Jack carefully eased himself out of Kleo’s embrace, mindful not to disturb her. Her soft, rhythmic snores brought a faint smile to his lips. He crept to find his clothes, dressing quickly and heading to the far side of the room, where the shadows seemed to stretch and shift unnaturally.

  From those shadows, the figure emerged. Humanoid in shape but unmistakably inhuman, it was cloaked in a dark robe, its cowl obscuring much of its form. Where a face should have been, there was only a narrow slit, behind which shifting features faded in and out of focus. Eyes were ever-present—sometimes two, sometimes more—rearranging themselves in patterns that defied logic.

  Startled as if waking from a dream, Jack found the figure staring at him.

  “What is this? Who is this?” the figure hissed. Its voice was low and rasping, accompanied by a chorus of faint, otherworldly voices that seemed to emanate from the shadows themselves.

  What? Who? the voices echoed, ethereal and high-pitched.

  He is not the girl. Not the girl, they whispered.

  The figure shifted its gaze toward Kleo, who remained soundly asleep, protected within the wards. It studied her for a moment before returning its attention to Jack.

  “The woman is rich with secrets, and secrets are our greatest desire,” it said, the chorus chiming in eagerly.

  Secrets, yes, secrets we desire.

  “Careful, Jack, her secrets will devour you.”

  Devour, the voices wailed, the word slicing through the air like a blade.

  “She hides within the wards,” the figure mused, “but she cannot remain there forever. We will find the loosest thread of her secrets, and when we pull it, she will unravel until nothing remains.”

  Pull the thread. Pull the thread, the chorus demanded with frantic urgency.

  “We would keep her secrets,” the figure said, its tone softening though still unsettling. We would add them to ourselves and use them to close the gaps between who we were and who we are. It is the secrets we do not know that fragment us.”

  Shattered. Broken. Incomplete, the chorus wept.

  Jack steadied himself. “Who are you?”

  The figure hesitated as if caught off guard. “My name is Leon,” it finally said, and the chorus fell silent for a moment.

  “That’s a lie,” Jack replied confidently.

  Lie. Lie. Lie, the chorus chimed, their accusation rippling through the tense air.

  The figure’s mouth twisted into a grotesque smile, its features warping and shifting again.

  Jack forced himself to look away, unwilling to be drawn into the hypnotic chaos.

  “Yes,” the figure admitted, “Leon is not our true name. But it is an old name, one we have worn before. It does not fit us well, does it?”

  Not our name. Not our name, the chorus agreed.

  “You may call us Agaliarept,” it offered, “though clunky, it carries ancient meanings that align with some aspects of our nature.”

  “That’s not your name either,” Jack said.

  Not our name. Not our name, the chorus echoed, their tone tinged with amusement.

  “No,” the figure admitted again, its voice taking on a wry edge. “Our true name remains hidden, even from us. We have known it many times over the ages, but it always slips away. It seems we knew Leon was wrong the moment we spoke it.”

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  Lost. Our name is lost, the chorus lamented.

  Jack seized on this revelation. In Kleo’s dream, the creature had been named Ke’moto. Jack wondered if this could be the leverage he needed.

  “Why do you desire secrets?” he asked.

  “It is our nature,” the figure replied.

  Desire secrets, the chorus roared, their voices dark with hunger. We are secrets.

  “We are keepers of a sort,” the figure explained, “a guardian of things that would be lost without us. Secrets show us glimpses into the world’s truth across millennia. They show us how things were, how they are—and sometimes—how they will be.”

  “Are you an oracle?” Jack asked skeptically.

  “Hmmm. Oracle. Yes, this is a word we know.

  Oracle? Not Oracle. Yesss, Oracle,” the chorus debated, their voices rising and falling like waves.

  “Yes, we are an Oracle of sorts, but we are not an oracle to divine the future,” the figure clarified. “We are an oracle that archives the past. But in our minds, there is little difference. The future is merely the past in waiting, Jack—a thread spun from all that has come before.”

  The future is the past. The past creates the future. They are but a single thread, the chorus murmured.

  “And yet,” the figure mused, its tone darkening, “the future remains unseen, even to those wretched harpies, the Fates.”

  Its voice dripped with venom.

  “Foul divinities, scribbling infinite variations into their ledger. Even they cannot predict the exact path that will unfold.”

  Foul! Most foul, the chorus cried, their lament vibrating through Jack’s chest.

  “When the path reveals itself, the Fates see what lies ahead more clearly. And I assure you, Jack, what lies ahead alwaysbrings more suffering.”

  The figure leaned closer, its presence suffocating. “Do not underestimate the agony woven into their designs.”

  Suffering, the chorus moaned, their lament a dirge that seemed to resonate in Jack’s bones.

  “I do not want you to harm Kleo,” Jack said, his voice firm despite the oppressive air.

  The figure’s head tilted as though considering him. “Yes, you mean to protect her. Is it love, perhaps? But that is no secret—given your binding.”

  Jack stiffened in surprise.

  “Yes,” the figure continued, its tone dismissive. “I can sense it: fresh, pungent, obvious.”

  Obvious, the chorus echoed mockingly.

  “But you cannot protect her, as the path must unfold, and her role in the grand scheme of the Gods, Fates, and Demons will be magnified. And you, Jack, you will play your part. I see suffering—your suffering. But do not fear, Jack. All paths are suffering.”

  Jack winced—he was not a big fan of suffering.

  Then, with as much nonchalance as he could muster, Jack said, “I have a secret. Perhaps it is a secret that you would find of value.”

  Liar. It Lies, Lies, roared the chorus, and the voice was so loud he looked to Kleo, who remained undisturbed, still sleeping peacefully.

  Jack waited as the creature assessed him.

  “You have secrets, Jack, but they are inconsequential. Until today, you were a man of little consequence,” it said, pausing.

  “However, I will play this game with you. What are the rules?”

  Jack thought for a minute, trying to understand what he should trade for revealing the figure’s name.

  “It is not a game. It is a bargain,” Jack said.

  There was a long wait before the creature responded.

  “A bargain must benefit both parties. What do you propose to take from us? And what will you provide that we find valuable?”

  “First, the girl’s secrets will remain her own. You will not take them from her. Ever.”

  The creature thought about this. “And?”

  “In the future, when I deem it appropriate, I will trade you a secret for one of your secrets of equal value. I will let you determine which secrets are relevant and have equal value.”

  “We can just take your secrets if we want them. Why should we bargain with you?”

  “Because in time, you will forget my secret, and when the time comes that you need it, I will remind you.”

  Never forget, Never forget. Said the chorus emphatically.

  “We never forget a secret. They are irrevocably fused and form the essence of our very soul.”

  “You forgot your true name,” Jack said, shrugging his shoulders.

  Lost. Our name is lost, the chorus lamented again.

  The dark figure remained still, wracking its memories for its proper name, unable to understand how it might be possible that the man knew, but they didn’t.

  Finally, it spoke.

  “We agree to the two terms you have stated under the condition that your secret is what you imply. Otherwise, I will extract her every secret and happily destroy her. Do you dare risk the bargain under these terms?”

  Jack hesitated. The thought of putting Kleo at risk made him nauseous, and his body trembled with the weight of his decision.

  “Yes, Ke’moto, I agree to the terms.”

  Ke’moto, Ke’moto, ‘Ke’moto cried the chorus, its emotions ranging between ecstasy and agony, and the primary voice, the figure’s voice, let out a great wail that turned Jack’s trembling body into a shudder that shook his entire frame.

  We weep. Weep with Joy. Weep in pain. We Weep, sobbed the chorus.

  The figure raised itself from the ground, still crying out, and vanished into the deep shadows, leaving Jack alone by the pool. Kleo, still lost to sleep.

  “Okay. That was fucking weird.”