Chapter 14 – Shifting Sands and Whispered Fragments
The market was still breathing chaos from the previous day's brawl. Merchants hawked wares behind patched-up stalls, and the smell of grilled meat tangled with smoke from smoldering incense sticks. Aaren followed the rest of Emberbound through the crowd, his eyes darting for any sign of that mysterious stall they'd encountered before — but it was gone. Not a trace, not even the smell of its spices.
Koro walked ahead, his battered pauldron hanging loose, looking like someone who'd slept standing up. Lenara, on the other hand, was bouncing from stand to stand, poking at goods she had no intention of buying.
"Lenara," WitheredFlame called in his usual, steady tone, "are you aware you've been inspecting the same bunch of carrots for ten minutes?"
"They're crunchy in spirit," she replied, holding one up like a prized relic. "Besides, I'm conducting a very serious investigation… into whether Aaren could juggle these while running."
Aaren groaned. "Why would I even—?"
Lenara tossed a carrot at him mid-sentence. He fumbled, nearly knocking over a spice cart. The vendor cursed at him in a dialect even Levitine didn't bother translating.
That's when a shadow detached from the wall.
A hunched figure stepped forward, clutching a wooden box covered in iron clasps. His eyes darted across the group, but lingered on Koro.
"You," the man rasped, voice dry as paper, "boy with the cursed sand… it reacts to them."
Koro stiffened. "Reacts to what?"
The man tapped the box. "Fragments."
Levitine's edge hummed faintly in Aaren's mind. Be cautious. He speaks of something old.
Koro's brow furrowed. "And what if I'm not interested?"
"Then you'll keep bleeding yourself dry," the man said bluntly. "That gift of yours… every time you turn flesh to sand, it pulls from you. Not just strength — something deeper. It will erode you from the inside."
Aaren blinked. "Wait… that's why you've been looking half-dead after fights?"
Koro didn't answer. He just clenched his hand, and a faint wisp of grit spilled from between his fingers — not summoned sand, but part of his own skin flaking away.
Lenara's playful grin faltered for the first time. "…That's not funny, Koro."
The man crouched, setting the box on the ground. The metal clasps trembled, as if something inside shifted. "The Fragments stabilize the unstable. But they're not for sale here — not to me, not to anyone. I only… transport."
WitheredFlame's gaze sharpened. "Where do you transport them from?"
The man's eyes flickered with something like fear. "A corridor no sane traveler enters twice. One built by… the one who owns the stall you seek."
That name — unspoken but heavy — tightened the air. The merchant's lips trembled like he'd said too much. He snatched the box back up, glancing around as though invisible eyes were watching.
"If you value your link, fire-boy," he told WitheredFlame without looking, "keep him alive long enough to walk that corridor."
He melted back into the crowd before anyone could stop him.
Silence hovered until Lenara broke it with her usual tone. "Sooo… if we find these fragments, Koro stops slowly turning into a walking desert?"
"Something like that," Koro muttered.
Levitine's voice brushed Aaren's mind again. This path will cut deeper than any blade. You are not ready — but you will be forced to be.
Aaren exhaled slowly. "Then I guess we need to start training harder."
Lenara grinned again, almost too brightly. "Great! And after training, we're testing my carrot-juggling theory. You can't say no now — it's for morale."
WitheredFlame shook his head, but there was a faint trace of a smile. "Emberbound moves tomorrow. Tonight, we prepare."
And as they stepped away from the market, the sound of distant, hollow laughter curled between the stalls — a sound none of them could place, but all of them felt.