𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 10: "𝕷𝖊𝖊"
"Where have you sent me, man?" I groan at the striking sunrays falling on my head. It's so hot I could warm my tea on my scalp—and probably freeze to death at night.
Walking inside, I find myself deeper in the market's maze. It's alive—like a daily festival. People chattering, shouting... I don't even know what curry is. Others scream at animals stealing food, not caring if they step on someone or crush them.
"Can't you see where you're going?!"
The box splatters onto the ground as I fail to balance it.
"¡Tch! Si dejaras de arrastrar tu mierda como si fueras el dueño de la calle, tal vez la gente no se tropezarĂa con tu caja inĂştil. La prĂłxima vez, mantĂ©n tu basura—y esa nariz arrogante tuya—fuera del camino."
(If you'd stop dragging your crap around like you own the street, maybe people wouldn't trip over your worthless box. Next time, keep your junk—and that stuck-up nose of yours—out of the way.)
My eye twitches at the outburst. What on earth is he bickering about? Instead of arguing, I turn and glance at the mess scattered on the ground. This market's full of dirty old creeps and drooling pervs who don't know how to keep their eyes to themselves... I need to be careful before more people trample my stuff.
I kneel down, hands hovering over the fallen gear, when a shadow blocks the sunlight. A chill trickles down my back. I look up—and freeze.
Creepy lechers. Towering over me. One of them with that look. Drooling.
"¿Una niñita, eh?"
(Little girl, huh?) the middle one sneers.
I swear to God, I'll break their jaws if they're here to—
"ÂżHay algĂşn problema aquĂ?"
(Is there any problem here?)
A voice comes from behind—measured, calm, subtle. I don't bother to turn, but it seems enough to scare the three scumbags off.
I keep picking my stuff up and quickly stand, turning to leave.
The marketplace buzzes with movement—metal clinking, steam hissing from pipes, voices shouting over the midday rush. I walk further, arms full of scavenged tech and repair kits, counting in a slight panic, focused on my task.
My sage eyes scan the cluttered bench for the right coupler. I pace fast—like I always do when I'm trying not to think too much.
Is that man still behind me?
I hesitate. Then turn quickly—only to collide hard with the same damn stroller still parked behind me.
This time, I don't drop the box. I shake my head and look up—
—and up—
—and up.
"Woah."
My eyes widen. The man towers over me, broad-shouldered, dressed in worn leather with silver clasps shaped like bones at his waist.
Gray hair streaked with a lock of green—just like mine—frames his temples. He's wearing a turtleneck. In this heat? A faded red sash is tied around his waist. His gaze is sharp. Amused.
And he smells faintly of salt and ash.
Eww.
He spits out something smooth, lyrical—and completely foreign. Definitely the same curry-language those previous idiots spoke.
I blink.
"Great," I mutter. "One of those. Showing off with whatever language that was."
He doesn't seem harmful. I brush past him without another glance.
"Rascal," I add under my breath, just loud enough to feel good about it.
I stop at a vendor's cart, asking how much he's willing to give me for Ethan's order.
He doesn't move. Just watches.
Then, as my chatter continues, his voice rings again—this time crisp and clear, in my language.
"You really thought I wouldn't get it?"
I freeze for a moment. Oh shit. I hear his chuckle—soft, subtle—as my back stiffens.
"I would kindly suggest… to have some courtesy next time."
Slowly, I turn to face him. His expression hasn't changed much—still amused, still dangerous. But now… there's something else in his voice: interest.
"Strange… most people ask my name first."
My brow furrows.
"And who are you exactly?" I ask, trying to match his mock energy.
He offers a slow, crooked grin.
"Xavier… and a passing by Traveler…maybe." He says it with a mild shrug.
I stare, then roll my eyes.
"Fantastic… and a show-off."
Turning back to my work, pulling out the piece of paper that's nearly soaked from my sweaty hands.
"The Iberian's Lotus Exchange Market. Find Arlo of the Mechanics."
How am I supposed to find this man—and where? I am never doing favors for Ethan ever again—
His voice cuts into my thoughts.
"Hey, I can help if you're stuck."
"Pardon, I don't do strangers."
"Well, you'll only find this stranger upright and nowhere else—"
"You know who's Arlo here?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder at him.
The victorious grin he gives almost makes me want to smack him. He steps closer, pulling out a map and starts translating it into something I can actually understand. The way he explains… It's something I've only seen in Ethan. Quick, efficient, oddly patient.
"There," he says. "Should I walk you out too now?"
"Yes," I reply, feigning enthusiasm—already tuning out his last yap.
I grab the heavy box again, almost losing balance—
Until it suddenly feels lighter. Then completely gone from my arms.
"What the—"
"Let me."
"Hey—"
"Hathquill sent you here, right?"
I was about to protest, but then I blink. And nod. He's eyeing the piece of paper still in my hand—completely soaked now, the ink smudging.
"I guess this is his handwriting."
I glared from the paper to him, then back again.
"You know him?"
"We're trading partners," he adds, starting to walk beside me. "Heard the Trials are over… because of someone new."
He side-glances at me.
I exhale, looking forward.
"Yes."
After a moment of walking, my curiosity finally piques.
"So, you're with the Crimson Reapers?"
"No one. I and my crew don't take sides. The Trials were their matter, not ours. And you? Are you with them too?"
"Ashens," I answer.
"Oh—Nikolaii Kakolya, right?" he adds. "I first met her after the royal librarian's death. She's pretty young, yet smart enough to be a Trial member."
There's a short pause before he speaks again.
"How should I call you?" he asks, like it's a just in case thing.
I pretend not to hear him.
"Alright… Peach."
"What?"
"Yes."
"Hold on—"
"I might start calling you Peach, since you refused to give me your real one." His voice is unbelievably soft and nonchalant.
I just nod at that, irritation crawling through my nerves.
Great.
He suddenly hovers his arm in front of me, blocking the way.
"We're here."
He's definitely full of himself. Blocking the way wasn't necessary—
Nevermind, it was.
I didn't even notice the change in footsteps—from the stone porch to the wooden clicks. I would've drowned if I had crossed the pier's edge.
Finally, some fresh breeze from the sea ruffles my hair. I exhale and turn left to the vendor's cart.
"Arlo's Mechanics."
That's what's written on the signboard above. Walking forward, I knock on the wooden plank until someone finally gets our attention.
"Ohohohoh, yes?"
That's the merchant? A palm-rubbing rat who smells desperation the way hawks smell blood—acts like he's doing you a favor while gutting your coin pouch.
"You must be sent by Mister Hathquill," he says, his accent peaking with a sharp Spanish curl—amused, as if already calculating the value of my soul.
"Yes, and…" I slam the box down on his counter with a dusty thud.
"Now… trade?"
"Oh, yes, yes, lady—here you go."
He rummages through his stash, then tosses me a rolled parchment and a small pouch. I catch it mid-air and peek inside. The silver shillings glint faintly.
"Your change," he adds.
"Appreciate it tons," I smirk.
"Make sure to put in a word with him."
"Ethan, you asked for?"
"Yes, Hathquill's son. Hehe, he's an aloof one—but quite noble."
"Say less," I reply with an amused frown.
I shove the items into my leg's patch pocket. Just then, a familiar bird chirps—once, then again, circling above before diving toward me.
"Gale?"
One, two, three…
Three chirps at once. Retreat call.
"Ethan's calling me back."
There should be someone else too. Why always Ethan?
I sigh at the repetition.
"Alright, I'm coming… guess I should be leaving—"
Where the hell did that huge traveller go?
My shoulders slump.
"Thank you… I guess."
I shouldn't be wasting time. It feels urgent. Let's go.
I call upon Gale and start making my way out of the market...
.
I almost let out a gasp as I slam open the door, Gale resting on my shoulder.
"You called?" I spit out.
Ethan looks up from the cartographer's desk—along with Maple and Clementine… and, of course, the most unexpected yet familiar face.
That show-off guy.
"You again?" I say, almost under my breath.
The most vicious grin he ever gave me was this one. It makes me frown—half disgust, half bewilderment.
I sigh slowly and step forward, my gaze locked on him—until it shifts to the others.
"Right on time," Ethan greets.
I toss him the bundle just like the merchant tossed it to me.
"A trade-off he gave for the things—"
"It's yours to keep."
Ethan hands me back the pouch of shillings without even glancing at it.
I blink, then grasp it again.
"Thank you."
I hand him the rolled parchment next, pulling it from my pocket.
"He gave me this first."
Ethan places it flat on the table, unrolling it carefully. To my surprise, it reveals not a letter—but a map.
"Look—here's the Cavern, the Pariet's Hill, the Allure's Amethyst Tree, the lake that connects to the vast sea-like pond where the Wraith's shipwreck can be found…" Maple's finger hovers over the contents, then glances at the traveler.
"And the fifth place is unknown—where the piece of the painting could be."
She gestures for Clementine to continue.
"Wait, I'm out of the loop. What pieces… of paintings?"
"We're going to find the five paintings of Huangshan's Legends Specials," the traveller speaks—
God, what was his name again?
"They were split in pieces and torn away. Now they're kept in different places."
I blink at his tall frame.
"Your name?"
He smirks.
"And here I thought you considered us kindred… Peach."
I shoot him the one look every other girl probably gave him when he tried that flirtatious tone.
"Xavier," he says again, this time with a serious tone.
"Xavier Daix."
I give him a subtle nod, then turn my attention back to Ethan.
"Still need your mother's permission for this quest too… Ethan?" Maple asks.
"Only if I can get my hands on that parchment. That would be a lot easier," he says, rubbing his chin.
"You can't always steal the parchments, you know." Clementine's voice is light, teasing.
"Yeah, you're right. And then blaming Nikolaii for not having justification… you're right."
I glance at the map and frown at its contents.
These places are just so… strange. How could I not know about such expanses here?
"Tell me, Lee. You've never stepped out of Filthshore, have you?" Ethan says, reading the look on my face.
"Ah… me? Amm…" I hesitate. "Well, it was quite hostile inside there—"
"Wrong," Ethan cuts in.
My eyes widen slightly in confusion.
"Filthshore is much more hostile from the inside," he says.
"Yeah…" I blink, unsure again. "I was… the wanted one back then," I admit with a sheepish look.
"For what?" Clem asks.
"For having weird-colored hair." I lie, lips squeezed into a forced smile.
Xavier chuckles softly at that.
"Let's just focus on deciding which domains and who is going to comb through them," he says, cutting through the chatter.
"I'll take the wreck."
I say that on purpose, practically feeling Xavier's silent glare dig into me.
"Peach," he calls quietly—just to piss me off.
"I'll take the Allure's Amethyst Tree," Maple says, stepping in.
"I'll be with Ari, on top of the lake. Helps well while soaring," Clem adds.
"I'm not taking caverns this time," Ethan declares, shooting me a half-glare.
"I'm afraid if I choose the Pariet's Hill, who knows what will be awaiting me there—but the only way to find out is to give in," he adds, rolling the map back up.
"Alright everyone—off to the quest. Wish you all the best of luck… and stay safe."
We all nod in unison before turning to leave.
All but me
Outside, a quiet hum carries through the night air, but my focus stays on the man behind me…
I wait a little longer.
"You're not coming?" I ask Xavier.
"Right after you," he replies casually.
I shoot Xavier a final glance over my shoulder.
He… doesn't feel right. Or maybe I'm overthinking it.
He's an old acquaintance of theirs. They definitely know better than my suspicions.
Taking a deep breath, I steady myself and step out—closing the door behind me with a soft click.