Chapter 6: Veyrek the Eternal Rot

  Earlier, in the briefing chamber.

  Reya stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, her usual cold composure unmoving. The central desk flickered with soft-blue diagrams, candles casting elongated shadows across the walls. Amari and Vahn were already present, seated with varying degrees of attention.

  Ezren entered last, still adjusting his sash.

  "You’ll be operating in pairs today," Reya began, voice clipped. "Amari, you’ll be partnered with your senior, Ren, she’s experienced in field deployment and will serve as your direct support. Vahn, you’re paired with Ezren."

  Amari raised a hand. "Where’s Senior Ren now?"

  "Already deployed. She was briefed ahead of time. You’ll meet her in the prep hall. You deploy immediately."

  Amari nodded, rising from her seat. As she passed Ezren, she gave him a sidelong glance, half-measuring, half-curious.

  "Don’t let Vahn slow you down," she said, more to herself than anyone.

  Vahn grinned. "I heard that."

  Reya turned to the remaining pair. "Ezren. Vahn. Your assignment is more delicate, but urgent."

  She held up a printed photo, the edges slightly worn. A grainy image of a man in a black tuxedo shimmered with static.

  "Your target is a Wraith named Veyrek. Class-C Spectral Aberration. He’s eluded us for sixty years. Known traits: memory distortion, illusion projection, spiritual possession."

  She looked squarely at them.

  "He’s precise. He doesn’t strike at random, he hunts the joy out of children, drains it from them piece by piece."

  Her gaze lingered on Ezren. "If your thoughts wander, he’ll know. Don’t let your emotions give him an opening."

  Vahn leaned back with a scoff. "Finally, a real challenge."

  Reya’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Take this seriously, Vahn. Little mistakes won’t just get you reprimanded, they’ll get you killed. Or worse, someone else."

  "Prep room. You deploy in ten minutes."

  Inside the Station 10 prep room, the benches were empty, Amari and Ren were already gone, deployed before Ezren and Vahn even arrived. The walls buzzed faintly with quiet energy, pale-blue light reflecting off racks of Anima tools and folded mission cloaks.

  Ezren tightened the sash of his uniform and glanced toward Vahn.

  “Give me a sec,” Vahn said, already lowering himself to the floor, legs crossed.

  He placed his plain wooden stick carefully across his lap, eyes closed like a monk preparing for battle, or a nap.

  Ezren blinked. “…Is that your weapon?”

  He expected something. A shimmer of light. A shift in form. Something like his own Bo-Staff.

  But the stick remained… a stick.

  A few minutes passed before Vahn stood with a satisfied exhale. “Alright. I’m good.”

  Ezren crossed his arms. “So… your weapon’s just a stick?”

  Vahn stared at him, utterly baffled. “Why would you ask something so foolish?”

  He held it out proudly, both hands presenting it like it was Excalibur. “This is Kensei! The finest blade any knight could ever wield.”

  Ezren stared flatly. “Kensei? Isn’t that… Japanese? But you act like a medieval knight.”

  Vahn gasped as if Ezren had insulted his bloodline. “Sir Ezren, your ignorance wounds me deeply. A true warrior honors all noble paths. East, West, North, Spirit Realm, it’s all the same under destiny’s banner!”

  Before Ezren could respond, Vahn reached into the inner lining of his coat and pulled out a folded strip of paper, aged, with slightly curled edges and Jin’s messy ink strokes all over it.

  “Almost forgot,” Vahn said, handing a torn half of it to Ezren. “Vice-Captain Reya said this one’s specially made by Captain Jin. It reacts to Wraiths, well, their presence. You’ll feel it tug or burn a little if one’s close.”

  Ezren looked at the uneven piece in his hand. “We’re supposed to trust something Jin scribbled on paper?”

  Vahn grinned. “Hey, show some respect. That’s Captain Jin you’re talking about. He might be weird, but he’s the captain of Station 10. He’s earned it.”

  Ezren sighed, tucking it into his belt.

  Vahn turned to the door, stick resting confidently across his shoulder. “Alright, partner. Let’s go Wraith-hunting.”

  The streets were alive with movement. People bustled through crosswalks, checked their phones, and ducked in and out of sleek, glass-fronted stores. Neon signs pulsed above cafés and arcades, and ambient music spilled from open doors. None of them noticed the two Conductors walking calmly through it all, like Ezren and Vahn weren’t even solid.

  Ezren glanced around, adjusting his scarf. “So… how exactly are we supposed to track this Wraith?”

  Vahn didn’t respond immediately. He had pulled out his half of the talisman and was holding it like a dowsing rod, scanning the area with a narrowed gaze.

  Ezren frowned. “I mean… if this guy’s been evading other stations for sixty years, what makes you think we’ll find him walking through a shopping district?”

  Vahn looked over his shoulder. “Didn’t you listen to the briefing? His last trace was recorded near here. Wraiths tend to revisit familiar spots when hunting. He’s probably looking for another victim.”

  Ezren was about to reply when the talisman in Vahn’s hand twitched—its edges curling inward, faint smoke rising.

  Vahn’s expression sharpened. “It’s here.”

  Without another word, they rushed forward, weaving through the flow of passersby like ghosts.

  They came to a halt near a corner plaza where a few parents were ushering their children between shops. But one boy caught Ezren’s eye.

  He walked beside his mother, small hand clutching hers, but his gaze was empty. He wasn’t playing, talking, or even looking around. Just… trudging forward. Head down. Shoulders low. Too quiet.

  He narrowed his eyes, lifting the talisman slightly. A faint shimmer passed through the paper.

  Then he saw it, like smoke clinging to the boy’s back. A shadowy wisp curling along his spine, faint and shifting, but unmistakable to a trained Conductor.

  “Ezren,” Vahn muttered. “There’s something wrapped around him. Like smoke, but heavier.”

  The boy’s face was pale, expression distant, not frightened, just hollow. Like whatever joy he had was slowly being pulled out of him.

  Vahn lowered the talisman slightly, eyes narrowing. “We should tail him. That smoke isn’t normal—especially not for the living. And the talisman’s reacting to it.”

  Ezren gave a slight nod. The two began to follow the mother and child, moving carefully among the crowd.

  As they walked, the mother leaned down, her voice soft but strained. “What’s happening to you lately, sweetheart? You don’t seem like yourself. You’re not eating like you used to…”

  The boy responded quietly, gaze low. “I just don’t have an appetite. I don’t know… I just feel… down.”

  The mother frowned, clearly worried, but said nothing more. She gently squeezed his hand.

  The pair eventually reached a quiet residential area. Ezren and Vahn kept their distance as they entered a modest two-story home with lights already on inside.

  Through the window, they watched as the boy sat silently at the dinner table, untouched plate in front of him. After a few minutes, he excused himself and trudged upstairs.

  “He didn’t even eat,” Ezren whispered.

  Vahn nodded, his voice low. “Let’s observe for now. Whatever’s happening, it’s strongest when he’s alone.”

  The two remained crouched on the rooftop across from the boy’s window, the pale glow of a streetlight casting long shadows through the blinds.

  For a while, nothing happened. Just the soft hum of night settling in.

  Vahn shifted slightly, glancing over at Ezren. “So… what’s it like? Y’know, going from being mortal to all this Conductor stuff?”

  Ezren kept his eyes on the window. “Weird,” he said simply. “When I was alive, I thought death was just… blank. Like sleeping. Nothingness.”

  He exhaled slowly. “I didn’t expect all this. A whole society of spirits. Rules. Missions. People guiding the dead like it’s some kind of system.”

  Vahn leaned back with a light chuckle. “Heh… lucky me. I skipped the whole dying part and spawned straight into the afterlife. Not a bad deal, right?”

  Ezren smirked faintly. “Guess you really did pull the short cut.”

  Vahn chuckled, but then went quiet for a moment—unusual for him.

  “Truth is… I’ve been training to be a Conductor since I was a Veiling. My whole family’s been part of the Veil Order for generations. I’ve carried that weight since before I had my first Anima spark.”

  Ezren blinked, caught off guard by the sudden honesty.

  “Conductor Academy wasn’t a walk in the spirit fields either. You had to earn your Anima link. Learn codes. Fight. Pass rites. Not every Veiling makes it. Some break, Some just simply gave-up.”

  He glanced at Ezren, expression unreadable for once.

  “You… you got summoned. Dropped in with no training. No station lineage. Just raw instinct and a vow.”

  Then he smiled, genuine this time.

  “You’re lucky, y’know. But don’t waste it. Spirit Veils like me work our whole spirit lives for what you got in one fatal moment.”

  Ezren stayed quiet for a moment.

  "I didn’t even know an afterlife like this existed… let alone spirits working jobs like grim reapers."

  Vahn’s voice grew solemn again. “Being a Conductor is the greatest honor a Spirit Veil could have.”

  Ezren glanced over. “Don’t worry. I’ve already decided, I’m going to be a captain. And be a bridge and a beacon for souls no one else sees. The ones the world gave up on.”

  Vahn blinked, then smirked with a gleam in his eye. “I see. Then let’s see who gets there first, huh?”

  He jabbed a thumb to his chest. “Race you to the top, partner.”

  Ezren smirked. “Careful. You might end up as my Vice-Captain, doing all my paperwork.”

  Vahn scoffed. “As if!”

  They both laughed, just a little. But it was real. For a moment, the mission, the pressure, even the shadow of what waited ahead, all of it faded.

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  Just two rookies under the stars, daring to dream.

  After a quiet moment, something shifted.

  The boy inside the room suddenly stood up.

  Ezren’s eyes narrowed. “He’s moving,” he whispered. “Look.”

  The talisman in Vahn’s hand flared again, the edges curling as faint smoke lifted from it.

  The boy stepped out of his room, walked down the stairs, and quietly opened the front door. His eyes were open, but blank. Expressionless.

  Like it wasn’t really him.

  Ezren and Vahn moved swiftly across the rooftops, keeping pace from above.

  Vahn lowered his voice. “Stay sharp. This might lead us right to our target.”

  They followed the boy through the empty streets. The city lights began to fade the farther they went, until they reached the edge of a construction zone marked with police tape and warning signs.

  The boy didn’t hesitate, he stepped through the tape as if it wasn’t there.

  Vahn stopped just short, holding up his talisman.

  It burst into flame in his hand, disintegrating in seconds.

  He clenched his jaw. “We're here.”

  The building ahead, though partially obscured and seemingly abandoned, exhaled an oppressive darkness. A haze of black smoke surrounded the half-built structure, visible only to those attuned to the Veil.

  Ezren’s breath caught.

  The boy kept walking, straight into the fog.

  As Ezren and Vahn crossed the threshold, the temperature dropped.

  The air grew thick, each breath dragged with a weight they could feel in their chest. The haze wrapped around them like a shroud, and with it came sound.

  Faint at first.

  Then rising.

  Cries.

  Children’s voices echoed through the mist, overlapping like broken records.

  “Mom?”

  “Please don’t leave me…”

  “Where are you?”

  Each word stabbed like a whisper being forced directly into their minds, not just sound, but memory. Fear. Loss. Desperation.

  Ezren clenched his fists, jaw tightening. “These are the voices of the ones he took…”

  Vahn’s expression was no longer playful. “He made this place a graveyard, and he didn’t bury the pain.”

  The boy moved blindly through the fog, his steps slow but steady, until something shifted.

  The haze thinned just enough for him to step through it. For a second, his vision cleared.

  And then he saw him.

  A man stood ahead, tall and slender, dressed in a black tuxedo so pristine it looked untouched by time. White gloves. Silver cufflinks. A subtle grin stretched across his lips, too polite to be safe.

  The boy blinked, and his mind cleared, just enough to feel fear again.

  “W…where am I?” he whispered. “Who… who are you?”

  The man’s eyes sparkled with something deeper than malice. Hunger.

  “Ahh,” the man cooed, tilting his head slightly. “The fruit has ripened.”

  He took a graceful step forward. The ground made no sound beneath him.

  “Mmm… fresh. Untouched. A young soul still full of light and free from the rot of resentment. So... delightfully... pure.”

  The boy stepped back instinctively, shaking his head. “I… I want to go home.”

  Veyrek’s smile only widened.

  “But you came to me,” he said softly. “And I always answer when I’m invited.”

  The boy took a step back.

  Veyrek tilted his head. “Leaving already? We’re only getting started.”

  Then his tone changed, soft, familiar.

  “It’s okay, honey,” he said, mimicking the boy’s mother’s voice with unsettling precision. “You can stay here.”

  The boy froze, eyes wide in disbelief. His legs gave out beneath him and he collapsed onto the damp ground.

  Veyrek’s smile widened as he stepped closer, slow and savoring. Drool slipped from the corner of his mouth.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered, voice trembling with delight. “You won’t feel a thing.”

  He extended one hand toward the boy’s chest, fingers splayed with an almost reverent touch.

  The air shimmered. A soft glow began to rise from the boy’s body, flickers of warmth and color.

  Laughter. A child’s giggle. The echo of a birthday song. A mother’s voice calling her son for dinner.

  It all began to spiral from the boy like smoke drawn into Veyrek’s palm.

  He inhaled, and his eyelids fluttered.

  “Mmm,” he sighed. “So much joy… wasted on mortality.”

  A blunt crack echoed through the fog.

  Veyrek paused.

  A wooden staff thudded into the ground several feet ahead of him, just enough to cut off his approach.

  “Oi, fat blob,” Vahn’s voice rang out through the mist. “You really talk to your meals first? Or is this just your sick fetish?”

  From the haze, Vahn stepped forward, shoulders squared, stick across his back.

  Beside him, Ezren emerged, silent, focused, his hand already at his weapon.

  Veyrek turned slowly, lips still curled in that half-smile.

  He stepped back from the boy and gave a slow, exaggerated bow, one arm crossed over his chest. “Welcome, Conductors,” he said smoothly. “You may call me Veyrek.”

  Vahn raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah, we know you. Veyrek, the Eternal Rot. Or should I say… Mark? The disgrace of your time.”

  Veyrek’s smile twitched.

  Vahn continued, stick resting on his shoulder. “Sixty years in hiding, and now you’re crawling out to prey on little kids? That’s low, even for a coward like you. What happened? Running out of shadows to hide in?”

  Veyrek’s smile held, but only barely. A muscle twitched at the corner of his jaw.

  He covered his eyes with one gloved hand, head tilting upward as a low, breathy laugh escaped him. It grew louder, more jagged, until it echoed through.

  “Ahh… it’s been a while since I’ve heard that name,” he said between laughs. “Truly… foul. Disgusting.”

  He dropped his hand, revealing eyes that glinted with disdain. “I buried that name with the carcass I once was.”

  His smile stretched again, artificial and venomous. “And you... new faces. I've never seen you two before.”

  He tilted his head, mock thoughtful. “Did Station 8 finally give up on me?”

  Then another burst of laughter tore from his throat, sharp and unhinged.

  “The Captain of Station 8 couldn’t even lay a hand on me! HAHAHA!”

  His voice dropped, eyes narrowing. “What hope do you rookies have against someone like me?”

  Vahn didn’t answer.

  Without a word, he reached to his hip and drew his stick like a katana.

  In that instant, the plain wooden rod transformed, its shape shifting fluidly into a sleek katana with a black hilt, the blade wreathed in flickering blue flame.

  He stepped forward in one clean motion and slashed.

  But Veyrek raised a single hand.

  Veyrek caught the blade with one hand and shoved it aside effortlessly.

  The flaming blade was deflected with ease, the clash echoing with a spark of pressure as Vahn’s strike was thrown wide.

  Veyrek’s eyes narrowed, still smiling. “Charming trick. But you’ll need more than pretty fire and stage props.”

  Ezren took a step forward, his tone sharp. “Don’t be reckless. We do this together.”

  Veyrek extended his arms outward like wings.

  In an instant, a torrent of black smoke burst from his body, flooding the space around them in a thick, choking cloud.

  Ezren instinctively covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve. “It’s poison,” he muttered. “Careful.”

  A voice echoed through the dark.

  “One moment, you're standing tall…” Veyrek’s sinister laughter bounced through the smoke.

  “The next—”

  He cackled. “You're groveling in the dirt like a worm.

  Bzzt! Bzzt!

  Ezren’s eyes snapped open.

  The shrill ring of a phone alarm echoed beside him.

  He was in bed.

  His bed.

  The ceiling above him was familiar. The texture of his pillow. The way the light peeked through the curtains.

  He sat up slowly, blinking.

  He was in his old T-shirt. Pajama shorts.

  No Conductor uniform. No fog. No smoke.

  He looked around, his room just as it always was. Posters on the wall. Books on the desk. A pair of cleats half-tucked under the chair.

  He stood and made his way downstairs.

  At the dining table, his sisters were bickering as they ate cereal. His mother scolded one gently for chewing too loudly. His dad sipped coffee, glancing over the newspaper.

  His phone buzzed again.

  [Soccer Group Chat]

  Morning practice today! Latecomers do 10 laps. No excuses.

  Ezren just stood there, the warmth of the scene soaking into his skin like sunlight.

  Had it all… been a dream?

  He sat at the table, but didn’t touch the food.

  His mother noticed first. “Ezren? What’s wrong?”

  He hesitated. “I’ve been having this weird dream… where I died. And then I started working as a Conductor.”

  His mom blinked, then chuckled. “A Conductor? Like those on public transportation?”

  She shook her head. “You really need to stay off the internet before bed. No wonder you’ve been dreaming nonsense.”

  Ezren gave a weak laugh and scratched the back of his head. But the unease didn’t fade.

  Without eating, he stood up. “I’ll head to school. We’ve got morning practice.”

  His father lowered his newspaper. “Be careful, alright? There’s been an accident near the station. A kid around your age got hit by a drunk driver.”

  Ezren froze for half a second. The words felt too familiar. Too specific.

  But the reason why wouldn’t come to him.

  He left the house, walking toward the train station.

  On the way, he passed by a small corner bakery. He slowed down when he saw the sign.

  Elin’s.

  The name tugged at something deep in his chest.

  Inside, Elin was kneading dough, her hair tied back like always.

  Ezren stepped in and called out, “One melon bread, please.”

  Elin looked up and smiled, but there was something distant in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong, child?” she asked.

  Ezren hesitated. “Just woke up from a nightmare. That’s all.”

  Elin’s smile faded into a look of quiet concern.

  “…Are you sure you’re awake?”

  Then—

  He blinked.

  And he was back at the dining table.

  The scent of cereal. The murmur of his sisters arguing. His mother scolding one gently. His dad sipping his coffee.

  Ezren stared, wide-eyed.

  “…Didn’t this already happen?” he asked aloud.

  His older sister paused mid-bite. “What do you mean?” she said, brows furrowed. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Ezren’s breath caught in his chest. Confusion twisted in his gut.

  “I… I gotta go,” he muttered, pushing back from the table.

  But as he stood, his younger sister grabbed his arm, tighter than he expected.

  Her voice was soft, but her eyes were unblinking.

  “Are you going to abandon us?” she asked. “Are you going to leave us behind again?”

  Ezren took a shaky step back.

  And then their faces changed.

  His sisters. His mother. His father.

  Their eyes darkened, emptied, like hollow pits where sight once lived. Tears began to spill from the vacant sockets, trailing down pale cheeks.

  Their mouths twisted, not in rage, but sorrow. Silent, sad expressions half-opened… revealing nothing but shadow inside. Deep. Endless.

  Hands reached for him, grasping at his arms, his shirt, his shoulders, pulling.

  “Are you leaving again?” they said, voices overlapping.

  “What about us, the ones you abandoned?”

  “Would you leave your bright future… and be selfish?”

  But Ezren didn’t feel guilt.

  He didn’t feel sorrow.

  Only rage.

  Heat surged behind Ezren’s eyes, his vision blurring with fury.

  He clenched his fists and screamed with every ounce of fury in his chest:

  “Veyrek! You bastard! How dare you sully the image of my family with your twisted desires and pettiness!”

  The world around him shattered.

  The table. The house. The light.

  Gone.

  Everything turned black.

  Except for a single spotlight, narrow and cold, illuminating Ezren where he stood.

  From the dark, a voice sighed.

  “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

  Veyrek stepped forward, his eyes glowing faintly as he circled the edge of the light.

  “I know who you are, Ezren Halewind. You’re an anomaly… just like me.”

  He gestured loosely, pacing.

  “You were only being used by these Conductors. All that power, born of death, and you choose to side with the ones who let you die?”

  His voice turned cold, bitter.

  “I gave you a gift. A chance to live the life you lost. The life you would have had… if not for those incompetent fools in white robes.”

  Ezren stared him down, furious. “This isn’t a gift. This is your rot.”

  “You built this illusion out of your twisted desires. But I’m nothing like you, and you’re no anomaly.”

  “You’re just a petty bastard who couldn’t accept that you died a pathetic death. And now you’re a pathetic Wraith feasting on the joy and innocence of little kids.”

  Veyrek let out a long, theatrical sigh.

  “You’re right,” he said softly. “You’re nothing like me.”

  He narrowed his eyes, smile fading.

  “All that power… and you still chose to be a dog for a system built by spirits who never even tasted death. Now they play judge over the ones who did.”

  He turned away slowly, the shadows folding inward.

  “Well then, I bid you farewell… anomaly of the Veil.”

  Ezren was left alone, surrounded by nothing but endless black. No light. No sound. No sense of space.

  He floated, or maybe stood, but he couldn’t tell. Panic pressed in from all sides.

  But then... he remembered.

  His vow.

  To guide souls. To be a bridge and beacon to the lost.

  Ezren steadied his breath and reached for his Anima.

  His hand gripped his Bo-Staff, and he channeled that energy through it.

  A soft hum pulsed through the darkness.

  From the tip of his staff, a lantern began to form, its frame dark blue like the metal found on temple shrines. Within it, a pale blue flame flickered to life.

  He raised it, and with a firm strike—thud—planted his staff into the unseen ground beneath him.

  Light rippled outward.

  The darkness fractured.

  And Ezren—woke up.