The air shifted from light to heavy as Kael entered the black market.
He pushed the door open to the bar and stepped inside, his head wrapped in a black cowl and his eyes hidden beneath a black blindfold.
Dark silhouettes filled his vision, figures lifting glasses, leaning together, gesturing as they spoke. Even blindfolded, he could sense the movement through faint outlines and shifting shadows.
Among mortals, his appearance would have drawn immediate attention. Here, within the Luminaire district, and especially in the black market, it barely turned heads. Some came to remain anonymous. Others carried motes that altered their bodies in ways they preferred not to display. Hiding oneself was not strange. It was expected.
Kael moved through the space until he reached the mission board and stopped. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a tightly rolled sheet of paper. Unfurling it, he tilted his head slightly and read.
The strain was immediate. Even with effort, reading through the blindfold pressed against his senses, pulling at the eye beneath. He ignored it.
He had spent more than a week preparing the note, despite how empty it appeared at first glance. The visible message was laughable. A simple request for help moving furniture.
That was the point.
Beneath the surface text lay layers upon layers of meaning. The message was written as a four-stage trap, each layer concealed behind a different language. Smolten. Other ancient tongues Kael had studied in silence. Only those who could peel back each layer would ever see the real offer waiting beneath.
It was not unusual for black market postings to be coded. Just like on the surface boards, cryptic language was a way to filter out the incompetent and attract only those capable of understanding what was truly being asked.
But this was different.
This was excessive. Deliberate. Almost mocking.
A message so convoluted that anyone who understood even the first layer would immediately know there had to be something more hidden underneath. No one with sense would believe the furniture was real.
Kael placed his palm flat against the paper and drove two metal spikes through it, pinning the note firmly to the board. The wood gave way without resistance.
He stepped back, hands returning to his pockets.
'Now I wait.'
Kael had not made the message complex to attract the strongest or the most talented. In truth, he wanted the opposite. If he could have written his intent openly, he would have. If he could have lowered the barrier and drawn in the desperate, the reckless, the naive, he would have welcomed it. They would have been easier. Safer.
But the world did not allow such honesty.
A refinement Luminaire who advertised himself plainly was not offering a service. He was announcing his value. And value, in this world, was never left unclaimed for long. Power invited possession. Skill invited chains. Greed did the rest.
So Kael hid his intent behind difficulty, behind languages half-forgotten and logic twisted into riddles. Not to test intelligence alone, but restraint. Anyone who reached the end would do so because they chose to keep going, not because the answer was handed to them.
It was a filter, not for strength, but for intent.
Even so, the irony was not lost on him. By raising the barrier, he ensured that whoever answered would be experienced, capable, and dangerous. The very type he would have preferred to avoid. But caution demanded sacrifice, and safety was rarely found in ideal outcomes.
'No chances,' he thought.
In a world ruled by desire, secrecy was not a luxury. It was survival. Those who reached too openly for power were crushed beneath the hands that followed. Those who concealed it, shaped the flow instead.
Kael turned away from the board.
If someone found the message, deciphered it, and chose to step forward, then that was no accident. It would be a decision. And decisions, unlike chance, could be prepared for.
After all, greed was not an evil reserved for villains or kings. It was a quiet hunger that lived in everyone.
And Kael knew better than most what people were willing to become once that hunger was stirred.
He stepped out of the bar and paused, turning his head left, then right.
'Should I check the rest of the black market?'
The thought surfaced idly.
He had already accomplished everything he had planned for the day, and nothing awaited him until well past midnight. For a moment, he simply stood there, letting the noise and presence of the place wash over him, before walking deeper underground.
A long cobblestone road stretched ahead, lined on both sides with small shops and narrow stands. At least, that was how it would have appeared to anyone else. To Kael, the street was reduced to motion and suggestion. Countless shifting silhouettes flowed past one another, their movements slow and distorted, while faint, unnatural shapes clung to the edges of his perception, marking where stalls and buildings should have been.
The smell within the black market was unlike anything found elsewhere. The air was layered with countless aromas from refinement materials, crushed flowers, rare resins, ancient bones ground into powder. Some of it stung the nose, but only a few steps later it shifted, giving way to the warm scent of freshly baked bread and slow-cooked stews.
'Guess that's one way to earn mindstones.'
While Luminaire-related goods were the most common trade, owning a space in the black market meant freedom. Once you paid for a stall, you could do anything with it. Sell weapons, sell secrets, sell food, or even leave it empty if you wished, though no one ever did. The black market was easily the most profitable place in the city. Everyone who entered came prepared to spend. More often than not, they spent to grow stronger, and strength was something few hesitated to invest in.
Selling food was far from foolish. Even though Luminaires could survive weeks without eating, most still chose to eat regularly. It kept the body grounded and the mind steady, but more importantly, it reminded them of a simpler time. Meals were shared, conversations flowed, and for a brief moment, power took a back seat to warmth and familiarity. And in the end, it still tasted just as good as it always had.
Since he had decided to take his time, it took nearly three hours to walk only a few kilometers, eventually reaching the end of the black market street.
At the far end of the road stood a black marble wall. Embedded into it was the Valthorne crest, forged from black iron.
Kael stopped and studied it in silence.
For a long moment, he did not move.
Then he turned away and began the long walk back through the black market, retracing his steps beneath the low ceiling and muted glow.
When he finally climbed the stairs and exited the church, the night air greeted him. He walked straight back to his apartment.
Midnight was all that remained to wait for.
Only when the clock struck twelve did Kael wrap his coat tightly around himself again. He locked the door to his apartment and stepped out into the moonlit street.
Building after building slipped past, their windows dark, until a familiar view emerged ahead of him.
At Velthoria's shore, a lone bench rested near the edge of a cliff, overlooking the endless lake below. The water reflected the moon like broken glass, stretching into the distance without end.
Kael walked over and sat down.
It was the same bench where he had first met Syleena, however, That was not why he was here tonight.
The notice he had pinned in the black market carried only two truths, buried beneath layers of language and misdirection, waiting for someone patient and perceptive enough to reach the end.
First.
He offered mote refinement.
Second.
The only way to reach him was to come here, after midnight.
Kael leaned back slightly, blindfold turned toward the lake, and waited.
If someone came, then the bait had worked.
If no one did, then he would return tomorrow night, and the next.
Kael's eyes narrowed beneath the blindfold.
If someone had managed to decipher the poster this quickly, they could only be one thing. Intelligent. And more importantly, dangerous.
He crossed his legs and leaned back against the bench with a loose posture, but every sense alert.
He had not chosen this place out of nostalgia, despite its history. The bench met every condition he required.
It lay within the mortal district of Velthoria, far from his current residence and far from the usual Luminaire routes. It was also close to where he had first lived after arriving in the city, familiar ground, which made it safer than most. But more than anything else, it offered privacy. The cliff overlooked the lake with nothing behind him but open ground. No one could approach without being seen. That had been the very reason he had chosen it when meeting Syleena for the first time.
Kael tilted his head slightly, facing the moon.
"Almost an hour…"
An hour. That window was all anyone would get. If they failed to appear, he would leave without regret.
He was just about to rise from the bench when a voice spoke, calm and close, no more than an arm's length away.
"May you find your worth in the waking world, Solian Serane."
It was a young man's voice.
Kael froze.
Those were the words.
The exact phrase meant to mark someone who had deciphered the offer.
'Already?'
The thought surfaced, then vanished before it could fully form.
He had never noticed anyone approaching.