The cemetery gates groaned open. Arata pushed through without ceremony, his staff tucked under his arm. I followed, clutching my palm. My legs felt stiff, like I'd borrowed them from someone else.
"You're pale," Arata said, walking ahead, coat swaying. "Good. That means you get it."
"I… don't." My voice came out dry. "I don't get any of this."
"Then listen." He didn't slow down. Didn't look back. Just said it like a teacher starting class.
We moved along a cracked road, streetlights blinking overhead. The neighborhood was quiet. Not late-night quiet. Not peaceful quiet. The kind of quiet where the world itself feels like it's waiting for something.
"First thing you need to know," Arata said, spinning his staff once. "Every grave is a door. A bridge. Offer something, and you're not just knocking. You're letting them in."
"Them?"
"The dead. What's left of them. Echoes of lives that won't settle. Bind one, and you make a deal. They lend you their strength. You lend them…" His voice trailed off. He flicked his gaze at me. "…You."
I swallowed. "Blood?"
"Some graves like blood," Arata said. "Others like pain. Or memories. Or years of your life. Yours was simple. Blood for power. Basic. Dangerous if you're careless."
The image of that glowing gravestone flashed through my mind. The whispers. The hand. The crushing presence. I didn't answer.
"You're not cursed," Arata continued. "Just bright. Spirits notice brightness. Think of it like shining a flashlight in a cave. You see better. They see you."
"Great." I tightened my grip on my palm. "So I'm bait now."
"Pretty much," he said casually. "But bait that can bite back. There's a difference."
We turned down a narrow street. The houses leaned close, broken windows like eyes following us.
"And smashing that grave," I said, needing to hear something other than my own breathing. "Why not just smash all of them?"
Arata stopped. Turned. His eyes sharpened. "That one was common. Weak. The man tied to it wasn't important. Some graves? They've been steeped in blood and rage for centuries. Some are guarded. Some fight back. Smashing those is like trying to punch through a mountain nonstop. You'd just die."
"...So there's a ranking system."
"Of course there is." He smiled faintly. "There's always a ranking system. People. Power. Graves. You're at the bottom. That's fine. Everyone starts at the bottom."
I didn't respond. My stomach twisted anyway.
"Congratulations," Arata added. "You've already stepped over the line. You'll never be normal again."
"Wow. Motivational."
He shrugged. "Truth isn't motivational."
The wind carried a faint smell of incense. Arata stuffed one hand into his coat pocket. His staff clicked against the ground with every step.
"Basic Gravebinding comes with three perks," he said, voice flat. "First: a tether. The grave you bind to is connected. It can call to you. Whisper. Fight for you. Second: amplification. You'll get stronger. Faster. More aware. Standing near your grave will feel like plugging into a power source. Third: a signature ability. Each grave has one. Could be a weapon. A curse. A trick. Yours? Gone now. Power will linger for a day or so, then disappear."
"Sounds like a gamble."
"Everything's a gamble."
We stopped at a shrine. Rotting wood. Lanterns swaying faintly. Arata kicked the gate open.
Inside, blue candles burned low. Paper charms coated the walls. The air was thick with dust.
"You live here?" I asked.
"Work here," he said. "Keeps the spirits quiet. Most nights."
He rummaged through a chest, pulled out a flask, tossed it to me. "Drink."
I sniffed it. Bitter. Metallic. "Not water."
"Spirit tonic. Keeps your body from collapsing. You won't need it forever."
I took a sip. My throat burned like I'd swallowed steel wool.
"Welcome to the world of Gravebinders, Itsuki Ririku," Arata said, finally looking at me. "You're a target now. Congratulations."
I wiped my mouth. "…So I'm vulnerable."
"Exactly." His grin widened. "And until you learn how to defend yourself, every spirit in this city will want a piece of you."
I exhaled slowly. "Then teach me. Teach me how to survive."
"That," Arata said, leaning back against the wall, "depends on how well you can listen."