Morning sunlight spilled through the wooden shutters of the inn, painting the room in warm, soft gold. Port Centera was already awake, alive with the hum of distant chatter and the hollow thuds of crates being moved along the harbor. Althea stretched with a yawn, rubbing sleep from her eyes as the lingering scent of spiced bread drifted in from downstairs.

  Keal was already up, fastening the straps of his travel vest.

  Lyssa sat on the windowsill, watching the bustling streets with a calm expression, though her eyes glimmered with calculation — always watching, always quietly piecing things together.

  “You two ready?” Keal asked, glancing between them.

  Althea nodded. “Let’s eat first. Then the market.”

  Breakfast at the inn was surprisingly generous: thick slices of hearth bread, a bowl of glowing yellow fruit slices, and mild broth flavored with sea herbs. It filled their stomachs and warmed them, and by the time they stepped outside, the earlier chill had faded into a lively, comfortable buzz that wrapped around the city.

  Port Centera was unlike anything Althea had seen — wider roads, buildings carved into curving shapes that reminded her of flowing waves, and tall metallic spires that leaked faint shimmering mist into the sky. The people matched the diversity: long-haired Semi-lons with patterned skin, Milons with rune-bright eyes, and even a few Moultons—figures with ember-lit eyes.

  “Netheron is… something else,” Althea whispered, eyes wide.

  Keal grinned. “This is just the port. Wait until we get deeper inland.”

  Lyssa said nothing, but Althea didn’t miss the small smile tugging at her lips — the kind that suggested she knew far more than she let on.

  The Market Streets

  The market district unfolded before them in a burst of color, noise, and scents that hit like a wave. Stalls lined both sides of the wide street, draped with cloth banners in burning oranges, ocean blues, shimmering silvers. Merchants shouted over one another, advertising everything from star-steel trinkets to tiny flasks of glowing liquids.

  A Semi-lon merchant with jewel-blue scales waved his arm at passing customers. “Gragofire salve! Protect your skin from heat storms! Only three Uno!”

  Further down, two Moultons carried a green-glowing cage containing a small creature with curling horns and bright neon eyes.

  “A Nether Howler…” Keal murmured, awe in his voice. “Didn’t think they sold those here.”

  The creature let out a soft, echoing cry — not loud, but vibrating with magic.

  Althea’s jaw practically dropped. “What do people use those for?”

  “High-tier warnings,” Lyssa answered simply. “When a threat approaches, they scream. Everyone hears.”

  Keal blinked at her. “You sure know a lot about them?”

  Lyssa shrugged lightly. “Read about them somewhere.”

  Althea didn’t believe that for a second — but she let it slide.

  They walked slowly, absorbing the chaos around them. A stall selling enchanted fabrics rippled as if wind blew through it, though the air was still. A smith hammered weapons that glowed with red molten lines. Children chased each other with floating bubbles that hummed like tiny engines.

  Everything felt alive.

  Everything felt magical.

  The Hidden Corner of the Market

  The deeper they went, the more crowded it became. Althea squeezed between a wall of Semi-lons and a group of elderly Milons arguing about fish prices.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Over here,” Lyssa said, pointing toward a quieter side street.

  They slipped out of the tight main path and into a shaded corner. A few shabby stalls were tucked away here, selling old books, chipped jewelry, and rusted metal pieces that might have once been parts of machinery.

  That was when they heard it.

  “Come on! It’s not even worth ten Uno, it’s barely worth five! You’re scamming me!”

  The voice was young — sharp, annoyed, and filled with a stubborn kind of fire.

  Althea turned.

  A girl stood in front of a stall, hands clenched into fists. She wore a cloak patched in so many different fabrics it looked almost like a mosaic. Her hair was black with faint lavender at the tips, messy and wild. Her eyes were a deep storm-grey, flickering with frustration.

  The shopkeeper, an older Milon with gold-shimmer pupils, huffed.

  “Fifteen Uno. Final price.”

  “Fifteen?” the girl exploded. “This thing is scratched, dented, and literally missing the back plate! Are you kidding me?”

  “It is antique.”

  “It’s broken!”

  “Antique.”

  They went back and forth rapidly — like they’d rehearsed it.

  Keal snorted. “She’s got guts.”

  Lyssa tilted her head with mild amusement. “Or trouble.”

  Althea watched a moment, curious, then stepped forward without fully thinking. “Um… excuse me? Maybe you can compromise? Maybe… ten Uno?”

  The shopkeeper glared. The girl blinked in surprise.

  “Ten Uno?” the Milon scoffed. “Do I look like I run a charity?”

  Before Althea could respond, the girl shot her a grateful but exhausted look and hissed, “Don’t bother. He won’t budge unless lightning strikes him.”

  The argument resumed immediately.

  “I said—”

  “It is fifte—”

  Lyssa suddenly stepped forward.

  “Seven Uno,” she said calmly, her voice cutting through the noise like a cold blade.

  The shopkeeper jolted as if struck.

  Keal blinked. “Lyssa… what—”

  But Lyssa continued, tone icy. “Seven Uno. Because it is broken. And because you’ve tried to sell it all morning with no success. We watched. Three people passed it and laughed.”

  That was a lie — they hadn’t been here all morning — but her delivery was flawless.

  The merchant’s eye twitched. “Seven Uno is too low—”

  “Seven,” Lyssa repeated, gaze like a sharpened blade.

  A long silence hung.

  Finally, the merchant muttered, “Fine. Seven.”

  The girl’s jaw dropped. “How did you—?”

  Lyssa shrugged. “He was either going to break or faint.”

  Keal burst out laughing. Even Althea couldn’t hide her grin.

  The girl took the broken item — a small rectangular device, silver-edged but battered — and shoved seven Uno into the merchant’s palm before he could change his mind.

  When she turned back to them, the fire was still in her eyes, but now curiosity softened it a little.

  “Thanks,” she said, exhaling. “I swear he doubles the price when he sees me coming.”

  Althea smiled. “It’s okay. I’m Althea. This is Keal and Lyssa.”

  The girl blinked once, twice, then nodded firmly.

  “I’m Sorrow.”

  The name hung in the air — unusual, heavy, but strangely fitting. It suited her storm-grey eyes and the stubborn line of her jaw.

  “Nice to meet you,” Keal said.

  Sorrow glanced at the three of them, analyzing each of their faces with quick, sharp attention.

  “You’re not from here, you don't look like you're from here nor smell like it.” she said immediately.

  Lyssa raised a brow. “What makes you say that?”

  Sorrow gestured vaguely. “Your clothes. Your energy. The way you look around like everything is both new and confusing. Tourists from other thresholds usually look like that.”

  Althea’s cheeks warmed. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Very.” Sorrow smirked.

  Then her eyes flicked to the silver device in her hand. She turned it over, frowning.

  “What is that?” Althea asked.

  Sorrow shrugged. “I don’t know yet. But I think it’s important. Important things always look useless at first, that's my motto.”

  That… didn’t make much sense, but somehow it sounded true in its own strange way.

  Keal leaned slightly closer. “So you live here?”

  “For now,” Sorrow said, tucking the object into her patchwork bag. “Depends on the season. Depends on the reason, like if my favourite dish is being served in the restaurants which only comes on festive seasons.”

  Lyssa watched her more carefully now, as if trying to read her like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.

  “Do you know this place well?” Althea asked.

  Sorrow hesitated only a second. “Pretty well.”

  “Would you mind showing us around?” Keal offered.

  A spark lit Sorrow’s eyes. “I can. But it’ll cost you.”

  Althea nearly choked. “Cost us?”

  “This is Netheron,” Sorrow said lightly. “Nothing is free, unless you have connections.”

  Lyssa sighed under her breath. “She’s not wrong.”

  But then Sorrow grinned wide — mischievous and unapologetic.

  “Kidding. I’ll show you around. You three helped me out. Consider it repayment.”

  The tension loosened.

  They followed Sorrow back into the wider market, through the maze of colorful stalls and strange creatures, through the scents of foreign spices and the hum of distant magic. Althea listened as Sorrow pointed out hidden shortcuts, explained which merchants were liars, and showed them a stall that sold glowing sweets shaped like floating droplets.

  Sorrow fit into the chaos of Port Centera perfectly — fiery, unpredictable, and full of sharp edges that somehow still felt warm.

  Althea didn’t know why, but something told her Sorrow wasn’t just a random girl in the market.

  She was important.

  Maybe to their journey.

  Or maybe to something far bigger.

  But that was something the future would reveal…

  and something Althea was not sure she was ready for.