"There is no failure more bitter than the one you bring back to someone you'd die for."
***
The Agora pressed in on Lyra from every direction.
Shelves bowed under the weight of gleaming armor that caught the light like captured stars. Glass display cases housed enchanted weapons that hummed with barely contained power. Silk-robed merchants called out their wares in practiced sing-song voices while apprentices scurried between stalls with arms laden with wrapped packages.
It was a world of power, condensed and displayed for consumption.
She was here to buy a small piece of it.
Lyra placed a meticulously written requisition slip on the counter. Each movement designed to draw minimal attention. Her fingers released the parchment with the restraint of a servant who understood that excessive gestures invited scrutiny.
The document displayed Kaelen's unmistakable handwriting. Neat yet unremarkable. The kind of script that eyes passed over without lingering.
