They walked away from the armor stall, the heavy thud of his new boots on the cobblestones a sound of satisfaction.
She’d even gotten him a pack, a roughly made but sturdy bag that hung across his shoulders, leaving his hands free. A leather backpack—a simple but durable container for their spoils, for the tools and weapons that might save them both. Kael took a deep breath, the scent of fresh leather and the feel of the heavy backpack a comforting presence.
“It didn’t feel right,” she explained later, as they paused before a stall that sold assorted supplies. “You needed something to carry all those things we’re going to find in the realms.”
The smell of wood and wax from the stall tempted them closer, the light of a single flickering lamp illuminating a collection of torches. She bought a handful, along with a metal holder for the candles, paying only eight bronze after some quick, almost effortless bartering.
“Torches?” he said. He hadn't realized until that moment, that he'd forgotten about the one thing he'd always missed about the shack — the comfort of firelight. So obvious, yet something he hadn’t even considered. His basement. The dark stone walls, that feeling of isolation. They hadn’t even addressed the most obvious problem.
The vendor, a wiry woman, grinned, the gaps between her yellowing teeth a unsettling contrast to their optimism. “The darkness is a predator in Mudtown,” she’d said, her eyes twinkling with a morbid humor that didn't reach her cold gaze. “Those’ll keep the shadows at bay. Maybe even the things that lurk in the fog, eh?” she’d winked, and a chill touched Kael, a reminder of the boundaries he was learning to walk.
At the next stall, a place that was more… an overflowing mat of chaos and trinkets than a genuine place of business, she bought a little charm.
"What’s that?" he asked. He knew she was clinging to the past, to the traditions of her lost world.
"A protection charm. We used to make something like this in my village… for good fortune.”
He saw the sadness that flickered in her eyes, the way she traced the intricate patterns carved into the wood. He reached out.
“Does it work?” His fingers grazed the charm, their rough edges against the worn wood, her scales smooth, reassuring.
“It’s not about whether it works,” she replied softly, a wave of longing in her voice, “It’s… something familiar. A reminder of home.”
Equipment Acquired:
Small Charm (Trash)
A small wooden charm, carved with intricate patterns. Though crudely made, it holds some sentimental value.
The words, the echo of her own loss, brought a lump to his throat, and he turned away. He didn’t want to see her vulnerability.
He owed her so much.
Yareeth turned to him, her hand brushing against his arm, the scales against his new, rough leather. The System’s insistence on numbers and stats felt hollow, insignificant now. He was warm. Alive. But there was a fear that was both his own, and an echo of hers. He wanted to run, to gather more power.
"This is good, Kael. Let’s… I want to eat.”
The gesture, the unspoken sentiment, a weight heavier than any stat, any level, tugged at his heart. He felt a surge of guilt for everything he’d taken from her. They were a team, yes.
A strange one, bonded by misfortune, their lives linked by the threads of an untamed, terrifying power. As they left the Market of Shadows, its cacophony fading behind them, the world darkening into a more comforting blend of shadows and familiar landmarks, he felt a strange sense of peace. They would make it through this. They had to.
As they stepped into the warm glow of the Broken Fang, he glanced at her, the relief in his eyes. Their reflection in the glass—distorted, monstrous in the dim light. A shared joke. “Welcome back,” Garrick said. “Back again, eh? Must’ve been a good day at the market.” He saw it, their bond. Maybe… maybe more. A quiet admiration in the way he looked at Yareeth, the acceptance, the recognition of shared strength.
Kael held out his coins, a flicker of pride warming him, Yareeth watching him. “Two stews and some bread.” He glanced over at her.
“Lot’s of bread. And maybe a cheese?”
Garrick’s eyes, narrowed, darted from the coins to Kael's new leather tunic, then to Yareeth’s still-dulled scales. He nodded, his grizzled face cracking into a smile.
“Two stews coming up,” Garrick turned, his voice booming, “Ella! Another two stews, bread and cheese.”
The inn's warmth was no longer just a physical sensation; it felt like a wave of acceptance washing over him, the murmur of conversations and laughter around them a soothing balm against his battered heart. The fire crackled, its flames a constant, comforting dance. It was like a haven, a small circle of light against the city’s encroaching darkness.
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He could feel the warmth spreading through his limbs as he drank the ale. It was bitter, but there was something… familiar in its bite. He relaxed, the tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding easing, the weariness shifting into a quiet, pleasant ache.
He glanced at Yareeth, her eyes flitting between the other patrons and the roughhewn wooden walls, the way she’d pulled her tattered cloak a little tighter. It was her armour, in a way, her own attempt to blend into this new world, to hide her true nature.
She was a warrior, he realized. She just hadn't found the right weapons yet.
He’d make sure of that.
Garrick returned with their bowls and, looking at Yareeth, tilted his head, a strange familiarity in the way he’d studied her, like a barterer gauging her worth, then offered a sly wink as he placed a small plate of cheese on the table before disappearing back into the heart of the inn.
"You two look like you've been busy,” Garrick said, but there was a question behind his words.
Kael let out a quiet laugh, the sound a little hoarse. "We have."
“Just a little gathering. Trying to… navigate.” He chose the word carefully, glancing at Yareeth. It felt strangely accurate, a description not just of their day at the market, but of the journey they were both on, a journey that went beyond simple survival.
Yareeth looked up at Kael, a flicker of… uncertainty. A wave of protectiveness rose within him. He hadn’t meant to… “It’s ok, Yareeth,” he reassured her. “We’re… we’re in this together, remember? Just tell him about… the herbs.”
She took a tentative sip of the stew, the taste. It was good to see the way she responded, her body relaxing a bit. It wasn't the roasted root vegetables, or the carefully prepared meat from her swamp home, but… it would nourish her, and that for now, was enough. “We gathered them,” She said. “In a place where… Well. That’s all.”
The lie was a small one, he told himself, but it felt wrong, and the truth would come eventually.
Kael glanced at the Innkeeper, Garrick, who chuckled softly. “I know a rare find when I see one,” He looked at Yareeth then, “You got a good eye, girl. The kind that makes coin in this world.
He saw her scales brighten slightly, a flicker of pride, her words a quiet, but firm acknowledgement of their shared accomplishment, their shared goals. "It's different here,” she said. “From ... my village. It’s… we are… building something.” It wasn't a home, not really, not for her, not for him. But it was a start, he thought. “I wish things had turned out differently, back in the… Marsh Realm,” she whispered, her voice softer, sadness an echo. He couldn’t help it, a wave of guilt, of regret. Her world, lost. It could have been a forest. A mountaintop village. He knew, now, that their choices weren’t their own. It was the system, the shard.
The conversation shifted as they ate. It was mostly about the market—the strange goods, the haggling rituals, the intricate dance of greed and desperation that had initially overwhelmed Yareeth. She described the different vendors—the woman with the herbs, the man with the weapons, their personalities, their motivations—and He listened intently.
They finished the food in relative silence.
“We did well today. That merchant woman seems interested in more business,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth.
“Yes, that quest," she responded, her voice firm, a reminder of the game they were both trapped in. But it wasn’t just that. There was a hint of excitement now, the challenge echoing a deeper hunger. “We need those herbs. And that shard, the uncommon one. It was… intriguing, to feel it in my hands.” Her tail swished, a rhythm he recognized as anticipation.
He rose from the table, a warmth spreading through his chest. They had made it this far. They would find a way to make it work, to survive. Together.
But as he took her hand, her scales a cool, reassuring presence against his skin, a whisper, barely audible above the din of the inn, made him pause. He looked at her, and there was a flicker of sadness, a loss in her eyes that reflected his own, that echoed the emptiness he felt within. “What if it never ends, Kael? What if it's just... one realm after another, one battle after another?” The truth, unspoken but understood. He knew it, even with those levels, that it wouldn’t end. But how to answer, when he was already planning their next venture, the way forward? He squeezed her hand gently.
“Then we fight,” he said.
Because what else was there, but the next battle?
The next realm. The next quest. The next opportunity to… survive, he’d been about to say. But then, looking at her, the shadows on her scales fading into the faint light of the Inn’s fire, her expression a mixture of quiet acceptance and the fierce intelligence that had drawn him to her in the first place, a different truth emerged, a truth that carried the weight of hope, a promise of something beyond the chaos.
“Then we fight. Together.” It wasn't a vow, not exactly. But he’d say it, eventually, looking back to that moment. A new pact. Their first genuine beginning. They exited the inn and stepped back into the chilling night.
The air was colder now, and a faint drizzle had begun to fall, the cold droplets mixing with the grime on the cobblestones. The smell of rain was a welcome relief from the city’s stench, a scent that seemed to cleanse his thoughts, a breath of clarity in the midst of the chaos.
Yareeth shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself.
“It’s… cold,” she said, her voice tight, the unfamiliar words an awkward counterpoint to the hiss that escaped her lips as a shiver ran through her scaled form. Her discomfort a physical manifestation of his guilt.
“It rains a lot here, in Mudtown. Especially in winter.” It felt good, saying it. His world. Hers, now, too.
"It’s always wet in the swamp,” she replied. “But… different. It rains there every day, sometimes for hours, even days, and it’s warm, the drops are… heavy. The fog, it smells clean, like the earth… This… It's sharp, almost… painful.” He watched her rub a hand over her face, trying to dispel the chill. The touch a comforting presence, a reminder. It was her now, too, their shared path, his promise.
He moved closer to her. She flinched, but then, as if remembering where they were, who they were, relaxed again, her scales brushing against his arm as they walked, an unsettling mix of textures, yet strangely reassuring.
Kael paused, taking a breath. "It gets easier." But even he knew, with his new boots squelching with each step, that it wouldn’t get easier, not really. "You… you'll get used to it."
“Maybe,” she replied. They reached the house, the familiar broken facade offering a promise of temporary shelter. “Maybe I will.”
Yareeth’s gaze, as she looked around the basement, lingered on the single torch he’d placed, its light throwing strange shadows across the rough stone, illuminating the darkness. “The shadows aren’t… as strong anymore.” she said quietly, but he heard the echo of her world, of those whispered fears that haunted even the bravest of creatures.
“Yes, the shadows… Well, the ones here, at least. We’ve pushed them back.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. The world still held its darkness, but here, now, in this small space, in the warmth of that flickering firelight, there was a glimmer of something more, something he'd thought he'd lost forever. A kind of… light. It was hers. And it was his.