Three days along the Wound's border had changed them all in subtle ways. Ven's memory gap made her occasionally forget why they were traveling, requiring gentle reminders. Marik startled at shadows that weren't there, residual trauma from the Echo encounter. The Cartographer's hands shook slightly when he handled his instruments, age and stress catching up.
And Jiko remained unchanged, which was perhaps the strangest transformation of all.
They'd made good progress. The border zone, for all its dangers, was empty of human threats. The Testimony didn't patrol here, the Choir considered it cursed ground, and warlords avoided it out of superstitious fear. Which meant they could travel openly, following game trails and old roads without worrying about ambush.
On the fourth day, they found the caravan.
It was mid-afternoon when Ven spotted it, a dark shape against the grey-brown landscape. As they approached, details emerged: three wagons arranged in a defensive circle, bodies scattered around them like broken dolls.
"Stay alert," the Cartographer said quietly. "Could be a trap."
But it wasn't. It was just death, recent and violent. Eight people, merchants by their clothing, killed by something that had left claw marks and worse. The wagons had been torn open, goods scattered and trampled. Whatever attacked them had been looking for something specific.
"Echo attack," Marik said, examining the wounds. "Probably a Rage Colossus, given the damage. They hunt in straight lines, destroy everything, then move on."
"How long ago?" Ven asked.
"Hours. Maybe less." Marik straightened. "We should leave before it circles back."
But Jiko was looking at one of the bodies. A woman, middle-aged, still clutching a small pendant. Her face was frozen in an expression of absolute terror, and her skin was covered in black Marks. Too many. Far too many.
"She crystallized," Jiko said.
The Cartographer came over, kneeling beside the body. "Yes. Look at the density. She must have been a carrier, absorbed too much guilt and her body couldn't handle it anymore." He touched the woman's arm, and the skin cracked like glass under his fingers. "She turned into a guilt-statue mid-attack. Probably what saved the Echo the trouble of killing her."
"There," Ven said, pointing. "Another one."
A second crystallized body near the wagons, this one a man. Then a third. Four of the eight dead had turned to crystal before dying, their bodies unable to process the moral weight they carried.
"They were all carriers," Marik said slowly. "This whole caravan. Probably transporting guilt-Marks to sell somewhere."
"Look." The Cartographer pointed at one of the wagons. Inside, visible through the torn canvas, were jars. Hundreds of them, each containing black smoke. Guilt, extracted and bottled, ready for trade.
"That's a fortune," Ven breathed. "Enough guilt to supply a black market for months. Why would a Rage Colossus attack them?"
"It wouldn't," the Cartographer said. "Rage Colossi feed on anger, not guilt. They'd have no interest in this cargo." He stood, scanning the surrounding area. "This was targeted. Someone sent the Echo after them specifically."
"Why?"
"To eliminate competition? To steal the cargo? Or..." The old man's expression darkened. "To create desperate carriers. If these four crystallized during the attack, their stored guilt would have been released into the area. Anyone nearby would have absorbed it involuntarily."
Jiko understood. "You think there are survivors."
"Possible. Echoes are thorough, but if someone hid well enough..." The Cartographer cupped his hands and called out. "Is anyone alive? We're not here to hurt you!"
Silence. Wind whistled through the broken wagons.
Then, from underneath one of the overturned carts, a voice: "Help me."
They rushed over. Marik and Jiko lifted the cart while Ven and the Cartographer pulled out the survivor, a young man, maybe twenty, covered in blood and black Marks. So many Marks that his skin was more black than natural color.
"Easy," the Cartographer said. "We've got you."
The young man gasped, his eyes wild with panic and pain. "It's inside me. All of it. The others crystallized and their guilt, it just poured out, and I breathed it in and now it's inside me and I can't, I can't..."
"Breathe," Ven said firmly. "Slow breaths. You're alive. Focus on that."
But the young man was shaking, his body convulsing. More Marks were appearing even as they watched, spreading like infection. "Too much. It's too much. I can feel them all, everyone they ever carried, all the sins, all the guilt, it's crushing me..."
The Cartographer checked his pulse. "He's going into shock. If we don't do something, he'll crystallize within the hour."
"Can you extract it?" Marik asked.
"Not here. Not without proper equipment. And there's too much anyway. He's absorbed maybe two hundred Marks in a few minutes. That's lethal."
The young man grabbed Jiko's arm, his grip surprisingly strong. "Please. Kill me. It's better than this. Please."
Jiko looked at the Cartographer. "I could take it."
Everyone went still.
"The guilt," Jiko clarified. "I could absorb it from him. Like I did with Marik."
"That's two hundred Marks," the Cartographer said. "We don't know your limit. You've only taken sixty before."
"So we'll find out."
The young man laughed, a sound edged with hysteria. "The blank. I've heard stories. You're the one who can't feel guilt." His grip tightened. "Take it. Take it all. Please. I'll give you anything, pay anything, just make it stop."
Jiko looked at the others. "Opinions?"
Marik spoke first. "If you don't, he dies. If you try and fail, he dies anyway. Nothing lost by attempting."
"Except potentially Jiko," Ven countered. "We don't know what happens if he exceeds his capacity. He could crystallize too."
"Can blanks crystallize?" Marik asked.
"Unknown," the Cartographer said. "The theoretical answer is no, since crystallization is caused by excessive moral weight and Jiko lacks the structures to process moral weight. But we're in uncharted territory."
The young man's convulsions worsened. His skin was starting to harden, turning translucent at the edges. Crystallization beginning.
"Decide quickly," the Cartographer said. "He has minutes at most."
Jiko made the calculation. Helping meant risk. But the young man would die regardless, so the outcome for him was neutral. The risk to Jiko was unknown but probably low given his past successes. And the data gained would be valuable for understanding his limits.
"I'll do it," Jiko said.
He knelt beside the young man and placed both hands on his chest. "Transfer the guilt to me. All of it."
The young man nodded frantically. "Thank you, thank you, oh god thank you..."
And he pushed.
It was different than before. With Marik, the guilt had flowed gradually, controlled and measured. This was a flood. Two hundred Marks worth of concentrated sin slamming into Jiko all at once, desperate and chaotic.
Murder. Rape. Torture. Betrayal. Cowardice. Cruelty. Abandonment. Every variety of human evil compressed and forced through their connection point. Not just the young man's guilt, but the guilt of dozens of others he'd carried, and the guilt those carriers had absorbed from others before them. Layers upon layers, a pyramid of suffering and shame.
It hit Jiko like a physical blow. He felt it entering, felt the sheer density of it, felt it searching for purchase in his psychology. Looking for the structures that would let it cause suffering, finding nothing, dispersing into the void that served as his conscience.
But the volume was staggering. Jiko could sense it piling up inside him, stone upon stone upon stone, building a mountain in the emptiness. He could feel the individual sins now, distinct and screaming, each one a voice demanding acknowledgment:
I killed my children to save myself from shame.
I smiled while they burned because their suffering gave me pleasure.
I knew they trusted me and that made the betrayal sweeter.
I chose profit over people every time and I never lost sleep.
Two hundred voices. Two hundred sins. Two hundred pieces of humanity's worst nature, stored in someone who couldn't judge them because he couldn't feel them.
The transfer lasted maybe thirty seconds. When it was done, the young man collapsed, gasping. His skin was pale but no longer translucent. The Marks on his body had faded to just a handful, light guilt that he could manage.
Jiko remained kneeling, processing what he'd just absorbed.
"Jiko?" the Cartographer said carefully. "How do you feel?"
"Heavy," Jiko said. It was the closest word he had. Not physical weight, but presence. Like carrying two hundred passengers in his mind, all of them whispering but none of them able to touch him.
"Can you stand?"
Jiko stood. The world remained stable. His thoughts were clear. The guilt was there, dense and undeniable, but it wasn't affecting him. He looked at his hands, expecting to see Marks, but his skin remained unmarked.
"It worked," Ven said, relief obvious. "You took it all."
The young man was crying now, tears streaming down his face. "I can breathe. Oh god, I can breathe. It's gone. It's actually gone." He looked up at Jiko with something approaching worship. "What are you?"
"Empty," Jiko said, because it was still true even carrying two hundred Marks.
The Cartographer was examining Jiko with his resonance detector, the crystal tuning fork humming as he passed it over Jiko's chest. "Extraordinary. The guilt is there, I can detect it. The density is incredible. But it's not manifesting as Marks because you lack the psychological framework to externalize it." He made rapid notes. "You're not just storing guilt, you're compressing it. Making it inert."
"Is that safe?" Marik asked.
"I have no idea. This has never happened before." The old man looked at Jiko. "Do you feel any different? Any strange thoughts, urges, sensations?"
Jiko examined himself thoroughly. The guilt was present, he could sense each sin if he focused on it. But they were separate from him, held at a distance by his inability to process them emotionally. Like someone had poured water into a bucket that couldn't get wet.
"No," he said. "I'm fine."
The young man struggled to his feet with Ven's help. "Thank you. I don't have much to offer, but anything I have is yours. My name is Devin. I was apprentice carrier for the lead merchant." He gestured at the destroyed caravan. "All of this, it was supposed to be delivered to a buyer in the Gilt Meridian. High-grade guilt, worth a fortune."
"What buyer?" the Cartographer asked.
"Don't know. The lead merchant handled clients. I just helped transport." Devin looked at the crystallized bodies. "We should bury them. They were cruel masters, but they don't deserve to be left for scavengers."
"We don't have time," Ven said gently. "Whatever attacked you might return. We need to move."
"Then at least help me salvage what we can. The guilt-jars are valuable. We can't just leave them."
The Cartographer considered. "Some of those jars might be useful for my research. And if we're being practical, they're currency we could use." He looked at Jiko. "Your thoughts?"
Jiko assessed the situation. Carrying guilt-jars meant extra weight and the risk of them breaking, releasing their contents. But it also meant resources they could trade. "How much can we carry without slowing down?"
"A dozen jars, maybe," Marik said. "Any more and we'd need to build a cart."
"Then take a dozen," Jiko decided. "High-grade ones, if you can identify them."
Devin knew the cargo. He led them through the wagons, picking out jars and explaining their contents. "This one is a general's guilt, ordered the execution of civilians. High-grade. This one is a merchant who sold diseased food knowing it would kill people. This one..." He paused at a jar that seemed darker than the others. "This one is special. Patricide. Father killed his children to collect life insurance. That's rare. Worth more than the rest combined."
"Why is it worth more?" Jiko asked.
"Because it's specific and heavy. Collectors pay premium for unusual sins. And because using it as a weapon is particularly devastating. Force patricide guilt into someone and they relive killing their own children. Breaks most people instantly."
They selected twelve jars, distributing them among the packs. Devin insisted on carrying the heaviest load despite his weakened state. "It's my responsibility. I survived, so I have to see this through."
"See what through?" Ven asked.
"Getting the cargo to its buyer. Or at least trying. It's what a proper carrier would do."
The Cartographer shook his head. "You're in no condition to complete a trade mission. Come with us to the Forgetting Depths. You can rest there, recover, decide what to do next."
Devin looked at the destroyed caravan, at his dead masters, at the blood-soaked ground. "I have nowhere else to go. If you'll have me, I'll follow."
They left the caravan behind, moving quickly away from the site of violence. As they walked, Jiko found himself next to Devin.
"Question," Jiko said. "Why did you become a carrier?"
Devin was quiet for a moment. "Same reason most do. Debt. My family owed money to a merchant guild. I volunteered to work it off. Carriers get paid well because the work destroys you, but at least it's good pay." He laughed bitterly. "Thought I could do it for a few years, clear the debt, move on. Didn't realize how fast the guilt accumulates. How heavy it gets."
"Do you regret it?"
"Every day. But regret doesn't change anything." Devin looked at Jiko. "What about you? Why do you do this? Taking others' guilt?"
"I'm being studied. This is part of the research."
"That's it? No heroic motivation, no desire to help people?"
"No."
Devin absorbed this. "At least you're honest. Most blanks I've heard of try to pretend they care, make themselves seem more human. But you don't bother."
"Would pretending change anything?"
"No. But it would make you more comfortable to be around." Devin smiled slightly. "Still, you saved my life. Motivation doesn't change that outcome."
They walked in silence for a while. The Wound's light was stronger now, casting everything in shades of purple and green. The air tasted like copper and ozone, and occasionally they'd see Echoes in the distance, drawn to the border's instability.
As evening approached, they found shelter in a hollowed-out ruin, some kind of pre-Severance structure that had been reduced to a concrete shell. The Cartographer declared it safe enough, and they made camp.
While the others prepared food, the Cartographer pulled Jiko aside.
"Two hundred and sixty Marks total now," the old man said. "Between what you took from Marik and what you absorbed from Devin. That's more guilt than most carriers see in their entire careers. And you're completely unaffected."
"So we've found my limit isn't two hundred and sixty," Jiko said.
"We've found there might not be a limit at all. Or if there is, it's far beyond anything we imagined." The Cartographer looked troubled. "Do you understand what this means?"
"That I'm more useful than we thought?"
"That you're more dangerous. If word gets out that you can absorb unlimited guilt, every power structure in the Dominions will collapse. The guilt-economy only works because guilt has consequences. But if you can take it all, make it disappear into your void, then guilt becomes meaningless." He gripped Jiko's shoulder. "You could literally destroy the world's moral economy just by existing."
"Is that bad?"
"I don't know. Maybe the economy deserves to be destroyed. It's built on suffering and exploitation, treating human conscience as commodity. But destroying it means chaos. Millions depend on the current system, cruel as it is. Tear it down and what replaces it?"
Jiko thought about this. "You're asking if I'm willing to be responsible for that chaos."
"I'm asking if you understand the choice you might have to make." The Cartographer released his shoulder. "Right now, you're a secret. A handful of people know what you can do. But secrets don't keep in the Wastes. Eventually, everyone will know. And then you'll have to decide: hide your abilities and let the broken system continue? Or demonstrate what you can do and watch the world burn?"
"I don't care about the world," Jiko said.
"I know. That's what makes you either the perfect revolutionary or the perfect tyrant." The old man smiled sadly. "Come on. Food's ready. Tomorrow we'll continue toward the Depths. With luck, we'll reach it in a week."
They joined the others around the small fire. Devin was talking about his life before becoming a carrier, sharing stories that made Marik and Ven laugh. The Cartographer sat slightly apart, writing in his notebook. And Jiko just watched, carrying two hundred and sixty sins in his emptiness and feeling nothing.
But something was changing. He could sense it, even if he couldn't name it. The weight inside him was growing, not in burden but in presence. The voices of the guilty, stored but not silenced, whispering their confessions into his void.
He couldn't feel their guilt. But he could hear their stories.
And somewhere in the accumulated suffering of two hundred and sixty sins, Jiko began to understand something about morality he hadn't grasped before.
It wasn't about rules or efficiency or social benefit.
It was about weight.
The weight of knowing what you'd done. The weight of carrying that knowledge forever. The weight that broke some people and forged others.
He'd never feel that weight himself.
But he could carry it for others.
Was that enough? Was that sufficient to be called moral, even without empathy?
He didn't know.
But as he lay down to sleep that night, surrounded by people who trusted him despite his emptiness, Jiko thought that maybe the question was more important than the answer.
In the Wound's distant light, Syla watched the hollow one sleep and felt something unexpected: interest.
The toy was learning. Growing. Changing in ways even it didn't recognize.
Soon, she thought. Soon he'd be ready for the real lessons.
The ones that would teach him if emptiness could break.