The next morning, Yangon felt heavier.
Thuta woke up in his tiny flat, tangled in a sweat-drenched blanket, his heart pounding like a war drum. The crimson sigil on his palm had flared violently in the middle of the night. Not from pain — from proximity. Something, or someone, had been near.
He didn't know how he knew.
But he was sure.
He stumbled out of bed, still in yesterday's shirt, and washed his face in the cracked sink. The water sputtered, rusty for a second, then cleared. He splashed it over his eyes again and again.
Still there — the weight. The hum. Like the world was holding its breath.
He stared at the sigil. It glowed faintly, like a dying ember that refused to go out.
"Are you warning me?" he whispered.
No answer, of course.
Outside, the streets were waking. Vendors called out from their carts, motorbikes coughed to life, and the scent of mohinga mixed with exhaust fumes drifted up through the broken window. Yangon lived on, unbothered by ancient curses.
But Thuta was bothered.
He dressed quickly, grabbed the scroll, and headed out.
---
The university library was quiet, dimly lit, and comforting in its musty silence. He ducked past the student area and went straight to the back — the restricted shelves where only staff and tenured researchers dared venture.
U Sein Myint was already there, hunched over a stack of old texts.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," the professor said, not looking up.
"Worse," Thuta replied. "I think a ghost saw me."
He sat across from him, laying out the scroll. The symbols shimmered faintly now, pulsing in the same rhythm as the sigil.
"Last night," Thuta began, "I saw him again."
U Sein Myint's gaze sharpened. "The watcher?"
Thuta nodded. "Didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there. And then... gone."
The professor leaned back in his chair, hands steepled. "They say he only appears when a threshold is crossed."
"What threshold?"
"The moment when your role changes. From witness… to participant."
Thuta rolled his eyes. "Great. So what now? Do I get a badge and matching cloak?"
"You get hunted."
That shut him up.
U Sein Myint slid a parchment across the table. It was a sketch — crudely drawn, but unmistakable. A man in a wide-brimmed hat. No face. Just a shadow where his features should be.
"This image appears in Zawgyi records going back centuries. He has no name. No known allegiance. Only that he appears after a seal is broken."
"So, he's not trying to kill me?"
"Maybe not," the professor said. "But he's not trying to help you either."
Thuta leaned back. "Good to know I'm not alone. Bad to know I'm never really alone."
---
That night, the air turned strange.
Thuta sat alone in his room, curtains drawn. The sigil was warm. The scroll was glowing. The shadows on the wall moved ever so slightly, just out of sync with the candlelight.
He stared at the flame. It didn't flicker.
He blinked.
It flickered backward.
His breath caught.
The room shifted. Not in space — in feeling. Like it remembered something he hadn't lived.
A whisper curled through the still air:
"Flame-born... why do you walk unguarded?"
Thuta spun.
No one.
But then — smoke. Thin tendrils seeping under the doorframe. His throat tightened. Not from fear. From memory.
His fingers brushed the scroll. It burned cold.
He opened it.
Symbols moved. Rearranged.
New lines appeared.
A phrase emerged:
"To see is to be seen."
Suddenly, the mirror across the room fogged.
He hadn't lit incense. No steam. Just fog.
A handprint pressed against the glass. From the inside.
Thuta grabbed his satchel.
Time to leave.
---
He burst into the street and ran. Past the noodle carts, past the neon signs, past the staring night dogs who didn't bark.
He didn't stop until he was in the heart of Kandawgyi Park, surrounded by darkness and still water.
He panted, bent over, catching his breath.
"You can't run from the mark."
The voice was barely audible.
He turned.
Just shadows.
But in the corner of his eye — a man. Watching. Again.
And just like before, he was gone before Thuta could speak.
The sigil on his palm flared.
And for the first time since all this began, Thuta felt something new.
Not just fear.
But purpose.
---
Somewhere far away, across rooftops slick with rain and silence, the watcher adjusted his satchel.
Smoke curled around his boots.
He did not smile.
But his presence rippled through the city like a match held to dry paper.
Things had begun.
And Thuta had passed the first test.
-----