The Manor’s outer wall felt wrong: the reason you gave for refusing to enter the prophets’ meeting place. It had sounded nonsensical, even to your own ears; and you’d tried to countermand it; to tell yourself it was stupid to be scared of a place literal prophets were choosing to enter; but it hadn’t taken. And the friend who’d brought you there; the friend who’d promised to cancel their plans for the evening and go back home if you weren’t up to the task at any moment of the little get-together; they’d decided to go on and call you a whimp, enter the manor that was probably going to be in your nightmares for the next month, and leave you out in the cold. Where you’d been for the last hour or so, waiting like a dog because if you wanted to leave the tech-dimension, the house it would land you back on in the Physical required their authentication, and if you wanted to stay, the closest, cheapest hotel was an hour south-west. You’d sent them messages, trying to get them to give you their house’s code, but they’d ignored all your pleas. And now, you sat atop a short rock fence a few feet behind a brown, wooden bench watching the Manor and wondering why you didn’t want to enter its walls. Cho’s korring treason!

  The sound of footsteps along the estate’s road, coming closer. The entire outer compound had been empty since the last of the prophets had entered the house. No one entering and no one leaving, with the exception of the lady who'd brought you refreshments. A late-comer, or someone malicious; there to abscond with a lonesome woman no one, not even her own friend, would miss? Standing from the rock fence, dirty plate still in hand, you anticipated its use, while staring at the figure stepping closer and closer toward you. Soon enough, they’re close enough to see clearly. A dark-skinned man with red, short-cropped hair, wearing a black long-coat over a brown shirt and dark-blue cargo pants. The face looked familiar, but you couldn’t place it. He started walking faster, his gaze right on you. The plate fell, forgotten, and you turned intending to run, but the ground started to give way. Footsteps, louder and faster, accompanied by yells reverberated behind you and made your ears ring. Managing to run all of five steps toward the Manor, you fell onto the gravel on the third, nausea forcing the food you’d just eaten out. The world went blurry, but you managed a few sightings, as your mind shut down. The Manor’s front door open, and the lady in a thin, white sweater and red long-skirt who’d offered you food standing at the porch watching, as the red-haired man’s shadow came upon you. Hand reaching out to her, you stammered out a final plea before a solemn darkness took you.

  A thousand hammers hitting every ounce of your body; that is what you felt like in waking. Eyes still closed, you groaned, letting your hands feel the surface beneath. Wood. As if someone had played a prank and stolen your mattress after you’d already fallen asleep. Though, you didn’t remember one side of your bed ever carving upwards. The memories hit you like a hammer. A lady in white. A man in black. Eyes flitted open, and your upper body surged upwards. Head turning every which way, as your hand tightened its grip on the bench’s back rest. The man lied on the rock fence you’d vacated earlier, using his coat as a pillow, while the Lady was still standing on the Porch, with a few people behind her, most notable, your friend—Nenewi’Jasutha, who was yelling at her, while pointing a hand at you.

  Nena, doing the honorable thing, speaking on your behalf? Unlikely. So why… You rose from the bench, intending to go there and talk to them, get the code to their korring house so you could leave the nightmare, maybe. Gazing at him for a second, you wondered whether he was going to make a run on you again before taking a step. Nena had realized you were awake, and was gesturing for you to bolt it, come to the house. But its walls still felt wrong. Deal with it when the problem comes. For now, its a solution. You prepared to run.

  “Some friend you have, Azami’Wuthelynria,” the man said, hand still covering his eyes. “Makes me feel vindicated for having none, and that should not be the case.”

  Walking a step toward him, you asked; “how do you know my name?”

  “I know lots of names, Letheka’Pabaru,” There was a reason you’d wanted to meet with Prophets, and had seen this night as an opportunity to do so. A vision, both you and your sister had had while being halfway across the galaxy from each other. The mining of the core, done till the Supermassive was exhausted. An implosion, that would start from it but cover the whole breadth of the Galaxy Surumkathe. The answer to human hubris. And the birth of something new. Beings born of the imploded core. Meant to safeguard it from further abuse. Letheka’Pabaru. Core-Wraith. There was only one person who knew that name.

  “Qatha sent you,” that’s how you recognized him. He was her partner in crime. A thief of most renown, wanted by the Graystones themselves.

  “Merely wanted me to look out for you.” He let his hand fall off his face and his back rose from the fence, leaving his legs dangling off it.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Why did she tell you about the vision?” You walked toward him.

  “Because I’m a Wall-Climber.” His legs slowly swung.

  “Stop that! It’s making me dizzy,” you sat back on the bench. Watch Nena as they yelled at you from the Manor’s door. Tried to make you come towards them. Why couldn’t they? “Wall-Climber?”

  “What do people like calling Prophets?”

  A smile threatened to form on your face. “A wall.”

  “Because they rarely make sense. Even to themselves.”

  “So you what? Understand them better. Them and their prophecies.”

  “Yeah. But it’s just a skill. Could use it seven times before it stops working. The first time I ever used it was on your sister, and her vision.”

  You turned to look at him. “She’s not a prophet. Neither am I.”

  “Walls aren’t just for prophecies. You put them around memories too. The memory of your birth, for instance.”

  “But Surumkathe still exists.”

  “It’ll exist after impending doom. Only in ruin; but it’ll exist.”

  “Korring Time Travel! That’s your answer, oh great Climber of Walls?”

  “You’ll be born from a Supermassive Black Hole that’ll be mined to an almost death. I’ve met other Core-Wraiths; many dormant like yourself, and many activated. Some way older than me. Not all of you were going to follow the universe’s timeline. Be born to ruin in order to fix it.”

  Nena had resorted to kneeling on the ground, hands clasped together, making their own pleas to you. The lady just kept gazing at you. “They can’t leave the house, can they?”

  “Started a soul covenant with the lady in white the minute they entered. Until they complete it, their lives are void.”

  “Why did you run at me?”

  He pointed at the ground, and the plate which lied there. “Word of advice. Never eat food a stranger gives you. Especially when they live in a Manor you refuse to enter.”

  Core-stench. “What were they going to do to me?”

  He pointed at the lady gazing back. The other prophets had started taking Nena’s lead, kneeling in supplication, begging for your aid. “Turn you into another her. Another Djinn they could live lavishly off and buy expensive houses through till they needed to renew the power. Find another sucker.”

  “There were others.”

  “There are always others, Azami. Always the same house too. Greed and Laziness. Hand in hand.”

  “You knew.”

  “There are dozen of societies like this one in my Tech-Dimension alone. Full of Wannabe Prophets. Tormenting people they once called friends. You just happen to be the one person Qatha asked me to protect,” The Tech-Dimension’s spirit-system said.

  You turned back to look at him. His eyes glowed a strange blue. “I see why you haven’t any friends.”

  “Gets lonely sometimes; but I manage.”

  You stood from the bench. “Take me to her. Take me to my sister.”

  He nodded, jumping from the short fence onto the grass. “There’s a reason I didn’t take you to her while you were asleep.” He gestured at the wailing crowd.

  You turned back to look at them. At Nena, crying like their life depended on it. At the watching Djinn. “I can save them.”

  “The Djinn is connected to you until the Soul-Covenant is completed. That means seven boons. Seven souls you can save. Seven expensive houses you could wish for.”

  “And I bet you recommend the latter.”

  “Nothing beats a good view, Azami. Be careful, though. Djinns are known for their trickery.”

  You considered, watching your wannabe sacrificers all the while. Your friend. Your Djinn, who for the first time, since you woke moved, pointing a finger at you. No, not at you. Or the Spirit-System. But at the dirty plate on the ground. Picking it up, you watched as she rubbed a gloved hand on another. You echoed her, rubbing the plate like a lamp. Something touched your shoulder. Your eyes peered at it. A red, gloved hand. You turned to look. The lady in red and white, standing behind the bench, lowering her hand. Eyes go back to the porch. No one there. No one but Nena and their crowd of mimickers.

  I can save them. I can save her. My friend… No, not my friend. A gaze at the Man behind the Djinn. He nodded his head. A trickster. He called the lady a trickster, while all you saw was a person he’d abandoned. A person who didn’t have Qatha as a sister. A person who needed saving. Why would she trick you, if your boon serviced her in some way. So, you considered, and after a minute or two, found a way to benefit both parties of the Soul-Covenant.

  “I like the house, Djinn. Cleanse it in any way you would like so I might live in it without worry.” Cleanse it in way she would like, even if it meant purifying it by means of death, or by freeing any soul locked in its walls. By freeing herself. The Djinn smiled, and gave a nod. Screams from behind you. Not ones made in supplication. You turned to look, and witnessed the Lady in Red and White begin her work. Sweater soaked in red as she cut open the neck of a white-haired man. You didn’t have to look behind you again to know she’d vanished from there. Sitting back on the bench, you watched with a smile as Nena finally understood you were not going to help them. As they stood and ran into the house, tripping once before getting inside. You watched as a free Djinn followed in tow.

  Footsteps, behind you, coming closer; but you didn’t cower.

  “Skill Achieved: [Wall-Climber], Level 1—Seven uses permitted only within the Tech-Dimension, Avodon’Belerithe. Do you Accept, Azami’Wuthelynria Avendari?” The Spirit-System asked.

  “I do, and friends call me Azthel.”

  “Nethema Systemborne. A friend may call me... Theme,” he moved to the front and sat beside you.

  “Beautiful name.”

  “Right back at you.”

  Nena’s screams echoed across the compound, coaxing out a small laugh. You didn’t feel cold anymore, and soon enough, the Manor’s walls stopped feeling... wrong.