The back alleys of Solis were darker than the desert night. Here, the lanterns were dim and red, casting long, bloody shadows on the damp walls. The air was thick and smelled of spices, rust, and secrets. This was the "Shadow Market," a place where the laws of the Aethim Federation did not apply, and where anything could be bought for the right price.
Saira pulled Alden deeper into the maze of stalls. They passed vendors selling strange items: dried monster eyes in jars, bottles of glowing green liquid, and weapons made of black iron that hummed with energy.
"Stay close," Saira whispered, her hand gripping Alden's sleeve tightly. "Do not touch anything. And definitely do not eat anything."
Alden walked silently. He looked at everything with the same intensity he had shown the soldiers earlier. He was not scared. In fact, he looked bored. The chaos of the market did not seem to impress him. To a being who had just woken up from an eternal sleep, a human market was just noise.
They reached a small, crooked shop at the end of the alley. The sign above the door was a painted wooden eye, peeling from the heat.
Saira knocked three times. Knock. Knock. Knock.
A small sliding window on the door snapped open. A pair of sharp, green eyes peered out from the darkness inside.
"We are closed," a voice said. It sounded like dry paper being crumpled.
"I need to see Jiro," Saira said firmly. "The waitress at The Sleeping Sand sent me."
The eyes narrowed. "Did she now? And what does a little bird like you want with Jiro at this hour?"
"Parts," Saira replied, trying to sound confident. "For an Imperial Sand-Skiff. And I have gold."
The window slammed shut. A moment later, the heavy door groaned open.
Standing there was a short man. He wore too many layers of clothes—vests, scarves, and belts covered in pouches. His hair was a messy nest of brown curls, and he wore thick, round glasses that magnified his eyes. This was Jiro.
"Come in, come in! Quickly!" Jiro waved his hands nervously. "Don't let the Miasma in! The night air is bad for the gears."
Saira and Alden stepped inside. The shop was a chaotic museum of junk. Gears, wheels, books, and statues were piled high on shelves that reached the ceiling. It smelled of oil and old paper.
"So," Jiro said, rubbing his hands together. He looked at Alden up and down. "Who is the giant? Your bodyguard? He looks expensive. Does he bite?"
"He is my... friend," Saira said. "We need a main drive gear for a Type-4 Skiff. Can you help us?"
Jiro laughed. It was a high, squeaky sound. "A Type-4? That is military grade, my dear! The Zenoa Empire does not like civilians using their tech. If the soldiers find you with that, they will cut off your pretty wings."
"I know the risks," Saira interrupted. She placed a small leather bag of coins on the wooden counter. "This is fifty gold pieces. It is all I have."
Jiro picked up the bag. He weighed it in his hand. He shook his head slowly. "Fifty? For an illegal part? You insult me. The risk alone is worth a hundred. The Empire has spies everywhere tonight."
Saira's shoulders slumped. She looked desperate. "Please. We are stranded in the desert. My... my sister is missing. We need to find her. This is life or death."
Jiro looked at the gold, then at Saira's desperate face. He sighed dramatically, adjusting his glasses. "Fine. But only because I like your wings. They are rare around here. And I hate the Empire."
He climbed a rickety ladder and rummaged through a box on the top shelf. Dust rained down on them. "Here!"
He tossed a heavy metal gear down. It spun through the air. Alden caught it with one hand effortlessly. He didn't even flinch.
"Good reflex," Jiro muttered, impressed. "Now, take it and go. The soldiers are angry tonight. They say a 'Demon' fell from the sky. Crazy talk, right?"
Saira froze. She looked at Alden. Alden was staring at a small statue of a dragon on the counter. He touched it gently with one finger.
"Thank you, Jiro," Saira said quickly. She grabbed Alden's arm. "We are leaving."
They hurried out of the shop, back into the cool night air, clutching the heavy gear that would save them.
They could not return to Toran yet. The desert was too dark, and the monsters were hunting. Saira found an abandoned shed near the edge of the town walls. It was small and smelled of old hay, but it was hidden from the patrols.
"We will rest here for a few hours," Saira whispered, barring the door with a wooden plank. "When the sun comes up, we will run back to the crash site."
She sat down against the wall, pulling her knees to her chest. She was exhausted. The stress of the crash, the soldiers, and the market was too much for one day.
Alden sat opposite her. He placed the heavy gear on the ground. He looked at Saira.
"Sad?" he asked. His vocabulary was still limited, but he was learning fast.
"I am worried," Saira admitted. "About Toran. About Liana. About... you."
Alden tilted his head. "Me?"
"You are not normal, Alden," Saira said softly. "The way you looked at that captain... the way you caught that gear. You are strong. Maybe too strong for a boy found in a crater."
Alden looked at his hands. He flexed his fingers, watching the tendons move. "I... remember something."
"What?" Saira leaned forward.
"A fire," Alden whispered. "A big fire. And... a promise."
He closed his eyes. His body swayed.
"Sleep," he murmured. "Tired."
Before Saira could ask more, Alden slumped against the wall. His breathing became deep and slow instantly. Saira watched him for a while, until her own eyelids became heavy. Soon, the shed was silent.
But Alden was not just sleeping. He was traveling.