Kael sat across from Yareeth, their bowls empty, the warm aroma of stew still lingering. The fire’s light, casting its warm glow across her scales, made them shimmer. They seemed a little less dull. The Innkeeper's words, the casual warmth of his tone as he’d welcomed them back, offered a fleeting sense of belonging.

The silence, though comfortable, felt pregnant with questions. Yareeth watched him with a watchful intensity, her tail a steady metronome of tension against the uneven floorboards. She’d heard his story. Now it was time for hers.

“What’s going to happen to me now?” Yareeth asked, the question a weight settling in the space between them.

"This is your world now." he replied, but the words felt like a failure. He hadn’t explained everything, had glossed over the details of the Void Shard, its evolution, its influence on him, on her. It was a truth too vast, too overwhelming. He couldn’t explain it when he didn’t understand it himself. He had to believe, somehow, that surviving in this brutal reality was a gift.

"You can… train, get stronger. Explore the realms with me. You have the system now."

She snorted, a soft rasping sound. “And for what? To conquer those shattered pieces? To destroy more worlds like yours destroyed mine?” He flinched.

She was right. It was a cruel game, one he'd entered blindly, lured in by the system’s seductive promises of power.

“No,” he said, a surge of defensiveness rising within him, the accusation a mirror to his own self-recrimination, “that’s not why I use it. Not anymore.”

But even as the words left his lips, he knew it was a lie, or at least a half-truth. He’d faced monsters, killed creatures in those shattered fragments. The System had rewarded him with experience, with power, and a part of him— a dark, twisted part— had revelled in the strength, in the control it offered. He wanted to protect her, yes, but also… he didn't want to be alone anymore.

He could see the skepticism in her gaze, the unspoken judgment. Yareeth’s questions, the barely suppressed fury that echoed in her voice, forced him to confront the harsh truth. He hadn’t understood, hadn't fully grasped the consequences of his actions, had plunged into this chaotic, unforgiving reality without a map, without a guide.

“What if… What if I don’t want to fight?” Yareeth asked. Her voice was small, fragile, as if she were afraid the words themselves might shatter in this unfamiliar, unforgiving space. Her tail, still for a moment, resumed its restless movement, a slow, rhythmic sway against the floorboards.

Her scales, dulled, seemed a little more vibrant in the firelight, as if the warmth of this shared moment, of this unspoken promise, was already healing her, renewing her.

The fire crackled, spitting embers into the air. Yareeth’s gaze remained fixed on him, an unsettling mix of suspicion and a plea for understanding. The silence that followed, stretched between them, heavy. The smell of roast meat and woodsmoke lost their power to comfort him. His body trembled, a shiver that started in the deepest recesses of his being, in that cold place where he kept his guilt. He could feel it spreading, a cold wave that numbed his limbs, that tightened his chest, his throat constricting as if something were closing around his neck. But he forced himself to hold her gaze. He owed her this much, to witness his fear, his doubt, to let her see the man he was becoming.

“What if we stay here, we can use what we’ve gained—your system, the shard, those… those abilities you mentioned.” She pointed a claw toward his chest, and he felt the pull, a tremor that mirrored his own desires for advancement.

“I've been getting by,” he admitted. “But it isn't easy, even with this place, with the Void Shard’s energy… It’s still Mudtown. I need supplies.” The realization struck him as he spoke, his gaze drawn to her worn clothing, the tattered cloak she'd wrapped around her scaled form, a paltry imitation of the robes favored by Mudtown’s inhabitants, a reminder of the harsh reality that lay beyond the inn’s flickering warmth. He'd bought himself some protection, had upgraded his weapons, but she… She was still vulnerable.

Her gaze narrowed, as if reading his thoughts, a spark of anger rekindled in her eyes. He had failed her people. Her world. He could do this much. “Alright. We can buy things. But how?”

The desperation in her voice mirrored his own, but there was a fierceness to it that took him by surprise.

"Ok, if we're going to do this together, we need to buy some supplies. How do you not even have a firestarter yet? And what have you been eating?"

Kael cleared his throat, “I… haven't. Not really.” He shuffled his feet, memories of empty nights in the dank basement, the pangs of hunger that had become so familiar he’d learned to ignore them. “A few berries. Scraps. It’s been… better, since the Inn. Garrick gave me the stew.” His gaze dropped to his boots.

Yareeth sighed, a long, slow exhalation that carried the weight of her disapproval, her tail twitching restlessly against the floorboards. He felt like a child, scolded for his carelessness, for his failure to… plan?

"Of course he couldn't even feed himself. Less able than a hatchling. I guess it's up to me." She huffed, the warmth of the room suddenly uncomfortable, her gaze focused on the worn pouch he'd displayed, and the coins he'd placed carefully beside it, the coins she'd earned. It felt like a lifetime ago that he'd scoured the streets, scrounging for a few copper scraps. A life that now seemed both foreign and unsettlingly familiar.

Yareeth glanced up at him. "Ok, show me what you've got," she commanded, the weight of her decision settling between them. There was something in her gaze - a determination, a resilience, a cold, hard fire burning within those reptilian eyes - that resonated within him, a strange echo of the Void Shard’s power. "We'll figure this out. We'll survive."

He nodded, relief washing over him. He wasn’t alone in this fight. Not anymore.

With Kael's nine bronze and Yareeth’s three bronze, they got up, left the Broken Fang.

They stepped back into the night, the inn’s warmth fading as soon as the heavy door swung shut, the comforting smells of roasted meat and spiced wine replaced by the harsher realities of the city. The Market of Shadows stretched out before them, a maze of stalls and shadowed figures, its energy both familiar and unsettling.

Yareeth didn’t hesitate. She stepped out, her stride confident, her gaze sweeping across the market with a keen, predatory intensity that surprised him. "I've never seen a place like this,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. Her voice was soft, but he could hear the tension coiled beneath it. The sheer chaos of it all—the crowds, the colors, the myriad scents both repulsive and alluring—was a stark contrast to the simple, rhythmic patterns of her lost world.

Kael followed, his body protesting the movement with a chorus of aches and twinges, the remnants of the poison’s attack. He could see her taking it all in, her every sense alert. It reminded him of the way she'd navigated that first realm.

"It's... overwhelming, isn’t it?" he said, the weariness coloring his words. The Market, after the silence of the realms, after the stillness of the basement, assaulted him, and for a moment, he felt the familiar urge to retreat, to hide from the scrutiny of a thousand unfamiliar eyes.

"So many people, so many things,” she added, her voice barely audible above the din of the market, but the apprehension in her tone, the way her scales shimmered under the flickering torchlight. “And so much noise.” He nodded.

“Too many shadows, too much chaos.”

She took a deep breath, her shoulders squaring as if bracing herself. She was a predator, he realized.

This was her element. Her hunting ground. He felt it then. The connection.

Not just shared fear. Not just desperation. It was something else. A…

… kinship.

Kael hung back, letting Yareeth take the lead. Her senses seemed sharper than his, her awareness heightened by an urgency he couldn’t fully comprehend. He watched, fascinated, as she navigated the crowds with a ease that he’d never possessed, her scaled form slipping through the narrow passages like a shadow. He saw her pausing, her gaze sharp, calculating, as she examined each stall’s wares. It was like watching a hunter stalking its prey, each step a calculated move, every glance an assessment of the strengths and weaknesses of her environment.

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He could almost smell it—the shift in the air. She had found what she was looking for.

They moved toward a stall piled high with small metal trinkets, the wares gleaming in the flickering lamplight. The stall owner, a wiry man with shifty eyes, leaned back against a rickety wooden support, his gaze appraising them as they approached. He didn't look surprised. Just wary. She’d sensed it, that flicker of opportunity, of desperation.

Kael leaned against a nearby barrel, his body a symphony of aches and protest, watching as she approached the stall, her steps measured, unhurried, her gaze fixed on the trinkets as if she'd been doing this her entire life. It felt right, her confidence in this place. More so than the caves.

“How much?” she asked. Her voice was steady, her tone clear. It was the first time he’d heard her truly own the unfamiliar language. The voice of a survivor.

“For you, little lizardling? Five bronze,” the vendor, a wiry man with eyes that darted like trapped flies, sneered. The words dripped with disdain, a casual cruelty. He’d heard it before. So had she. But there was no fear in her eyes, only a cold, calculated assessment. He could almost feel it. The shift in the air as the dance of barter began.

Kael tensed. His hand instinctively reached for his club-hammer. That slur — “Lizardling”— It was just a casual insult, a word designed to belittle. He’d ignored them before, even embraced the moniker of ‘rat’ with a bitter defiance. But this wasn’t him they were mocking.

He was about to step forward, to confront the man, but Yareeth's hand on his arm stopped him. Her touch was light, a subtle pressure.

“Five?” she echoed, her voice a cool rasp that cut through the noise around them. The man’s gaze flickered, the amusement fading as he sensed her challenging his authority.

She held up the flint and steel, her scales flashing in the flickering torchlight. “That's ridiculous. I saw a set just like this, two stalls over, for three. Don't insult me with this.” Her words, precise, clipped, delivered with a tone that brooked no argument.

The vendor sputtered, taken aback by her boldness, then tried to regain control.

“That one was rusty… damaged. This is the finest, worth—“

“I’m not stupid.” Her gaze was unwavering, the steel in her voice as sharp as the metal glint of the flints. Kael watched, a small smile tugging at his lips, a flicker of hope rekindled in the ashes of his despair.

She was good at this, better than he was. Her experience in the Market, bartering with the other villagers, that inherent toughness, had forged within her the perfect counter to this kind of aggression.

“Fine, fine. Three bronze, then,” the vendor muttered, his voice sullen, as if spitting out the words. “You drive a hard bargain, little lizard.”

But it was a victory, a small but significant one. As she handed over the coins, he saw the satisfaction flicker across her face, her posture straightening as the weight of his previous defeat lessened. The power was intoxicating. And terrifying.

She wasn’t his burden. She wasn’t a victim to be protected. She was more than he had anticipated, a force in her own right, one he was only beginning to understand.

They moved through the bustling heart of the market. Yareeth’s sharp eyes, honed by years of practical skills learned in her village, saw value where Kael saw only clutter and chaos. It was a silent lesson, the way she examined every stall, her scaled hand hovering over each item before picking it up, carefully assessing its quality, its usefulness.

Her bartering was relentless, efficient. It wasn't just about getting the lowest price; she understood the unspoken language of the marketplace. It wasn’t the usual bluster or desperate pleas he was used to, the whining pleas that marked you as an outsider, a mark to be exploited.

He watched her haggle with vendors for tinder, a small cooking pot, a few strips of dried meat, and a coil of sturdy rope— essential tools for survival that he’d overlooked, consumed by his own anxieties, the relentless demands of the Void Shard. The vendors—a motley crew of shifty-eyed men and women, their faces etched with hardship, their eyes wary—met her sharp gazes with surprise, a flicker of recognition that this girl, this creature with scales and claws, knew the rules of their game.

They paid five bronze for everything.

“You're really good at this,” he remarked, unable to keep the admiration from his voice. She turned to him, and for a fleeting moment, her eyes met his, a warmth in those black depths, a sense of satisfaction that softened the edges of his guilt. She still didn’t understand this world. But she was surviving. It wasn’t the swamps of her home.

He’d dragged her into the darkness, into a world that would test her, that would push her to the limits.

And yet, somehow, she was… thriving.

“My father,” she replied, her gaze lingering on his face for a moment before returning to the stalls ahead. “He traded sometimes, when the hunters brought in extra. I watched. Helped.” Her voice was soft, the words still slightly clipped, the unfamiliar cadence blending with the rhythm of the marketplace.

But the memory was bittersweet, he realized, a reminder of what she’d lost. A pang of sympathy twisted his gut, a pain almost as sharp as his own. Her people, her village… He pushed the thoughts away, knowing that dwelling on the past, on the inevitable what-ifs, would only drive him deeper into despair.

They stopped at a stall selling small, utilitarian knives. “I need something for myself.” Her words, a statement. Not a request.

She picked up a small blade. It was elegant, in a way. Thin and sharp, the steel gleaming dully in the lamplight, a weapon designed for precision, for stealth.

“How much?”

The vendor looked at her then at Kael. “One iron." He scoffed. “For you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “One iron for this? You must be joking. It’s barely worth four bronze.” The man shook his head, laughing, his eyes hard. It was the same dismissal Kael had faced countless times.

“This is fine steel, girl. Handcrafted, imported from beyond the—”

Kael’s world was shrinking, blurring at the edges. He was getting tired. It had only been a few days, but his encounter with the Blightmaw had taken a toll. She looked so small against that hulking vendor, but her posture, her stance was unflinching. She'd adapted so quickly. A flicker of something he couldn’t name – pride, perhaps – touched his heart as he saw the fire kindling within her. This determination was hers now, a power that transcended her size, her vulnerabilities.

The merchant’s words, his dismissive tone, seemed to ignite something within her. She stood her ground, unflinching as the man tried to intimidate her, as he spoke of craftsmanship and value and a quality she’d never understand. “Perhaps. If it weren’t chipped. If the balance wasn't so off.” Her hand flicked, twisting the blade. The moonlight caught a slight glint near the base of the blade. A chip. So small he hadn’t noticed. She continued, “But for a boy to play with? You know… maybe three bronze."

He hadn’t taught her any of this. The bartering. The tricks of the market. This was instinct. A primal understanding of trade. Her home was a marketplace now. It was his world, but she was mastering it already. Her own skills were sharpening. He could see it in the way she countered the man's arguments.

Kael’s vision swam, the sounds around him fading. He stumbled, his knees buckling, and he’d have fallen if she hadn’t been there. His body ached, and even the dullest sounds were starting to seem harsh, a painful counterpoint to the pulsing rhythm of the shard he could feel just beneath his skin.

“You’re still weak,” she said, her words barely a whisper in the market’s din, but they pierced through the fog in his mind. She steadied him, her hand a firm pressure against his arm. “We need to get you back, Kael. We need to get you safe." He felt a rush of shame at his own weakness. This… was his city. He’d grown up here, navigating its dangers.

He muttered, “I’m fine.” But the lie, weak, echoed in his own ears. His stomach clenched with hunger. The vendor watched, his expression a mix of annoyance and grudging respect. They both saw his weakness. He'd almost been ready to step through another portal.

"Four bronze. Fine,” The vendor spat the words, finally relenting as his gaze lingered on the tremor in Kael’s hands, the paleness of his face. Kael watched her count out four bronze coins, the weight of the bargain settling upon his soul. His journey into the realms, the desperation, the fights— all of that for a few coins, for survival? Or maybe for something more, a sliver of something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He clung to that, ignoring the pull of the abyss.

Yareeth handed the vendor the coins and took the knife.

"You’re incredible," he managed to say, the words a raspy whisper against the clamor of the market, but she heard him. She looked up at him then, her face softening for a moment, the sharp angles of her jaw, the glint in her eyes, the shimmer of her scales, all blending together in the dim light, her fear eclipsed by a sudden, unexpected wave of warmth that surprised him almost as much as it did her.

“We are a team now, right?" Her voice soft. Hesitant. "We… have to look out for each other.” It was a question. A plea. An acknowledgment of the burden, and the responsibility they now shared.

“Yeah,” he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. A team. He’d been alone for what felt like so long. A stray dog. Now… now there was someone else, someone who was… He shook his head, pushing back the thought before it took root, dangerous in its appeal.

The Market of Shadows felt a little less hostile. He was seeing it differently— not through his own jaded lens, not with that ever-present weight of fear and suspicion. She was showing him a different way. And somewhere, amidst his exhaustion, amidst the guilt and doubt that clung to him like a shroud, a new possibility blossomed. Not just surviving. Maybe… thriving. But the world was fading at the edges again, and he was just so tired.

Kael leaned against her, a silent request, and with a hesitant nod, she put her arm around his waist. It was strange. Her scales cool against his side. But comforting, a physical reminder that they were in this together now. “We’ve… we’ve done good today. We can… get a stew, when…”

“We did good today. Thanks to you,” he corrected, knowing that wasn’t true. He was alive.

He felt a lightness in his chest he hadn’t anticipated as they made their way back to the abandoned house. They would make it work, he decided. They had to.

“I… I want us to survive. We needed these things. To be ready.” There was a fierce determination in her voice.

"Come on," he said.

"Let's get back to the house.” They started walking again, their steps slow but steady. Home, if that’s what it was.