Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
SANORA
I wondered what would have become of me if Weeny Man hadn’t been in Nimorran.
Because when I finally managed to collect myself off the floor—five hours ago, maybe longer—he was the first person that came to mind. I’d sat there in that mess of heat and silence, heart a pulsing wound in my chest, and all I could think was that I needed to find answers, a.k.a him.
I’d torn through my backpack, flipped through every zip and fold, searched the house in a frenzy, checked the floor, the couch, the hallway, but my medallion was nowhere. It was gone.
I found my bag downstairs with my sweaters draped across the couch, the car parked in its usual place outside.
He had brought me back yesterday evening, carried me from the car and into my house, and stayed by my side till morning.
That wasn’t even the strangest part.
When I got to the kitchen, the plates were washed—washed—and neatly stacked in their usual places. My room had been tidied and my kitchen had been cleaned. I hated to admit he saved me, but not only had he done that, he’d touched personal things in my house and put them in their places.
It was too much. Too thorough to be born out of the kindness of his heart. Right. He knew. He knew about the Pylath. About the other side. About everything I was only beginning to scratch at. Something no one knew.
Who was he?
He didn’t look human—not really. Maybe he wore the shape, maybe it didn’t belong to him.
Not with that long, wavy hair that shimmered like night waters, or the aura that moved around him.
He looked like something conjured. Something born of poison and parchment, like the monsters I used to read about before bed because it was safe and nothing could walk out of them.
A shiver ran through me when I remembered when he’d touched me.
Gods.
It was a brief and agonizing moment where I felt hollow, as though my soul had taken a step back and left my body to fend for itself.
My heart had clung to my ribs and the only thing I could do was stare into those impossible eyes, those bottomless pits where stars should’ve been.
An endless tunnel. One glance, and I was falling.
The sensation wasn’t natural. The way my body froze, the way it bound itself, I could swear there was an invisible rope around my chest, knotted tight when his gloved finger brushed my skin.
I even had that emergency ward Weeny Man had given me with his car key placed at every entrance and window of the house. Wasn’t it supposed to keep some things out?
So why hadn’t it worked?
If that dark-eyed creature could walk right through all that spell, then who the hell were they for?
“Good afternoon,” I announced my presence as I pushed open the bookshop door, the faint chime above it echoing through the air. My gaze went straight to the counter, expecting him there as always, but he wasn’t. Instead, I spotted him sitting by the glass window, a book open in his hands.
He looked up slowly, eyes adjusting from the page to my face.
His lips parted, then closed again as if words momentarily failed him.
Gently, he shut the book and placed it on the table.
I shoved my fists into the pockets of my leather jacket and smiled.
He gave me one back—a weak, uncertain thing that looked more like relief than joy.
“You’re alive.”
I let out a small laugh. “By some weird miracle, yes.”
He nodded once, gaze sweeping over me, pausing on my exposed collarbones, noticing the absence of my usual scarf and layers. “You never listen,” he muttered, voice heavy with age and concern. “But…good thing Nimorran is welcoming you now.”
I glanced down at myself—white top, unzipped leather jacket and jeans. “Yeah,” I murmured. “I realised when I went to clean the car this morning. Besides,” I looked up, a faint smirk tugging my lips, “I didn’t exactly go back to The Crater.” I pulled out a chair and sat opposite him.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “But you went back,” he said matter-of-factly, tone leaving no room for lies.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I went back. Because I found something new.”
His expression hardened. “Sanora,” he said. “The Crater is a thing leading you to your death.”
How could I explain it to him? How would I make him understand the pull I felt?
That maddening, invisible tug on my chest that had grown stronger by the day.
It wasn’t curiosity anymore; it was obsession, a living thread reeling me in.
What began as a caress months ago now felt like claws under my ribs. “You don’t understand—”
“It’s pulling you to your death,” he cut in, sharper this time. “It wants you to die.”
I froze, his words slicing straight through me. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then, slowly, I exhaled, forcing a smile to my lips, though my throat was tight. “You’re saying that like it has a personal vendetta against me.”
He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.
After a long pause, I spoke again. “Do you know anything called Pylath?” My fingers stayed buried deep inside my pockets, nails digging into my palms as I waited.
The frown lines appearing in the middle of his brows made my chest empty, fear blossoming in the space. Or was it intrigue? Was it relief that I was right and that man knew too much to be just human.
“What’s that?” he asked. “What is it about?”
I sighed, my mind scattered into several pieces. Weeny Man didn’t know what it was. He probably didn’t know the other side existed as well. “It’s a curse that lives around The Crater.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Is that a myth—”
“No, It’s real.” My throat bobbed with hesitation. “It…almost killed me.”
He blinked rapidly, then straightened, the old chair groaning as he pushed to his feet. His eyes darted around the shelves, scanning the spines as if a book might hold the answer he was afraid to tell.
“Who is that man?” I asked as I watched him pace slowly. “The one in black, the one I told you about.”
He froze mid-step.
I pressed on, pulse quickening. “I saw him again. He saved me from the Pylath. And he said something about me that I’ve never told anyone.” I leaned forward, searching his face. “Who is he? You seemed scared the other day. You know something, don’t you?”
He turned slowly this time, the air shifting around him. The look in his eyes wasn’t surprise, it was defeat. “What about your medal—”
“It’s gone,” I interrupted, standing. “I can’t find it. I think—”
“He found a way to get rid of it,” he muttered, finishing the sentence for me.
My brows furrowed. “Who? Him?” I stepped closer, urgency scraping through my voice. He still wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“I thought I had time.”
My frown deepened, unease snaking up my spine.
“I’ll have to travel out of town for a while,” he continued, almost to himself.
“Winifred! Hello?” I snapped, waving a hand in front of his face.
He didn’t respond immediately. Then suddenly, he moved.
His hands shot out, gripping my shoulders with surprising force.
My breath hitched, eyes darting down to his hands.
His face, usually so calm, was drawn tight with fear.
The peace that used to live in his eyes was gone, replaced by something haunted.
“Listen, child.” His voice quivered. “Do whatever it takes to stay away from him.”
My jaw tightened. “Who is he?”
He shook his head, blinking a million times like he was trying to hold his tongue. “You could die.”
I frowned, confusion twisting across my face. My brows pinched, mouth parting slightly in disbelief. “You’re not making any sense,” I said, frustrated. “I know I can die if I go near The Crater. That’s not news. Who is he?” I held my breath. “Is he human?”
His eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us blinked. The air crackled with tension, heavy and suffocating. He looked like a man desperate to say something but terrified of what might happen if he did.
He finally spoke. “Just stay away from him,” he said, almost trembling.
“I’m not playing around this time. This could result in your death.
It’d be safer if you left here…” He began backing away, step by slow step, his mind clearly somewhere else.
“Ignore everything about The Crater. Ignore whatever is attracting you.”
And with that, he turned and stormed out of the bookshop, the door slamming shut behind him.
Silence swallowed the room whole.
I stood there for a long moment before turning my gaze around the shop, more confused than ever.
But one thing was clear. Three things, actually.
The man in black coat wasn’t ordinary.
He was connected to the medallion.
And Weeny Man was terrified of him.