Chapter Text
Zanka knew he was in trouble.
How exactly things had gotten to this point was beyond him, but here he was. Jaw clenched, shoulders tight, trying very hard not to make the situation worse.
“Hey, doll. You lost or something?”
East Ward. The rundown part, naturally.
Some idiot had apparently decided he possessed both courage and a disposable life expectancy, because he walked straight up and tried to get Zanka's attention.
The district was packed with the sort of people who barely qualified as respectable citizens. Gamblers, thieves, information brokers, small-time gangsters – every variety of trouble seemed to end up here eventually.
Exactly the kind he stayed away from.
Which only made it worse.
So yeah… what the hell was he even doing here?
The answer couldn't have been simpler: find another Giver. Someone with an ability. Someone who knew something – anything – about the Watchman Series.
That was all they had.
No name. No gender. No idea what kind of ability this mysterious Giver possessed. Not even a single thread to follow.
According to the Boss, the person could be anywhere in the Wards. Which translated to one thing: they had nothing.
No leads, no direction. Just a blind guess stretched across half the city.
So the team split up, each took a Ward and started chasing whatever scraps of information they could dig up. For all Zanka knew, they were hunting a ghost.
But even in the East Ward, there were places a decent person stayed far away from.
And somehow, rumours had dragged him here, to Corinth.
It was loud. Too loud. Crowded, filthy, overflowing with people who would sell you out without a second thought.
Alive in all the worst ways.
Disgusting.
Every instinct screamed at him to stay alert. Humans were far worse than Trash Beasts. At least Trash Beasts were simple - predictable and easy to erase.
“Pretty face you’ve got. Ever thought about picking up some extra work? I know people – we could set you up real quick–”
What a lowlife. Should’ve kept his mouth shut.
Zanka pulled out his jinki and, in one swift motion, pinned the guy to the wall, pressing it under his chin.
“Scum like you make me sick. If you want to keep your limbs, make sure I never see you again.”
Zanka caught the stench of sharp cologne mixed with an unwashed body. He was about to walk away, then paused. “Or, you know–”
Yeah, the only thing their team actually knew for sure was a name. A Giver called The Witch.
Seriously, none of this added up. Why would the Giver be hiding in a place like this?
He just hoped this person wasn’t running a brothel.
And somehow… he got his wish.
Almost.
The Witch turned out to be a woman with an appearance so flashy it was impossible to ignore. It would’ve been easier to say she was barely wearing anything. Strange symbols were painted across her face and hands, and probably the rest of her body, hidden beneath thin layers of fabric.
When they met, she stood in the middle of the street, right beside a house that looked like it had appeared out of nowhere. The house was just as strange as she was, like it had been built to match her.
Enjin will laugh at him if he finds out that he mistakenly entered a brothel.
He knew immediately, it was her. The Giver they were looking for. No doubt about it.
The certainty came from somewhere strange, like recalling a memory he didn’t remember having.
People passed by without even glancing at her. Or the house.
Which made no sense. Not in a place like this. The local punks would’ve swarmed someone like her in seconds. He’d already heard enough catcalling since arriving, so this complete indifference? No way.
Zanka still didn’t know how he’d ended up here. One moment he’d been chasing rumours through the chaos of the city, and the next… this. Standing in the middle of the street, face to face with the very Giver they’d been searching for.
Creepy.
He stepped forward. Took a breath. Steeled himself.
This is so damn stupid.
“Hello… may I ask you somethin’? I’m lookin’ for a Giver–”
Because if she turned out to be just an ordinary person, he was going to make a complete fool of himself. Again.
Before he could finish, she looked at him, mumbled something, and... pulled out a rectangular flat object – a piece of paper? – out of nowhere. At least, Zanka didn't see beforehand where she could have kept it.
The paper was dark and palm-sized. She held it close to the boy's face and only then did her expression change.
“Oh. So that one from Cleaners. How interesting.” She definitely was having fun. “C’mere, dear… c’mon,” she said, her voice playful, waving him inside.
But Zanka didn’t move, staying rooted in place. What a fuck.
“Ya looking for my old pal’s little playthings, aren’t’cha?” She teased, a sly grin tugging at her lips, as if reading his hesitation.
“The meanin' of the word “playthings” is quite ambiguous.” He stayed on edge, believing that this could be a trap.
“Oi, you’re not easy to please, are ya?” She said, a hint of amusement slipping into her voice.
And her accent, it was terrible.
The woman did another trick with a card and showed it before Zanka’s face. The card depicted three circles connected together, identical to the ones on Rudo's gloves. What the actual..?
The Watchman Series.
“I know why ya’re here, dear,” she pointed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “C’mere, I’d make some tea for us. Are’ya hungry?”
Zanka only shifted his head negatively. “No.”
He was still trying to process… whatever this was, following her lead while doing his best not to look at the exposed skin.
The inside of the building was… gaudy.
Bright, almost overwhelming, like someone had taken a gambling den and an entertainment hall and smashed them together without holding back. Colors clashed, fabrics draped everywhere, lights too warm, too heavy.
He might’ve thought he’d just walked into another brothel (or Zanka thought that’s how brothels would have looked).
But the smell was good, relaxing after the stuffy, harsh air of Corinth. For a moment, it made him breathe easier, even as everything else in the room screamed chaos.
Who in their right mind would think of decorating like that?
“This way.”
Zanka checked the jinki just in case; a simple quick touch to make sure what was happening was real.
They walked through a wide hall, dotted with small islands of space meant for solitude – tiny nooks with low partitions, cushions, and soft lighting.
But the hall was empty. No single soul.
Thus, they reached a door leading to a separate room. It was darker than the hall they’d just passed through, but still lit enough for Zanka to notice that he wasn’t the first guest.
Damn, he would recognize this shithead anywhere.
Fuck it. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.
“What a fuck is goin’ on here?”
Is it a trap in the end?
Shit. He knew it.
A cold spike ran down his spine, coiling in his stomach. His jaw clenched so tight it ached, and every muscle in his body went rigid, ready to snap into action.
He reached for his jinki, ready to attack.
“Zanka, my boy!”
“If you Raiders are up to somethin’, I swear–”
“Na-ah, just relax, this won’t work.” Jabber pointed his stupidly long finger in the direction of the stick in Zanka’s hands. “’S a bummer!” He cried out, disappointment laced his voice as he spread his hands.
Zanka stared at the Vital Instrument in disbelief, squinting and frowning as he tried to make sense of whatever Jabber was rambling on about.
“What?”
“They’re just toys here.” In confirmation he shook his fingers, which had rings on them. “That missy did something. Sca-ary.”
He glanced at the woman sideways, as if trying to find confirmation of the delusion that this psycho had been talking about.
“I forgot to tell ya,” she clapped her hands with a wide grin on her face, “no fightin’!”
“Bo-oring.” Jabber dragged out, swaying in his chair.
“What?” Zanka repeated, trying to activate the jinki. All in vain. “Why? What did you do?”
He was genuinely terrified almost for the first time since he left the home; he felt completely powerless, like the ground had been pulled out from under him.
“No need to worry. I have some ground rules, that’s all. The main one – violence is forbidden. This is my territory, and everyone who comes for my help must follow this rule.” Her accent disappeared for a moment, as if a completely different person was speaking.
“Your jinki under my rule. As soon as you leave the house, their ability will be restored.”
Is it possible? A power to restrain others Vital Instruments? What kind of shit did he get into this time?
“You are my dear guests. I mean no harm, and I always provide whatever your hearts desire most.”
“And what if I want to fight?" Jabber stopped swaying.
“Your wish is mine to fulfill. That’s a rule.”
“Woah, dope! No take-backs, missy.”
Zanka was still in a daze when The Witch brushed past him and made her way to a wide table, where, on one side, Jabber was already sitting.
“Welcome to the house of wishes.” That was the last thing she said before taking her seat at the table.
And Zanka finally came out of his stupor.
“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on.” He put his jinki back in place, and rubbed his face with his palms. “Let’s assume that shit is legit. All this talk about limitations, I got it. But explain to me this,” he took a deep breath, then shouted, “why the hell that idiot is here?”
Zanka pointed accusingly at the Raider, as if that was supposed to solve anything.
“No cool, man. I came here for the same reason as ya, obviously.” His smile grew wider. “The Watchman Series.”
Fuck this shit. Damn it.
“But I don’t actually care.” He turned so he could face the owner of the house like he was telling the story. “I mean– What’s so funny, huh? Chasing after some old man’s ancient scraps of cloth? But the boss kinda wants it. So ’m playing along. And I met you, Zanka, my friend.”
“Stop callin’ my name, freak. You make no sense.”
“Missed ya.”
Zanka felt like he was about to explode from irritation, fists tightening. Okay, fine. Fine. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. If they’d both come for information, he needed to get it first.
“It seems we have a problem. What if we seek the same thing?” This time he was referring to the woman, who was patiently observing.
“Oh, don’t’cha worry, honey. That will be handled.” Okay, back to the accent. “Now sit, hurry up. We gotta see what the cards will sain’”
It was like talking to two versions of the same person. He chose not to be surprised anymore and did as she asked. Before he sank into the chair, he looked warily at the boy next to him. He only raised his hands up, showing that he meant no harm. Yeah, as if you could trust the Raider.
“Excellent! Let’s see what ya can tell me.” She pulled out a deck of cards, again, literally out of nowhere.
The deck of Tarot cards. For real? Are they going to do card reading? Whatever, he shouldn’t be surprised.
“Ya will be first, my dear.” She turned to Jabber, who was already as energized as could be.
“Wait, why him first?”
If it’s about who gets the information first, it didn’t matter – card reading, mahjong, whatever shit it was – he needed to get the upper hand.
“The order is significant. That’s the rule.” She switched to another tone, stressing that no debate is allowed.
Seriously, he’s going crazy.
“Ya need to ask only one thing – what do you truly wish.” She turned to Jabber, and sounded cheerful again.
“Like, what ‘m wishing for?”
“That’s it, pal.”
“‘kay. I want to know what I truly wish.”
She handed the deck of cards to the boy. “Shuffle the deck.”
He did as she said.
Zanka crossed his arms, feeling that familiar heat of irritation. His eyes landed on Jabber shuffling the Tarot deck; hands were too big for the cards, long fingers bending and flexing, the rings sparkled in the dim light of the room.
The Witch took back the deck and started fortune-telling. Zanka leaned closer, still trying to hide his curiosity behind a mask of impatience; without even realizing it, he held his breath and watched the process.
“Three cards, like three steps on the path of self-discovery.” She spoke in a flat, unvarying tone, her voice distant and detached, as if it belonged to a world far removed from the one around her. “The first card is your aspiration.”
She placed a card in front of him: Strength.
“You crave strength and power. Your wish is simple yet carries a heavy burden.”
Zanka looked at the boy, but he was just staring at the card in front of him.
“The second card is an obstacle.” She continued, flipping the next card: The Tower.
“Your desire is hindered by a tendency toward destruction, which can collapse everything you build. These actions distort the path to true power.”
Well, that one was a bull-eye.
“The third card is advice.” She drew the last card: The Devil. “Your path is lethal and will cost you humanity. It’s not too late to change direction and find another path that will give you what you want.”
The moment her voice stopped, silence claimed the room. So what is that supposed to mean?
Zanka had half-expected the cards to produce some insane effect, something triggered by a Vital Instrument. Yet they didn’t appear special in the slightest. Just normal cards. Still, a sense of unease lingered.
“Well, I learned nothing.” Jabber muttered after a few moments.
“Don’t’cha worry, dear. Ya will find out.”
There was something creepy about these cards, Zanka thought.
“You're next, hon.” She turned in his direction, waiting.
“Is this even necessary? I mean… I don’t really believe in fortune-tellin’, honestly.”
“You don’t have to believe it, it is already happening. My duty is to show you the truth and path of your wish. That’s the rule.”
Fuck this rules. It freaked him out even harder. The way she flipped between personas was straight-up terrifying.
“I want to know what I truly wish.”
It was way harder to say than he thought. Like the words had their own power, and once they slipped out there was no taking them back.
He shuffled the deck of cards and gave them back to the owner.
“Your question is not easy,” she said, looking straight into Zanka's eyes. “You are looking for something that will grant you freedom.”
His question is the same as previous, duh.
She pulled out three cards and spread them out in front of him.
“The first card is your desire: The Fool.” She glanced at it briefly before looking back at him. “You are seeking freedom and love. The Fool appears as a whisper of hope, beckoning you toward a new beginning. What you truly wish lies just beyond the edge of the familiar, but to claim it, you must dare to step into the unknown.”
“Second card – obstacles: The Hanged Man, reversed.” She tilted her head slightly. “You are caught in a loop, striving for an ideal that doesn’t exist. Your obsession with perfection chains you. The reversed Hanged Man warns: this fixation keeps you stuck, unable to move freely toward what you desire the most.”
“Third card – advice: Death.” She paused, watching him carefully. ”The past is a ghost, a shadow with no real power over you now. To gain freedom, you must let go of old wounds. Only by leaving the past behind can you open yourself to love and the life you crave.”
He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened, and for a second, it looked like he might say something but the words never came. His gaze dropped to the cards, like they suddenly meant more than he wanted to admit.
Finally, he let out a quiet scoff.
“Yeah, sure,” he muttered under his breath, but his voice lacked its usual edge. He shifted in his seat, suddenly way more uncomfortable than before. “I don’t wish for love or anything… stuff.”
And he’s not seeking freedom. Or love.
Just a little acknowledgment would be enough.
A sudden flush crept across his face, and he hated how obvious it probably was.
“Alright, that’s it for today, lads.”
Wait, what.
“What do you mean that’s all? What about The Watchman Series?”
“Oh, that’s for tomorrow. Ya should be quite tired. Follow me.”
“Do we have a choice?” He asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice, and the woman just waved him off.
“No, dear.” She answered with a light tone and started walking away so they had no choice but to follow her. “And hey, don’t go explorin’ the house alone, ‘kay? This place got a bit of a personality. I can’t always tell where ya’ll end up.”
She broke into laughter, way too amused, like she’d said something absolutely hilarious.
Panic hit Zanka out of nowhere. For a second, it felt like he’d walked right into a predator’s mouth, like something unseen was watching him, waiting. Goosebumps crawled up his arms, sending a chill through him.
Something hit his shoulder causing him to flinch in surprise.
“So-o cool, man.” Jabber squeezed Zanka’s shoulder with his palm. “We should definitely go snooping ‘round.”
For a moment he froze; Jabber’s hand was solid and warm. No, warm. His body was burning up, way too hot, like, not normal-human hot at all.
Duh, he is very far from being called a human being.
Or perhaps Zanka’s senses actually got sharper in this damned place.
“Get off of me.” He shook Jabber’s hand free and picked up his pace.
The house felt like one giant labyrinth. After winding through endless rooms and corridors, they were finally heading up the stairs to the next floor. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here, like some of his memories had been wiped clean. But his gut was screaming at him that something was seriously wrong. It was more than just confusing… it felt like the house itself was alive.
Like it was…
“It's an illusion, isn't it?” They were still climbing the steps and the only constant thing was the woman leading them.
“My, oh my, this generation isn’t so lost after all.” She didn’t turn to face Zanka and just kept walking. “Yes. And no.”
She let out a short laugh, saying nothing after that. And what the heck is that supposed to mean? Zanka decided he was in a madhouse. These two were just right for the place.
Speaking of a madman.
“What will be, if I jump off?” Jabber leaned over the stair railing, peering down below.
“Go ahead and jump.” Zanka couldn’t understand how he’d lost to that idiot. Twice.
There was another question that had been bugging him from the start.
“You said you’d give us information about The Watchman Series, but what about the price? There’s no way this is actually free.” The woman kept moving forward. “So… are you gonna charge us, like Kuro, The Information Broker?”
“Oi, that old crow!” She shouted in indignation, her bracelets clinking and jangling as she waved her arms wildly. Did she have so much jewelry all the time? “I'm not doing extortion, hon. Besides, ya've already paid the price.”
He stopped, trying to make sense of what he’d just heard. “But how?”
She turned without warning, her smile as warm as ever. Yet there was something sly in it, something unstable, like it couldn’t be trusted.
“We’re here.” She said and pointed to the door on the side. “This way, lads. Who wants to come first?”
Zanka turned in the direction she pointed and saw a large set of double doors. He could’ve sworn they weren’t there a second ago. He turned sharply, and his breath caught – there was only a long corridor now, straight and endless, with no trace of the stairs.
Okay, now that was actually starting to scare him.
He reached for his jinki out of habit, then remembered that it was useless in this cursed place. He’s trapped. What if he walked into the room and ended up somewhere underground? Buried alive. Or worse… on the Sphere.
He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice himself moving backward until he hit something hard.
“You coming or what? Or are you scared, ” he felt Jabber’s voice vibrating straight into his bones, “Zanka.” Jabber dropped his tone, saying Zanka’s name close enough to his ear. A sensation ran through him, tickling every nerve, and he lunged to push the guy off.
“Fuck off. Stay away from me.”
Jabber laughed, flinging his head back and looking completely ridiculous. “Ya did it first, my friend.”
It's better to be thrown off the sky than to spend even a minute in the company of this psycho.
Fueled by these thoughts, he rushed to open the door and step inside, not caring one bit what might happen to him.