Dytifrourá’s agora hummed with life and magic. Such things were intrinsic to the gathering point of so many little gods. What would the great plazas of Argyropolis be like in comparison?

Dusk fell, but the helioklepts set the town alight with their pure glow and urged life to keep rolling onward past sunset. Kosta estimated that at least two hundred people milled around the town’s center bargaining, laughing, and meeting after a long day’s labor. Children sprinted all around, playing tag and shoving or occasionally flinging luminescent fireballs that burned without heat.

…Come to think of it, Clymere was probably the one responsible for that particular game. It was inclined to give their chatting parents a heart attack when they finally noticed what their children were doing.

As entrancing as the humming power and electric sensations of the agora could be, Kosta normally steered clear of it. No one could avoid it entirely—the agora was the beating heart of Dytifrourá. Goods, services, and gossip all flowed like water here. But it was simple to skirt its edges or pop in only when absolutely necessary.

Kosta had come to be very familiar with the surrounding roads and shortcuts.

The agora could be overstimulating, but Kosta still found the agora’s sheer activity intoxicating. Deals were struck every minute, words and ideas exchanged over a drink, and the simple delight of mundane sights and life’s little pleasures were everywhere to to be seen. Ordinarily, one couldn’t take two steps without one merchant or another waving them down to hawk their wares or share their pitch, or catching the eye of someone who knew him (or Clymere, or Mama, or Papa) who would drag him into a painfully long conversation.

He was too busy for all that talk! What did he care if their goat had just birthed or that they’d had a good harvest? It didn’t matter to Kosta if little Meliton had just been stung by a bee. Didn’t they have more important things to do?

Despite that, Kosta could appreciate the agora at night. Whether it be the vibrant light stolen by the helioklepts, the way that the roar of the marketplace soothed to a relaxing buzz, or the intermingled scents of a hundred different foods cooked throughout the day that wafted from the stalls, he found himself happiest at these late hours.

Although the rest of Dytifrourá was lit sparsely by magical light (minus the walls, which blazed with a hundred brilliant beacons) it was such a unique experience to sit in the agora past dusk when lights shone so brightly as to nearly make it day.

Kosta breathed in the warming air, savored the familiar, comforting scent of Eneas’ bread and desserts, and found himself relaxing in his seat. Life had been tense, fast-paced, and exhausting these last few days as he worked himself into a frenzy, but he couldn’t deny the sheer satisfaction that filled him now.

He had created.

He had his keystone.

All that was left was to complete his labors. Once that was done, Headsman Linus would pave the way for his path to Argyropolis and the legendary workshops within the Silver City.

“This is so good! Eneas, I’m easily bribed. If you ever want some more patrols to swing by, just let me know!” Clymere moaned through a mouthful of bread. Eneas had (quite literally) worked his usual magic and treated them to a soft loaf garnished with olive oil and lemon sauce that literally burst with flavor.

The old baker could always accentuate whatever flavor came naturally, and could even infuse tastes of his own devising into his beloved morsels through his enormous skill and experience. Eneas was a true master of his craft. Dytifrourá was lucky to have him.

Eneas ordinarily entreated his bread to become sweeter or more filling, enough that a few large biscuits could fuel a militia squad for a week, but Kosta smiled fondly as he remembered times when Eneas had infused bizarre flavors such as excessive salt, ash, or soil into them as pranks. Other occasions had seen Eneas altering the consistency of his bread to be the exact firmness and texture of beef while retaining the taste of sweetbread. The baker toyed with scents as well, and liked to disguise the exact taste with an altered smell on occasions.

More than anything, Eneas delighted in confusing his customers. Not a single soul worried about receiving a poor product, but you never quite knew what you would get. His every work was a complex interplay of scent, taste, and texture that gave rise to sensations and wonders that Kosta never would’ve imagined possible.

“I’ll keep that in mind!” Eneas chuckled as he steered around his bakery. Most merchants and traders in the agora had to make do with tiny stalls packed into each other like cells in a beehive, but Eneas had been here from the beginning. He’d claimed a large, central location in the agora that quite a few merchants would kill for… if only that wouldn’t deprive them of Eneas’ baking. “Enjoy, you two.”

“I’m going to miss this,” Clymere said, peering mournfully at her half-eaten loaf. “I hear that the garrison at Fort Phylax eat hardtack and chew leather. Poor bastards.”

Kosta laughed at her misfortune. “I’ll eat enough for both of us while you’re gone. If that’s true, you’d make a killing if you picked up a sack from Eneas and brought it with you to Phylax. You’d be popular right off the bat.”

Greed gleamed in Clymere’s eyes as she took another enormous bite. Her magic-empowered muscles tore the loaf to shreds. “Good thinking!” She said through a mouth of crumbs. Kosta wrinkled his nose at her. “I already have a few friends there, but I might as well make some cash off it! It’s only a few days’ journey.”

Mundane bread could potentially spoil in that time, particularly if they trekked through one of the rare mountain bogs or if it rained, but Eneas’ wouldn’t fall into ruin so easily. Kosta had found a loaf that he’d misplaced several months before in the back of his workshop and it had been in pristine condition, even if he’d been too leery to test it and let Clymere devour the loaf instead.

It had been infused with a hint of coriander and citron, if Kosta remembered correctly. One of Eneas’ subtler creations, but just as good.

As they sat and chatted, Kosta caught sight of a few familiar faces in the crowds milling nearby. Most were simply past clients or the occasional trader he’d bargained with, but others saw Clymere and smiled, making sure to stop by and say hello.

Most would offer Kosta a nod or quick greeting. Those who didn’t soon scurried away beneath Clymere’s scowl and the clouds of black smoke billowing from her nostrils.

“Clymere! We’d worried that you’d been lost out there. How did the survey go?” Leon, one of the boys who had gone through their Dòrognosis with them, smiled. He was golden-haired and had a spirit to match. “Hello, Kosta. I hope you’re well.”

A great lynx stalked by his side, its green-gold eyes narrowed as it peered around the marketplace. One of Leon’s hands was buried in the thick fur around its neck. The lynx seemed pleased with the attention and chuffed happily as it offered Clymere slow, steady blinks. No one paid his familiar any mind. It was something of a familiar sight, after all.

Kosta hid his snort. Clymere was rubbing off on him.

“Pretty well!” Clymere swallowed another massive bite. She was on her third loaf. It took a lot of fuel to keep her furnace running. “We never ran into anything too nasty. I can’t figure out if I’m sad about that or not! But we did spot a herd of gigauroch in the valleys past the northeastern mountains. I can mark it for you later, if you’d like.”

“That would be wonderful!” Leon chirped back. “I was just about to venture out again. Little Ella here is all healed up after our last trip. She’s going to steer clear of ironbeaks this time, right?” He looked pointedly down at the lynx.

Ella nipped Leon’s hand affectionately and insistently shoved her fluffy head back into his hand. He obligingly scratched behind her ears.

Clymere’s eyes tightened almost imperceptibly. Most would have missed it. It was clear as day to Kosta. “Stick to the east, alright? There’s been an influx of nasties in the western range recently. I know you’re good, but you don’t want to stumble into some of them.”

“Understood,” Leon said carefully. If Clymere warned someone from danger, they were inclined to listen. He lowered his voice. “I heard that you slew a manticore. Is that true?”

“We killed a manticore,” Clymere motioned at Kosta, who nodded in agreement. Leon blinked slowly, confused, and she pressed on. “You heard me!” Clymere beamed. “Kosta here dropped a big rock on it, and I stabbed it in the face with my beloved.”

Leon shook his head ruefully. “My respect. We’re all safer for the beast’s death,” he said to Kosta, who nodded stiffly back. Leon frowned at Clymere. “You have an uncomfortably close relationship with your spear, you know. It’s a little disturbing.”

“She’s just my baby,” Clymere crooned. A little flicker of flame danced off her hands as she rubbed them together. “My little manticore slaying baby.”

“Right,” Leon said slowly. Ella stared at Clymere as if she’d grown two heads. “Well, we’d best be off. There’s a lot of planning to do for our next hunt. Congratulations on your victory, Clymere. Kosta.”

With that, Leon quickly stepped out into the milling crowds and was soon swept away by them. Others replaced him, often stopping by to chat with Clymere for a moment before she shooed them away or started looking a little too eager to burn something. Not many lingered after that.

“Aren’t they your friends?” Kosta asked once Clymere literally started smoking in the presence of two of the militiamen and scared them off. Wispy grey smoke curled off her skin, but soon cut off.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want them to sit here talking all night,” Clymere said with a barking laugh. “We’re supposed to be catching up, right? I don’t have time for them right now.”

He smiled appreciatively and they continued chatting as the last vestiges of the sun’s face fell away and night truly settled upon them. The agora was still hectic, but this was a sort of dull variance of daily life here. Just as the moon was a softer mirror of the sun, so was the agora at night a pale reflection of the hustle and bustle of the day.

Kosta preferred it this way. The deluge of coworkers, acquaintances, and friends never stopped, however. Plenty of Dytifrouráns had the same idea that Kosta and Clymere did.

Stuffy Lyra, currently on track to become an administrator of Dytifrourá, a prime extension of the Dipoli’s order, paused and briefly caught up before hurrying away.

Dull-eyed Agathon came by and pounded his electric spear, challenged Clymere to a duel, and sighed mournfully when she waved him off.

Theodora, apprentice to the tailor Cressida, stopped to check with Clymere about an order. Apparently she’d managed to burn through another guard’s supposedly Clymere-proof armor and had taken it upon herself to get him a new and improved version.

All went the same. Sometimes Kosta grew a little envious about how easily Clymere seemed to form those connections. They were distant to him, and these people that he’d known all his life seemed to flock to Clymere like moths to a flame. She was magnetic in a way that Kosta doubted he could ever mimic.

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But he supposed he was in their same shoes.

Besides, what did he need with them? He’d be gone soon enough, and they’d be little other than distant memories. Kosta had his skills. He had his sister. He had his dream. What else could anyone possibly offer him?

“Good evening!”

He stared off into space as yet another one of Clymere’s admirers paused by their table, lost in the lustrous stars above. She’d wave them away soon enough.

“Hello?”

The moon really was beautiful tonight. The pale light of the helioklepts washed some of its luster out and drowned out the vision of stars above the agora, but—

“Gah!” Kosta grimaced as a single glowing ember danced from Clymere’s finger to land upon his skin. He shot her a dirty look. That had better not scar! “What was that for?”

“You have a visitor!” Clymere beamed. “Don’t be rude.”

A visitor? Kosta blinked. He glanced over and saw a slight frame, shoulder-length black hair, and wide, startled eyes set in an angular face. She did not possess the uncanny perfection of Evanthe, but Kosta thought that the girl would be interesting to sculpt. He could imagine capturing the woman’s emotion at this moment, freezing the rawness of her surprised expression (thank you, Clymere) into stone.

The young woman watched him for a moment, waiting, and Kosta searched his memory. Yes, he knew her. What was her name? She was a year younger, or so he thought…

“Yes? Can I help you?” He hedged.

“Oh, I just wanted to stop by and say hello. We haven’t spoken in a long time, Kosta! You’ve been so busy,” she chattered, words quick and rushed. What was her name again? He did know her. He was sure of it! Not a client, not a subject. He would have remembered that, at least. Kostsa knew that he’d passed her on the streets a hundred times.

This was going to frustrate him.

Still, if all she was doing was stopping by to greet him…

“Hello.”

The woman waited—Sibyl, or was it Selena?—and even Kosta could realize she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Clymere offered her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, then leaned in to whisper something into the stranger’s ear.

Selena (or so he thought) brightened immediately. “Oh! I had a commission that I hoped to talk to you about.”

“A commission?” His eyebrows rose. Kosta leaned closer, finally curious. Selena reddened, but nodded. Although his mind was turning with thoughts of his work and the opportunity to create (and get paid for it!), Kosta began to have his suspicions about where this had come from. “Tell me more.”

Selena cleared her throat. “Well, you see, I’m still working out the details. It’s a recent development. Could I come by your workshop sometime to discuss it?”

“Of course,” Kosta said. It wasn’t uncommon for clients to have a vague vision in mind and need a bit of help refining the finer points. Based on Clymere’s mad grin, he expected this commission idea was a very recent development. “I’m unavailable tomorrow, but I can meet with you the day after. Stop by anytime.”

She smiled widely. “Yes! I can’t wait!” Selena looked like she fought the urge to cheer, but managed to constrain herself long enough to wave and say farewell before she rushed away into the night like an overly excited chipmunk.

“She’s totally into you,” Clymere grinned as the girl flounced away. Her eyes lingered for some time on Selena as she mixed into the crowd. “She’s pretty. Sweet, too. You should think about giving Sophia a chance.”

Sophia! That was her name. Kosta searched his memory, and vaguely remembered her stopping by a few months ago with her mother, who had commissioned a small wooden sculpture of a snarling drakon for her young son’s Dòrognosis. It was inlaid with a protective effect, as well as Kosta’s best attempts to make an enchantment that would help her forgetful son keep track of the time.

It hadn’t been perfect, but it worked well enough. He’d managed to use a phaetra flake that a merchant had attempted to fleece him for in order to cause a resonance with the sun. At high noon the dragon would warm, then cool throughout the day until it was a normal temperature at midnight.

Kosta suspected that it would be useless come summer as the phaetra grew excited for its favored season and retained its heat for longer, but Sophia’s mother had been unbothered.

He focused on Clymere again, who watched him expectantly. “I don’t have time for distractions,” Kosta said tightly, although he didn’t disagree with any of Clymere’s assessment. “I’m too busy. My work takes precedence.”

“Please!” Clymere scoffed. A great puff of smoke came billowing from her nostrils, laced with red cinders. Eneas watched nervously as he served a few clamoring children their treats, and she waved an apology. “Even Papa had time for ‘distractions’. You don’t think we popped out of thin air, do you?”

Kosta grimaced at that line of thought. “I’d rather not think about it, honestly. What about you?” He pressed, eager to flip the conversation and steer it away from himself. “You have no shortage of ‘admirers’. Should Mama and Papa expect the pattering of tiny feet anytime soon?”

“You’re damn right I do!” Clymere flexed her bicep and kissed it, then snorted out a cloud of smoke at the disturbed look Kosta sent her way. “But no, you won’t see a little crop of pyromaniacs running around Dytifrourá anytime soon, I’m afraid. I can’t take the Challenge with a baby on my hip.”

“It would make for a great tale,” Kosta said mildly. “But at least Dytifrourá won’t be in danger of burning down in the next few years.”

Clymere laughed again and they chatted on through the night. Kosta relished these moments, and he enjoyed the cool mountain air as it settled in the valley. Dytifrourá grew quieter as the casual diners finished their meals and the socializers grew eager for new conversations and new haunts. The horde of children slowly thinned until it was only a few troublemakers and those impatiently waiting for their parents to finish up that still skulked.

His sister kept a close eye on them. Though she laughed and relaxed alongside him, he couldn’t miss the subtle tension which worked through her as she devoured the sights. Clymere simply shook her head when he pressed for more, laughing his questions off.

The number of potential eavesdroppers slowly decreased, as did their interruptions. Their conversations steered more personal then: Kosta’s fears of the manticore, Clymere’s hopes for her stay at Fort Phylax and the worries she had of leaving her beloved Dytifrourá behind to take Kyromedes’ Challenge.

“Two years until the Corporeal Trials,” Clymere said. “Two years to descend to the Dredged City. There’s so much to do…”

“You’ll be ready,” Kosta said with the utmost confidence. “You’ll set them all ablaze.”

Clymere cracked a grin, though her worries were still reflected in her green eyes. “And you’ll be there to immortalize my victories, right?”

“Always.”

Both felt as if upon a precipice, and neither felt truly ready for the changes coming in the next year or two. Kosta and Clymere were hungry for more than their little hometown could offer, but that didn't mean it wasn’t a terrifying prospect to begin clawing their way higher.

But for now they had each other. They’d been together from birth, one soul in two bodies, and the thought of straying from his twin left Kosta aching with anxiety. He trusted Clymere to stay safe on her quest, and she trusted him to succeed in his dream even when no one else really did.

They would find each other again. For now, they still had a little time left before Clymere embarked upon her journey and Kosta had both the funds to join a caravan to Argyropolis. Kosta swore to treasure every moment of it.

“Do you have duty tomorrow?”

“Aye. The others on the survey get off, but not trusty old Clymere,” Clymere grumbled. “Headsman Linus wants me to do my normal rounds. I’ll be off to Fort Phylax within the week.”

“A shame. Would you mind coming by the workshop to fire up the kilns tomorrow morning?”

She nodded without hesitation. Kosta could command his own small workings of flame, but Clymere’s burned with far more intensity, and she could steer the temperatures in whatever direction she desired. That precision was invaluable for his purposes.

“Sure, sure,” Clymere said breezily. Her expression turned predatory. One hand reached beneath the folds of her chiton and pulled a motley group of charms, knickknacks, and other little creations that Kosta had gifted to her. Kosta smiled as he caught sight of that little wooden replica of Clymere that he’d created on the eve of their Dòrognosis numbered among them. “You’d better make it worth my while, though.”

“I’ll make you something good,” Kosta said, amused. “Was the new Teris not enough for you?”

Clymere tossed her hair. Little embers within stirred to life with the motion, shining a cherry red as they glowed. She was going to give poor Eneas a heart attack. “That was about function. This is about style.”

Kosta grinned. “Fair enough.”

“I’ll speak to Headsman Linus and see if I can take you to the dendrac instead of doing my rounds,” Clymere promised. “If not, I’ll arrange an escort. Headsman Linus won’t mind if I wrangle together some of the off-duty boys for this. Hells, he might take you himself.”

He wrinkled his nose at that. No doubt Clymere would try to irritate him by picking up dullards like Philo or Agathon to protect him beyond the walls. If he had to make one more hammer… well, it would still be better than walking all that way with Headsman Linus.

There would be no better protection than Dytifrourá’s warden, but he despaired at the thought of a good hour in the man’s company. Headsman Linus was always polite and jovial, a patriarch of the entire community, but Kosta always found himself a little tongue-tied around him. He was a good man, but intense, and they had little in common except for Clymere and Dytifrourá itself.

“Just let me know. I’ll be ready bright and early,” Kosta said. Clymere snorted disbelievingly. He flipped her off. “With any luck my morning projects will be finished quickly. I’d like to make it to the dendrac by noon. It will be at its most aware then.”

Kosta’s eyes strayed from Clymere and turned to where he knew the great dendrac tree lay to the west. If he peered carefully, he could imagine that a glint of its bronze surface was visible in the moonlight, though it would soon be obscured by the grey sheet of clouds slowly crawling in from the west.

He then looked to the endless slopes of Oroneiros that towered above all the rest of this valley and the petty mountains which cradled it. It was vast, magical, something more than the mundane… what wonders could Oroneiros itself weave into his keystone?

Such would have to remain idle fancies. Clymere distracted him as she frowned at the encroaching storm clouds. She was a creature of light and fire who had never enjoyed the rain and likely never would. No doubt she was screaming inside at the prospect of patrolling tomorrow while sheets of water came pounding down upon her shoulders.

“I’ll have to return to the barracks soon, but we have a bit more time. Let’s grab a drink, eh?” Clymere waved at Eneas, who smiled back and brought over two crystalline goblets as soon as he finished with his current pair of customers. “Thank you!”

Eneas wagged a finger at them… mostly Clymere. He knew Kosta well enough to expect little trouble from him. “Pace yourself. You remember what happened last time?”

Clymere colored and wouldn’t meet the baker’s laughing eyes. “There’ll be no dancing on the tables tonight, sir.”

“I was more worried about the fires you set, but that’ll do, I suppose.”

With that, Eneas placed the goblets upon the fine wooden table (carved by Papa, actually, as Kosta recognized the style of his work and the brand upon the table’s corner) and hurried away to tend to his ovens. Kosta truly craved more of Eneas’ delicious loaves, perhaps one of the pieces infused with honey and berries as a bit of dessert, but wine would do.

He plucked his goblet off the table and inspected it for a time. It was beautiful, he decided. The fine crystal was etched into a thousand fine facets that created an interesting texture against his fingers, its smoothness contrasted with the little vertices of its construction, and it caught the light of the nearby helioklepts wonderfully.

“Are you going to sit and stare at it all night or are you going to drink with me?”

Kosta rolled his eyes and fed a tiny bit of power to the goblet. It shimmered grey for a moment, then the delicate interface of the transpoietic array etched into the goblet’s surface shimmered white as it converted his magic into the power it needed to function.

Dark wine neatly filled his cup. The arrays were a clever bit of work. Kosta was unsure if Eneas had constructed them himself or simply bought the goblets from some traders, but it was a fine enchantment either way. It simply transported wine from some of Eneas’ stores rather than materializing it from nothing, but Kosta had heard of wondrous contraptions from the great cities to the east that could take thin air and produce endless supplies of food and drink from it.

He raised his goblet to clink against Clymere’s.

“To Dytifrourá!” Clymere cheered. A few of Eneas’ other patrons joined in.

“To Dytifrourá.” Kosta mimicked. He stared at Clymere and the cinders in her hair, realized she would leave him soon, first for her duty at Fort Phylax and then for the dangers of the Challenge, and grew more solemn. “To Dytifrourá, and to what lies beyond.”

She looked pained for a moment, but nodded at last.

Their glasses clinked, Eneas and their fellow patrons laughed and cheered, and the dark wine was sweet upon their tongues.

The night darkened around them, but for now they celebrated in the flickering lights of the agora.