“Credit Gems?” John asked, eyebrow arching as he crouched by the sack, fingers brushing the sparkling stones. Each gem shimmered faintly in the dim light, facets catching the air with an almost greedy glint. “Why the hell are there so many of them?”

  “There’s close to a million Credits in each sack,” Sarah breathed, her voice half a whisper, half a prayer. Her mouth hung open as she fished a few gems into her palm, letting them cascade through her fingers like shimmering sand. “I knew they’d scale the reward, but this—this is insane.”

  Ziraya gave a snort, rolling her eyes as she prodded one of the sacks with the tip of her sword. The gems gave a muted clink. “You really don’t know why they split payments like this?” she said, amusement curling in her tone. “It’s standard practice. Easier to hide, harder to steal. Makes people ask fewer questions.”

  “Right.” John nodded, barely hearing her. His heart thudded in his ears. A million Credits.

  Ziraya hefted the sack with one hand, unimpressed. “It’s not much by my standards. But I guess it’ll help.”

  “So—” Sarah said, voice tightening as she flexed her newly healed arm. Her fingers trembled slightly before she forced them still. “Let’s get to work.”

  John sucked in a breath, grounding himself. “Breaking the curse.” He crossed his arms. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  Sarah squared her shoulders, her usual cheer burning away into something sharper, almost grim. “I’m the best occult expert you’ll find this side of the Shattered Valleys.” Her eyes gleamed. “But it’s going to hurt. Maybe worse.”

  Ziraya gave a stiff nod. Despite herself, she still felt the creeping presence lurking beneath her skin—an invisible vine coiling tighter with every heartbeat. The tether between her and John buzzed, alive and angry, as if it could sense its end approaching.

  John didn’t flinch. His jaw set, his fists clenched. “Let’s end this.”

  “Good.” Sarah turned sharply. “Follow me.”

  They stepped out into the brutal heat of Duskveil, the air like molten iron against their skin, but John barely noticed. The heat inside—the curse’s thrumming heartbeat—was hotter still.

  Sarah led them through the building until they reached her domain: a chaotic, sprawling office that looked more like a warzone of books, scrolls, and ancient relics.

  Sarah wasted no time. She kicked aside scattered papers with a grunt, muttering under her breath, and dragged out a battered crate stuffed with jars filled with colorful powders. “First things first—the circle,” she said, crouching low.

  John watched, hypnotized, as she poured a thick line of shimmering red dust onto the floor. The powder sparkled like crushed rubies, catching the light and throwing it back in eerie, unnatural patterns. A faint glow clung to it—a half-seen shimmer that prickled at his senses, almost like the Glamour that still haunted his nightmares.

  “This better work,” Ziraya muttered, crossing her arms tightly. Her tail lashed once against the floor, betraying her nerves.

  Sarah ignored her, pouring more powders—yellow like sulfur, blue like frozen skies—layering them into intricate spirals and jagged glyphs. Symbols that didn’t belong in any language John knew. Within minutes, a sprawling, dizzying circle took shape, alive with color and strange geometry. Sarah straightened, wiping sweat from her brow. She pulled a thin stick of incense from her pocket and lit it. The sharp scent of oranges and citrus exploded into the room, thickening the air until it felt like breathing syrup.

  She clapped her hands once, sharp and loud.

  “I’m starting.”

  She crushed a glass orb between her palms with a brittle snap.

  The powders ignited in an instant.

  Flames of every imaginable color erupted along the glyphs, racing through the designs like living things. Blue fire kissed red dust. Green light curled into yellow sparks. The whole room groaned under the pressure as a gust of unnatural wind whipped around them, rattling furniture and shrieking against the walls.

  The flames converged at the circle’s center, collapsing inward into a pulsing, trembling mass of energy.

  Ziraya’s mocking smirk vanished.

  “What…” she breathed, eyes wide.

  The thing in the center should have been magic. It wasn’t. No mana, no familiar signature. Just pure, alien force—raw and vibrant, like something that had no business existing in their world.

  Sarah staggered forward, sweat pouring down her face. The mass began to spin, slow at first, then faster. Clockwise—then jarringly counterclockwise, bouncing violently around the room like a caged beast.

  “Stay ready!” Sarah barked, grabbing a twisted branch from her crate. With a grunt, she swung at the ball of light like a seasoned batter.

  The moment the branch struck, the mass exploded into a thousand tiny spirals of blinding energy.

  The force slammed into John and Ziraya like a physical blow.

  They both gasped, collapsing to one knee, air ripped from their lungs as something inside them responded—twisting, roaring, fighting.

  The curse.

  Sarah’s voice rose, but it was no longer entirely hers. “CURSE!” she bellowed, the sound rattling the bones in their bodies, shaking dust from the rafters. “I COMMAND YOU TO—”

  Then—Silence.

  Not the silence of an empty room.

  The silence of a world holding its breath.

  A silence so thick it swallowed sound itself.

  All color fled from Ziraya’s vision in an instant.

  The world around her twisted, smeared like wet paint, until there was nothing left but a vast, crushing darkness — and something moving in it.

  A compulsion seized her, stronger than instinct, stronger than thought. Her hand jerked forward, closing around John’s in a grip so tight it was almost painful.

  The moment their skin touched, time shattered. Sound ceased. Breath froze in their lungs.

  The curse that had once lurked quietly in Ziraya’s veins detonated, erupting into her flesh, her bones, her soul.

  It was no longer a parasite. It became her.

  Ziraya arched her back and screamed — though no sound escaped.

  A shockwave burst from her, flinging John across the room like a broken doll. He hit the far wall hard enough to leave a dent, his vision swimming with stars.

  Rays of impossibly bright blue light shot from Ziraya’s mouth and eyes, painting the walls with sickly, shimmering patterns that writhed and slithered like living things.

  Sarah collapsed bonelessly to the floor, but her body lifted—slowly, horrifyingly—as if unseen hands were hauling her upward.

  A word etched itself into John’s mind, not whispered but hammered, as if a titan carved it across the walls of his soul:

  BONDING.

  The weight of it bent reality around them.

  Ziraya gagged, her body spasming uncontrollably as something ancient and monstrous reached out from the pit of her being.

  It wasn’t evil—evil was too small a concept—but it was hungry. It recognized her only as a vessel.

  She felt her soul unweave, strand by strand, as if she were nothing but a tapestry being unmade by a thousand invisible hands.

  And something...something watched.

  It was vast enough to swallow suns. It was old enough to have forgotten its own name. It regarded her, indifferent, inevitable—as real and final as death.

  The thing retreated, leaving behind a connection: a white-hot tether that pulsed between Ziraya and John’s hearts, as real as bone. The tether grew sickly and bloated. Spinning, fractal blue cubes erupted along it like tumors, each one spinning and rearranging itself into impossible shapes.

  John clutched his head as a new agony pierced his mind.

  His entire body spasmed violently. Symbols he couldn’t recognize, written in a tongue older than language, carved themselves into his very bones.

  Each one burned.

  Each one rewrote him.

  John screamed until his throat tore. Blood flooded his mouth. He barely registered the burning blue cube-tumors racing along the tether, consuming everything.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Ziraya’s light flickered, then died.

  The force inside her was shackled, dragged down into her core by the spinning cubes until it could do nothing but be forcefully integrated within her.

  Another word slammed into her mind, searing with the weight of something that had always been there—lurking, waiting to be remembered:

  Bonding.

  Ziraya gasped, tasting the dust of a world that didn’t exist anymore.

  She knew. She understood.

  This thing—the Authority—it was hers now. And she would never be the same.

  John writhed, coughing up thick clots of dark blood as his soul was stitched back together by alien hands.

  The tether between them was gone—but in its place was a deeper knowing, a truth that pressed against the inside of their skulls like an unwanted whisper.

  Ziraya rose slowly, trembling, her entire body humming with suppressed, lethal power. She stared at her hand, fascinated and horrified.

  On instinct, she reached out to a broken table nearby—and with the faintest touch, unmade it. The wood didn’t shatter, didn’t burn. It simply ceased to exist, erased at the level of atoms. No resistance. No strain. Just absolute, effortless annihilation.

  “Authority of Bonding…” she whispered. Her voice cracked. The name itself felt like an invocation.

  A shudder ran down her spine, part awe, part terror.

  John coughed violently, struggling to his knees, wiping blood from his face with trembling hands. His gaze was glassy, haunted.

  “AUTHORITY BEGETS AUTHORITY.” Sarah’s body—or whatever had been speaking through it—boomed with an inhuman choir of voices. She pointed one shaking hand at Ziraya. “A FLAME.” Then another at John. “AN ABYSS FULL OF EMBERS.”

  Sarah collapsed, falling like a doll cut from its strings. The air itself seemed to exhale.

  Ziraya looked at John—and saw him. Not with eyes, but with something deeper. Kinship. A bond of scars. “We’re alike,” she said quietly, the words tasting bitter and true. The space between them seemed to tighten, like the world itself was holding its breath.

  “In more ways than one.” A smile flickered at her lips—a fragile, dangerous thing. “I think we have a lot to discuss.”

  John nodded; his head swam as he stared at the glowing blue window flickering in his vision.

  His breath caught in his throat. His gaze snapped to Ziraya, feeling an unnatural thrum in his chest—like two tuning forks vibrating in the same strange, impossible frequency.

  His voice came out as a whisper, raw and disbelieving. “What the hell? I have it too?”

  Before Ziraya could react, a pained groan dragged their attention back to the floor.

  “M-My head.” Sarah grunted, pressing a hand to her temple as she forced herself upright, her face twisted in discomfort. “What happened? I remember the ritual and then—” She frowned, her eyes unfocused. “Nothing. Like a...blank. Did it work?”

  John and Ziraya exchanged a glance. Something passed between them—wordless, heavy.

  “It did,” Ziraya answered, her voice soft but firm.

  Sarah blinked. “Are you sure? Any...side effects? Anything weird?”

  “We’re fine,” John said quickly, offering her a small, strained smile. “Really. You probably saved our asses.”

  Relief softened Sarah’s features. She crossed her arms, giving a shaky, proud smile.

  “I’m glad. I don’t want to sound rude, but—” she yawned deeply, barely covering her mouth, “—I’m about to fall asleep standing.”

  “We understand.” John chuckled, though the sound came out thin. He threw Ziraya a sideways look. “Come on, princess. We have...a lot to figure out.”

  “That we do.” Ziraya’s voice dropped, the last threads of adrenaline fraying into exhaustion.

  Outside, the twin suns of Duskveil painted the streets in long, molten shadows. Ziraya popped open a black umbrella with a snap, shielding herself from the dying light.

  John raised an eyebrow. “Where were you even keeping that?”

  “None of your business.” She sniffed primly, twirling the umbrella on her shoulder. “We should find somewhere private.”

  “No arguments here.”

  They walked side by side through the city’s winding alleys, silent except for the crunch of their boots on the acid-scorched stone. Each step weighed heavier than the last—thoughts crowding John's mind, swirling, clashing, refusing to settle.

  And then—he froze.

  That feeling again.

  Artificial happiness. A warm, cloying fog settling over his mind, smoothing every edge, softening every thought. His gaze lifted.

  The Ship.

  The beige elevator cabin stood quietly at the edge of the plaza, its surface gleaming faintly in the twilight. Waiting. Watching.

  Bound to him—as he was bound to it.

  A chill raced down John’s spine. His hand twitched toward Ziraya. “C-Can you—” he croaked, then faltered. There was no point.

  “What?” Ziraya followed his gaze, puzzled. Her brow furrowed.

  She saw nothing.

  John swallowed hard, dragging his eyes away from the vessel. “Never mind,” he muttered, forcing himself to turn toward a cracked stone bench nearby. He dropped onto it heavily, rubbing his temples. “So,” he said grimly, “Bonding.” He repeated the word, but this time let its full weight settle into it. “Bonding.”

  Ziraya jerked as if slapped. “Don’t call me that,” she hissed, lowering her umbrella and flicking her fingers. A shimmer rippled through the air around them—an invisible bubble snapping into place, muting the world beyond.

  John raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, he pulled out a cigarette—only for it to vanish in a flicker of her wrist.

  He shot her a deadpan glare.

  Ziraya returned it with a superior harrumph.

  “Fine,” he muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender. “So what can you do?”

  Ziraya didn’t answer at first. She just stared at her hand—long, slender fingers curling thoughtfully—before driving her index finger effortlessly into the concrete bench. The stone parted around her touch like soft clay. “I can cut through anything,” she said, her voice distant. “Anything I touch.”

  John whistled low under his breath.

  “And you?” she asked.

  He opened his mouth—then doubled over, gasping. It felt like a steel band wrapped around his ribs, squeezing tighter with every syllable he dared to form. The Ship’s restriction.

  “It’s...complicated,” he ground out between gritted teeth.

  Ziraya leaned in, curiosity sharpening her features. “How complicated?”

  “For you, it came naturally, right?” John said, forcing the words past the invisible vice clamping his lungs.

  “For me...” He closed his eyes, reaching inward towards his new Authority of Bonding. He found it—a faint, thrumming cord tethered to something just beyond his reach.

  He pulled.

  The air shimmered—and a translucent strand shot from his chest to hers, linking them like a silver umbilical cord.

  Ziraya gasped aloud, staggering as if the breath had been punched from her lungs. “It’s back!” she cried, her hands trembling. “How—”

  John barely heard her. His own Improbability Factor was draining into the tether like water into a dry riverbed, pouring energy into her. Ziraya’s body lit from within, her skin glowing faintly as her mana pool flooded full in an instant.

  John felt the drain like a punch to the gut—and instinctively, he severed the link.

  The tether vanished.

  Ziraya slumped forward, panting, her wide eyes locked on him in disbelief. “You—” she gasped. “You did that?”

  John grimaced, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

  She clenched her fists, feeling the surge of power still coursing through her veins. “My mana—” she stammered. “It’s overflowing. I feel like I could tear the sky open.”

  John lowered his voice. “Your Authority of Bonding... I think I have it too. Sort of.”

  Ziraya stiffened. “That’s impossible,” she said, a hard edge creeping into her voice. “There’s only one Authority of Bonding. I know it. I am it.”

  John nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know. But—” he shrugged helplessly, “you felt that tether. That wasn’t a trick.”

  Ziraya leaned back, staring at the sky with narrowed eyes, her umbrella forgotten beside her. The twin suns of Duskveil dipped below the horizon, staining the clouds blood-red. “That’s...” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, “so weird.”

  She tilted her head back to gaze at the blood-orange skies. Her eyes seemed far away, almost wistful. “I always heard Authorities twisted their wielders into something... unnatural. But I don’t feel any different.” She glanced sideways at John, studying him. “And you seem—normal enough.”

  John snorted, dragging a hand through his hair. “Normal enough? Thanks for the glowing endorsement, princess.” Still, he hesitated. The words he wanted to say caught like thorns in his throat. His heart gave a painful jolt, as if warning him against speaking further. His eyes flicked toward the faint blue shimmer of the system window only he could see, and he swallowed hard. “Maybe it’s because everything we think we know about Authorities is dead wrong.”

  “Maybe.” Ziraya shrugged, but tension lingered in her shoulders. She stared at the ground, tracing small circles in the dirt with the tip of her boot. “Still... how am I supposed to explain all this to my father?” Her voice dipped into a rare, genuine uncertainty. “You’re just a lowly mercenary—you wouldn’t understand.”

  John’s mouth twisted into a tired grimace. “Shut up, princess,” he said, not unkindly. “Why tell him anything at all?”

  Ziraya’s hand rested reflexively on the hilt of the blade strapped to her hip. The black stone-like metal gleamed faintly, humming with a presence that was almost alive.

  “I have this,” she said, her voice almost reverent. “In our family, being chosen by a sword is... monumental. It's not just a weapon. It’s a rite of passage.”

  John raised an eyebrow. “Chosen by a sword? Sounds like superstition.”

  “You’re not dragon-blooded. You wouldn’t get it,” she said, dismissing his words with a careless wave. But there was a crack in her usual haughtiness, a flicker of worry she couldn’t quite hide. “Still, if I tell him about the blade, there’ll be... questions.”

  “Then keep your Authority hidden,” John said. “Simple.”

  “You don’t understand!” she snapped, then immediately winced, pressing two fingers to her temple. “I took on a mission without my family’s blessing. And now...” Her voice softened, trembling at the edges. “Why am I even telling you this?” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

  John watched her, caught off guard by the rawness bleeding through her words.

  “Am I that bad a person?” he said, half-teasing, half-serious.

  “It’s not that.” Ziraya folded her arms defensively. Her amber eyes darted away. “It’s just... we barely know each other. You’re with the Wolfheart. I shouldn’t be talking to you like this.”

  “Then don’t,” John said, shrugging. “But at least you dropped that annoying arrogant act. Progress, right?” He turned, meaning to leave, but her voice lanced through the air, sharp and almost pleading.

  “Wait!” He stopped, glancing back over his shoulder. Ziraya stood there, rigid, her fists balled at her sides. She looked... small. Vulnerable. “I— We’re both different now. Twisted by all this Authority business. Maybe...” She faltered, the words clumsy on her tongue. “Maybe we should stick together? Just until we figure this out.”

  Her eyes locked onto his, fierce and scared all at once. It hit John like a punch to the gut—the realization that beneath all the arrogance and bravado, she was just as lost as he was.

  He exhaled slowly, raking a hand down his face. “How could I say no to that?”

  “Fine, princess,” he muttered. “You can message me anytime you want.”

  A blinding smile broke across her face, raw and breathtaking in its sincerity. It made John’s chest tighten painfully. But almost as soon as it appeared, she masked it, coughing awkwardly into her fist. “Ahem—I mean, as you should, lowly mercenary!” she stammered, looking anywhere but at him, her ears burning a deep crimson.

  John hastily turned away, feeling the heat creep up his own neck. “No way. No way I’m into lizard chicks”.

  Still, he found himself sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eye, his traitorous heart hammering in his chest.

  “Anyways,” he said too loudly, eager to break the moment. He pulled out a cloth sack heavy with Credit Gems. “About your father—just say you found the sword at some market. It called to you. No need to mention me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it!” Ziraya harrumphed, crossing her arms with a mock scowl. Yet as John walked away, she lifted a trembling hand toward him—then let it fall, pressing it instead to her pounding heart.

  “This is going to be a problem,” she whispered with a wry smile.

  Meanwhile, John’s grin faded the moment he rounded the corner and faced the waiting Ship. The beige elevator cabin loomed like a ghost from a half-remembered dream. The sight of it hit him with a wave of sickly sweet euphoria that made his skin crawl.

  “Why bother?” he muttered, shoving his way into the cabin. The doors sealed with a mechanical hiss, and the temperature plunged, cold enough to raise goosebumps along his arms. He sighed heavily, tossing his bag of Credit Gems next to his chair. They glinted in the pale artificial light, mocking him with their gleaming promise.

  “Talk about deals with devils.” John chuckled humorlessly, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

  For a brief, fragile moment, he allowed himself to imagine a world where he wasn’t caught into this supernatural mess.