Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Two: One Gold Per Soul

  They took off, their breaths ragged as the pounding of heavy footsteps behind them reverberated like a war drum. Jace risked a glance over his shoulder, his heart lurching at the sight of the hulking figure closing in. Each crunch of boots on gravel was louder, heavier, until it felt like the earth itself recoiled beneath his weight.

  “Maybe he just wants to talk!” Ell shouted breathlessly, darting around a corner.

  “Yeah, sure,” Marcus snapped, strained but dry as ever. “I’m sure he’s just dying to compliment our sprinting form.”

  Dex, panting hard, hissed, “Can we save the banter for after we’re not getting crushed into paste?”

  They weaved through the carnival’s labyrinth of trailers, but something was off. The narrow gaps they’d seen before were gone, the pathways warped and twisted into a maze that had no business existing. Jace’s stomach turned as realization dawned.

  “He’s gaining on us!” Dex barked, panic creeping into each word.

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious!” Ell shot back, though the tension in her voice betrayed her usual bravado.

  Through the swirling haze, a tent emerged, its dark canopy sagging as if buckling under the weight of time itself. Smoke seeped from its seams, curling into claw-like tendrils that clawed at the air. The fabric glimmered faintly, its surface etched with jagged, unsettling letters: The All-Seeing Eye. Oddly, the entrance faced them, turned away from the carnival’s bustling heart, as though it had been waiting just for them.

  “Oh yeah, this doesn’t scream ‘bad idea,’” Marcus muttered.

  Jace didn’t hesitate, his instinct overriding the knot in his gut. “This way!” he called, his urgency leaving no room for argument.

  The group slipped through the entrance, the fabric parting with a reluctant shudder.

  Inside, the air turned heavy, thick with smoke that clung to their skin and lungs like a second layer. Shadows writhed on the walls, stretching unnaturally, their edges fraying and bending like they were alive.

  “Ow!” Jace looked down, and his hand was bleeding next to the White Raven ring. “What the—did you bite me?” He asked the ring. There was no response.

  “Cozy,” Ell murmured, flat-toned, her eyes darting to the circular table in the center. It was draped in black velvet, scattered with glowing cards that pulsed faintly, as though waiting for them to make a move.

  “Right,” Dex muttered, his chest still heaving. “Because this feels like a better option than being pulverized.”

  The silence of the room swallowed their words, leaving only the faint rustle of the cards and the strange, uneven flicker of light. The chase was over, but the unease was just beginning.

  From the shadows emerged a figure—part menace, part myth. The crone hunched forward, her twisted frame somehow more commanding than her height suggested. Wild, knotted braids tangled with beads and shards of bone framed a face as weathered as old parchment. Her single, cloudy glass eye churned like a storm trapped in crystal, locking onto them with an unsettling precision.

  “Fortunes for the bold,” she rasped. “But only for those who pay.”

  Jace skidded to a halt, his instincts screaming to bolt, but the crone’s gaze snagged the group like a hook, keeping them rooted in place. Marcus tugged at his sleeve, his jaw tight. “We don’t have time for this.”

  The crone’s crooked grin widened, revealing teeth that gleamed too white, too perfect against her cracked lips. “Time is a luxury you don’t have,” she purred. “Not without my help. I protect my customers. Their business stays… private.” Her glass eye flicked past them, catching something unseen in the smoke curling at the tent’s edge. “There’s nowhere safer than here.”

  Ell scoffed, her hand twitching toward her blade. “She’s stalling,” she snapped. “We need to move—now.”

  But as they turned, the way they’d come was gone, replaced by a swirling wall of smoke that wrapped the tent in an impenetrable cocoon. Jace’s stomach dropped as his eyes darted to the others. The crone’s grin widened, as if she could taste their fear.

  “What do you want?” Alice demanded, trembling with a mix of defiance and dread.

  “Just a fair exchange,” the crone crooned, gesturing to the table behind her. “A single coin for a glimpse at what’s to come. And in return, your privacy.”

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  “How much?” Alice asked, her hand already hovering near her inventory.

  “One gold per soul,” the crone said, her tone sweet as poison. “The gods wouldn’t accept less.”

  Marcus bristled. “That’s extortion!”

  The others turned to glare at him, their expressions a mix of irritation and disbelief. “Keep your voice down,” Ell hissed.

  “Just pay her,” Jace said. He reached into his inventory as the others reluctantly followed suit, Marcus muttering under his breath as he handed over his coin last.

  Jace collected the gold and extended it toward the crone. Her gnarled fingers snatched the coins with a speed that belied her frail appearance.

  The moment the last coin disappeared into the folds of her robes, the air seemed to thicken, pressing against their skin like an invisible weight. With a swift, almost impatient flick of her hand, the crone sealed the tent’s back flap, but not before Jace caught a glimpse of massive fingers curling through the opening—thick, gnarled, and too large to belong to any human. His stomach twisted as the flap snapped shut, cutting off the sight.

  The smoke surged, coiling like something alive, blotting out the world beyond the tent in a choking haze. The crone’s smile widened into something grotesque, her teeth unnaturally bright against the dim light. Shadows writhed along the walls, growing bolder and more sinister with each passing moment, until it felt as though the tent itself had come alive.

  The air grew colder, heavier, as if the very atmosphere recoiled from their presence. The faint hum of carnival merriment had vanished, replaced by an oppressive quiet.

  Inside, the tent seemed to stretch unnaturally, its walls receding into shadows that devoured the flickering light of a single, weak lantern. Black grew and slithered in a vortex around them. In the middle of it all sat the crone, her gnarled frame now impossibly still. Her glass eye spun slowly, the storm within it churning as if in warning.

  “Sit,” she commanded, her voice low and guttural, a sound that resonated in their bones. Something unseen tugged at them, invisible strings pulling them forward until they found themselves seated around the table, unable to resist.

  “One question each,” the crone rasped, her skeletal fingers hovering over the deck of glowing cards spread across the table. Her sharp gaze swept over them, daring defiance.

  Marcus, arms crossed, let out a scoff. “This is a scam,” he muttered, his words thick with disdain.

  The crone’s real eye snapped to him, her glare sharper than any blade. “The cards do not care for your doubt,” she said. “Speak, and we will answer.”

  “What could she possibly say that’s worth a gold coin?” Marcus muttered, his tone dripping with skepticism.

  The crone didn’t bother answering with words. Her skeletal fingers swept across the deck, plucking a card with deliberate, theatrical precision. She slapped it down onto the table, and as if on cue, thunder cracked through the swirling storm of smoke around them.

  The card revealed the image of a child cradled in a man’s arms, both figures cast in shadows. “Your father’s fate is not your own. But only you can undo what he has done.”

  Marcus staggered back as if the words had physically struck him, his face paling. He blinked rapidly, rubbing at his watering eyes as though trying to shake off the disorientation. “What… what does that even mean?” he demanded.

  The crone’s face twisted, her human visage melting into something monstrous and otherworldly. Her mouth stretched unnaturally wide, her teeth jagged and sharp, as her voice rose into a shriek. “One question each. Price paid. Service rendered!” She licked her lips.

  The smoke surged, the winds howling as if summoned by her rage, whipping through the tent with a feral energy. For a brief, gut-churning moment, she was more beast than woman—her form shifting and writhing, shadows flickering across her contorted features. Then, as quickly as it came, the horror receded, leaving her once again the crone, her gnarled hands resting on the table.

  “Ask your next question,” she snapped, sharp and demanding. Her glass eye swirled faster, its storm now a maelstrom.

  Alice took a shaky step back. “I think this was a bad idea,” she murmured, trembling. “Guys, I think we made a really, really terrible mistake.”

  But Ell didn’t hesitate. Despite the unease building within her usual confidence, she leaned forward, her bravado holding strong. “Ell, wait!” Alice shouted, trying to grab her arm, but Ell was already speaking.

  “What’s the fastest way to the top of the Tower?” she asked, her voice steadier than it should have been, though the cockiness it usually carried was gone.

  The crone’s grin widened, sharp and knowing, as her fingers hovered over the deck. The tension in the air grew thicker, suffocating, as if the tent itself anticipated the answer to come.

  With unnerving precision, the crone plucked a card from the deck. She flipped it, revealing an image of a jagged mountain wreathed in storm clouds. “To climb you fall,” she intoned. She leaned back, muttering a curse under her breath, but the gravity of the answer lingered.

  “I’m so sorry—I should have seen this earlier!” Alice shouted, barely reaching past the howling wind. The tent quaked around them, lightning crackling through the thick, swirling smoke as the storm intensified.

  Then Jace saw it. A golden prompt, unlike any system window he’d ever known. It didn’t hover in his vision. It wove through it. Not overlaid, but embedded, as if his own thoughts had been etched with golden ink.

  Hidden Status Effect: Fractured Fate Passive debuff applied by Domain Entity. Duration: Unknown. Warning: Destiny pathways unstable. Future actions may be compromised.

  You have glimpsed a being not born of time, bound not by power, but by the law of causality. Faterender is a fixed-point entity. No act made upon her within her domain may shift her fate. Prolonged interaction may result in causal erosion.

  Jace shared his notification with everyone.

  “What the hell is happening?” Dex yelled, his words nearly drowned out by the chaos.

  Alice turned to them. “We have to keep asking questions, or this entire place will collapse and take us with it. She’s not just a crone—she’s a Faterender. This is her domain, her trap. Every deal she makes, every question she answers, feeds her. She’s stealing pieces of our fates, growing stronger with every answer. If we let her finish, she’ll devour us—mind, body, and soul.”

  The crone let out a low, guttural laugh, her jagged teeth gleaming as she leaned closer. “And such sweet fates they are,” she hissed. “Ripe, delicious… perfect for me and my children when you perish.”