The return to Akogwa was stealthy but tense. The city's public spaces were already tightening under the Dildillaac's subtle influence; the streets were quieter, the Huenergy dominated by a dull, constant Green hue (Fear).
Bura led the team through the city's underbelly—a warren of tunnels and abandoned infrastructure that only the Asonas and Griots knew. Libaax, still wearing his travel robes but carrying the unmistakable confidence of the King of Beasts, moved with practiced stealth.
The Hidden Marketplace was several levels beneath the official financial district. It was a space where the written rules of the empire didn't apply, and reality was bartered as currency. The air was thick with smoke, cheap Ase stimulants, and the cacophony of unregulated commerce.
"The Contrivium doesn't like this place," Bura noted, his Yellow Aura suppressed but sharp. "Here, the prices are dictated by truth, not official mandate. It's too chaotic for the Kifofirists to script easily."
They found the seller of rare components in a damp cavern near a geothermal vent.
The merchant, a wizened old Griot named Baba Zaki, sat behind a counter piled high with crystallized Ase runoff, illegal Tojo schematics, and volatile minerals.
"Obuasiite, and Saffirine," Nefre Dolo stated, placing a sample schematic on the counter. "high-grade crystals. We need enough to anchor the land around the Osu desert."
Baba Zaki eyed the group—the Emperor! He knew they were dangerous.
"Obuasiite is rare," Baba Zaki rasped, his eyes shining with avarice. "It absorbs Iku like a sponge. It is reserved for the military's most secret projects. And the Saffirine pigment? That requires months of careful infusion."
"We require it now," Bura said, stepping forward. "The Dildillaac is pushing its agenda. If the Dragon Belt fails, your market will collapse into Utupu."
Baba Zaki laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "I worry about the Sasa (Present) moment, not the end of the world." He named an exorbitant price in gold and political favors.
"The price is too high," Libaax stated, stepping beside Nefre. "Even for the Empire."
"Then the Empire gets no materials," Baba Zaki shrugged. "It's simple market economics."
Mandla Ada, the Empathic Bridge, stepped up, her Yellow Aura suddenly flaring, but aimed softly at the merchant. "Baba Zaki," she said, her voice laced with deep, comforting sincerity. "I don't sense malice in you. I sense Fear (Green hue). You are afraid that if you sell us these materials, the Council of Regents—or worse, the Kifofirists' agents—will delete your story from this market."
Baba Zaki's eyes widened. He hadn't expected the truth to be weaponized.
"The current regime is a lie written with Iku," Bura said, pressing the advantage. "the price of silence is higher than any price you've demanded. If you help us, you contribute to the true narrative of Aye, written by Chi. That kind of legacy is priceless."
Baba Zaki hesitated, his Griot and merchant nature in conflicted between profit and profound truth.
Suddenly, a loud, artificial laugh echoed through the underground chamber.
"A truly sentimental ending, Editor."
A figure emerged from the shadows: a tall man in sleek, geometric Masquerde, his face obscured by a golden, expressionless mask. His Masquerade was etched with Tojo, but the pattern was chaotic and shifting—Tojo written without Ubuntu.
"I am the agent of the New Narrative," the figure stated, his voice a synthesized monotone. "The Council of Regents is gone, but the plot requires a replacement obstacle. And the plot demands that your little quest fail here."
The agent raised his hand, and two large, lumbering constructs—crude, half-formed golems of rock and scrap metal—stepped into the light. These were not animated by Ase, but by raw, destructive Iku. They were Mufarikha constructs, sent by the Dildillaac to enforce the bad writing.
"The resources are mine," the agent hissed. "I will ensure they are used to build the final coffin for Aye."