The sun baked the cobblestone paths of the Golden Veil Market as waves of color danced on every stall. Silks rippled in the wind, spices clashed mid-air, and merchants sang in competing melodies. Rell, draped in a deep red and black desert robe, looked more irritated than majestic.
“No trees… wind… Hate here,” he muttered, squinting under the bright turban wrap that Neyxa forced on him. “Can’t breathe… this.”
“Oh come on,” Thessia giggled, circling him. “You look like desert royalty.”
Neyxa crossed her arms with a smirk. “It’s an improvement. From jungle savage to sand prince.”
The group strolled through the marketplace under the watchful eye of two Dustguard escorts, who walked ten paces behind — spears in hand, expressions blank. The atmosphere felt sunny but staged.
Between bites of a flatbread wrap, Neyxa leaned toward Rell. “I still can’t believe they locked Lirah away in a separate district with the kids. You’d think returning kidnapped children would earn us more goodwill.”
“Treat us like problem,” Rell growled. “Want… see her.”
Thessia nodded. “After lunch, we’ll ask again. But maybe don’t growl when we talk to the guards.”
Rell ignored that. “Feed her? Kids… okay?”
“I don’t know,” Neyxa said, tone lowering. “They’re not telling us much.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The street curved slightly left, and Thessia gestured toward a spice vendor. “This place smells amazing—wait, this isn’t the plaza path, is it?”
“Nope,” Neyxa said, eyes narrowing. “Wrong turn.”
They stepped into a thinner alley — brick walls chipped, tarp canopies slumped overhead. Silence pressed against them.
Then, with a sudden gust, four figures dropped from above — masked and wrapped in desert gray. Blades glinted.
Zeven stood confidently at the mouth of the alley, arms loose, grin sharp.
He was young — maybe Rell’s age — with tan olive skin, dusty gray hair tied back in a wild topknot, and a short-sleeved sand cloak fluttering behind him. His boots were worn, his fingers wrapped in cloth tape, and his eyes burned with something between mischief and grief. He smelled faintly of scorched sage, dust, and sweat. The sun glinted off the twin curved daggers strapped to his back, but it was the aura around him that caught Rell’s eye — tense, restless, like wind waiting to burst.
“Well, well,” Zeven grinned. “Tourists, all dressed up. Bet you got coin.”
“Who… you?” Rell stepped forward, unbothered.
“You know me?”
“Nope.”
“Let’s fix that.”
Zeven vanished and reappeared mid-air, launching into a high-speed blur called Dagger Mirage, a tier-2 Invocation technique. It focused on rapid-step displacement — four illusion-enhanced slashes that hit in a spiral pattern, built for assassination and flash-stuns.
Rell blocked the first, let the second graze his sleeve, then his eyes narrowed.
With a sudden chuckle and a swipe, he mirrored the same move, only heavier — jungle power behind desert finesse.
The Dust Blades were scattered like sandpaper in the wind. One hit a crate. Another landed head-first in a basket of dried peppers. All groaned.
Zeven crashed into a wall and slumped, dazed.
Thessia blinked. “Did you just copy him?”
“No… make better.”
They walked off without another word.
Later, seated outside a street grill eating skewered meat, Zeven limped up, dragging a bench beside Rell with exaggerated pain.
“So…” he started, smiling through the bruises. “You’re fast. That’s new.”
Rell shrugged.
“I got robbed trying to rob you. You gotta respect the poetry.”
Neyxa raised an eyebrow. “You always this dramatic?”
“Only when bleeding internally,” Zeven grinned.
He leaned in. “Look, you handled us. Props. So if you ever wanna see the real Alzharan — not the painted one the nobles show you — hit me up. Name’s Zeven. Don’t worry, I only rob people once.”
He walked away, limping but humming.
Rell bit into his skewer, chewed slowly, and grunted. “He weird.”
Thessia smirked. “So are you.”
Chapter End.