Seris was sweeping the stall's wooden floor, though more out of habit than necessity.
Though the encounter with the Artificer had left a bitter aftertaste, it hadn't spoiled the day. Kael was already thinking ahead—about how to avoid guild entanglements, about expanding the stall, about what to do next.
A customer approached. Kael handed over the items he wanted, exchanged a few words, took the coins, then turned to the next in line.
This one stood out.
Dust clung to the folds of his travel-worn cloak, and the hilt of a longsword jutted from his belt.
"Is this from the flying city?" he asked, tapping one of the items with a gloved finger. "I heard they have stuff like this up there."
Flying city? What is that?
Kael shook his head, offering a faint, practiced smile. "Ah—no. It's far from my country. What do you want?"
The traveler didn't seem bothered by the curt reply. He nodded toward a stack of Canned food. "One of those. Twenty pieces."
"Of course."
Kael took twenty canned foods, put them in a cloth bag, and gave them to the man.
The man gave the coins and turned away.
Kael watched him go for a moment, thoughtful.
He turned toward Seris. She was still sweeping, rhythmically, the same part of the stall she had swept minutes ago. Her eyes flicked up when she noticed his gaze.
"Seris," Kael said, keeping his voice low. "You ever hear of a flying city?"
She stopped sweeping.
"Why?" she asked.
"One customer mentioned it. Said he thought one of the gadgets was from there. Looked like he knew what he was talking about."
Seris glanced toward the street, though the man was long gone. Then she leaned the broom against the counter and wiped her hands on her skirt, as if preparing to speak properly.
"I've heard of it," she said finally. "Rumors. Whispers in court, mostly. My uncle claimed to have seen it once. Said it floated above the ocean like a drifting fortress. Nobody believed him."
Kael frowned. "What did he say it was?"
"A city," she said simply. "One that doesn't touch the earth. Kept aloft by... something. Old magic, or machines. Maybe both. The nobles liked the idea of it—romanticized it. But they never agreed on whether it was real. Some said it was a remnant of the old wars, others thought it was a sanctuary. A place you go when the world below no longer suits you."
He raised an eyebrow. "Convenient."
She gave a faint, humorless smile. "Or dangerous. Depending on who's asking."
Kael leaned his weight against the stall's frame, arms crossed. "You think it's real?"
Seris hesitated. "I think people don't invent things like that without reason."
They were quiet for a moment.
"Okay. Get ready. It's time to close the stall."
She just nodded, and followed.
The streets were busier now—traders, adventurers, coin-pouched townsfolk moving between shops and taverns. A bard sang in a nearby square, his voice rising over the bustle, telling some tale about a silver dragon and a doomed love. Kael barely heard it.
He took them through a narrower road, one with a single open lantern post and moss growing up its walls. Finally, they came to a building marked with a modest blue banner and a silver emblem etched like a seal.
"City Records & Trade Registry."
Kael didn't hesitate. He pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.
Behind the tall oak counter sat a balding clerk who looked like he hadn't moved in hours. He raised his head with the enthusiasm of a man woken from a nap.
"Name?" he droned.
"Kael," he replied. "Merchant. I'm here to file a claim."
The clerk blinked. "Claim?"
Kael set a small bag of coins on the table. The clink was enough to make the man sit up straighter.
"Ah. Of course. Claim for what, specifically?"
It didn't matter if the world ran on magic or machines. In every age, every realm, the language of coin was the same.
Power bent to gold. Laws followed wealth. And doors, no matter how tightly shut, always creaked open when you pressed silver into the cracks.
Kael pulled a rolled parchment from his satchel. It was freshly written—he'd penned it last night by candlelight, knowing the Artificer's return was only a matter of time.
"This is a preliminary merchant registration—under independent foreign trader status. I'm filing intent to establish a foreign goods stall under Article Twelve of the 4th Commerce Accord."
The clerk's eyes widened slightly. "Article Twelve… haven't seen that in years."
"It's still valid, isn't it?" Kael asked calmly.
Kael had learned about this article from Alenia, who told him it would help him.
"Technically, yes. Just… obscure." He skimmed the scroll, then reached for a thicker ledger behind the counter. "Alright. I'll need some time to process this."
"Of course. And once it's approved, it grants legal protection for foreign traders, yes?"
"So long as your goods are documented and your taxes filed properly."
Kael nodded. "I'm doing this by the book."
Seris, standing quietly behind him, leaned closer. "That'll keep the Guild off our backs?"
Kael kept his voice low. "No. But it gives us a paper shield. They'll have to go through City Hall before they come after us. And bureaucrats are slower than thieves."
The clerk scribbled something in the ledger, stamped the parchment, then handed back a duplicate copy. "Processing takes three to five days. You'll receive your registry seal when it's approved. Until then, this acts as provisional coverage."
Kael nodded. "Thank you."
They stepped back outside, and Seris exhaled.
"You don't trust them," she said.
"I trust that they don't like being embarrassed," Kael replied. "If the Artificer wants to make noise, he'll need leverage. If I look like a law-abiding trader under city charter protection, I'm harder to bully."
"It won't stop them forever."
"It doesn't have to. Just long enough for us to expand."
Seris studied him. "You keep thinking ahead."
Kael offered a faint smile. "I have to. We don't get second chances in this game."
They walked for another ten minutes, but then Kael stopped abruptly in front of a familiar wooden storefront.
Seris looked confused. "Why are we here?"
Kael tilted his head toward her, smiling. "Your clothes are dirty and worn out. I want to buy you some new ones."
She stepped back slightly. "But I'm a slave."
"You're mine. I take care of what's mine."
Before she could argue further, he pushed the door open and gestured for her to follow.
The bell above the door chimed, and a voice immediately called out from behind the counter.
"Ah! How are you? Where have you been all this time? You've nearly stopped coming to my shop."
It was Lirra, the rabbit-eared shopkeeper, her long ears perked up and twitching with curiosity.
Kael offered her a polite nod. "I've been busy with business."
Her eyes lit up as she took in Seris. "It seems your business is going well. You've even bought a slave."
"Yes. She's working as my assistant and bodyguard."
Lirra raised a furry brow. "A slave as an assistant? That's new."
"She's good at what she does."
"Well, if you say so. By the way, those clothes you gave me last time—they've become very popular with my customers. The thin ones with the smooth texture. I tried to copy them, but... I failed."
Kael smiled to himself. (Of course you failed. Those clothes were mass-produced by machines with precise stitching techniques you can't replicate by hand. Not in this era.)
"I understand," he said aloud. "I'll try to bring more next time. But the price will be much higher."
"There'll be no problem with that. I'll give you fifty silver in advance."
"Done," Kael said smoothly. "But today, I came here to buy clothes for her. Show us something good—beautiful, if possible."
Lirra leaned forward, her ears twitching skeptically. "Clothes for a slave?"