Hollowgate's morning air smelled like rust, incense, and fried dumplings. Kael pulled his coat tighter as he and Lira walked through the lower market district. Rain from the night before still clung to the cobblestones.
Vessa had told them to blend in, keep moving, and buy nothing expensive.
Kael hated advice that made sense.
The market was a maze of stalls—relic scraps, mana-etched jewelry, dungeon loot that probably still had blood on it. Crowds moved like a river, fast and loud. Lira stayed close behind him, hood up, head down.
Every few feet, someone shouted.
"Fresh core shards! Two for one!"
"Contract scrolls, unsealed!"
"Blessed steel! Real church mark!"
Kael's eyes scanned constantly. Not for relics—for watchers. Anyone lingering too long. Anyone following.
"Too many guilds here. Too many mercenaries playing detective," he thought. "One wrong word and we'll be sold."
Then he felt it.
The hum of mana. Faint, but familiar. Coming from Lira's direction.
He turned fast.
Her pendant was glowing again—faint, but visible. She clutched it through her coat, eyes wide.
"It's happening again," she whispered. "Something's calling to it."
Kael glanced around. A few people had noticed. Not many—but one was enough.
He grabbed her hand. "We're leaving."
But before they could move, a voice stopped them.
"You sure you want to miss what it's pointing to?"
Kael turned. A man sat behind a nearby stall, one eye glowing with a faded relic lens. His coat was patched, but he looked calm—too calm.
Lira stared at him. "Who—?"
"Name's Narin," the man said, standing slowly. "Relic vendor. Not the cheapest. Definitely not the cleanest. But I see things most don't."
Kael didn't like him.
"I don't care what you see," Kael said, pulling Lira back. "We're not buying."
"You will," Narin replied. "Not because you want to. Because that pendant of hers is a bondmark. Old soul-type. Can't be removed."
Kael's jaw tightened.
"Say that louder, maybe a few bounty hunters didn't hear."
Narin grinned. "Relax. I don't sell people. I sell stories."
He reached beneath his stall and pulled out a black box. He placed it gently on the table.
"Your pendant is reacting because the seal on it is failing. And sealed relics? They reach out when their time's near. I've seen three in my life. Two exploded. One awakened a girl who burned down a city block."
Lira blinked. "You're not helping."
Kael stepped closer to the table. "What's in the box?"
Narin opened it slowly.
Inside was a glass shard—thin, smoky, pulsing with a light that didn't match this world.
"It's a memory fragment. Pulled from a dungeon core in South Arith."
Kael frowned. "Fragments don't hum."
"This one does," Narin said. "And it's been humming louder since you two showed up."
He pushed it forward. "Touch it."
Kael hesitated.
"This is a trap," he thought. "But if it's linked to her relic—"
He touched it.
The world blinked.
For a second—just a second—Kael wasn't in Hollowgate.
He was somewhere deeper. Older.
A stone room. Walls covered in glowing script. At the center, a massive throne—empty. Around it, shadows moved like they had faces but no names.
One turned toward him. No eyes. No voice. But Kael heard it.
"Devourer. Inheritor. Heir to the Ruined Path."
Then it was gone.
Kael staggered back, gasping. Lira caught him.
"What did you see?" she asked.
Kael looked at the vendor. "What was that?"
Narin closed the box. "Like I said. A memory."
Kael didn't answer. He turned and walked away, dragging Lira with him.
Behind them, Narin called out, "Tell your aunt Vessa I still owe her a punch in the face!"
Kael didn't stop.
They ducked into an alley two streets over.
"What was that place?" Lira asked.
Kael leaned against a wall. His heart still hammered.
"A throne," he said. "And something... saw me. Knew me."
She looked scared.
Kael softened. "It didn't feel hostile. Just... old."
Lira nodded slowly. "My pendant warmed up when you touched that shard. Like it recognized whatever you saw."
Kael didn't like it.
"Too much magic we don't understand," he thought. "Too many eyes."
They returned to Vessa's shop an hour later. But they weren't alone.
Across the street, a man stood under a lamppost. He wore a guild coat—but the insignia had been scratched out.
He watched them with still eyes.
Kael didn't stop walking. Didn't flinch.
But he saw him.
"Spy," he thought. "Not Hollowgate-born. Too clean. Too quiet."
They went inside. Locked the door.
And Kael finally said what had been burning in his head all day.
"Someone knows we're here."