The Market of Shadows pulsed around Kael, a cacophony of sights and smells and a thousand whispered secrets. His body, a canvas of barely healed wounds and the lingering ache of poison, felt like it might crumble beneath the weight of his recent battles. Each shouted haggle, every screech of a rusted cart wheel, reverberated in the hollow space left by the Blightmaw’s poison. But the herb woman's antidote, a bitter, metallic fire that had ripped through him, was doing its job. The pain receded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. He was alive.

He swayed, vision blurring for a moment before the world snapped back into a semblance of focus. A kaleidoscope of stalls, swirling crowds, their faces a blend of indifference and suspicion, pressed against him. And in their midst, the lizardfolk girl. It was her gaze, the lizardfolk girl’s wary, questioning eyes, that anchored him in that moment, that demanded his attention, that refused to let him sink into the exhaustion that tugged at his every thought.

He watched as she paced before him, a restless energy in her movements, her scales catching the light, throwing back flashes of emerald and gold against the backdrop of the market’s shadowy stalls. His heart ached, a mirror of her own confusion and pain. She looked smaller now, somehow, more fragile than she had been in the face of the Blightmaw’s fury, the fierce strength that had radiated from her dulled by the bewilderment of her situation.

He could see the questions swirling in her dark, luminous eyes, a storm of confusion, anger, a desperate hunger for answers.

“Who are you?” Her voice, sharp, tense, sliced through the market’s clamor. “Why am I here? What happened to my home? How is this even possible? The fog was endless—how did we get here? Is this… where you live? These… creatures? What happened to Vask, Eshta?” The names of her kin, harsh sounds unfamiliar to his ears, yet woven with a grief so palpable, so raw, that it tore through him, leaving him hollow and breathless. He watched her, the girl he had pulled into this world. This world of filth, of shadows. He’d promised to protect her and had utterly failed.

He'd been so focused on the immediate— on surviving, on making it back to the basement, on getting the antidote—that he'd forgotten about her needs. About the questions that must be swirling within her, a storm mirroring the realm he'd just dragged her from.

But where did he even start? How could he possibly explain the chaos that had engulfed his life, explain the realms, the Shard, the System? It was too much, a torrent of words that threatened to drown him, to overwhelm her. He raised his hands, palms open, a gesture both instinctive and desperate.

Guilt twisted his gut, sharp and acidic, another layer of discomfort against the throbbing ache of his ribs. The scent of roasting meat, pungent spices, and the cloying sweetness of cheap wine filled his nostrils, the irony a cruel joke. He was starving, his stomach growling like a beast.

He raised his hands, a placating gesture learned from countless tense encounters in Mudtown. “Look, I know you have questions. And you deserve answers." He said, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat, his gaze locked on hers. "I owe you answers." But his voice was hoarse, rough. He took a deep breath, the air catching in his chest, and forced himself to look at her. To really see her.

He took a step closer, trying to gauge her reaction, her body language a language he understood, but as he did, his stomach chose that moment to announce its own insistent hunger. He doubled over, the growl echoing through the marketplace. A wave of nausea washed over him, making the world tilt, the shadows around her shifting. The pain of his broken ribs pulsed with the rhythm of his despair. It was a stupid, inconvenient, and perfectly timed reminder of his own weakness.

She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but the tension in her posture eased slightly, her gaze softening for a moment, as if recognizing the humanity of his response. He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind, her sharp intellect— a quality he’d glimpsed in the way she'd handled the merchant’s sly manipulations—analyzing the situation, the possibilities. “You’re hurt. And hungry.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement, a flicker of understanding in her voice.

The tension in his chest, the weight of her judgement, lessened slightly. “Yes,” he agreed, forcing a smile. It felt weak, a mere twitch of his lips against the grim reality of his situation, but it was something. “I am. We both are, probably.” His gaze softened. “My name is Kael.” The question felt stupid, a flimsy bridge across the chasm that separated them, yet, the need to… to connect, to offer something, anything that wasn't chaos, drove him. “What’s yours?”

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze wary. She studied him with the intensity he’d come to expect. Then, as if coming to a decision, she took a small step toward him, the scales around her eyes shifting in patterns he couldn’t decipher. "My name is… Yareeth,” she said, her voice still cautious, the words halting, her tongue grappling with the unfamiliar sounds. He'd done that to her.

It wasn't a name he recognized, not a human name, but it… suited her. It felt right. “Yareeth.” The air tasted less acrid as he repeated it, a sound that evoked the cool, damp air of the marsh, the whispering reeds, her scales a silent echo of her world. He had taken all of that from her. It didn’t feel like a win, not really, knowing she’d survived only because he’d dragged her into his reality.

He had to explain. About the Void Shard. The realms. Mudtown. Her village. It was a burden of knowledge that weighed heavily upon him, a story he’d been trying to outrun since he’d first touched that pulsing, crystalline shard, a truth that threatened to shatter the fragile hope they’d both clung to.

The questions, he knew, were still there, waiting to be unleashed. But for a moment, a sense of relief washed over him. He’d connected. Had built a bridge, however fragile. But there was so much more to say. So many apologies to offer. And so many dangers lurking around them. He just had to get through the night, had to find a place where he could answer her questions, where they could… talk. It was a ridiculous thought, this concept of talking, of finding common ground. Especially in the slums, where communication was mostly a weapon, a tool to manipulate, to survive. But she’d responded to him. To his name.

He was starting to understand. This wasn’t just about survival, not anymore. He had brought her here. And now, he had to help her adapt. Her survival was his responsibility. Her life was, in some terrible, unforeseen way, intertwined with his. “Right. Yareeth."

His stomach chose that moment to growl again, the sound loud and insistent, reminding him of their immediate needs.

Kael grimaced, feeling the Yareeth’s gaze sharpen, the unanswered questions in her eyes like a physical force pushing against him, forcing him to meet their challenge. “I’m starving.” He forced a smile, the effort tugging at the edges of the wounds on his face, a reminder of the fights he'd endured, the battles he had yet to face. "And I know there are a lot of answers you need, a lot I owe you." He hoped she could hear the sincerity in his voice, could sense his desperation. "Let's get something to eat. I can... I can try to explain everything."

Her eyes narrowed, and he could see her frustration, the urge to demand answers right then and there. He’d learned to recognize those warning signs, those flickers of defiance in those who’d been pushed too far, pushed to the very edge of their endurance. It was part of his new lexicon now— the understanding of desperation, a language forged in pain and hunger, and spoken fluently in the shadowed corners of this world.

"Food?” She sniffed the air cautiously. His eyes, drawn to her, followed the tilt of her head, the graceful arc of her neck. It was an elegant movement that, even with her scales dull and the fear in her gaze, reminded him of a graceful bird, her head scales ruffled, her neck stretching to survey the surroundings. He swallowed, the dryness in his throat a reminder of how long it had been since he had felt… anything but the Void’s touch, the System’s pronouncements, the brutal reality of his choices.

He watched as her gaze settled on a nearby stall - a makeshift grill overflowing with skewers of charred meat, the aroma a mouth-watering symphony of grease and spices and something else, something deeply primal that made his stomach clench, the hunger a gnawing ache that echoed his own desperation. “This food… is it safe?” She sounded so naive, her words a fragile echo of the world he’d ripped her from. A place where food came not from market stalls or scavenged scraps, but from the bounty of a realm he'd failed to understand. It made his chest tighten. This responsibility. This weight of his own failures.

“Yes. Most of the time.” He pushed back a wave of dizziness, forcing himself to smile again.

"So,” he pressed, seizing the opportunity, the need for sustenance outweighing even his need for atonement, “how about it? My treat?" He was asking, not demanding, but there was a new kind of tension in his voice now, a quiet, unwavering determination. It wasn’t just about food. It was about connection. About creating a moment, a fragile sliver of normalcy, in this world of chaos and violence.

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He needed to earn back the trust, had to somehow show her that he wasn't a threat. He wanted… he wanted her to see him as something more. As someone she could…

He shook his head, banishing the thoughts, the desire a dangerous distraction. He didn’t have time for those foolish, pathetic desires. He had to focus.

She narrowed her eyes again, considering his offer, the silence stretching, but then her gaze softened. She nodded.

"Fine. But you… you will tell me everything. Everything about this place.” It wasn’t a concession, not entirely. It was an agreement. An exchange.

Kael's stomach let out a loud growl, a symphony of need.

He could only nod, the gravity of the task, the sheer weight of it, settled upon his shoulders, heavier than anything he'd ever carried before. This story, their story, was a tangle of betrayal and chaos, of unimaginable loss and fleeting glimpses of hope. It was a story he didn't want to tell, couldn't fully understand, but one he was bound to share.

“Everything,” He repeated.

He could see the tension in her shoulders, the uncertainty. Her expression shifted, doubt battling with hunger.

And then, almost reluctantly, she nodded. “Fine,” she said. But there was a note of steel beneath her voice, an unwavering insistence.

“You will tell me everything.”

----------------------------------------

He remembered the Inn. It wasn’t a sanctuary, not really. Not like his basement hideaway, not like the brief refuge he’d found in that first realm, beneath the whispering trees and alongside the clear stream. But it was a place he knew, a place with its own unspoken rules.

A place where he could breathe.

“This way,” He led her through the Market’s back alleys, the paths well-trodden, familiar despite the years he’d spent avoiding this part of Mudtown. The air grew cooler, crisper, the scent of the sea a faint whisper.

Kael’s pace was slow, deliberate, exhaustion pulling at him. His body ached. But as he walked, as he took in the familiar sights and sounds, Yareeth’s warmth beside him was a strange comfort, a grounding force. The shadows stretched long, distorting shapes into something monstrous. The faintest drizzle started, the sky weeping.

He glanced at Yareeth, her gaze flickering across the bustling streets, the flickering lanterns painting the Market of Shadows in hues of gold and shadow. Her expression was a mixture of wariness and curiosity, the way she tilted her head, her scaled brow furrowed in concentration, an echo of the creature whose world he’d ripped her from, a poignant reminder of the life she’d lost.

Her scales gleamed faintly in the dim light.

“What… is this place?" The question was hesitant, a soft rasp.

He hesitated, wondering how to explain a world that seemed to defy logic, a city built on a foundation of chaos and desperation, a haven of sorts for those who had nowhere else to go, no other world to cling to.

"The Market of Shadows,” he replied eventually, "a part of a city called Kaszai. I’ve… always lived near here. In Mudtown. Until… well… recently." The words were a simplistic explanation of a life he was still trying to make sense of.

He could see the questions swirling in her eyes, a tempest brewing, mirroring the churning in his own stomach. But right now, food was the most urgent priority. “It’s… complicated. I'll tell you everything. Soon. Promise.”

"Come on," he said, the words a rasping exhale. "Just a little further.” And as he led her down the familiar alley, his steps steadier now, a flicker of anticipation warmed the cold ache in his chest.

She followed as he led her towards the flickering lamplight that marked the inn's entrance, its battered sign swinging gently in the breeze. He pushed the door open, a groan echoing in the quiet alleyway, and gestured for her to follow, her hesitation a tangible thing, her uncertainty mirroring his own.

The warmth of the inn hit him, a wall of scent and sound that momentarily drove back the fog, the world snapping back into focus.

“Back again, eh? Welcome to the Broken Fang. You look like you could use a meal. And a bed." The Innkeeper's voice, a gruff rumble. The man's gaze, sharp, assessing, swept over Kael and then settled on Yareeth, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but no judgment, no surprise. He'd seen it all, Kael realized. A lifetime spent in the slums, witness to all the shades of despair, the endless parade of human suffering.

“Just hungry,” Kael said, pulling out the coins. One Iron.

He held them towards the innkeeper, knowing that food, real food, was the only answer right now. To her questions. To his own exhaustion.

"Two stews," he said, forcing a smile he didn’t quite feel.

“And bread.” He added after a beat.

"Lots of bread.”

A weary relief washed over him as he leaned against the counter, his body a symphony of aches, a tapestry of fresh and half-healed wounds, a chronicle of battles fought and barely won. The smell of roasted meat, of warm bread, of something sweet and savory, mingled with the familiar scents of ale and woodsmoke. It was a sanctuary, a haven from the chaos.

Garrick nodded. “You two find a table, Ella’ll be with you in a moment. And you," He pointed a thick, calloused finger at Kael, "you look like you could use a stiff drink. On the house.”

Kael’s lips curved into a weary smile, a gesture both instinctive and heartfelt. This… this was the kindness he'd craved, the quiet acceptance that he'd longed for, but hadn't dared to expect in this brutal world. They weren’t friends, not yet, but in this moment, in the warmth of this space, surrounded by the familiar hum of human noise, it felt like something close to… connection.

The inn felt different now. The crowd – a familiar blend of weary travelers, hardened merchants, and shadowed figures who seemed to melt from the very walls – didn't seem as threatening, their faces blurred in the warm firelight that played across the worn wooden surfaces, their voices a soothing drone of conversation and laughter.

He guided Yareeth towards a corner table. A wave of dizziness hit him, and for a moment, the room swayed. She helped him to the bench, his body a lead weight against her surprisingly strong grip, his heart pounding. He could barely breathe. It felt like all the energy, all the fight had drained from him, leaving only the exhaustion, the bone-deep weariness.

The flickering light of a nearby candle highlighted her scales, the dull gray a testament to what he’d done to her, to her world. “Yareeth,” he began, wanting to speak, to explain everything, to offer an apology, but the word caught in his throat, the weight of his guilt and exhaustion stifling his voice.

“Eat.” Her voice, a soft hiss laced with the strange cadence of his tongue, and her hand, her rough scales warm against his, cut through his spiraling thoughts.

“We can talk when you’re stronger.”

He nodded, a weak, jerky motion. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t face the questions in her eyes. She understood. It was as if… as if she could see the turmoil within him, as if those dark, knowing eyes could pierce the mask of weariness and fear he clung to.

Their bowls of soup arrived. The aroma, thick and rich with the scents of herbs, roasted vegetables, and something he couldn’t identify but that his starved senses recognized as nourishing, wholesome, filled his nostrils, a balm against the lingering scent of the marsh, of the Blightmaw’s foul breath, the lingering echoes of death and decay. He took a sip. The warmth spread through him, soothing the aches in his stomach, chasing away the chill that had settled deep within his bones. This soup, a simple, nourishing concoction, felt like a lifeline thrown into the depths of his despair.

He glanced up, catching her gaze. It was the food, he realized, that had bridged the silence, the aroma itself a common language they both understood, a point of connection in the midst of all that had been shattered.

“It is… good.” She spoke slowly, her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully maneuvered the spoon. He could see the way she watched him, copying his movements, the clumsiness of her grip on the spoon mirroring his own earlier struggle to master these simple tools. The warmth of the fire, the scent of the soup, the murmurs of conversation around them - they created a bubble of normalcy, a temporary refuge from the chaos that awaited them both.

Kael tore off a chunk of the crusty bread, its warm, yeasty scent filling his senses. It was delicious, a symphony of textures.

He dipped it into the soup, watching as the bread soaked up the savory broth. He raised it to his lips, savoring the combination. He'd missed this. The simple pleasure of a warm meal, the comfort of shared company. There was something primal about this act, about the way his body responded to nourishment.

He looked at Yareeth. She was watching him, her eyes filled with a curiosity that reminded him of the first time they’d met. The memory was a flash of vivid green, a splash of water in a world that was now lost, swallowed by the Void’s relentless hunger.

“This place… this is an… Inn?” she asked, her gaze darting around the room, taking in the rough-hewn tables, the flickering candles, the rough faces of the other patrons. He could feel her unease, the way her hand instinctively went to her waist, where a dagger would have been.

“The Broken Fang...apparently.” He echoed the name, laughing internally at his own previous ignorance. He nodded. “It's… a place where people come to eat, to drink, to rest. Safe. Mostly.”

A small, hesitant smile touched her lips, the scales around her eyes crinkling in a way that reminded him of… of what? A cat stretching in the sun? A lizard basking on a warm stone?

He looked away, suddenly feeling his own cheeks flush with warmth. He couldn’t let himself think those thoughts. Couldn't afford those distractions. Not now, not ever.

He finished his soup, savoring every spoonful. A wave of drowsiness washed over him as his stomach filled, and he felt his eyelids growing heavy.

"They have rooms here, if you…" He gestured to a rickety staircase leading upwards. He couldn’t afford that kind of extravagance.

“Rooms? Like… dens?” Her gaze followed his, flickering upward. The concept of a bed was alien. Her home, the marsh village— he pushed the memory aside, unable to face it.

"A place to sleep,” He explained, his voice a weary rasp.

“Sleep? But… I am not…” Her voice trailed off, as if the idea of such a thing, of surrendering to unconsciousness in this alien place, was as unsettling to her as facing the Blightmaw’s claws. The room, with its warmth and familiar sounds, seemed to shrink, the weight of his promise pressing in on him, demanding his attention. There was no escaping it. No delaying.

She needed answers. She deserved answers.

"Now,” she said, pushing her empty bowl away, the sound a quiet scrape against the rough wood of the table, “tell me everything.”

He nodded, feeling a chill run down his spine. The time had come.

“Where do I even begin?”