Kaine knelt in the dust of a forgotten place and opened his palms. Two orbs hovered above his hands. The blue one pulsed warm, a gift that sharpened him with every breath. The red one hissed cold, a punishment waiting for anyone who came at him wrong. He had two curses now. He needed ten. After the tenth, he would step onto the throne older things still guarded, and he would become the king of every ghost and curse in the world. He closed his fingers. The orbs sank into his chest and settled like quiet weights. He stood, steady, counting. Two down. Eight to go. Somewhere far off, something older noticed the small pulse he had just made, and Kaine felt the air shift. The hunt had started, and now he had to move.