Makun stood and shouldered his sports bag.
He checked the time on a cracked public clock nearby. 6:47 PM. Sunday evening.
The pier district was east. Maybe a forty-minute walk from here.
He started moving.
Makun was on his way to meet the veiled lady at the market.
He was ready. Hoping not to get in trouble like he did last time with Zack York.
He hoped the lady was going to gain something from this exchange. It's true last time he gambled. But it was definitely worth it after reading the book.
The book.
From Sunday night throughout the whole day of Monday, he could not get more info. It seemed he needed more spiritual energy in order to access the rest.
However, he did not remain idle.
He spent his whole morning observing the particles. Experimenting. Watching how they moved around him. Through him. Trying to understand their patterns.
Then he went online.
He searched: spiritual energy, mystic abilities, seeing particles in the air.
The results were garbage.
AI-generated nonsense. Clickbait articles with titles like "Unlock Your Third Eye in 7 Days!" and "See Auras Using This One Weird Trick!"
Threads full of people roleplaying as mystics. Fake testimonials. Scam courses selling for $499.
One website claimed you could awaken spiritual sight by staring at the sun for thirty seconds every morning.
Another said all you needed was lavender oil and positive affirmations.
Makun closed the browser.
The real world was hidden. Deliberately. And the internet was flooded with distractions to keep it that way.
Still, he was satisfied. At least now he knew: real knowledge wouldn't be found online .
Afterwards, he thought of questions.
She promised him three questions. That was another way to get information.
Makun needed that. And the most urgent question he had to answer was: How can I start walking the path? How do I choose a route?
But only asking those two seemed like a waste.
He had a brief, small understanding of The Veil, The Deep, the mystic world through the book. But to get to the end of this, he needed deeper knowledge.
Who were the families in control? Who was responsible for the Suppression? How could they manage such a thing?
Only by understanding this could he discover who was behind his doom.
However, that was a tedious task.
Naija City was an old, almost abandoned town.
After the disastrous events and conflicts that happened in the world from late 2026 to 2029, everything changed. Wars. Economic collapse. Climate disasters. Mild AI dystopia that heavily influenced the world.
And because of some ongoing crises, there was a large flux of immigration all around the world. People from places in danger searched for safe spaces in other countries.
The USA was such a country that received a huge influx. So massive that the old structure couldn't hold.
Under the lead of the new president, a young woman who rose to power during the chaos, a lot changed. The fifty states as known came to change. Borders redrawn. Cities reorganized. Resources redistributed.
Naija City was one of those changes.
It had been an industrial hub once. A port city. But when the new administration prioritized coastal megacities and technological centers, Naija was left behind.
Funding dried up. Infrastructure crumbled. People who could leave, left.
What remained was a patchwork of old factories, decaying apartment blocks, and forgotten neighborhoods. A place where those who had nowhere else to go ended up.
The government barely acknowledged it existed. Police presence was minimal. Schools closed. Hospitals underfunded.
Naija became a ghost in the system. Ignored. Avoided. Left in shambles.
With how left behind and how avoided it was, Makun could not even begin to think of connections or networking to discover how the world ran. Let alone in his daily life.
Even in the mystic circle, the only mystic he could meet was Zuri. He met no one else.
It's true he had not actively searched. But still.
He didn't even know how the Night Market worked. Were the people here in Naija City? Or were they from other places, connected to one particular hub like in video games?
That, he did not know.
That is why he considered the three questions as something capital.
The streets of Naija City shifted as he walked. The diner district gave way to older buildings. Cracked sidewalks. Faded signs in languages he didn't recognize.
The air smelled different here. Salt. Fish. Rust.
He passed a corner store with metal bars on the windows. A group of men sat outside, smoking. They didn't look at him.
Good.
Makun kept his head down and kept walking.
He activated his Sight as he moved.
The particles appeared. Drifting through the air. Faint golden threads weaving between buildings.
He'd been practicing all day. Observing. Experimenting.
And now he was better at following their pull.
Last time, on Friday night, the energy had dragged him forward. Overwhelming. Confusing. He'd stumbled through Old Town like a drunk man chasing ghosts.
Now, it was different.
He could feel the currents. The way the particles flowed. Where they gathered. Where they thinned.
The energy wasn't pulling him. He was following it. Guiding himself.
It felt natural. Like learning to ride a bike. Shaky at first. But smoother with practice.
The threads led east. Toward the water. Toward the pier district.
Makun followed.
Fifteen minutes in, a stray dog darted out from an alley.
It barked once. Sharp and loud.
Makun jerked back. His heel caught the edge of a raised sidewalk crack.
He stumbled. Arms windmilling. The sports bag swung wide.
He didn't fall. But his left foot landed hard in a shallow puddle of something dark and oily.
Splat.
Cold liquid soaked through his shoe. Into his sock.
Makun stopped. Looked down.
The puddle was filthy. Motor oil mixed with rainwater. Maybe worse.
The same shoe. The same left shoe where Zack's blood had dried days ago.
Of course.
He shook his foot. Oil dripped off. The smell was faint but awful. Chemical and rotten.
The dog barked again and ran off.
Makun sighed and kept walking.
The more he walked, the quieter the pier district got. Warehouses shut tight. Loading docks empty.
Makun found a bench near an old shipping container. Sat down. Put the sports bag beside him.
He would wait here.
And when midnight came, he would find the market.
Exchange what he promised.
Ask his three questions.
And hope the veiled lady had answers.