Janet's Apartment
The snow had stopped, leaving the city wrapped in a blanket of white under the soft morning light. Janet stood silently by her suitcase, her gaze fixed on a photograph on the table. It was a picture of her and her grandmother at the family estate in New Zealand, taken during her childhood. In the photo, she was a bright, smiling girl, her grandmother's hand gently resting on her shoulder. That carefree innocence seemed a lifetime away.
With a sigh, Janet opened a nearby drawer and took out a small wooden box. The box, worn smooth with time, carried a faint scent of aged wood. She lifted the lid gently, revealing its contents: a red cinnabar talisman, a gold-threaded prayer bead bracelet, and a piece of yellowed paper inscribed with delicate symbols. These sacred objects had been her companions through years of spiritual practice, serving as conduits to the unseen world and shields against unseen dangers.
She carefully placed the items into the hidden compartment of her suitcase before turning to the living room table. Arranged there were her simple ritual tools: a small copper incense burner, a bowl of clear water, a lit red candle, and several blank talisman papers.
Her gaze lingered on the setup as she took a deep breath, beginning to chant in a low, rhythmic tone. Her voice resonated with an otherworldly calm, blending into the quiet air. While chanting, she swiftly drew an intricate sigil on a piece of talisman paper using a cinnabar pen. The lines flowed effortlessly, as if she had practiced them countless times.
Once finished, she pressed the talisman gently against her chest. A faint glow emanated from the paper before it dissolved into her body, leaving behind a subtle warmth.
She formed a hand seal, dipping her fingers into the bowl of water, and murmured, "May the heavens be clear, protect me on this journey. Let no evil harm, let no path waver." She poured the water into a basin near the incense burner, and the flame flickered briefly as if acknowledging her invocation.
"This road has been long," she thought, extinguishing the candle. "But perhaps this time, I'll find something different."
Janet moved to the window, her eyes resting on the snow-covered streets below. There was a bittersweet depth to her gaze. Years of spiritual practice had given her extraordinary abilities but had also burdened her with invisible weights. This trip back to the New Zealand estate wasn't just about family matters; it was also a long-delayed search for clarity within herself.
Switching off the lights and locking the door, she pulled her suitcase behind her as she stepped out into the cold. Tightening her scarf against the chill, she looked ahead with quiet determination.
"No matter what, I have to find my way."
Mike's Office
Manhattan's morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Mike's sleek, modern office, illuminating a dual-monitor setup on his desk. On one screen, global stock indices fluctuated in real-time; on the other, a detailed asset analysis report awaited his review. Outside, the city buzzed with orderly chaos, its traffic like veins carrying the lifeblood of urban life.
Mike sat in his ergonomic chair, simultaneously engaging in a video call with his European team while skimming a printed report in his left hand. His right hand danced across the keyboard, firing off commands and annotations.
"Mike," said a financial analyst on the call, their voice tinged with fatigue, "we've developed a preliminary model for the Eurobond hedge, but we'll need additional data to finalize it."
"Get it done within two hours," Mike responded firmly, his tone calm but authoritative. He removed his headset, the meeting still ongoing, as he shifted focus to another matter.
A knock on the door interrupted his flow. His assistant entered, placing a file on his desk. "This is the latest report on Janet."
Mike continued toggling through data on the screen while flipping through the file. The report delved deeper into Janet's mysterious background, revealing her ties to an ancient New Zealand estate and hinting at spiritual experiments conducted there. One line caught his attention:
"The estate's spiritual experiments are believed to involve research on the fabled 'Mark of Fate.'"
His mind flashed back to the cultural salon days ago. Janet's calm demeanor, her unshakeable confidence, and the inexplicable power she had demonstrated were all tied to the burning sensation he felt in his chest. There was no doubt—the mark on him was connected to her.
Placing the report down, he looked at his assistant. "Compile my agenda for the next two days. I need to adjust my schedule."
The assistant hesitated for a moment before asking, "Are you planning to travel?"
"Yes," Mike replied, his tone steady but laced with urgency. "To New Zealand."
The assistant frowned, clearly concerned. "You have a quarterly review with the Asia-Pacific team this afternoon, two high-net-worth client signings tomorrow, and the executive committee's budget meeting the day after."
Mike nodded, already formulating a solution. "Move the Asia-Pacific meeting up. I'll join via video during the flight. Assign Matthew to handle the client meetings—brief him on key points. As for the budget meeting, prepare the materials and have my deputy take the lead."
He stood, his decision final. "Arrange the private jet. We leave tonight."
The assistant, recognizing the futility of protest, quickly exited to execute his orders.
The First Night at the Estate
Janet's car rolled down the gravel driveway of the sprawling New Zealand estate. Familiar sights greeted her: endless green pastures, the serene expanse of forest, and the elegant white manor standing proud against the backdrop of the hills. The golden sunlight filtered through the trees, carrying the scent of fresh grass on the breeze. It seemed untouched by time, yet unease simmered within her.
The family's butler greeted her at the door with a respectful nod. "Welcome home, Miss Janet. The matriarch is expecting you."
Inside, the warmth of the manor enveloped her. The crackling fireplace, the polished wooden furniture, and the faint scent of lavender all stirred memories of her childhood. Yet, as she walked through the corridors, an inexplicable tension began to creep into her senses. Faint whispers seemed to follow her, though she saw no one.
That night, she retired to her childhood room. Seeking to calm her restless mind, she lit a stick of incense and sat cross-legged on the floor, chanting softly. As her eyes closed, she descended into a meditative state. But instead of tranquility, fractured visions overwhelmed her.
Visions:
A bamboo grove in twilight, a woman sitting in deep meditation, golden runes glowing around her. Distant chimes echoed with eerie whispers, growing louder. The grove dissolved, replaced by a dark altar strewn with broken artifacts and inscribed with intricate symbols. A suffocating power emanated from the space, heavy and consuming.
A sudden flash of light shattered the visions. Her grandmother's voice rang clear in her ears:
"Janet, don't let the spirit consume you. Find the right path."
Janet jolted awake, her breath ragged, sweat dripping from her forehead. She whispered to herself, "The right path… What is it?"
D. Mike's Arrival
Estate Gates
Mike's private jet landed in New Zealand as the sun began to set. Without delay, he drove to the estate, its gates looming before him like the threshold to a different world.
The butler's surprise at the unexpected visitor quickly gave way to professionalism upon seeing Mike's impeccable manners and credentials.
Entering the estate, Mike was struck by its atmosphere—a mix of natural serenity and an unexplainable energy that seemed to hum in the air. It was unlike anything he had experienced in Manhattan.
From an upstairs balcony, Janet spotted Mike's arrival. Her emotions were a complex tangle: curiosity, wariness, and a hint of exasperation.
When Mike entered the drawing room, he wasted no time. "I need to understand the truth about the mark. And I believe you know more than anyone else."
Leaning back in her chair, Janet met his gaze, her expression calm but distant. "You think following me here will give you answers?"
"You know I won't stop until I find them," Mike replied, his voice firm.
"Then be prepared to pay the price," Janet said quietly, her words heavy with implication.
Chapter End
Late that night, Janet attempted to meditate again, but her inner turmoil only deepened. Whispered voices echoed in her mind:
"You chose this path. Now, you must bear its weight."
She opened her eyes to the starlit sky outside, her voice barely audible. "Have I been wrong all along? Have I strayed from the true path since the beginning?"
In the guest wing, Mike stood on the balcony, the mysterious manuscript in his hand. His chest burned again, the glowing mark pulsating faintly in the darkness. His eyes turned toward the distant heart of the estate, sensing that something—someone—was waiting for them there.
From deep within the estate, a faint sound emerged, like a distant bell tolling in the night, heralding the convergence of their fates.