Chapter 8

  Aster opened his eyes, his senses slowly adjusting as he found himself back in his material form on the Material Plane. The real world felt muted in comparison to the vivid intensity of the Astral Plane, its colors duller, its energy subdued. A wave of sadness settled over him as he exhaled, his thoughts drifting back to Matter’s death, the weight of that loss pressing against his chest.

  Shaking off the lingering melancholy, he shifted his stiff limbs, grimacing at the strain of sitting in the same position for over twenty-four hours. As he rose to his feet, a few deep stretches loosened his joints enough to move freely again. He climbed down through the trapdoor into the hallway, deciding that breakfast would be the first order of business.

  In the kitchen, he pulled out eggs, cheese, tomatoes, and onions, setting to work on an omelet while the coffee machine slowly warmed up, preparing his usual cappuccino. Despite the sheer whirlwind of activity he had experienced in the Astral Plane, his body felt rested—rejuvenated, even. He had expected exhaustion to hit him like a crashing wave, but instead, it felt as if he had simply been asleep for the entire twenty-four hours, rather than living through a series of intense, otherworldly events.

  With his omelet plated and coffee in hand, Aster returned to the rooftop, settling into his usual spot as he gazed out over the city. He ate slowly, his mind idly comparing the Material Plane’s skyline to its Astral counterpart. The differences were striking—here, the city was rigid, defined by physical laws, while in the Astral Plane, it had been something more fluid, ever-shifting, infused with an energy that was absent from this world.

  As he finished his meal, he glanced at his watch. 10 AM. He had the entire day ahead of him before he needed to return to Galamad that evening for class at 6:30 PM.

  Aster leaned back, staring up at the sky, debating how to spend the hours until then. Staying home didn’t feel like an option—the house was suffocating, every corner filled with reminders of Matter. He barely knew the man, yet his sacrifice weighed heavily on him. Matter had died keeping a promise to Aster’s parents, a promise that had cost him everything. Gratitude and guilt warred within him, threatening to drag him into a spiral of despair if he lingered too long on the thought.

  No. He wouldn’t spend the day trapped in his own mind.

  With his decision made, Aster stood, brushing off his hands. He would walk through the city, let its movement and noise drown out the thoughts clawing at him. There was too much ahead—too much to prepare for—to let grief consume him now.

  _________________________________________________________________________________

  Aster walks through the bustling streets of Johannesburg, it took him a good 20min to walk from the house to the city district, casting a strong contrast between the quite suburbs and the rhythmic hum of the city currently swirling around him. The air was thick with the scent of street food—fried samosas and roasted maize mingling with the exhaust of passing cars. Laughter, snippets of conversation, and the constant beeping of taxis filled the space.

  Even though Aster had decided to leave the house in the hopes of escaping his thought, the past few days played on a loop in the back of his mind, the memories colliding within him, shifting like the traffic rushing past. He had been so close to death, curled up in an alley, fighting the cold, unable to see any way out. Then, the sudden warmth that pulled him away from the brink. The Astral Plane. It seemed too surreal, too beautiful to be real, especially after everything he’d been through. He could still remember how it had felt to cross into that realm—the overwhelming colors, the swirling, impossible landscapes. It felt like a dream.

  He paused to let a bus pass, the roar of its engine fading into the background as his thoughts drifted. Was he sure it was real? Or had he imagined it all in the fevered haze of near-death? The creatures he'd met there—whimsical, strange—had seemed too vivid, too solid to be anything but truth. He knew now it was real. That was the relief that had settled deep within him. But that relief was now tainted with a gnawing ache. Matter. He was gone. Aster hadn't even had time to process it fully before the weight of it hit him like a blow to the chest. The mentor, the friend, the strange protector—gone before he could ask all the questions that had been left hanging in the air.

  With Matter’s death, a flood of memories had resurfaced—the laughter of his parents, their warm embrace, the sense of safety that had evaporated when they were taken from him. Aster had never been able to ask the questions that mattered, never been able to trace the strange shadows in their past. But with Matter, there had been a glimmer of understanding—a chance to unravel the tangled mess of his lineage. Now, it was all gone. And what remained was the dark, unanswered mystery of his parents’ lives.

  Aster stepped into a busy intersection, the press of people brushing past him, their voices a blur. The crowd moved with purpose, while he walked in a haze, his mind occupied by thoughts of what lay ahead. Galamad, the next stop on this impossible journey. A place where answers might be found, where he could begin to learn how to wield the strange power that now lived inside him. But even as the prospect of knowledge and power beckoned, there was a gnawing doubt. Could he ever control the Void Wyrm that threatened to tear him apart? Would he ever stop being a victim of the force that had tainted his entire life up until this point?

  Aster’s hairs suddenly stood up on the back of his neck. He suddenly felt the distinctive feeling of being watched, subtle but unmistakable. He quickened his pace, trying to shake off the feeling. The street felt the same—no one seemed out of place—but the unease grew stronger. Someone was watching him. His eyes darted between the passing crowds, scanning the faces, but no one met his gaze. The sensation only intensified, like an invisible weight pressing down on him.

  He glanced down a narrow alley as he passed, his pulse unexpectedly spiking in response to the sudden, inexplicable sense of danger. Before he could react, a rush of motion—too fast, too sudden. A sharp force clamped over his head, and everything went black.

  Aster froze for a heartbeat, the world plunging into suffocating darkness. The sounds of the city vanished in an instant, replaced by an eerie silence. His heart thudded in his chest as panic surged, but the tightness around his head and the jarring motion that followed left him disoriented. He barely had time to register the shift before he was tossed into the confined space, his body hitting the cold, unyielding surface of what felt like a trunk.

  _________________________________________________________________________________

  The sudden rush of light as the bag was yanked from Aster’s head made his eyes sting. He blinked rapidly, his vision adjusting just in time to meet the gleefully unhinged gaze of Sergeant Frikkie. A headache threatened to bloom at his temples.

  'Of all the people he had to deal with today.'

  Sergeant Frikkie—the ex-cop, the loan shark, the man who had thrived in the chaos of the old government. He had slipped effortlessly into the new order, his corruption spreading like a virus as he embedded himself in organized crime. Once exposed for his role in the murder of a whistleblower, he had been unceremoniously suspended, leaving him free to fully embrace his life of crime.

  Sergeant Frikkie grinned as he saw the fear in Aster’s eyes.

  It was the kind of grin that never reached his eyes—gleaming with amusement but dark with something else, something hungry. Aster’s pulse spiked as he took in the ex-cop’s thick, calloused hands resting on his knees, his posture one of relaxed dominance. The dimly lit room, the peeling walls, the faint stench of sweat and cheap cologne—all of it slammed Aster back into a state he had tried to outgrow: prey.

  Frikkie leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “Aster, Aster, Aster…” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “What are we going to do with you?”

  Aster swallowed, his throat dry.

  “You owed me R15K a week ago,” Frikkie continued, voice light, conversational—like they were discussing an overdue book rental. “And here I was, worried you’d run.” His grin stretched wider. “Glad to see you didn’t.”

  Panic clawed at the edges of his mind. His body remembered exactly what Frikkie was capable of. That wasn’t something you forgot—not when you grew up in his shadow, watching him drag screaming men into the back of warehouses, only for them to come out broken, bloody, and barely breathing. Years of fear and survival instincts didn’t just vanish, not when confronted by the bane of your existence—especially after being bagged and dragged into a room like a captured animal. But as the initial flood of adrenaline faded, clarity returned.

  How much did he owe? R1.2 million. I have that and more in cash.

  Aster took a slow breath, forcing his thoughts into order. He could pay. He had the money. That alone should keep him safe.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Frikkie watched him like a cat watching a wounded bird. His silence was worse than his words. It meant he was thinking. Deciding how much he wanted to enjoy this before the transaction was over.

  Before Aster could speak, a sharp knock at the door cut through the tension.

  Frikkie’s jaw twitched. Annoyed. “Enter.”

  The door creaked open, and a heavyset man stepped inside, dragging a small girl by the nape of her neck.

  Aster’s blood ran cold.

  She was crying—quiet, desperate sobs that barely made a sound. She couldn’t have been older than eleven. Her small frame trembled, her hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into her skin.

  “The new merchandise has arrived,” the man announced flatly.

  Frikkie barely spared her a glance as he and the man starts discussing logistics.

  But Aster…

  The moment she stepped into the room, a sickness spread through his chest. A familiar, cloying pressure, like invisible tendrils clinging to her spirit. He had felt this before.

  Aster’s breath caught.

  He closed his eyes, forcing himself to see—not with his physical senses, but with his Astral Sight. And there it was, writhing inside her like a living parasite.

  A Void Wyrm.

  For a second, his heart stopped.

  Rage and horror collided in his chest. The pieces snapped together in an instant—the Wyrm had twisted her fate, manipulating the threads of her existence until she had ended up here. It had poisoned her path, warping the world around her so that she was meant to be trafficked. Meant to suffer.

  Unless someone stopped it.

  Aster’s hands clenched into fists. His mind reeled back to the moment he had been infected. To the suffering. The hopelessness. The knowledge that he had been nothing more than a piece of meat, doomed to be used until there was nothing left of him.

  'That could have been me!'

  If not for Matter, if not for his intervention, Aster would have been standing exactly where this girl was—another lost soul, broken beyond repair, waiting to be swallowed whole.

  The rage inside him crystallized into something sharp.

  'I won’t let that happen.'

  It wasn’t just about her. It was about him. About trying to make sense of Matter’s sacrifice. About making sure that his death meant something.

  His voice came out steady. Cold.

  “I can pay you in full.”

  The room shifted.

  Frikkie’s head tilted, his predatory eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He studied Aster, searching for the catch. Then, slowly, his grin returned.

  “R1.8 million,” he said.

  Aster’s heart stuttered.

  I only owed R1.2 million.

  Of course. Frikkie wasn’t stupid. He smelled money. The moment a debtor suddenly had funds, the game changed. The numbers shifted. The goal was no longer collecting—it was bleeding.

  Aster wanted to argue. Wanted to call him out. But his survival instincts flared—there was no winning against a man like this with words.

  He forced himself to think.

  R1.8 million in cash. His car—worth about R600K. His house—R3.6 million. He could pay Frikkie off. But he had to take out a loan against his assets to do so.

  Placing himself back under the debtors blade to save this girl.

  His jaw tightened.

  “I have R1.8 million on me,” he said evenly. “I can transfer it now. But I need a week to get the rest.”

  Frikkie’s brow furrowed. “The rest?”

  Aster turned his gaze to the girl.

  “I want to buy her,” he said. “I’ll offer R600K.”

  The room went still.

  The girl had stopped crying. She was staring at him, her eyes wide, disbelieving.

  Frikkie, however, was amused.

  His lips curled, his expression twisting with delight. “Now that’s interesting,” he murmured, tapping his fingers against the desk.

  He turned to Anathi, finally giving her a real look.

  “Ah, but this one…” He sighed, shaking his head in mock regret as he chuckled. “Young Anathi won’t be that cheap, I’m afraid.” He turned his gaze to the girl, feigning a look of sadness. “Her parents were important people—upstanding citizens, real moral types. They made enemies. Lots of enemies.” His voice dropped, the mock sympathy vanishing. “The asking price is closer to R1 million.”

  “After all, once her parents’ old rivals get a hold of her…” He smirked. “Well, let’s just say after the first three times, the returns will start diminishing. But don’t worry—there won’t be a lack of clients. I’ll be sure to milk her for everything she’s worth.”

  Aster’s nails dug into his palms.

  He had expected this.

  He knew Frikkie would push the price.

  And yet, hearing it—seeing the way he spoke about her like she was cattle—made him want to drive a knife straight through the bastard’s throat.

  But now wasn’t the time.

  He had already calculated how far he could push. The money was there. The deal could be made.

  So he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t argue.

  He met Frikkie’s eyes and said,

  “Deal.”

  _________________________________________________________________________________

  The drive home was thick with tension. The air inside the car felt stale, suffocating, as Aster sat in the passenger seat, eyes fixed ahead, his body still coiled from the encounter. Frikkie’s heavy hands drummed against the steering wheel as he drove, a smirk tugging at his lips. He didn’t need to speak—his presence alone was a reminder that this wasn’t over.

  Anathi sat in the back, her small frame pressed against the door, as far from Aster and Frikkie as she could get. She didn’t cry, didn’t whimper, but her fingers twitched in her lap, betraying the terror she was trying so hard to suppress.

  Aster wasn’t worried about Frikkie knowing his address. In the grand scheme of things, the loan shark was just another predator in a sea of sharks. Compared to what Aster had seen—what he had fought—Frikkie was barely a footnote in his story. A nuisance. The kind of monster he would be able to handle through the Astral Plane.

  Still, the fact remained: Frikkie wasn’t done with him. Not yet.

  When the car rolled to a stop in front of No. 7, Heart Ln, Frikkie took his time before unlocking the doors. He turned in his seat, eyes flicking between Aster and Anathi with a look of amused curiosity, as if trying to figure out what kind of game Aster thought he was playing. Then, with a shake of his head, he clicked the locks open.

  Aster turned to Anathi, who remained frozen, her hands clenched in her lap. He nudged her gently. “It’s okay,” he said softly, tilting his head towards the house. “You’re safe. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  She looked up at him then, eyes searching his face for deceit. But whatever she found in his expression seemed to be enough. Hesitant but determined, she pushed open the door and climbed out. Aster followed, ignoring Frikkie as he stepped onto the pavement.

  But Frikkie wasn’t done. He leaned over, one arm draped casually over the wheel, his grin never quite reaching his eyes.

  “R2.8 million by the end of the week,” he reminded Aster, his voice carrying a quiet menace. “Or I’ll be back. And if you try to screw me over, you can bet your ass she’ll be earning her keep. You both will.”

  With that, he slammed the door shut and drove off, the engine roaring into the distance. Aster watched the taillights vanish into the evening haze, hoping—praying—it would be the last time he ever had to deal with Frikkie.

  He turned, making sure Anathi hadn’t bolted. She was standing in front of the house, shifting anxiously on her feet, glancing between the front door and him. Aster sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He had no idea what he was doing. He just promised Frikkie nearly three million rand—money he didn’t have. The bank wouldn’t give him a loan, not with his credit score in the gutter. He’d need collateral. His house? Definitely. But without a proof of income, the bank would shove him out before he could even finish his sentence.

  And then there was Anathi.

  The Void Wyrm inside her had been feeding on every bit of fortune she ever had, warping her fate. If Aster hadn’t interfered, she would have ended up exactly where the Wyrm wanted her—enslaved, used, discarded. That thought twisted his gut.

  Maybe Lena would know something. She had a friend who died from the same affliction. She might understand the symptoms, the timeline, the cure. And hell, maybe she could even co-sign a loan.

  But that was a problem for later. Right now, Anathi needed something much simpler: a place to breathe.

  Aster walked up to her, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. She flinched when he neared but held her ground. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, making a conscious effort not to seem threatening.

  As the door creaked open, a flood of light from the street lamps spilled inside, illuminating the space within. Aster hesitated for a brief second, a sudden wave of memory washing over him. He remembered his first time standing in this doorway—scared, uncertain, alone.

  Anathi must be feeling the same. Maybe even worse.

  The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, until Aster’s stomach growled, loud and obnoxious. The tension cracked just a little. He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m going to make us some dinner,” he said, stepping inside and flipping on the lights. “I know you’re scared. And confused. But please, bear with me. I wasn’t expecting any of this when I left the house this morning.” He glanced at her. “Why don’t you come sit with me in the kitchen? I’ll make you some rooibos.”

  For a moment, she didn’t move. Then, cautiously, she stepped inside, her thin frame barely making a sound as she padded across the floor.

  Aster walked to the kitchen, filling the kettle and pulling out the ingredients for an alfredo pasta. He could feel Anathi lingering in the hallway, uncertain, but after a minute, she crept closer, finally settling onto one of the counter chairs where he places a warm cup of tea in front of her.

  She wrapped her hands around the mug, staring into the amber liquid before finally speaking.

  “Why did you buy me?” Her voice was small, hesitant. “What do you want from me?” She glanced at him then, her fingers tightening around the ceramic. “I can’t make you a million rand back.”

  Her breath hitched as panic started creeping in, the reality of being sold clawing at her composure. Was he her master now? Was she expected to repay him? Would he force himself on her?

  Aster saw it in her eyes, the spiraling fear, and his gut twisted. He wanted to reach out, to reassure her, but he knew better. Instead, he met her gaze and spoke evenly.

  “I didn’t buy you to own you. I bought you to save you.”

  She stilled, searching his face for deception. Finding none, she hesitated, then slowly nodded, as if accepting that, for now, she would believe him.

  “You and I share something in common,” Aster continued. “Something I can’t explain right now. But for now, just know this: Your ‘luck’—or your ‘curse,’ as I used to call it—is not your fault.”

  Anathi didn’t respond. But she didn’t argue either. She just sipped her tea, her posture a little less rigid than before. It wasn’t trust. Not yet. But it was a start.

  Aster finished cooking and set a plate of pasta in front of her. “Eat. Then you can pick any room in the house. Watch TV, use the internet—whatever makes you comfortable.”

  He grabbed his own plate and turned toward the door. “I’ll be in the attic until the morning, please don’t disturb me, I’ll find someone to help talk to you by tomorrow, otherwise please think of this as your home now”

  Anathi looked up, a question in her eyes, but she didn’t ask it. Not yet. Instead, she just nodded, turning her attention back to her food.

  Aster exhaled, stepping up the stairs and into the attic where the brass circle waited for his next crossover into Galamad.

  He had six days to find R2.8 million.

  And who knows how long he had time to figure out how to save her from the Void Wyrm.

  No pressure.