Kael walked through the narrow streets, keeping his hood pulled tightly over his face. He could feel eyes on him despite the attempt to hide—casual glances from passersby, merchants sizing up strangers, beggars staring with empty hunger. Each look sent a faint tremor through the strange glyphs embedded within him. The Affection System pulsed like a heartbeat, faint but constant, marking every spark of interest, every fleeting desire.
At first the sensation had been subtle, almost like a tingle beneath his skin. But as he moved deeper into the crowd, the pulses grew sharper, heavier, as though invisible fingers plucked at invisible strings tied to his ribs. The energy did not hurt, but it unsettled him. It reminded him that his body was no longer entirely his own.
This is going to drive me insane, he muttered, ducking into the shadow of a cold, dirty wall. He sat on the ledge, pressing his palms against his face, as if he could rub away the features beneath. But no matter how he tried, the curse remained. Aphrodite's words rang in his mind: The beauty is both the tool and the prison that will define you.
The weight of it pressed on him. A prison he could never escape—yet also the only key he had to a future.
He leaned back, trying to breathe through the tension. The Affection System pulsed faintly, resonating with each person who passed near. It wasn't overwhelming yet, but he sensed its potential. He recalled Aphrodite's warning: The greater the feeling, the greater the power. He had no idea what would happen when he faced someone with emotions stronger than curiosity or attraction. Someone consumed by obsession.
And then there was the Emperor.
"Zombie Emperor…" Kael whispered. The words alone carried a weight, bitter and heavy on his tongue.
All he knew were fragments—rumors overheard in smoky taverns, stories whispered by beggars at night. The Emperor was said to be over three thousand years old, immortal even before zombification. His flesh corrupted yet strangely alluring, his body reshaped by decay until it bore a voluptuous, almost feminine beauty that clashed with his monstrous reputation. A being of contradictions: alluring and terrifying, decayed yet eternal.
Kael's stomach twisted. If the rumors of the body's transformation were true, then perhaps his mission was not as impossible as it first seemed. Yet the question remained: what did the Emperor want? Did he crave beauty? Did he feel affection at all? Or had centuries of undeath rotted his heart beyond reach?
The uncertainty gnawed at him.
Determined to learn more, Kael rose and pushed through the crowd toward the busier market streets. Merchants shouted, hawking fruit, leather, trinkets. The smells of spice, sweat, and smoke tangled together, dizzying. Information could be bought here—sometimes with coin, sometimes with favors, sometimes with blood.
"Hey! You there!" A burly merchant waved, noticing Kael's presence.
Kael's chest tightened. He kept his hood low, but the System pulsed sharply—the man's eyes lingered, drawn without understanding. A thread of energy pulled at Kael's chest, warm and invasive. He winced. The sensation was not like hunger or pain; it was like being tasted by the air itself.
"I… I'm curious about the Zombie Emperor," Kael said quickly, forcing the words past his dry throat. "Do you know anything about him?"
The merchant froze. His face paled, eyes darting around as though afraid someone might hear. "Who wants to know? No one speaks his name without risk." He swallowed, voice dropping to a whisper. "Rumors only. They say his palace is surrounded by walls no army can breach. That the dead themselves rise to protect it. They say… they say he feeds his people with his own flesh, torn from his body only to grow back again."
Kael's stomach lurched, but he forced himself to nod. Every rumor was a piece of the puzzle. If the Emperor truly sustained his realm with his body, then he was not just ruler but god to his people. Approaching him would be suicide without careful preparation.
And then there was the guild. Kael remembered hushed talk of the Monster Hunters' Guild, the highest authority in dealing with abominations. Missions into the zombie lands were restricted to Rank A adventurers or higher. For Kael, who had never even held a proper sword, the idea was laughable.
"Rank A or higher…" he muttered bitterly once he left the merchant behind. His reflection in a dirty window glared back at him—just a boy in rags, armed with nothing but his face. "I'm a thief, not a warrior. And I have three years."
The thought made him cold. Three years was nothing.
Yet he remembered his mother again—her lessons in survival, her whispers in the night when they lay hidden in broken crates: Never fight when you can flee. Never waste food. Never underestimate greed. The world is cruel, Kael, but cruelty can be used if you know how.
Maybe she had unknowingly prepared him for this very trial.
His steps carried him into a small tavern at the edge of the market. The air inside was thick with smoke and the smell of ale gone sour. Perfect. This was where rumors traveled fastest, on the lips of drunk travelers and weary hunters. Kael slipped into a dark corner, keeping to the shadows, observing.
The System pulsed faintly with every curious glance. He clenched his fists, forcing himself not to draw from it. Not yet. Sparks of energy shimmered faintly in the air around those who lingered too long. He studied it, fascinated and disturbed. The more someone stared, the brighter the spark became.
"So this is it…" he murmured, almost too softly to hear. "Affection as power. If I don't learn to control it, the curse will eat me alive."
An old woman selling herbs drifted close. Her eyes, clouded with age but sharp as glass, lingered on him. "I see you, boy. You carry something heavy."
Kael stiffened. He pulled his hood lower, but the woman ignored the gesture.
"Your power attracts without asking," she said, lowering her voice. "But listen: not everyone drawn to you will bring you good. Some will want to own you. Some will want to break you. Beauty is a flame. It lights, but it also burns."
The Affection System pulsed violently at her words, as though echoing her warning. Kael felt a sudden rush of warmth through his body, unbidden, overwhelming. He stood abruptly, muttering a quick thanks before retreating. He needed air.
Outside, the streets felt too narrow, the city too small. Yet when he climbed a hill overlooking the rooftops, the horizon spread before him, vast and daunting. The city below crawled with life, but beyond it stretched endless land—and somewhere far away, beyond walls of death, sat the Emperor who would decide his fate.
Kael clenched his fists, the wind tugging at his hood. "Three years," he whispered. "Three years to learn, to plan, to make him… care for me."
The words tasted strange. Impossible. Yet the spark of determination burned hotter.
For the first time, Kael did not feel like prey. The Affection System hummed inside him, dangerous and alive. It was not just a curse—it was a weapon. And he would learn to wield it, no matter how many lives it cost him.
The sun crept higher, gilding the rooftops. Kael's heart pounded as he turned back toward the streets. Aphrodite had shackled him to an impossible destiny—but he would not face it crawling.
Step by step, rumor by rumor, gaze by gaze, he would build the strength to stand before the Zombie Emperor. And when that moment came, Kael swore he would not tremble.