began to change.
The stone walls turned grimier. The scent in the air shifted. The signs grew more elaborate, the laughter more seductive.
I was entering the brothel zone.
People crowded the streets—wealthy men in expensive robes, peasants with dirt-caked feet, entertainers calling out, flirting, dancing. My pace slowed. My breathing turned into painful gasps. My calves burned. My chest ached.
Still, I ran.
But the crowd was thickening, pressing into me, disorienting me. She was slipping further away.
Then—bam!
A couple appeared out of nowhere. I couldn’t stop in time. I crashed into them full force and tumbled hard onto the stone road. My nose slammed into the ground with a sickening crack. I felt the burst—hot blood spraying out, speckling the stones beneath me.
Pain roared across my face. My cheek scraped, my body sprawled. The impact left me winded. For a moment, I couldn’t move.
Then I saw it—right in front of me, almost glowing in the moonlight—
The cube.
The necklace had snapped.
The Uruma cube rolled slightly, the broken string lying limp beside it.
And I just stared at it.
The cube was glowing—red and blue streaks pulsing softly through the ancient carvings etched into its sides. I clenched it tightly and pulled myself up.
The Qarinah was gone. My nose dripped blood. And I? I was just a useless mess standing in a place I didn’t recognize.
I had chased a cat-demon and ended up lost, bleeding, and alone.
I turned to head back towards the hostel—but froze.
Where... was I?
This wasn’t a part of the city I had ever seen before. No street signs. No familiar corners. No echo of the path I took.
“Come on,” I muttered under my breath.
My eyes darted around until they landed on the only living soul nearby—a lone escort standing at the back of what looked like a burned-down dorm. She was leaning against the wall, lazily puffing smoke from what I could only guess was weed. Her silhouette glowed faintly in the moonlight.
I walked up to her. “Hey!”
She turned, eyes half-lidded, a sarcastic smile twitching her lips. “What do you want? I’m off business, sugar.”
“I’m just lost. Can you tell me the way to Jildab?”
She scoffed. “Men are so predictable. You come wandering in here looking for a good time and forget the road back. Knowledge isn’t free, honey. Give me that dilor.”
I patted my pockets. Empty. I hadn’t brought my pouch. “I have none on me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. Spent it all, huh? Go on then. I’m not here for broke boys.”
I sighed. My nose was still bleeding, and I wasn’t in the mood to beg. If she wasn’t helping, I’d just pass the night on the road and figure it out at sunrise.
I turned to leave.
“Wait,” she said suddenly, her voice sharper. “What’s that in your hand? Is that... an Uruma?”
I paused and looked down at my hand, still clutching the cube.
“This? Oh, sorry—I don’t answer to random people,” I smirked.
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t be a smartass. I have one too.” She reached into her blouse and pulled out an identical cube. “You’re cursed, like me.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Qarinah.”
Her eyes widened. “Qarinah? That’s the worst of them.” Her voice lowered. “My husband had one. She drained him dry—body, mind, soul. Turned him into a paranoid wreck. Thought I was cheating. He threw me out without a second thought.” She ground her weed under her boot. “Now look at me. Selling myself just to eat.”
“Are they really that powerful?” I asked.
She gave me a side glance. “How many times has she... done it with you in your sleep?”
I blinked. “Done what?”
She raised a brow. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“No! No, not even once,” I said quickly. “It’s always... emotional. Like a slow, strange love. Real feelings. Day to day connection, like... like she knows me.”
She paused. Then snorted.
Then burst out laughing.
“A Qarinah that never sleeps with her host? What kind of second-rate demon did you get?”
“I don’t know,” I muttered, a little embarrassed.
She took a long breath and turned serious. “Qarinah are manipulative, Acksil. Never trust one.”
I froze.
“Wait... I never told you my name.”
I snapped my neck toward her.
But—too late.
The cube slipped from my palm and dropped to the ground.
When I reached to grab it—
She was gone.
Not just her. Everything.
The air around me dimmed.
The buildings behind me were suddenly blackened ruins—charred walls, collapsed beams, ash-coated streets.
Silence. Cold, suffocating silence.
This wasn’t the city I had entered.
No lanterns. No people. No life.
Just the remnants of something long-dead.
I had heard stories—rumors of a fire that had destroyed the brothel district. Some blamed a tragic accident. Others whispered of a purge led by the new king. But standing there now, with the Uruma glowing faintly at my feet... I knew the truth was something worse.
Because now—I could see.
I could see them.
Dozens. No—hundreds.
Flickering figures. Pale outlines.
Ghosts.
Their eyes were hollow. Their forms translucent. Their mouths opened in silent screams.
And I?
I, Acksil Ziat, was standing in the dead heart of the fire’s memory.
Cursed.
And utterly, utterly doomed.
__________________________________________
That day was a disaster. It’s been two weeks now.
The moment I realized I was surrounded by the undead, I ran. I picked up the Uruma and bolted like a madman. The woman—she tried to say something—but I was too hasty to listen. Through wreckage, chaos, and dust, I ran until I reached a region I recognized. Then it was just a matter of following the trail home.
The Qarinah never returned after that. I asked the scholars. I even spared a few dilors on fortune-tellers, even though I barely believe in their nonsense.
Since then, my dreams have been normal. No woman. No love. I'm just an engineer again. Yet, according to my research, she’s still feeding off my energy to stay alive. That probably means my streak of bad luck isn’t ending any time soon.
It’s noon. I sit upright on my bed. I haven't really slept well, nor do I have any plans to cook. I’m low on dilor, but I crave a hot plate of Hulshya like nothing else.
I follow the usual drill. Bind the headscarf. Walk down the spiral stairs. Step into the sunlit pebble road. The city hums with frustration and fatigue, like always.
Then, a twist of fate. My legs catch on a string hanging from a loosely tied bag of apples. The bag tips, spilling apples across the road. The shopkeeper notices immediately. He’s tall, broad, and hairy—more bear than man. He grabs me by my shirt collar and roars in my face.
“How dare you touch my apples, you numb-headed thief?!”
“Thief? The bag just tripped. I’ll help you refill it.”
I bend down, gently scooping the apples off the road.
Without warning, he grabs my back and punches me square in the face.
“Don’t touch my apples! People like you are a disgrace to the capital!” he shouts, his breath rancid and loud. He lifts me by my collar and punches me again.
I fall to the ground. Blood pours from my nose. My teeth feel misaligned. A crowd starts to gather. These are capital people—overworked, frustrated, and void of empathy. They won’t stop him. They’re here for the show.
He kicks me in the stomach. I spit blood.
As he reaches for me again, a white blur leaps at him. A cat. It bites down hard on his fingers. He panics and shakes his hand violently, but the cat won’t let go. He slams his hand against a wall. The cat finally drops, unconscious.
My heart races. I try to get up—but his kick sends me flying back onto the road.
He picks up the cat and smashes her head into the wall. Once. Twice. Again.
Fury boils in my veins.
If I don’t fight back now, I might die. No one would care. No one would stop him.
A wise man once said, “If you can’t win by power, win by madness.”
As he approaches, I kick him in the groin. He groans and staggers. I use the chance to circle around and climb a nearby wall.
“You rat!” he screams.
There’s a wooden box on top. As he starts climbing, I lift it and hurl it at him with all my strength. He falls. His nose bursts open. I jump, knee-first, onto his chest. Blood splatters from his mouth.
At least now we’re even.
I roll away from him. He stands up, face wrinkled with rage.
“You piece of shit,” he snarls. “People like you don’t deserve life!”
I stick out my tongue. I start hopping, dancing like a fool—eyes wide, movements disrespectful and deranged.
He charges.
Perfect.
I’m near the pepper vendor. The spices are left out in the open. As he gets closer, I grab a handful of black pepper and throw it in his face.
He yelps and stumbles. I grab two more handfuls and leap on his back, rubbing it into his eyes. He howls in agony, swinging wildly. I tumble off, watching him flail and scream, clawing at his face.
I’ve won.
But the vendors won’t let a “thief” escape, especially not when their attention isn’t on a dancing lunatic anymore.
So I run. All the way back to the hostel.
__________________________________________
I scrub the dirt and blood off my wounds using a clean cloth and water. My body is still trembling. I might’ve overdone it—abrasions cover me, even in places I didn’t expect. My stomach throbs. But nothing hurts more than my jaw. The pain in my teeth is sharp, deep, and relentless.
Then I notice the window.
A cat stares at me.
“Madam Bad Luck, are you just going to stare at me?”
Since the incident, I always wear the Uruma pendant.
She transforms. The woman. Qarinah. She passes through the wall like smoke made flesh. Her gaze is fixed on my wounds.
“You were very brave,” she says softly.
“I survived only because of you, Qarinah the Great,” I reply with sarcasm. “From what I’ve read, you used my energy to heal yourself. I want that energy back. You should start paying a tax or something.”
She stands silently.
My temper flares. “Are you just going to stand there? Help me—grab a cloth!”
Her voice leaks from trembling lips. “I cannot interact with objects unless I’m in animal form.”
“But you touched me, didn’t you?”
“That’s because the Uruma touched you. Anything it touches, I can touch too.”
“Then take the Uruma and grab whatever you want!”
“I cannot touch the Uruma itself. It’s like a ball of energy... I can only feel it.”
I flinch from the sting of cleaning a wound. Then I hear a soft sob.
I turn. She’s crying—sparkling tears slipping down her cheeks.
I exhale sharply. My anger dies.
“Hey... don’t cry. I’m okay. And anyway, I’m your damn prey.”
I stand and reach for her face. My thumbs wipe away her tears.
“It’s all good. I’m just a mean guy yelling at the only spirit who tried to help me.”
Her crying fades. Her eyes—those deep, ocean-blue eyes—draw me in. I'm sinking again.
She kneels beside the bed. “Let me help with your wound.”
She brings her face close to my knee. “My breath has antiseptic and sedative properties. It will help.”
She blows gently. A breeze brushes my wound. The pain vanishes like smoke in wind.
She moves to the others, finally blowing into my eyes. Relief washes over me.
“My teeth still hurt,” I mumble.
“You’ll need to open your mouth,” she says, leaning closer. “So I can blow into it.”
Her breath tickles my lips. Her nose is inches from mine.
“It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt that much.”
She pulls back.
“Actually, I think I’ll try to sleep now,” I lie. The pain still lingers.
“Why don’t you sit beside me?”
“Okay. But I won’t be interacting with the bed, not physically.”
I touch the Uruma to the mattress. “Now you can.”
She nods and sits. The moment she does, I lay my head in her lap. She flinches.
“Now I might actually sleep,” I mutter.
She gently runs her fingers through my hair. Her touch is soft, slow. Comforting.
“Tell me about yourself, Qarinah. Why are you bonded to me?”
“It just... happens. The nature assigns us our host. We live off your energy. That’s it.”
“And what exactly are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have a name?”
“No.”
“Family? Parents?”
“They left me. It’s common for my kind.”
“How long has it been since you talked to someone?”
“This is my first time using words. practiced in front of mirrors.”
“Am I your first prey?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re just a cute little Qarinah who hasn’t seen the harshness of your world or mine.”
“I don’t really understand.”
“Never mind. Just keep stroking my hair.”
Her hand moves gently, rhythmically. My pain begins to blur into comfort.
“I’ve always loved what you do, Acksil,” she says. “The world of art, craft… building things that actually help people.”
I smile faintly, too tired to answer.
“I want to be like you. Brave. Kind. Someone who keeps chasing his dreams even when the world spits on him. You inspire me.”
“Why would a Qarinah care?” I whisper.
“I don’t know. Past Qarinahs never did. But I want to explore the world, its secrets. I love how you sketch in your diaries. I want to draw too. I love how you designed that wooden compass. I want to invent things too. I think… life only has meaning when you learn and create.”
“You’re a little philosopher, huh…” I mumble, drifting.
“Maybe I am. But I think… I wouldn’t have understood myself without you, Acksil. You’re my inspiration. That’s why I want to stay by your side. That’s why I lo—”
But I was already asleep.
The only sensation I had left was of little demon soldiers stabbing their tiny swords into my jaw, over and over. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t move. I just endured.
Then, a breeze—cool and gentle—swept through my mouth. It froze the soldiers, soothed the battlefield. The pain melted away like snow in the sun.
It was peace.
And finally, I could sleep.
__________________________________________
To be continued ......
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