Kael left the suffocating press of the city's market for a quieter alley, a place where sunlight bled only faintly through the crooked teeth of rooftops overhead. The further he walked, the less the voices of merchants and laughter of children reached him, until only the drip of stagnant water and the rustle of rats in the gutters remained. Here, in this gloom, Kael thought he might breathe. He was wrong.
The Affection System did not let him rest. It pulsed inside him like a heartbeat not his own, resonating with every passerby, even those glimpsed at a distance. The faintest glance—someone leaning out of a window, a stranger brushing the mouth of an alley—sent sparks across his skin, sharp and intrusive. Their emotions, unconscious and unwilling, fed into him. Attraction. Curiosity. Hunger. Possession. A thousand different shades, all distilled into the same unbearable pressure.
"I can't trust anyone anymore," he muttered, voice low, sitting heavily on a rotting crate. He pressed his palms against his knees until his knuckles turned white. His hood cast his face in shadow, but shadows meant nothing to the curse. He could feel eyes even when none looked directly at him, like invisible fingers tracing the outline of his jaw, the curve of his lips.
Kael closed his eyes, and memories surged unbidden. The times he had tried to disguise himself as just another beggar, slouched and filthy, his face hidden beneath grime—yet still they stared. A guard who had once offered him bread with shaking hands. A merchant's daughter who had followed him across half the market, smiling dreamily. Even the hostile looks of envious men had a strange softness behind them, a contradiction that unsettled him more than hatred itself.
Aphrodite's curse was not beauty alone. It was intrusion. It bent people whether they wished it or not. He had no control, and yet… perhaps control could be learned.
"I need to hide," he thought fiercely, teeth gritted. "If someone sees everything, if I give the curse even the smallest opening… I won't survive."
His eyes scanned the alley for scraps. He scavenged like the street child he had once been: cloth torn from a forgotten sheet, stiff leather abandoned from a cobbler's trash, even thin metal plates pried loose from a barrel. With patience and quiet fingers, he fashioned them together. The result was crude but functional: a reinforced hood, thick enough to dim his presence, and a partial mask that left only his eyes visible. When he pulled it on, the world felt distant, muted, as though a storm had been pushed slightly further from his skin.
Yet even through layers of concealment, he could feel the pull. The curse bled through everything.
As he adjusted the straps of the mask, voices drifted down the alley from some nearby street. Rumors, whispered yet fervent. He stilled and listened.
"…the Emperor doesn't bleed like men do, they say. When he's cut, it's something else that spills—silver light, like a dying star."
"Bah, fairy tales. All I know is that he hasn't aged a day in centuries. And that body… unnatural. Too soft, too curved. Not even human anymore."
A shiver traced Kael's spine. The merchants were careless with words, but the details lodged themselves in his mind. The Zombie Emperor's femininity, his voluptuous body, wasn't just rumor—it was feared, even fetishized. To others it was monstrous. To Kael, it was possibility. But possibility did not mean safety.
"So it's true," he whispered under the mask. "Cold, untouchable… and yet I must do what no one dares: reach him."
The Affection System vibrated again at the thought, a mocking reminder. Kael ignored it, fastening his hood tighter. His disguise dulled the effect, but not completely. He could still sense a beggar lingering at the alley's end, stealing glances without realizing why. Kael turned his head sharply, and the man flinched, retreating as if burned.
Even when hidden, Kael could not stop the curse from seeping through. It was relentless.
He rose and moved through the city with a thief's silence, avoiding main roads and hugging walls. Every crowded street was a danger; every eye was a spark waiting to ignite. The central square loomed ahead, vibrant with life—children darting between stalls, merchants shouting prices, guards circling lazily. Kael skirted the edge, keeping to shadows, but even so, sparks jolted through him. A woman's distracted glance. A boy pointing at his hood. A guard turning his head, gaze snagged on him for an instant longer than natural.
Each tiny interaction was a risk. Each one reminded him: he was no longer free.
He slipped into the shade of a narrow building and crouched low, breath shallow beneath the mask. The weight of the day pressed on him, heavier than hunger, heavier than exhaustion. For a moment, despair threatened. Could he really hope to succeed in Aphrodite's impossible mission when he could barely endure a walk through the marketplace?
His thoughts drifted back, unbidden, to childhood. To curling up against his mother's side on freezing nights, her voice a harsh whisper teaching him how to steal without being caught. To the times he had darted through alleys, clutching bread to his chest, the thrill of survival burning in his veins. To her words: "Live first, Kael. Live first, then think about pride."
Those words felt heavier now than ever. Survival was no longer about guards or hunger. Survival was about mastering a curse that could expose him at any moment.
"I need to calculate every step," he murmured. "I can't rely on luck. I can't rely on beauty. Beauty kills. Beauty consumes. And I still… I still have to impregnate the Emperor."
The absurdity of it nearly made him laugh, but the sound caught in his throat. The curse Aphrodite gave him was not only a weapon but also a noose. To others, his beauty meant desire. To him, it meant chains.
A chill spread across his body as he imagined what might happen if he failed. The Zombie Emperor was not just another man. He was ancient, immortal, untouchable. If Kael misstepped, if the Affection System failed against him, death would be a mercy compared to the alternative.
"I need… space," Kael whispered, eyes narrowing. "Somewhere far from eyes. Somewhere to hide, to train, to learn what this system really does."
The thought grew, slowly becoming certainty. A safe base. Solitude. A place where he could experiment without fear of discovery. Without fear of people throwing themselves at him, willingly or not.
"Yes…" his voice was firmer now, conviction threading through it. "First I protect myself. Then I learn. Then… I face him."
He rose, adjusting the mask once more. His reflection shimmered faintly in a broken shop window. The boy who stared back was not the ragged thief of yesterday. He was something else now: masked, burdened, and marked by destiny. The curse that clung to him like a second skin was both prison and key.
Above, the sun began to set, draping the alleys in orange firelight and long shadows. Kael lingered there, silent, watching the light fade, feeling time itself press against him like an impatient hand. Three years. That was all he had.
He could not afford missteps. Every rumor mattered. Every test of the Affection System mattered. Every glance might teach him something—if it didn't kill him first.
"Three years," he whispered, fists clenching at his sides. "I will hide. I will learn. I will survive. And when the time comes… I will complete my mission."
Slowly, he slipped from the alley, his body merging with the night as naturally as a shadow rejoining darkness. The city swallowed him, but the path ahead was no longer the same. Kael was no longer a beggar. He was no longer just a thief.
He was a survivor chosen by a goddess. A cursed beauty walking toward an impossible throne.
And the long, merciless road to the Zombie Emperor had just begun.