Previous chapter recap:
The story begins in the aftermath of a test at an academy. Moksh, the protagonist, has just passed a difficult trial, but the true challenge is only just beginning. He is accompanied by a cursed spirit, Galith, which is bound to an obsidian blade.
As they walk through the academy grounds, Galith speaks to Moksh telepathically, revealing a shocking truth: it is a "great cursed spirit" that did not forget its memories when the contract was broken, as would happen with ordinary spirits. Instead, it placed a curse on itself to lie dormant, its power waiting to be reawakened. Galith implies that it played a key role in Moksh passing his test, claiming it lifted the self-imposed curse to help him.
The tense encounter is interrupted by Pragya, a fellow student, who comes to congratulate Moksh. However, their interaction is fraught with tension; Moksh is cynical, believing she hoped he would fail, while Pragya's demeanor suggests she may have a hidden agenda or is hiding a secret. The scene ends with a hint of romantic possibility when Pragya asks Moksh if he is free the next day. The story sets up a central conflict involving Moksh's relationship with the cursed spirit, Galith, and the mysterious intentions of his peers.
After that:
Late afternoon in Atlantis. The sun bathed the bustling shopping street in molten amber, shadows curving across bright awnings and mosaic-tiled storefronts. Energy filled the air—laughter, distant music, calls from shopkeepers selling roasted nuts and magical wares. Albert and Sreejal stood at the edge of the swirling crowd, their conversation tense—caught halfway between affection and accusation.
Sreejal folded her arms, chin set stubbornly. "You're always busy with your cases," she complained, a tremor beneath her words that betrayed more longing than blame. "I won't let you go anywhere today."
Albert, in his crisp Paranormal Council coat, took in her expression—a mixture of frustration and hope. His eyes were haunted by heavy secrets. "That won't work, Sreejal. I have to control West Asia. Do you know how much paranormal activity happens there on a daily basis?" His voice was low, threaded with burden and unspoken apologies. "We can't let everything come out in the open. There are so many untold cases. How can I leave everything and stay with you?"
Sreejal looked away, the ache in her heart mirrored by the gold-flecked sunset. Before he could say more, a shopkeeper appeared—eyes smiling, vest stitched in brilliant threads, his presence somehow both ordinary and enigmatic.
"Ma'am, look at these beautiful pieces of jewelry," he said, gesturing to his trays arrayed with burning rubies, glinting emeralds, cobalt lapis, and pearlescent mana stones. "Would you like to buy something? Come, sir, get something for the madam."
Sreejal flushed; light danced across her face. She moved closer to the display, drawn by a bracelet—unlike any other. Iridescent crystals shimmered from aqua to amethyst, catching her gaze and holding it. For a heartbeat, the world faded—the street muted, scents washed away. She felt an electric, silent hum from the bracelet, a faint vibration that traveled up her arm and settled as a yearning in her chest. Was this magic? Or destiny?
Albert noticed. "How much does this bracelet cost?"
The shopkeeper beamed. "This is the Dragon Tears of Happiness," he explained reverently. "Made from rare magical crystals. It's a symbol of joy, fortune—greatly increases luck and mana points during hunting. Hidden properties, some say."
Albert's eyes narrowed knowingly, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "Is it for a specific period or temporary use? And it's a replica, isn't it—the real one is in the Asiatic Museum."
The shopkeeper's confidence faltered, but he nodded. "Yes, sir." His hand shook ever so slightly.
Sreejal's fingers hovered near the bracelet, the pull almost irresistible.
"How much?" Albert pressed.
"A hundred Arcanum," said the shopkeeper.
Sreejal's brow furrowed, sensing not just the price but the air of mystery. "Isn't that too expensive?"
"That's the market price, ma'am." He straightened, as if defending some ancient secret.
Albert met Sreejal's eyes—a soft, private reassurance between them. "Okay, give it to me." He reached for his pocket, intent on making this small gesture, threading together duty and affection.
Just then, Albert's phone rang—a shrill, discordant melody that shattered the spell. He clenched his jaw, knuckles whitening around the bracelet. Faces flickered with hope and uncertainty. For an instant, he was suspended between two worlds—the one he must protect, and the one he quietly wished were his own.
His gaze lingered on Sreejal, apologetic and torn, before he stepped away to answer duty's call.
The next morning, the city of Atlantis was shrouded in marble mist and uncertain rain. Moksh strode purposefully through the council vehicle department, passing rows of glowing glider engines behind glass displays, each labeled with crisp prices in Arcanum: "Jump Crystal, 25A"; "Mana Core, 120A." He remembered Ilish's lessons, how history and power were measured in Aetherium, Arcanum, Echo. The chill of old mysteries lingered everywhere.
Miss Ilish awaited him. Her eyes were sharp and knowing, her uniform betraying the dignity of an archaeologist carrying the weariness of many secrets.
"Where have you been?" she demanded, voice stiff with rumors—traitor, expelled, yet returned. The tension between past and present shimmered, almost palpable.
Moksh smiled with quiet warmth, countering her frost. "Those are old stories, Miss. Let's not talk about them…"
She sniffed, deflecting. But her eyes softened. "You remember my lessons?"
"I remember everything," Moksh replied. "You always taught us about the world—elemental and commercial. Why work in the vehicle department now?"
Ilish's gaze lingered on ghostly memories. "Because everything has a foundation, Moksh. That foundation is history. Remember my lectures on ancient currency? Aetherium, Arcanum, Echo…"
"Aetherium was the rare crystal, ten thousand USD in value, ultimate power source…" Moksh recited.
"Correct," said Ilish, a wan smile flickering. "And Arcanum?"
"Ten thousand Arcanum for one Aetherium—about ten USD. Used for daily affairs."
"And Echo?"
"Echo is for the common people—Five USD. Derived from Arcanum."
A quiet pride warmed her features. "The value of things depends on their origin. That's why I'm here—studying the history of vehicles. Now, what urgent matter brought you?"
Moksh's fingers tightened around his old notebook. "I need to know about Professor Kazuto Kirigaya. He took the test with Grandpa Elias. Where was it held?"
Ilish leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to make the lights flicker. "Sugisawa-mura," she breathed, "the Haunted Village. There are rumors… Not just ghosts dwell there, but anyone who takes the test—every elite—leaves their memories behind. Some say the village might speak to you in voices you hoped to forget…"
Moksh's pulse hammered in his ears. The name sent a cold shudder through him. "And Kazuto's house?"
"In Hirosaki, in the Tohoku region. He was respected—Kirigaya family, and the Basus, two legacies of East Asia. Paranormal council held him in high esteem. But Kazuto had a unique power…" She lowered her voice further, almost afraid of being overheard, "Saint Eyes."
Moksh felt a jolt—a recognition that surged in his blood, urging a question he barely dared voice. Did powers run in families? Or was he being called back into old stories, not by choice but fate?
Ilish wrote the address carefully on a timeworn slip of parchment, pressing it into his palm—a token, a legacy.
Just then, Moksh's phone buzzed, fracturing the haunted moment. Albert's urgent voice crackled down the line: "Get to the office! The Grandmaster is calling. It's urgent."
Moksh stood, notebook clutched like a shield. "What happened?" Ilish asked.
"It seems some case has come up," Moksh replied, voice hopeful and anxious.
He paused at the doorway, eyes drawn to a faded poster of a glider tacked above the exit—a photograph of Moksh himself, younger and smiling in flight above Atlantis's skyline. He hesitated, memories and longing tangling in his chest. "Ma'am… Do you still have my old glider?"
Ilish smiled for the first time. "Yes, I've kept it for you. Come to the council, and I'll have it ready."
Moksh hurried out into the rainy city, address and old stories in hand. Albert, elsewhere, answered destiny's call, torn between the tendrils of duty and the shimmer of happiness he found in Sreejal's eyes. In Atlantis, echoes of ancient power lingered in the air—currency, memories, legends of Saint Eyes.
The haunted village, the Dragon Tears of Happiness, a mentor's legacy, and a glider awaiting new flight—all these threads twisted through the hearts of people who knew that love, loyalty, and destiny were never so simple as coin and crystal.
Atlantis itself seemed to watch—waiting for the next chapter to unfold, shadows deepening, possibility shimmering at the edges of fate.