The days after the cloaked man's visit bled into one another, steady as the tick of an ether clock. For most of Nexus City, life moved on without ripple or pause. Caravans still drifted in from the outer systems, ships still lit the skies as they descended onto the orbital docks, and the slums still buzzed with the ceaseless barter of survival.
Inside the little alchemy shop tucked against a crooked alleyway, time seemed slower.
Jade worked behind the counter, hands precise, movements deliberate. The hum of his burners filled the air with a faint, soothing thrum. Glass vials lined the shelves in neat ranks, each holding liquids that shimmered faintly with captured starlight. Their glow painted the dim walls in hues of azure and violet, as if the shop were a pocket of another world.
Lio leaned across the counter, chin balanced on his arms, watching with wide, restless eyes. Ten years old, hair sticking out in stubborn tufts, he radiated boundless energy even when sitting still. His boots barely touched the rung of the stool.
"What's that one?" he asked for the fifth time that morning, pointing at a vial of deep green liquid that pulsed faintly as though alive.
Jade's hands didn't falter. He measured out a pinch of powdered frostleaf, tipping it into a bubbling flask, and only after it hissed into calmness did he reply.
"Verdant Ether Serum," he said. His voice, though soft, carried the practiced patience of someone explaining to a curious child many times before. "Stabilizes mana channels for those who struggle to absorb from ambient ether. Dangerous if brewed poorly. Fatal, if brewed wrong."
Lio's eyes widened. "And you're just—making it like soup."
"It's not soup," Jade corrected mildly, though the corner of his lips twitched faintly in amusement. "It's balance. Every herb carries its own temperament. Some need coaxing. Some need restraint. Push too hard, they rebel. Too soft, and they collapse. You don't force them—you guide."
From the back room, Amara's voice floated forward. "Don't fill his head too much, master Jade. He'll start thinking he can play with burners too."
Amara stepped out carrying a stack of neatly folded cloth, her dark hair tied back in a simple braid. At twenty, she carried herself with the steady responsibility of someone who had raised her brother more than she should have at her age. She set the cloth on the side counter, shooting Lio a pointed look.
Lio squirmed but didn't argue. He had sworn loyalty to Jade, after all, and that meant listening even when it stung.
Niamh, seated near the door with her knitting basket, chuckled softly. "Let him learn," she said, her weathered fingers moving deftly through thread. "Curiosity is no enemy. As long as Jade's here, the boy won't burn his own eyebrows off."
"I wouldn't!" Lio protested, indignant.
"You would," Amara said flatly, and flicked his ear as she passed.
The shop warmed with the easy rhythm of voices, an odd family built from blood and bonds both. For Niamh, the presence of Lio and Amara was balm. She had long worried that Jade, with his strange and heavy gifts, lived too far apart from other children. Watching him work so calmly while Lio pestered and Amara fussed softened something in her chest. For a moment, it almost looked like childhood.
Almost.
Because behind the blindfold, Jade's dual irises spun slowly, tracing the weave of ether around them. He saw more than the others could—threads drifting like rivers through the city, the faint pulse of starlight essence lingering in every plant, every potion. And sometimes, like today, he caught glimpses that unsettled him: tension in the flow, tiny fractures in the current of the slums.
....
By midday, the shop saw its usual stream of customers. A miner from the lower districts came seeking salves for ether-burned hands. A young mother exchanged credits for a fever tonic, bowing deeply before hurrying back into the crowded streets. Even a passing mercenary stopped in for a mana-restorative, eyeing Jade with faint disbelief when the blindfolded boy handed it over without error.
Each transaction left whispers behind—about the child alchemist who brewed remedies sharper than the Guild's own apprentices, about the quiet woman who guarded him, about the shop that never seemed to falter.
But for all the whispers, no one connected him to power. To most, he was a curiosity, a novelty tucked away in the slums. Nothing more.
When the rush ebbed, Niamh stood, stretching the stiffness from her joints. "I'll fetch more water," she said, gathering the empty jars. Her eyes lingered on Jade before softening on Lio and Amara. "Don't let him wear himself thin."
Amara nodded dutifully. Lio, on the other hand, puffed his chest. "I'll protect him."
Jade gave the faintest smile. "From empty jars?"
"From everything," Lio said stubbornly.
The words, childish as they were, carried a weight Jade did not dismiss. He only reached for another vial, but his chest eased slightly at the thought.
-------------------------------------------------------
That evening, the streets outside the shop thickened with the usual clamor. Lanterns flared to life, casting fractured light across narrow alleys. Vendors called out in harsh voices, hawking wares imported from distant moons: crystallized herbs from Veyra, smoked beast-meat from the asteroid colonies, trinkets said to be carved from fragments of fallen stars.
Jade stepped to the door for a breath of air. His blindfold hid his gaze, but his other senses sharpened in compensation. The scents of spice and smoke mingled with the tang of metal from ships above. Snatches of conversation drifted past:
"…food shipments delayed again—credits won't stretch…"
"…Ash Rats stirring trouble near the east ward…"
"…Guild raising fees for permits—half the small shops will fold…"
Nexus City thrummed with its usual pulse of discontent, but lately, Jade felt the threads fraying faster. He tilted his head slightly, feeling the flow of ether around him. Something in the city's heart was shifting, though its shape had yet to reveal itself.
Amara joined him at the doorway, her gaze steady. "You heard them too?"
"I always hear them," Jade said quietly.
Her brow furrowed. "You're seven. You shouldn't be thinking about guild politics or slum factions."
"I don't think about them," Jade said, and for once, a hint of childishness slipped into his tone. "They think about me."
That made her pause, uncertain how to answer. In the silence, Lio's laughter rang from inside, loud and unrestrained as he chased a small mouse between the shelves. Amara smiled despite herself.
"He's going to knock something over," she muttered.
"He won't," Jade said. He'd already nudged the rodent's path with a faint ripple of cold air, guiding it away from the fragile vials. Sure enough, Lio stumbled to a halt before disaster could strike, triumphantly scooping the cat into his arms instead.
Amara shook her head. "You're impossible."
Jade didn't answer. His dual irises had caught something—a faint shimmer in the distance, deeper than the market lights, older than the streets. For a moment, it was gone, like a ripple vanishing into still water. But he had felt it. A tremor.
...
The night deepened. Niamh herded the children toward supper, scolding Lio for trying to steal a sweet before Amara swatted his hand away. Jade sat a little apart, listening to the domestic squabble with a faint, quiet warmth.
But beneath that warmth, the tremor lingered. His dual irises spun slowly, attuned to the flow beneath the city. What he felt was no ordinary fluctuation of ether, no passing storm of mana.
It was deeper. Older.
A breath in the bones of Nexarion itself.
The blindfold shadowed his expression, but his voice was very soft when he spoke.
"…A gate."
The word vanished into the clatter of dishes, unheard by the others. But in his vision, threads of darkness coiled beneath the slums, pulsing faintly like the heartbeat of a beast about to wake.
The ripple of a dungeon.
-------------------------------------------------------
The Governor's shadow had barely left Jade's little shop when another plot began to stir across the city.
In the heart of the Alchemy Guild's spire, behind doors lacquered in deep obsidian and veined with golden runes, Karren pressed herself against silken sheets, the faint perfume of distilled lotus clinging to the air.
Draven reclined beside her, bare-chested, sipping lazily from a crystal cup of spiced wine. The city's neon glow spilled through tall windows, painting his skin in fractured reds and blues. His hand rested possessively on Karren's hip, fingers tracing idle circles as though she were nothing more than another indulgence.
But Karren's mind was not lulled. It burned.
"That brat," she hissed, eyes sharp even as her body curled against him. "Standing there with that blindfold, speaking like he's a master of the craft. Do you know how humiliating it was, Draven? The others saw. They whispered."
Draven chuckled, low and amused, setting his cup aside. "Jealousy makes your voice shrill, my dear." He leaned closer, lips brushing her ear. "But it also makes you delicious."
Karren shivered, torn between the heat of his touch and the fury clawing in her chest. "If his name keeps spreading, what use will I be to you? I worked—sacrificed—to reach this position. I will not be made irrelevant by a child."
Draven rolled onto his side, pinning her with the weight of his gaze. In the shifting light, his eyes gleamed like a predator's. "Do you think I don't see the danger? That I, of all people, would let some slum-born runt overturn what I've built?"
His fingers trailed up her thigh, slow, deliberate, as his tone hardened. "But you are right. He must be cut out before his roots spread too deep."
Karren's lips curved in a thin smile. "Then let me do it."
Draven arched a brow. "How?"
She sat up, letting the sheet fall carelessly from her shoulders, uncaring of her nakedness under his gaze. "A rift cracked open in the industrial quarter. C-rank, unstable. If the boy vanished there, who would question it?"
Draven's expression darkened with interest. He poured himself another measure of wine, watching the liquid catch the light. "A dungeon accident," he mused. "Tragic. Unfortunate. Untraceable. But how would you manage that ?."
"He won't go alone," Karren pressed, voice sharp with anticipation. "That little stray he healed—Lio. The boy follows him everywhere. If someone were to take Lio…"
Draven's grin spread slowly, wolfish. "The healer will come running. And the dungeon will close its jaws."
Their eyes met—hers glittering with cruel satisfaction, his with cold amusement.
Draven leaned forward suddenly, seizing her chin between his fingers. "But hear me, Karren. Fail, and not even sharing my bed will save you. Do you understand?"
A tremor of both fear and desire ran through her. She forced a steady nod. "I won't fail."
Draven released her, sinking back against the pillows with a satisfied sigh. "Good. Then make it clean. By the time the city realizes he's gone, it will already be too late."
Karren rose from the bed, gathering her robe, her smile sharp as broken glass. Outside, the endless sprawl of Nexus glittered like a predator's maw. Somewhere in that sea of light, Jade was smiling in his little shop, believing he had won.
Soon, she would prove him wrong.
...