Astra's fingers danced over the coins, counting them swiftly in his palm as he blended seamlessly into the throng of people moving through the bazaar.
He dismissed them inside his storage space. Astra's stomach still churned with hunger, the scent of lemonade still clinging to the air, but the thrill of the so called "perfect theft" was a much sharper, more satisfying hunger.
He had slipped the merchant's purse with the ease of a man who'd done it a hundred times before the motion so fluid it seemed almost casual. The weight of it vanished into his cloak without a whisper. The dagger at the man's side had been a bonus too ornate for Astra's taste and hardly impressive as a mere rank-one item. Pretty, though. Some fool would trade far above its worth for something that shiny.
He had stolen about five gold standards. A great haul.
For now, the coins were what mattered, their weight sitting pleasantly in his palm as fireworks shattered overhead. Brilliant colors flashed against the violet haze of Duskfall's sky, painting his path in strokes of crimson, cobalt, and molten gold.
The bazaar was chaos incarnate. Merchants barked prices in a dozen dialects, hawkers flaunted wares beneath mana-lamps that glimmered like bottled starlight, and the crowd churned in a restless tide of elbows and laughter. Somewhere in the distance, a troupe of Snear drummers beat out a furious rhythm, their sound cutting through the din like war drums.
Astra's gaze flicked back toward that exotic drink stall he'd seen earlier—iridescent liquid swirling in crystal decanters, lit from within by faint mana sparks. It looked expensive. And worth every coin he didn't have.
Then his eyes caught something far less appealing.
Pinned to a wooden noticeboard beside a spice vendor was his face frozen in the flat, too-perfect clarity of a light-magic print. He remembered the moment well: shirtless next to an olden lady, middle of being caught-in the act and looking half-stunned. His violet eyes gleamed from the parchment like they were mocking him, his curls a frizzled mess around his face.
[WANTED ]
[Alive]
Astra
[Star rating] 1/7
[Bounty] Direct commission
[Reward]- 50 Gold Standards
He clenched his jaw. Fi-fity?! Thats a little too much! One can live their whole life off that sum and be comfortable! "Hmm I see I'm a one star target, gods thats terrifying, I actually might encounter a powerful bounty hunter!" Astra knew that the way bounty rankings worked for Orders, Church's, Guilds, and Nations was based up on a system of stars, Up to seven, anything above five was considered demigod status and was a commission for demigods or perhaps the rare genius knights that can possibly match them.
Wanted men could also claim the bounties of other wanted men via various means, direct wire transfers being the best way, this encouraged criminals to not ally with each other and made bounty hunting a real profession.
Astra even getting a one star ranking was impressive, granted he got it simply because of his elusive abilities and the reward for him being so high at fifty gold standards. But most rank ones dont even get close to a one star, a half star being the most commonly seen type, for rank twos they barely break one star and perhaps go up to two if their really powerful, the trend seems continue up. However there are aways outliers.
Astra grumbled "Ugh, that skank… Not only did she pressure me, but she had the gall to report me?" His voice was low but sharp with disbelief. "Has she no shame for her husband?" The anger faded just enough for the corner of his mouth to twitch upward in grim amusement. "Thinking about it… yeah. It definitely was her husband who put the bounty up. Lovely. Just lovely."
He felt increasingly frustrated "Not only am I a class one ranked citizen but now I am a wanted man with a one star bounty to my name. With fifty golds! just what has been my luck recently."
Astra sighed. "Gods, the things I do for money…"
A visible shudder ran through him. "Noble women," he muttered, "Truly are the most terrifying kind there are."
His eyes slid sideways as a family passed young parents with a boy barely tall enough to reach the lemonade cart. They laughed, the light from a string of mana-lanterns gilding their faces.
Something cold pricked at Astra's chest. He hated that sensation. He had no family not anymore. Only the faint memory of a mother's smile, long blurred by time. She had been gone since he was a child, and the world had taught him quickly that no one else could be relied upon.
He tugged the hood of his threadbare cloak lower, the frayed edges shadowing his features. The garment did little to mask the faint magical aura he carried, but he'd perfected the art of fading into a crowd drifting into the seams of the city where no one looked too closely.
Still, there was a part of him that craved the opposite to be seen, remembered, and more than just another shadow in the streets.
The festival had turned the Lower Bazaar into a river of sound flutes and hand drums, hawkers singing prices into the air, laughter breaking like surf against the stone. Paper lanterns drifted on invisible currents, their mana-cores humming softly; fireworks stitched veins of gold through the violet sky and bled into the great, shimmering canopy of the Twilight Tower.
Astra moved through it all like a shadow that refused to be caught by light. He had to be increasingly vigilante now that he had seen his bounty.
He cut down a narrower street where the lanterns thinned and the laughter thinned with them. The stones here were older, uneven from too many winters and too many fights. Stalls gave way to shuttered doors and sagging cloth awnings. The festival didn't quite reach this far, not without getting its pockets turned out.
A voice oiled out of the dark. "Well, well. If it isn't the little pretty boy."
Astra didn't slow. He didn't look up. He recognized the tone one of those gutter-crews with more swagger than structure, the kind that changed names every season and leaders every week. They had tried to "recruit" him once. He'd said no. They'd tried to make an example. He'd made two of them bleed and walked away.
"What were they called again...fuck uhhh the Baslilks? No thats the huge one..fuck I actually dont remember." Astra knew of one Gang as they actually were the leading gang faction in the slums, their leader being a rank three Jester. The red mage, the gang was called the reds or whatever Astra never bothered with their full name, but he actually was wary of them.
Astra smiled arrogantly, "Why good evening um you guys. Long time no see?"
Boots scraped. Four shapes peeled off the shadows, then six, then more cheap blades, cheaper armor, and the sour stink of a courage brewed in back-alley bottles. One of them wore a scarf the red of old rust; another jingled with stolen charms that didn't match his rank. A bigger man stepped forward, scar running like a dried riverbed from ear to jaw. A rank two squire, his presences was barely there, he would he considered bottom of the barrel of his rank.
But for someone living in the outskirts ghettos of Duskfall he was a being of genuine influence, as the most common rank was low tier to mid tier rank one. Making him a small fish in a smaller pond.
He spread his arms, theatrical, as if the street was a stage and the audience was anyone who'd ever doubted him.
"You forgot us," Scar said, half-grin cutting wide. "That hurts."
"Yeah well I forget a lot of things," Astra said, and kept walking.
A hand shot out, catching his shoulder. Astra looked at the hand as if it were an insect that had made a poor decision, then raised his eyes, slow, finally granting them the smallest slice of his attention. Violet met dull brown in the lanternlight.
"Festival tax ten Silver standards, or your head" Scar crooned. "Local hospitality fee. You walk our vein, you pay. That's how the Lower Bazaar breathes."
"The Lower Bazaar wheezes," Astra said his voice cold and filled with mockery. "There's a difference."
Yeah right. Astra scoffed inwardly. Ten silver standards? for his squad of losers? His ego would rather see him dead before he coughed up ten silvers for this sorry bunch. Scar was wanted for 20 golds if Astra remembered correctly.
A few of them laughed without meaning it. A knife came up short, triangular, a street-stabber's tool held by a wiry boy trying on menace like a shirt a size too large. Astra tilted his head, not at the blade, but at the boy's stance. His battle intent surged. Telegraphed draw. Weak wrist. Overcommitted front foot. He didn't even need to think about him.
Do I have to fight all of them? The rank two may prove to be a problem, the rest are no better than beggars Astra scoffed inwardly. They act like they can keep me held up? How audacious.
Scar stepped in close, breath sweet with festival wine. "Word is you've been lifting purses. Word is you're feeling brave. Mr. Fifty Golds."
Gods already? Astra scoffed inwardly.
"Brave?" he said, thoughtful. "No. Bored."
Something mean flashed through Scar's eyes. He flicked two fingers. The circle tightened. Eight now. Ten. Enough to feel like a net if you believed in nets. Astra was genuinely amused now.
He looked past them, over them, through them, the way you look through smoke to see where the fire actually is. This alley had a second exit; two steps and a vault over a broken cart would put him on a laundry roof. From there, three jumps to the oil vendor's eaves, then down into the back of a spice house. Or he could just walk forward. A dozen ways out, all of them easy.
"You think you're too good for this," Scar said, reading the gaze and mistaking it for swagger. "For us."
"I don't think about you at all," Astra retorted with a slight chuckle, He truly meant it.
Scar scoffed. "Just because your mommy and daddy left you, Alone. Weak. Helpless. A cute little boy like you to fend for himself in a den of wolves. could not or perhaps it should not make you such an arrogant little prick now should it? Join us rat, and i'd be willing to overlook that handsome bounty of yours."
Astras smile was slowly fading.
Scar continued. "While you may be pretty too pretty, enough to make even men desire after you." Scar laughed mockingly "I know you have talent with mana and fighting but that doesn't make you a noble now does it rat? You, you are no better than this, than us. Your fate is is sealed and it is no way better than ours."
Scar sighed." At the very least. Know your place."
Astra stared scar in the eyes, tension rising, for a second he had actually entertained killing scar right then and there but...why should I care? he mocked himself inwardly killing them would prove tiring and dangerous no matter how much stronger he was, not to mention get him unwanted attention.
Astra laughed. "Gods I think you like me you creep, I never knew you played both ways."
Scars eyes darkened his hand tightened on Astra's shoulder. The others shifted, metal whispering. Someone muttered a cantrip; it fizzled, the caster's rank too thin to hold it steady. The festival boomed again overhead—fireflowers blooming, violet washing to silver for a heartbeat and back and in that brief flare Astra saw himself reflected in a window: tall, pale among bronzed faces, hair like midnight caught in wind, eyes that made people pause and then look away.
He saw the distance there and felt it uncoil in him like something practiced.
"Take the fee," Scar said. "Or leave something else. Perhaps your dignity." His smile grew, Astra felt disgusted. "Choose brat, Get turned in, Pay the measly ten silvers or allow me to show you what a real man is." Scar gave his ultimatum
Astra thought inwardly. It's so obvious what he's trying to do, Intimidate me by berating and threatening and for what? to flaunt his "influence" in front of his men? As if id let him even do anything."
Do I just beat the shit out of them?, Gods I cant believe this fucking pathetic insect is berating me.
He took a long exhale, a tired sound. "No" Astra responded to the goons as he slapped scars hand off of him and stepped back. "I have somewhere to be." He paused as his mana whirred, the shadows grew slightly starker and deeper as his skin grew a little more pale. Astra spoke in a dangerous and low tone.
He looked at the surrounding men thoughtfully "Let's not act like you guys can even try to hold me."
Scar felt a chill run through his body. Something was off about this boy. He had always known Astra to be an arrogantly talented kid, but theres plenty of those in the outskirts and their fates always end up the same. He hadn't seen Astra in about a year, last time he tried to recruit him only for Astra to laugh in his face. He had especially targeted him tonight mainly due to well him not liking the brat and his handsome bounty but he knew that claiming that would be too much of a hassle, so he had pressured him into either giving in to his desires or paying the tax, the end result being that he and his gang getting a benefit.
Apparently he did that to a lot of gangs and people, making him an outcast in-between outcasts. Truly a lonesome existence. Yet tonight, the way his mana felt and the reaction from the ambient elements left a stunning impression on Scar. A mere rank one had a presence that matched soldiers! it was nearly high tier rank one and he was a mere boy. " I cant back down Scar thought. what would my underlings think of me? Damn arrogant rat. " He felt his emotions surge with rage and envy.
Some of the other men instantly felt the stark difference in power. Yet they looked at scar expectingly, after all he was rank two and their leader.
In the tension it wasnt Astra or Scar that made the first move. The wiry boy lunged. It was a clumsy decision, born of impatience and a need to impress. Astra slid not a flourish, not a dancer's spin, just a clean diagonal step that let the blade travel through the space where he'd been. His palm kissed the boy's wrist, a small turn; the knife went light and left the boy's hand as if it had decided to seek better company. Astra caught it by the spine and let it drop, point-first, into the gap between two stones where it stuck humming.
Two moved at once after that. Astra met the first with a heel to the knee sharp, direct, impersonal—and shoulder-rolled through the second, letting the man's momentum carry him into a crate with a splintering thud.
Do I use mana Astra thought deep in concentration thinking about his escape route. He knew better than to be arrested for some petty squabble like this.
"Enough," Scar snarled, and came in with a real strike, the kind that had ended fights before. Astra saw the tells hip lead, shoulder angle and cut inside it. Elbow to ribs. Fingers to throat not crushing, just reminding, his presence washed over the alleyway reminding every one of the stark disparity in not only skill but mana power.
He leaned close enough that only Scar could hear him a dangerous arrogant smile Illuminated his face causing the remaining members stunned. A mere kid had just won the fight with their leader easily!
Astra had caught this gang boss off guard and ended the fight in an instant!
"I fear I have been too nice recently" Astra said softly mimicking Scars earlier tone out of pure pettiness."Remember your place. You and your squad of insects. Perhaps if you were the Red mages reds or literally anyone with an ounce of real power, I would have bothered to actually play into your stupid antics. But we are nowhere near the same and never will be. "
He sighed slowly as his energy reached a crescendo his body fully backed with mana now making him slightly stronger. "And it's not because you are Ugly. Weak. Old and decrepit. No it's because of that pathetic mindset of yours you loser. How dare you even try to tie me down to such a fate similar to yours? Next time if there even is a next time. Make sure to remember just how easy it is for me to end you."
Scar went very still. He hadn't been in such a position in years.
Astra released him and stepped back. His presence long gone yet its effect lingered with these rats. A path had opened; nobody was quite sure when. The gang wasn't looking at him now so much as looking at each other, that silent math gutter-crews do when their legend collides with an obstacle he wasn't ready to quantify.
"Find a better name," Astra added, because pettiness had always been one of his smaller sins. He tossed the knife he had got from disarming someone earlier."And a better knife." It landed in-front of scar who was still on the ground.
He walked. No hurry. No backward glance. The festival swallowed him after three turns; the alley was just another seam in the city's great garment of light and shadow.
Loneliness settled on him as the noise rose again—familiar, unshakable, companionable in the way an empty room can be if you've slept in it long enough. He felt it and let it be. Arrogance rode beside it like a blade at his hip, not because he wanted the weight but because he knew no one else could carry it for him.
A troupe of dancers passed, skirts flashing like schools of fish; a vendor lifted a tray of sugared almonds; a child pointed at a skyship sliding between towers like a silver whale. Astra gazed up past it all, past the fireworks and the mana-glow and the soft bruise of the sky, to where the stars should have been.
"Not here," he said under the noise, to no one at all.
Then he folded himself back into the crowd, a shadow rejoining the larger night, already forgetting faces and names already measuring, in the private arithmetic of his ambition, the distance between alleys and thrones.
He kept moving, weaving toward the upper bazaar, where the real treasures glittered behind guarded stalls. Rich folk, careless in their comfort, were always worth the trip.
Shaking off that little encounter Astra set his plans into motion his mood was a little better now.
Astra knew better than to mix with gangs and people who he deemed lesser. It was a terrible trait he had but one born out of not classism but mere intuition and survival instincts. Who knows what some gangs would have made him do or would have done to him if they had the chance. Astra in all of his life had about two friends. In the end it both ended the same damn way. Abandonment.
The first time he was in love with an older noble lady of a prominent house in Sahara, he was seeing her on the low, she had taught him politics, tradition, love, and most importantly, the strength of power. He knew his life wasn't some romantic fantasy novel with a happy ending, so naturally she cut him off, either because she got bored or out of necessity, he truly did not know and honestly care anymore. Although she still haunts his dreams.
The second was someone he had deemed equal to himself in talent and strength..almost looks yet it ended the same, only for him to disappear at the first chance he got. Some important quest or adventure. He had taught Astra how to fight, wield magic, spell theories and marital techniques be it from multiple people to alone. Astra in all honesty could not blame them for their actions and was deeply grateful. But in this world, everyone had to be selfish to rise. Family was a concept Astra had never experienced, nor even believed in anymore. The idea of people caring for you simply because you share blood was foreign to him as he had seen brothers slit each other's throats in the ghettos. Naturally everyone harbored secrets as well and did not divulge them, the strongest secrets were those related to one's power and weakness. Astra knew both his old friends had their owns just as he had his. Even though his were probably a lot more dangerous.
Astra sighed as he stopped caring to bother with friendships or girls. He had better stuff to do. Afterall he needed to get rich, buy new spell books to become even more powerful, weapons armor, and most importantly alcohol.
A bright smile illuminated his face. "How lucky I am to have adventure calling for me."
"The night is mine," he said under his breath, the words curling with excitement. Springtime Advent wasn't just a festival it was his birthday, or at least as close to one as he would ever claim. He didn't know the day he'd been born, but every year, But when he saw the stars above Duskfall burn even for a minute, he decided it was his.
Tonight, he was seventeen. An adult, by the reckoning of every realm—Sahara, Alfhiem, Apu, Snear, Dunya Wai. Old enough to drink, fight, marry, or be executed.
A mischievous gleam flickered in his violet eyes. He would make this birthday one worth remembering, and coin...lots of it, was the first step.
"Steal from the rich, steal from the poor…" Astra smirked, laughter slipping past his lips. "Or however the hell the saying goes."