The evening market district was alive in a way the daytime streets never were.
Lanterns strung between rooftops painted the narrow lanes in shades of amber and crimson. Vendors hawked everything from glowing mana crystals the size of quail eggs to questionable love potions that smelled suspiciously like cheap perfume. The air was thick with the scent of sizzling skewers, incense, and the faint metallic bite of spilled blood from the beast-slaughtering stalls at the far end.
I kept to the edges, hood up, steps measured. The wolf blood on my cloak had mostly dried into dark patches that could pass for mud in this light. Seventy silver weighed pleasantly in the pouch against my hip—enough to feel dangerous, not enough to feel safe.
I needed more than coin tonight.
I needed information.
Connections.
And if possible, a way to turn my growing power into something the city would fear instead of just hunt.
Garrick had mentioned the "underbelly" when he gave me the key. I'd assumed he meant the obvious—thieves, smugglers, black-market dealers. But the more I walked these back streets, the more I realized the underbelly here was layered. There were the petty criminals everyone knew about, and then there were the ones who dealt in things the guild and the crown pretended didn't exist.
Talents.
Not the kind you were born with.
The kind that could be bought, sold, traded, or—most interestingly—extracted.
I found the place by following a whisper.
A drunk adventurer leaning against a wall near the beast stalls had been muttering to his companion about "the Broker who can rewrite your soul for the right price." I'd lingered just long enough to catch the name of the street and a description: a door with no handle, marked only by a single black feather nailed above the frame.
It took me almost an hour of circling the same three blocks before I spotted it.
A narrow gap between a spice merchant and a boarded-up apothecary. No sign. No light leaking underneath. Just the feather—jet black, longer than my hand, nailed at eye level.
I pressed my palm to the wood beside it.
Mana flowed out from me in a thin, probing thread—testing, not breaking.
The door clicked.
Opened inward without sound.
A short hallway lit by floating orbs of pale violet light led downward. Stairs spiraled gently, walls smooth obsidian that drank the glow rather than reflected it.
At the bottom: a circular chamber.
No windows.
No visible exits except the one behind me.
A single high-backed chair sat in the center, facing a low table of dark wood. On the opposite side sat a figure shrouded in deep gray robes, hood pulled so low the face was shadow.
Only the hands were visible—long, pale fingers resting on the table, each nail painted matte black.
The voice that came out was smooth, genderless, cultured. Like velvet over steel.
"Takahashi Ren. The boy who stole the saint's light. Welcome to the Feather Exchange."
I didn't flinch.
I'd expected them to know.
I walked forward slowly, stopped five paces from the table.
"You have a name?" I asked.
"Names are liabilities here. You may call me Broker if you must. Sit."
There was no second chair.
I stayed standing.
Broker tilted their head slightly.
"Bold. Or foolish. Most who come here beg for seats."
"I'm not most people."
A soft laugh—dry, almost affectionate.
"No. You are not."
They lifted one hand. A small crystal orb appeared between thumb and forefinger, rolling lazily.
"Your arrival disrupted several long-term plans. The crown wanted a controllable hero. They got you instead. The saint candidate is… recovering, though not well. Her mana channels are scarred. She will never reach her previous heights without extraordinary intervention."
I felt nothing at the mention of Aria.
Not guilt.
Not satisfaction.
Just cold calculation.
"And you want… what? Revenge? Compensation?"
Broker set the orb down. It rolled to a stop perfectly centered.
"I want opportunity. You are opportunity incarnate, Takahashi Ren. Talent Devourer. A power that has not walked this world in seven centuries. The last one who bore it was erased from history for good reason."
They leaned forward slightly.
"I can offer you three things tonight."
I waited.
"First: sanctuary. A safehouse in the undercity, warded against royal scrying. Food, rest, anonymity. One week, no charge. After that… we negotiate."
"Second: information. The Dark Legion—the ones who truly want the saint's power—are moving. They know you exist. They will come for you, either to kill you or to recruit you. I can give you their current movements, their safe houses, their weaknesses."
"Third…" Broker's voice dropped to a whisper. "A client. Someone willing to pay very dearly for a single talent. Not one of yours, of course. One you acquire. The price would be enough to buy a small estate. Or weapons that could kill a dragon. Or passage out of the kingdom entirely."
I let the silence stretch.
Then I asked the only question that mattered.
"What do you want in return?"
Broker smiled—I couldn't see it, but I felt it.
"Exclusivity. When you devour a talent of A-rank or higher, you bring it here first. I get the right of first refusal. I take nothing without your consent, but I see it before anyone else."
I considered.
It was dangerous.
It tied me to someone who already knew too much.
But it also gave me a buyer.
A fence.
A way to monetize the very thing that made me a target.
And if they betrayed me…
Well.
I'd just add their talent to the collection.
"Deal," I said.
Broker's hand moved—smooth, almost loving—and a small black feather appeared on the table.
"Prick your finger. Let one drop fall. The contract is sealed."
I drew the iron dagger Garrick had given me, pressed the tip to my thumb, and squeezed.
A single crimson bead fell onto the feather.
It absorbed instantly.
The feather glowed once, then vanished.
"Sanctuary is yours for seven days," Broker said. "Follow the corridor to your left. The door at the end will recognize you. Rest. Eat. Tomorrow night, return here. We will discuss your first… acquisition."
I turned to leave.
One last thing occurred to me.
"What happens if I break the contract?"
Broker's voice followed me like smoke.
"You won't. Not willingly. The feather remembers."
The door at the end of the corridor opened into a modest suite—bed, bath, small kitchenette, even a window that showed a false night sky full of stars. Wards hummed softly along the walls, thick enough to make my skin tingle.
I dropped onto the bed without undressing.
For the first time since waking in the summoning chamber, I felt something close to control.
Not safety.
Not peace.
Control.
I pulled up my status one more time before sleep took me.
[Name: Takahashi Ren]
[Level: 6]
[Attributes]
Strength: 22
Agility: 31
Endurance: 19
Vitality: 24
Perception: 28
Intelligence: 17
Mana: 480/480
Stamina: 260/260
[Unique Talent]
Talent Devourer – Rank: EX
Slots Available: 2/3
[Passive/Acquired Talents]
Swordsmanship (A)
Enhanced Agility (B)
Horn Reinforcement (A)
Six levels.
A handful of stolen gifts.
A dangerous alliance.
And a city full of talents waiting to be claimed.
I closed my eyes.
Tomorrow I would hunt.
Not for survival.
For profit.
For power.
For the simple, vicious pleasure of watching the numbers climb.
And when the time came—
When the crown, the Legion, the Broker, even Aria herself came looking—
They would find something very different from the scared boy who'd woken up on cold stone.
They would find me.
And they would learn what happens when you give a nobody the power to take everything.
Sleep came deep and dreamless.
The hunger waited patiently.
It always did.