KJ's feet felt heavy.
Each step behind the manipulator dragged, like the earth itself was trying to pull him down. The voice in his head had stopped — not silent, just… waiting.
The stranger led him to a crumbling structure. Stone pillars. Vines with red thorns. At its center stood a black altar etched with symbols that twisted even when he looked away.
"This," the manipulator said, "is where you let go of who you were."
KJ stared at the altar.
His mark throbbed on his arm — pulsing with heat that wasn't pain. It was invitation.
"Just one word. One drop of blood. And you'll never be afraid again."
The manipulator's hand hovered over the altar, waiting.
KJ stepped forward.
But then—
"Get the hell away from him."
The voice split the air like a blade.
KJ turned — eyes wide.
Standing at the edge of the clearing, coat flapping in the wind, face full of fire and familiarity—
Brandon.
Real. Alive.
Holding a weapon carved from steel and crystal, already dripping with the blood of two Veiled scouts behind him.
⸻
The manipulator didn't move. "You're too late."
"No," Brandon said, stepping forward. "You've been watching him long enough. Now I'm watching you."
With a flick of his wrist, he hurled a dagger through the air — it didn't hit the manipulator's heart.
It hit his shadow.
The cloaked figure let out a distorted scream as its body tore backward, unraveling into black smoke and whispers. The altar shattered as it was pulled under.
⸻
KJ dropped to his knees.
The mark on his arm dimmed — not gone, but still there. Breathing. Waiting.
Brandon ran to him, grabbing his shoulder.
KJ stared up at him, dazed. "What… what are you doing here?"
Brandon exhaled like he'd been holding it for years. "I don't know. One minute I was back home. The next? I woke up here."
"I thought I was losing my mind."
Brandon gave a crooked grin. "Maybe you are. But lucky for you…"
He held out a hand.
"I've always been good at dragging you back."