VIII. The Visit

​

He felt it before he heard anything. 

 

The room shifted. Not in light or temperature, but in density—as if the air itself had been pulled tight. Like the pause before a storm, when everything leans forward but nothing moves.

 

Then the door opened.

 

Yama entered.

 

No guards. No shadow behind him. Just a man in a crisp, dark shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled once at the cuffs. 

His hair was long, silvering. 

His face unreadable—not cold, not warm. Just… settled. 

Like it had been still for a very long time.

 

He didn’t look around. He looked straight at Nico.

 

“You’ve done well,” he said. 

 

His voice was low, steady. 

It didn’t ask for attention. It didn’t need to. 

 

He sat across from Nico, folding his hands neatly on the table. 

No introductions. No questions.

 

“You haven’t eaten.”

 

Nico shook his head.

 

Yama tilted his own slightly.

“Good. Hunger sharpens the senses.”

 

They sat in silence for a while. 

 

Yama didn’t fill it. 

He simply watched Nico. 

Not like a predator. More like a surgeon studying a scan. 

Looking for the shape inside the shape.

 

Then he asked: 

 

“Do you know what brought you here?”

 

Nico didn’t answer.

 

Yama nodded, as if that were the answer.

 

“They all say different things. 

Loyalty. Curiosity. Grief.” 

He paused. 

 

“Some come chasing revenge. 

Some think this place holds secrets they can use.”

 

He leaned back slightly.

 

“But you. 

You’re different. 

 

You didn’t come for answers. 

You came for truth.”

 

Nico looked at him then.

 

Really looked.

 

Yama was neither young nor old. 

His face was without fatigue, but heavy with something else—accumulation, perhaps. 

Like he carried the stories of everyone who’d ever sat across from him.

 

“What is this place?” Nico asked.

 

“A mouth,” Yama said. 

“It speaks once, then swallows.”

 

“Swallows what?”

 

“Whatever’s left after truth has spoken.”

 

Nico felt his chest tighten.

 

He didn’t know if it was fear. 

Or something older.

 

Yama glanced at the door. Then back.

 

“They’ve tempted you,” he said. 

“The body. The heart. The mind. 

You said no.”

 

“It wasn’t hard,” Nico said.

 

“No?” Yama raised an eyebrow. 

“Then you weren’t listening.”

 

He stood. 

 

Walked once around the table, slow, unhurried. 

He stopped beside Nico, then leaned in—not threateningly, 

just close enough for his words to feel private.

 

“They offered you things you already wanted. 

That’s the trick.”

 

He stepped back.

 

“But it’s the self that must be tempted last.”

 

Nico blinked. 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean you think you’re here to ask questions. 

But really, you’re here to be asked.”

 

Yama moved to the far corner of the room and opened a cabinet Nico hadn’t noticed before. 

 

From it, he took something wrapped in cloth. 

 

He placed it on the table. 

Unwrapped it.

 

A stone. 

 

Smooth. Palm-sized. 

It gleamed. 

Like it had a memory of being seen.

 

Yama nodded toward it.

 

“Pick it up.”

 

Nico reached for it. 

Hesitated. 

Then lifted it.

 

It was heavy. 

Much heavier than it should have been for its size.

 

He looked up. 

 

Yama watched him with no expression.

 

“That stone,” he said, 

“was taken from a place where no names survive. 

 

It has passed through many hands. 

Some kings. 

Some killers. 

Some who thought they were both.”

 

Nico held it in his palm.

 

It seemed to pull inward, 

as if swallowing light.

 

“What is it?” he asked.

 

“A reminder,” Yama said. 

“That not everything that endures is alive. 

And not everything alive is real.”

 

Nico set it down slowly.

 

Yama sat again.

 

“You’ve already begun,” he said. 

“The moment you crossed the hill, 

you left your name behind.”

 

“I still know who I am.”

 

Yama smiled. 

It wasn’t cruel. 

It was almost kind.

 

“No. 

You only know who you were.”

 

They sat for a long while in silence.

 

Then Yama rose again.

 

“One more night,” he said. 

“Then we’ll talk about what cannot be spoken.”

 

He walked to the door, placed a hand on the knob, and paused.

 

“Don’t sleep too deeply.”

 

And then he was gone.

​​

​

Continue to Part IX: An Unraveling

​

​

​