The eastern cemetery occupied three acres of ground that most people preferred to forget existed.
Kael walked through its weathered gates at dawn, his Contract Sense detecting the third and final pathway bearer the Masquerade Lord had mentioned. The signature was subtle, almost imperceptible—like absence given form, like memory choosing to dissolve itself.
Oblivion Pathway. Sequence 9.
The weakest of the three bearers in the city, but potentially the most dangerous in terms of conceptual threat. Oblivion didn't destroy or end things—it made them cease to have ever mattered. Not erasure, but retroactive irrelevance.
The mortician's workshop sat at the cemetery's heart, a stone building that seemed determined to be unnoticed. Even looking directly at it, Kael's eyes wanted to slide away, to forget what they were seeing.
He forced focus and entered.
The interior was exactly what a mortician's workshop should be—preparation tables, preservation tools, neat rows of coffins in various stages of completion. Everything professional, everything appropriate.
And working at the central table, preparing a body for burial, was a young woman who radiated the specific wrongness of Oblivion.
She looked up as Kael entered, eyes that seemed to reflect nothing—not darkness like Yan Shou's void-gaze, but genuine absence, as if her eyes were windows to spaces where existence had politely declined to occur.
"You're the Contract Weaver," she said, voice soft and somehow forgettable even as she spoke. "I've been expecting you. Or I haven't. It's hard to remember if I expected things that might not matter."
"You're the Oblivion bearer. Sequence 9." Kael studied her carefully, trying to maintain focus against the subtle pressure to forget she existed. "What's your name?"
"I had one. I think. Names are things people remember, and remembering is what Oblivion opposes." She returned to her work on the corpse, hands moving with practiced precision. "You can call me what I am—the Forgotten One. Or nothing. Both are accurate."
"That's philosophically troubling but operationally unclear. I need an identifier for documentation purposes."
"Xiao Yun. That was my name before awakening." She paused, seeming to struggle with something. "I still remember it most days. That's progress, I suppose. Or regression. Hard to tell which."
Kael's analytical mind processed the interaction. Oblivion Pathway clearly affected the bearer's own cognition, making even personal identity questionable. That was concerning from mental stability perspective.
"Why do you work as mortician?" Kael asked.
"Because dead people don't mind being forgotten. It's appropriate work for someone who makes things stop mattering." Xiao Yun finished her preparations, covering the corpse respectfully. "The living forget me as soon as I'm out of sight. Families forget I prepared their loved ones. Even this workshop forgets it exists most of the time. But the work still gets done, and that's... that's something."
"You sound lonely."
"Loneliness requires remembering connection. I forget why connection matters." Her void-reflecting eyes met Kael's. "You understand that, don't you? The dissolution of capacity to value things properly? You've traded away emotions. I'm trading away significance itself. We're both becoming less than we were."
Kael recognized the parallel immediately. "You're losing your ability to perceive meaning the way I've lost ability to feel emotional weight."
"Yes. Except you chose your path through contracts. Mine chose me when I awakened to Oblivion three months ago." Xiao Yun moved to wash her hands, the water seeming to forget it had touched her. "I wake up each day forgetting why I should care about existing. I continue existing anyway, out of... momentum? Protocol? I'm not sure anymore."
"That's concerning from operational standpoint. If you can't remember why your own existence matters, what prevents you from simply ceasing?"
"The Pathway itself. It keeps me functional while making me forget why functionality matters. Perverse efficiency." Xiao Yun dried her hands on a towel that immediately forgot it had been used. "I assume you're here to evaluate whether I'm threat requiring elimination?"
"Partially. But also to understand your methodology and determine if you'd benefit from ethical framework instruction."
Xiao Yun laughed—a sound that seemed to fade even as it was produced. "You want to teach me ethics? I'm forgetting why ethics exist. Yesterday I almost let someone's grandmother get buried in wrong plot because I forgot plot assignments matter. The day before, I nearly mixed up corpses because I forgot identity relevance."
"Those are operational failures caused by cognitive dissolution. Ethical framework provides external structure when internal motivation fails." Kael pulled out his teaching materials. "I teach protocol-based ethics that persist even after emotional or cognitive capacity degrades. You need that more than most."
"Why would you help me? I'm the lowest sequence bearer you've encountered. I provide no strategic value."
"Value isn't determined solely by power level. You're experiencing acute meaning-dissolution that will eventually either kill you or make you dangerous to others.
Providing framework that prevents either outcome serves everyone's interests." Kael's marked hand pulsed. "And you're my potential fifth student. Teaching you fulfills contractual obligation while addressing legitimate humanitarian concern."
"Humanitarian. That's funny coming from someone who can't feel why humans matter." Xiao Yun sat heavily on a stool, suddenly looking exhausted. "What if I can't learn? What if Oblivion erases the lessons as fast as you teach them?"
"Then we develop teaching methods resistant to Oblivion erosion. Documentation you reference repeatedly, protocol reminders built into your environment, external verification systems that confirm task completion." Kael's analytical mind was already structuring solutions. "Oblivion makes things stop mattering internally. We build external mattering that persists regardless of internal dissolution."
"That's... that's actually clever." Xiao Yun's absent eyes showed something approaching hope. "You'd really do that? Design entire teaching framework around my specific cognitive degradation?"
"Optimization requires adapting methodology to student needs. You need different approach than my other students, but that's just interesting constraint rather than insurmountable obstacle." Kael began organizing papers. "First lesson starts now.
We're going to establish protocol for remembering why your mortician work matters, even when Oblivion insists it doesn't."
For the next two hours, Kael taught. Not abstract theory—that would dissolve too quickly. Instead, concrete protocols: check this list, follow these steps, document these actions. Building external structure that functioned independent of internal meaning-perception.
Xiao Yun absorbed it desperately, like someone drowning grabbing a rope. She took notes constantly, creating physical records that couldn't be forgotten even when internal memory failed.
"This is the most coherent I've felt in weeks," she said when the session ended.
"Having explicit steps to follow, concrete reasons documented outside my own mind—it's like having permission to continue existing even though I can't remember why I should."
"That's the goal. Protocol-based existence that persists through cognitive dissolution."
Kael handed her a thick notebook. "This is your personal reference manual. Review it every morning. Add to it as you develop new protocols. It's your external meaning-structure."
"Thank you." The words seemed to carry actual weight, temporarily resisting Oblivion's pressure. "I didn't expect kindness from someone famous for calculating everything."
"It's not kindness. It's optimal resource allocation combined with protocol fulfillment."
Kael stood, preparing to leave. "But you're welcome regardless. Same time tomorrow?"
"I'll try to remember. If I forget, the notebook will remind me." Xiao Yun clutched the manual like a lifeline. "You're saving my life. I want you to know that, even though I'll probably forget I knew it."
Kael left the mortician's workshop, his mind processing the new teaching challenge.
Xiao Yun was different from his other students—she needed more than ethical framework, she needed existential framework. Structure for why existing mattered when Oblivion insisted nothing did.
That was... concerning. And fascinating. And potentially very dangerous if he failed to provide adequate support.
"Five students now," Yan Shou said, materializing from shadows as Kael exited the cemetery. "You're collecting pathway bearers like they're disciples."
"I'm fulfilling contractual obligations while addressing legitimate needs." Kael continued walking. "Xiao Yun is experiencing rapid meaning-dissolution. Without intervention, she'll either suicide or become catatonic within months. Teaching her protocols that resist Oblivion prevents both outcomes."
"You realize you're becoming famous, right? The pathway bearer who teaches ethics, who liberates slaves, who takes on students others would consider threats." Yan Shou fell into step beside him. "Other bearers are paying attention. Some admiring, some concerned, some calculating how to use you."
"Acknowledged. But reputation is resource. Being known for ethical instruction attracts students while deterring predatory bearers. Net positive outcome." Kael's marked hand pulsed steadily. "Five students acquired, five remaining for pathway contract fulfillment. Timeline projecting completion within four years."
"And then what? After you've taught ten students, documented comprehensive methodology, built framework that survives beyond you—what's your next optimization target?"
Kael was silent for several steps. "Unknown. I've been so focused on immediate obligations that I haven't calculated beyond them."
"Maybe that's the point. Maybe not everything needs optimization beyond current moment." Yan Shou's void-dark eyes reflected morning light. "You're doing good work, Kael. Teaching people who need teaching, building frameworks that help bearers maintain ethics despite corruption pressure. That's enough. It doesn't need to serve some grand five-year plan."
"Everything should serve larger purpose. Otherwise it's just random action."
"Or it's just helping people because they need help. Not every good deed needs strategic justification." Yan Shou stopped at an intersection. "I'm renewing our contract. Another sixty days. Not because it's strategically optimal, but because working with you has made me better. That's sufficient reason."
"That's sentiment-based reasoning. Inefficient."
"That's human reasoning. Maybe you should try it sometime." Yan Shou smiled slightly. "Oh wait, you can't. You traded that away. So I'll do the sentiment, you do the calculation, and together we'll approximate functional ethics."
He departed before Kael could respond.
Alone again, Kael continued toward the warehouse, his mind processing the day's developments.
Five students: Wei Lin the sect disciple, Lan Mei the liberated mother, Inspector Jiang the Truth bearer, Madam Lian the Desire bearer (pending), and Xiao Yun the Oblivion mortician.
Each one broken in different ways. Each one seeking framework to remain ethical despite corruption, dissolution, or degradation.
And Kael, most broken of all, providing that framework despite his own inability to feel why it mattered.
Was this what his sister would have wanted? For him to become a teacher of ethics to damaged people?
He tried to remember her face, her values, what she'd cared about.
The memories were there—barely. Age twenty-one through twenty-three preserved through pathway contract renegotiation. Her face was visible if he concentrated. Her kindness was documented in his personal records.
But the feeling of why she'd mattered—that was gone, traded away long ago.
Still. The protocols suggested this work was correct. The methodology indicated teaching was optimal. The framework implied helping others maintain ethics served larger purpose.
That had to be enough.
Because five broken students were depending on a broken teacher to provide structure that none of them could feel the full weight of anymore.
Protocol-based ethics for a world of dissolving certainty.
Mathematical morality for people who'd lost the capacity to feel why morality mattered.
It was the best he could offer.
So he offered it.
And hoped—though hoping was just another calculation now—that it would be sufficient.