Chapter Seven: Visitors II
The silence after Diana left wasn't real silence.
Kane had learned to tell the difference.
This one was too still. Not the absence of sound—but the kind of hush that settled in cathedrals and funerals. Sacred. Final.
He didn't hear the door open. Didn't feel the air shift.
But when he turned around, she was there.
A woman. Young, maybe. Dressed simple—jeans, black tank top, silver ankh around her neck. Dark eyes, darker hair. Pale skin like the inside of a shell. No fanfare. No pressure.
Just presence.
Kane swallowed hard. "You're…"
"Death," she said.
She smiled. Not cruel. Not kind. Just… real. It disarmed him more than a scythe ever could.
"You're not here for me," he said quietly.
"No. Not today," she replied. "I'm just watching."
He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing. "That's not… comforting."
She gave a small shrug. "It wasn't meant to be. But I thought it'd be polite to say hello. Before the others start sniffing around."
"Others?"
"My siblings," she said. "Desire's already curious. Destiny knows, but won't interfere. Delirium—well, she's unpredictable. But the one you really don't want noticing you is Dream. Or Despair. Or worse."
Kane raised an eyebrow. "Worse than Despair?"
"You'll see," she said, almost gently.
He stepped closer. The air around her didn't smell like rot or ozone. It smelled like old pages. Earth after rain.
"You know what I am?" he asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Will you tell me?"
"No," she said, with a little tilt of her head. "But I'll tell you this: you need control. Sooner than you think. Because next time someone visits, it may not be me."
She turned toward the door, then paused.
"Nelson's doing what he can," she added. "Let him. And listen."
Then she was gone.
No noise. No light. Just a moment that ended.
---
Inside, Nelson was already waiting. He didn't ask who had been there. He knew. His brow was furrowed, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"You're going to draw more of them," he said.
"I know," Kane said quietly.
"I should send you away," Nelson muttered. "Let someone more powerful deal with you."
"Then why haven't you?"
"Because I don't trust most people with something they don't understand. And I do understand part of you, Kane. Enough to know you're not evil."
Kane waited, holding his breath.
Nelson finally sighed. "I'll help. But we keep it quiet. Low. I'm going to teach you how to hide. How to dull your presence. How to compress your aura and mask your essence from higher beings. It's not flashy. It's not fun. But it might keep you alive."
"And until when?"
"Until you're ready," Nelson said. "Or until someone finds you anyway."
---
The days that followed were different.
No more open practice. No casual meditations. Kane learned how to compress. How to bind raw power in symbolic gestures, sacred geometry, cloaking runes.
"It's not suppression," Nelson explained. "It's discipline. A dam, not a lock."
And Kane felt it—the difference between being powerful and wielding power.
Some nights he shook from holding it in. The energy in him wanted out. It wanted to stretch across planes, whisper to stars, challenge gods.
But he didn't let it.
He learned.
He hid.
And above them, far beyond the veil, someone… or something… watched.
Waiting.
---