By late afternoon, Minas Solair looked entirely different from how it had in the morning.
The thin veils of mist had melted away, revealing rows of silver-glinting houses. Signs hung suspended in midair, tinkling softly as the breeze passed—like wind chimes made of crystal.
Lucen walked ahead, hands stuffed in his cloak pockets, whistling cheerfully.
"Just two more blocks! This shop's got everything—rune pens, cloaks, even bottled ether fragrance. The owner's a bit odd, but his stuff's top-notch."
Elior followed close behind, eyes wide, taking in every detail. The lower clouds of the district were quieter but full of life. A delivery cart floated by, carrying glowing fruits like clusters of gems. Overhead, a few message sprites fluttered past, leaving trails of glittering starlight in their wake.
When they turned a corner, Elior suddenly froze.
At the mouth of the next alley hovered a figure draped in black. Its cloak reached all the way to the ground, but its feet never touched it—only a pair of thin, greyed hands emerged from the folds. There was no sound of footsteps. Only a faint hiss of cold air, like frost sighing.
Elior's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Lucen… who is that?"
Lucen stopped as well. His usual easy grin faded, replaced by an unfamiliar seriousness.
"Don't stare. That's an arch demon."
"An arch demon?" Elior repeated, swallowing hard.
"Yeah—low-tier demons," Lucen murmured. "People summon them for odd jobs sometimes, but most of them... aren't exactly friendly. You don't see many around here. Probably just passing through. Best not let it notice you."
Elior said nothing. The figure drifted forward slowly, then turned sharply into a narrow alleyway—one where light couldn't reach. In the blink of an eye, it was gone.
Lucen exhaled and patted Elior's shoulder.
"Come on. You'll see stranger things once we get to Astra."
Elior managed a weak smile, though a chill lingered on his skin. When he glanced back, only a thin wisp of mist floated where the shadow had been—as if nothing had ever passed.
A few streets later, a small shop appeared, tucked into the corner of the block. Its walls shimmered faintly blue, and the dark wooden door looked ancient but well cared for. Above it hung a rune-lit sign that read:
THE MISTLIGHT SHOP – Magical Goods & Journey Supplies
Lucen pushed the door open. A silver bell chimed softly.
Inside, the air smelled of incense and old leather. Hundreds of objects floated gently through the air: silver shields etched with runes, energy-forged blades, crystal staffs, cloaks folded neatly inside glowing frames, and glass bottles filled with lilac-hued smoke.
Elior stepped in, eyes wide in wonder.
"I've… never seen a place like this."
A warm, gravelly voice answered from behind the counter.
"Most newcomers say that."
Out from the back came an elderly man—thin, white-haired, his eyes sharp and lively despite the lines on his face. He wore a deep-blue robe with a small rune-engraved lens hanging from his belt.
"Welcome," he said with a smile. "Name's Beltran, owner of the Mistlight Shop. You must be Lucen Varell's friend, eh? That boy owes me half my inventory."
Lucen laughed sheepishly.
"Come on, Master Beltran! I'm actually here to buy something this time."
"I'll believe that when I see it," Beltran chuckled, turning to Elior. "So—you're a new student at Astra, aren't you? Fresh as morning dew, that face of yours."
Elior nodded, a little flustered.
"Yes, sir. I just need a few essentials."
Beltran leaned on his staff, walking closer with a slow but deliberate grace.
"For beginners, I'd recommend a moon-hued protection cloak and a basic wand. Both come with a small energy core—those glowing stones you see there."
Elior's eyes followed his gesture to a display case filled with tiny orbs, each glowing in shades from red to violet.
"They're called Dark Matter Crystals," Beltran explained. "Refined fragments of pure dark essence. Their colors mark quality—red is the lowest, violet the highest. But for a novice, a steady red core is more than enough."
Lucen chimed in, grinning:
"Start simple. At Astra, they test your control, not your gear."
Elior nodded and moved along the counter, running his fingers over rows of wands—each one humming faintly under his touch. Some were warm and resin-scented, others cool as mist. But when his hand brushed a small wand of pale ashwood, set with a single crimson crystal at its hilt, a gentle pulse stirred in his chest. It felt… familiar.
Beltran's eyes twinkled.
"That one's chosen you, lad."
Elior said nothing, only smiled softly. He picked out a plain white cloak, its collar lined with a thin thread of silver. No embroidery, no shimmer—only a quiet lightness, like wind against skin.
Beltran wrapped both items neatly and said,
"Wand—twenty Silver Gleams. Cloak—forty. But since you're Lucen's friend, I'll make it fifty for both."
Lucen pulled a bright gold coin from his pocket and slid it across the counter.
"Keep the change, Master Beltran! For next time."
Beltran arched a brow.
"Quite the generous spend, boy. You throw coin like you throw wind."
He chuckled, shaking his head, though his eyes softened. "Take care with that wand, young man. The first flow of energy is always the hardest to master."
Elior accepted the bundle with both hands and bowed slightly.
As they stepped outside, the bell chimed again.
Evening had tinted the streets of Minas Solair in a wash of amber. Elior glanced back—and for a heartbeat, through the misted doorway, he thought he saw Master Beltran still watching them go. The old man's smile lingered, calm yet distant, as though his gaze stretched far beyond the clouds.
Lucen tugged his sleeve.
"Come on! If we hurry, we can still catch the sunset at the Wind Docks!"
Elior smiled faintly, gripping the package tighter.
Inside, the small red crystal pulsed once—softly, steadily—like the heartbeat of a brand-new beginning.