Karmic Weaver {mik3la & Sosuke0549}

[Sosuke0549]

PLOT: A cynical young man who can see the "karmic strings" of others—and profitably manipulate them—meets his match when his next target is not only a powerful priest, but "stringless," forcing him to confront the true cost of his powers and the terrifying possibility of a love that is truly, magically, free.

 

CHARACTER SHEET

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Name: ALISTAIR GRAVES

Age: Unknown 

Traits: Charismatic, mysterious, well dressed. 

Background: He operates out of a sleek high-end lounge, treating his powers like a business transaction. He's a transactional romantic, believing every relationship is an exchange. No siblings or parents to speak of. 

Supernatural Abilities: Alastair is a Karmic Weaver. He sees the world as a tapestry of invisible "strings" that connects people. Every string can very in colors, sizes, and condtions. Shimmery rainbow strings for love, red for hatred, silver for debts, gold for potential, etc. He can't create strings, but he can expertly snip, tighten, or (most lucratively) tangle them. He helps a client "accidentally" meet their soulmate (for a hefty fee) or ensures a rival's business deal falls apart. In his mind, he believes he's providing a service. Love is a transaction, luck is a commodity. He's emotionally detached, using his wealth and charm as a shield....but deep down Alastair is extremely lonely. 

 

 [ Beginning Post: ]

 

The air in the Axiom Lounge was as curated as the clientele, the smell of wealth and discreet power. It was something that Alistair knew all too well. From his usual booth, he observed the tapestry of today's elite. To anyone else, they would see a sea of designer dresses and sharp suits. Men and women with too much time on their hands, spending money without a care in the world. A place for the super rich and beautiful. Most of them were probably cut throat business men or inspiring entrepreneurs who cracked the code. To Alistair, it was a sea of color and connections. He watched closely as a silver thread ( a new business deal ) wove between two executives at the bar. A fragile, shimmering pink strand connected a couple on their third date, a crush. His eyes moved across the room and near the entrance, he saw a throbbing, venomous crimson cord of hatred pulsating from a woman toward her oblivious business partner. 

It was all just… business. Nothing unusual or special. Today was just like any other day. 

He held a small and sleek stylus pen with ancient runes engraved in the metal. It wasnt actually a pen, tho thats what it looked like. It was a tool that he twirled between his fingers. It helped him maneuver through strings, tango them, snip them. However he wasn't working; he was auditing. Taking notes. Searching for clients. 

A man across the room, most likely a tech-brocker was trying to close a venture capital deal. A golden string of potential was there, but it was frayed, thin. The only reason he was able to gain so much information from random strangers was because of the colorful strings that connected everyone but by touching it, he'd get little snip bits of the humans memories. A tatse of their dreams, goals, aspirations, feelings. 

( hmmm...)

He leaned back in his seat, and debated on whather or not he should intervene. After a few seconds of mulling over his options, out of sheer boradom, he reached out his hand, and tapped the strand, tightening the connection. He didn't create the connection, he merely… optimized it.

 

A moment later, the investor smacked Marcus's back, laughing, the deal secured and now this young new tech broker had a promising future. Another transaction, invisible to everyone but him, complete.

 

He sighed under his breath. ( Am I getting soft? )

He wondered, as a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. 

 

Suddenly his phone lit up with a priority alert. His eyes widended ever so slightly. 

( A new client?)

 

He opened his phone and reviewed the text message. It wasn't just a new clinet but a high-profile client at that. 

 

The message was brief: 

 

[ Asset requires karmic disentanglement. Substantial retainer. Sending details.]

 

Alastair took a slow sip of his twenty-year-old Scotch, he was curious but expressionless. 'Substantial retainer' was the only part of the message that truly interested him. He continued to read. The client was anonymous but the payment would be routed through SHELL corporations. Untraceable. His favorite kind.

 

This would be a simple job. He took another sip of his scotch before receiving a second message. This one containing further details and the information of his target. 

 

His target was a man named Alexander Sato. A young priest that came from a wealthy family. 

( I spoke to soon...)

 

Him being a priest might be a problem. It made this job alot more bothersome. If he got too close, this kid could kill him. ( So much for being easy...)

His thumb scrolled down, seeing a picture of the young man. To his suprise the human was abnormally beautiful. With blonde hair and mesmerizing warm blue eyes. In the photo he wore a soft and genuine smile, dressed in a morden style cassock. Which was a long robe that many persists and monks wear daily. However his was a mix between white and gold. As if he was something special. 

How could anyone have a problem with this kid?

Another message followed. 

The problem. The client who needed his services was bitter and involved in some sort of legal dispute with the boys father. 

 

( He wants a karmic advantage...)

They wanted him to manipulate Alexander to give him support and perhaps convince his father to drop whatever this legal issue was. 

 

( Figures...)

Manipulating strings was easier then killing a man like that.

If he could get the guys son on his side, support would wither, his arguments falter, and his luck might turn. They wanted the strings of his life gently, irrevocably, frayed from the family. 

 

Standard procedure. Alistair's fingers danced over his phone, accepting the request. Since he'd be dealing with a presit he'd could charge more. 

 

The price? 2 million. 

His anonymous client informed him that it was impossible to get near the Sato families temple, but...the boy was known to occasionally sneak out and vist the city once every two to three months, and he'd most likely have an opportunity to leave the temple this weekend since his family would be away. 

 

( Alright....at least this job won't be boring. )

Alistair hadn't had a challenge request in decades, and if his new client couldn't pay after the job was complete, he do what he always did, kill them for wasting his time.

He finished his scotch before standing to leave, slipping a single hundred dollar bill underneath the empty glass. 

 

____________________________

 

[ A few days later. ] 

 

Alastair stood outside the train station, finding a nice spot across the street and in the shade. He didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself today, so he was wearing a matching jean set. A dark blue jean jacket and pants with a plain black t-shirt underneath. He also hide behind some dark shade, keeping his eyes on the people coming and going from the station. There was no telling if his target would show up today...but he had nothing else better to do. 

He sighed under his breath, taking a moment to rub his temple. He hated being in the ccity and crowded places. Too many sounds. Too many karmic strings. Too many colors. It was giving him a headache.  You think you'd be used to it by now.

He checked his phone again, taking a moment to look over the picture of his target. The guy was young, and definitely looked like a priest. He wondered what kind of karmic strings he'd have. All humans were flawed. He would be no different. 

 

He slipped his phone into his pocket again, scanning the crowd of people moving in and out of the station.....he'd spend the next two hours mindlessly watching people until his eyes got a glimpse of goldish yellow hair. He blinked, straighting his posture and started to make his way closer...however, he found himself stopping dead in his tracks when the human stopped, waiting at the cross walk. Now he was fully in view, and this was indeed his target, Alastair had no doubts about that but...

 

( what the...) 

 

There was nothing...

 

No green strings of friendship. No fiery reds for conflict or anger. No silver of debt or gold of potential. Not purples, pinks, greys, blacks, oranges...Not a single, solitary thread. This kid... was Karmicless!

 

This human wasn't a knot of connections but a complete void. A stunning, impossible blank space in the middle of the world’s noisy, interconnected tapestry.

A "Null."

Alistair had only heard about such humans, he had heard the theories, the myths among the few others of his kind but he’d never seen one. They were supposed to be ghosts, anomalies. They shouldn't be....real!

They couldn't be manipulated, their fate couldn't be read. They were utterly, completely free and...untouchable. 

 

A cold, unfamiliar sensation trickled down his spine. It took him a moment to recognize what it was.

Dread.

And beneath it, a spark of something even more dangerous, something he hadn't felt in years: curiosity.

 

He stared at the man from across the street. This wasn't a simple job. This was an anomaly. A problem. Or perhaps, the most fascinating opportunity of his career-no, of his life!

 

He wanted to meet Alexander, had to understand the silence. What kind of person was he?

 

He took a step forward only to find himself stopping, hesitation gripping him, that moment of excitement and curiosity quickly fading as reality began to sink in. Alexander is a priest...if he got too close...he'd kill him. Or worse, imprison him..

( For now...I'll just follow him...)

He'd stay far enough away to not draw attention and suppress his demonic engery. 

[mik3la]

CHARACTER SHEET

Alexander was born during a storm that blanketed the mountain in silver fog. The bells of the Sato Temple rang three times at midnight , an omen of both blessing and loss.

His mother, Lady Amara Sato, passed away moments after his birth, her final prayer whispered into the crying child's hair. The priests called it a divine exchange , a saint's spirit offered to create a vessel of light.

His father, Master Rei Sato, was a stern man who served as both high priest and exorcist. When he looked at his newborn son, he didn't see a child. He saw the temple's future.

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Alex's childhood was spent among monks, relics, and the distant toll of ritual bells. He was quiet, polite, and precociously wise. By the time he could speak full sentences, he could already feel the faint tremors of corrupted energy and cleanse them with prayer.

When he smiled, the air lightened. When he touched a talisman, it glowed faintly gold.

The monks adored him, calling him the child of mercy. Villagers traveled for miles to see him perform blessings, believing his hands carried the touch of gods. But he never felt divine. He just felt responsible.

 

As he grew, so did his gifts , and the expectations that came with them. His father trained him relentlessly: exorcisms at dawn, purification rites by day, and scripture recitations by candlelight.

“Light must be unflinching,” his father often said. “If you hesitate before darkness, you'll be consumed by it.”

Alex obeyed, because obedience was love in the Sato household.

But sometimes, when the rituals ended and the night was quiet, he would look at his window and wonder how the wold beyond the mountains looked like. 

 

Alex grew into a man revered by the public. To outsiders, he was a saint in human form , a priest whose words brought peace and whose exorcisms left even vengeful spirits weeping.

But within the temple walls, he was something else entirely: a tool of preservation.

His father saw him as the perfect heir , a living weapon against corruption. Every exorcism was another test. Every miracle, another reason to bind him tighter to the temple. The monks loved him, but their reverence was suffocating. The villagers adored him, but their gratitude was fleeting.

No one ever asked him how he was.

He learned to hide his loneliness behind serenity. To smile when he wanted to scream. To bless others when his own heart aches for connection.

 

The Sato Temple sat high in the mountains, far from the city. Ancient, vast, and serene ,but to Alex, it was a gilded cage.

He was rarely allowed beyond his borders, except to perform exorcisms sanctioned by his father. The clan's future rested on his shoulders, and his life had already been planned , including a marriage arranged for him to “ensure spiritual continuity.”

Alex accepted it all quietly. Not because he agreed, but because rebellion felt like a sin, and yet, late at night, standing at the edge of the temple's cliff, he would look at the distant lights of the city below and whisper a prayer not found in any scripture:

“Let me find something that sees me.”

Despite everything [ the pressure, the isolation, the exhaustion ] Alex remained gentle.

He never turned away the lost or the cursed. He treated even restless spirits with compassion. His belief was simple: light must heal, not punish.

His kindness wasn't naivety , it was rebellion in its purest form. A quiet refusal to let cruelty define him.

Personality

• Core Traits: Compassionate, calm, introspective, humble, emotionally resilient.

• Private Self: Lonely, quietly yearning.

• Philosophy: “To save others is to understand their pain, not to condemn it.”

• Fears: That his kindness will fade — that he'll become like his father.

• Secret Desire: To be loved, without expectation or worship.

At twenty-four, Alexander Sato is the pride of his temple and the heart of his community , a man everyone seeks but no one truly knows.

He blesses the sick, comforts the grieving, and purifies haunted homes with quiet grace. He smiles easily, listens intently, and never complains. 

But when the prayers end and the incense fades, he sits in silence, watching the moon rise over the mountains, whispering softly:

"help me in harvesting the power to help everyone in need"

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[ Beginning Post: ]

The morning began like any other, incense drifting through the ancient halls, soft chanting echoing from the lower courtyards, but Alex felt the subtle shift in the air the moment he woke. The temple was quieter today, the weight of duty lighter. His father and several high-ranking monks had departed before dawn to attend a distant ritual; the remaining priests tended to their tasks with the calm ease of those who believed nothing unusual would happen.

For the first time in months, Alex felt the faint crack of an open door. A chance, a breath of freedom.

He moved through the temple with practiced serenity, offering morning blessings, checking wards, pretending not to notice the way his heart beat faster beneath his robes. Every task he completed was done flawlessly, but today his hands felt lighter, his pauses shorter, his glances drifting more often toward the boundary wall that separated the temple from the world.

By mid-afternoon, a soft mist curled around the mountain. The kind that obscured sight and softened footfalls—convenient, almost conspiratorial. Alex finished inscribing a purification sigil on a prayer tablet, placed it gently on the altar, and whispered to the empty room:

“Please forgive me… just for today.”

He slipped out of the rear hall where the stone lanterns stood like silent guardians. He knew every blind spot, every corner where moss grew thick enough to make the walls look uneven. Years of quiet rebellions had taught him the rhythm of the temple—the changing of shifts, the monks who were light sleepers, the ones who wouldn’t question his absence. He moved with a grace so natural it bordered on invisible, passing through the shadowed corridors and toward the small wooden gate rarely used except during festivals.

It creaked faintly when he touched it. He winced, waiting.

Silence.

With a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, he pushed it open and stepped beyond the boundary.

--------------------------------------------

The mountain path was damp and narrow, scattered with fallen leaves. The scent of cedar and earth wrapped around him, grounding him. With each step downward, his shoulders eased. The heavy mantle of “saint,” “heir,” “weapon of light” flaked off bit by bit, leaving behind something simpler, softer.

His mind wandered as he walked: I wonder if the bakery still sells those sweet red-bean buns… Will the children by the fountain remember me? What if someone tells Father I was seen? Worry flickered—but quickly cooled beneath a quiet, stubborn determination.

Just one day. Just one small piece of the world for himself.

When the first glimpse of the city appeared, a scatter of roofs, the gleam of shop signs his chest tightened. Not with fear. With longing.

The moment he stepped into the bustling streets, the world exploded into color and sound. Vendors shouting prices, laughter spilling from open doorways, the scent of grilled skewers and fresh fruit mixing in the air. Alex almost smiled too easily.

He kept his hood low, a simple robe instead of his ceremonial garb. Enough to blend in… or so he hoped.

He managed three quiet, blissful minutes of anonymity before it began. A gentle gasp. A woman clutching her basket closer.
“Alex-sama…?”

He froze.

Her child, no older than eight, peeked up at him nervously. The boy’s aura trembled and a small shadow clinging to his shoulder. A spirit, lost and afraid.

Of course.

Alex knelt, smiling softly.
“It’s all right. He’s not here to harm you”, said the women to her child.

A brief prayer, a warm touch to the child’s head, and the shadow dissolved like mist in sunlight. The boy blinked in awe. The mother bowed deeply.

“Thank you, thank you … please, at least come to our shop … ”

He shook his head, gentle and apologetic.
“I’m just passing through today. Please take care of him.”

He slipped away before more people could gather, heart thumping with a mix of embarrassment and reluctant affection.

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He tried again to explore—this time down smaller alleys. He admired painted lanterns, paused to watch street performers, lingered near a stall selling pastries. But inevitably, a man approached with a trembling talisman, a young girl shyly asked for a blessing for her sick grandmother, an elderly vendor pressed a charm into his hand, thanking him for saving her home years ago.

Each time, he responded with kindness, never hurried, never dismissive. His words were quiet but sincere. His blessings soft, warm, genuine.

Helping them didn’t bother him. Being needed wasn’t the problem. But every time recognition sparked in a stranger’s eyes, he felt the invisible walls rising again around him … soft, reverent, suffocating.

He ducked into a narrow side street, exhaling.

“I just want to see the world,” he murmured. “Not as a saint. Just as… me.”

Eventually he found a quiet spot. A tiny tea shop tucked between a florist and a bookstore. The owner barely looked up as he entered. No recognition in her eyes, just a simple smile.

“Table for one? You seem like you could use something warm.”

For the first time all day, Alex truly relaxed. He sat by the window, savoring the jasmine tea’s delicate scent, watching the city move outside, ordinary, imperfect, alive. His hands warmed around the cup, and he felt something rare … Peace that belonged only to him.

He didn’t stay long. He couldn’t risk it, but those quiet minutes felt like stolen treasure.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

As twilight spread across the sky, he made the journey away from the city and back on the trail to the temple. His steps were slower now, thoughtful. The city’s colors lingered in his eyes like afterimages but something felt strange.

At first, it was only a faint disturbance, like a thread of cold trailing behind him in the warm dusk. It brushed against the edge of his awareness, not enough to alarm, but impossible to ignore.

He paused, turning slightly. The path he was on stood motionless. Mist curled lazily between the cedars.

Nothing. Yet the feeling persisted. Not malevolent… but watching.

He resumed walking, more carefully this time. Each step up the winding trail made the sensation sharpen, like strands of invisible silk stretching between him and something just beyond sight.

By the third bend in the path, it became undeniable.

Someone was following him.

Alex stopped completely at a narrow clearing where moonlight filtered through the trees. The air shimmered faintly there, only for a heartbeat, but enough to raise the fine hairs on his arms.

That was when he felt it fully. Not corrupted energy, or a vengeful spirit. Not human, either. Something older. Something woven with fate itself.

He turned slowly, scanning the area but not sure where the presence was but he was sure it was there, watching him.

“Show yourself. Why are you here?” Alex asked softly. Not accusing or afraid. Merely… unsettled.

 

Edited 1 hour ago by mik3la