"It's been a week or so since I left Cindra Den," Zay muttered to himself as he looked down at a bowl of soup. He licked his lips before grabbing a spoon made of wood and began sipping the soup slowly, taking small bites of the boar meat floating inside.
'I still don't have a clue on where to find Rei Alvor... If I had to guess, he's probably getting his Seal around this time... though, I have no clue what time it is or what day, since I haven't bothered to check lately,' Zay thought as he enjoyed the taste of the soup and tender meat.
"Arbiter: Resonance Lens: Time."
[Time and Date: 7:35 A.M. November 10th, Year 1 of the Draconic Calendar.]
'It's already November?' Zay thought, uncertain if the Resonance Lens was going through an error, but he quickly reminded himself it didn't make mistakes. He sighed, shook his head, and continued sipping his soup.
Zay finished the last of his soup, setting the wooden spoon aside as he reached for a glass cup filled with water. He brought it to his lips and took a long sip, then stood up with a quiet exhale, stretching his arms slightly to ease the stiffness in his shoulders.
The bar around him was dimly lit by hanging lanterns made of stained glass, casting soft hues of amber and green across the wooden walls. The air smelled of old smoke, roasted meat, and the faint sting of alcohol soaked into the wood over decades. Rough-hewn stools lined the scuffed oak bar, many of them missing legs or worn at the edges. Several round tables sat unevenly across the creaking floor, their surfaces stained from spilled drinks and scratched by blades that had been drawn in past arguments. A faded painting of a sea dragon hung crooked on the wall, and the only visible window was small, fogged with grime, offering a blurry view of the street outside.
Zay hadn't even bothered to check the name of the place when he walked in. It was just another corner bar, tucked between a blacksmith's forge and a closed-down apothecary.
[Arbiter, the Seal of Midnight has deemed you ready for your next task that has been influenced.]
He paused, brow furrowing. "Well, that's... random, to say the least," he muttered under his breath. "But what does it mean by being 'influenced'?"
He glanced down as the fourth task displayed itself in cold, silver-blue text.
[Fourth Task: Buy Naomi Duskvine from the Sinners Night Market.]
Zay choked on his next sip of water, spitting it back into the glass with a cough. He glanced around quickly. A few patrons looked up at the noise—an old man with one eye, a woman with two daggers on her hip, and a kid passed out at a table—but no one said anything. It was that kind of bar.
Without another word, Zay made his way to the front. He pushed open the heavy wooden door, its brass handle sticking slightly before it gave way with a groan. Outside, the evening mist clung low to the cobblestone street. The scent of rain-dampened stone mixed with oil, smoke, and lavender from a house nearby whose flower boxes spilled over with purple blooms.
Vents along the sides of nearby buildings hissed and released sharp bursts of steam into the street, warming the otherwise chilly air. Pipes clanked and valves clicked open as mechanisms buried in the city's underbelly expelled pressure. The rhythmic noise created a mechanical heartbeat beneath the quiet bustle of foot traffic.
Then came a sound that silenced everything else—a deep, echoing horn from above.
Zay looked up.
An airship descended slowly toward the nearby airdock. Its hull was a deep crimson, trimmed in black iron along the ribs. Massive cylindrical engines lined its flanks, releasing billowing clouds of steam in choked bursts that hissed into the sky. Brass pipes crisscrossed the lower half of the ship, glowing with faint orange heat from within. Its underbelly was armored and reinforced, with several cranes dangling from long support rails for cargo or passengers. Gears turned visibly along the main propeller housing, their motion smooth but heavy. Emblazoned on the side was a silver emblem of a winged serpent curled around a sun.
Zay's gaze lingered on the ship before he took in a deep breath and continued walking.
"I'm supposed to buy someone?" he muttered to himslef quietly.
'I don't necessarily have a problem with that… but that's the most random thing I could've gotten, right? Why is a task to unlock the fourth sequence something like this?' he thought.
The sound of hissing steam returned, accompanied by the soft clink of metal from a nearby workshop, but Zay's mind was already elsewhere.
'I guess it doesn't entirely make no sense since the tasks can be simple or hard at random... but why this? What did it mean by the task was influenced? Influenced by what? I've never had this happen until now.'
His boots splashed lightly in a shallow puddle as he passed beneath a rusted sign that read "Dravik's Repairs," still deep in thought.
By the name alone, Zay assumed Naomi Duskvine was a woman. But he had long since learned not to make assumptions. After all, he once met someone named Eleanor who stood eight feet tall and had a fluffy blue beard that reached his waist.
Zay snapped his fingers as his eyes widened suddenly. 'Sinners Night Market... Sinners Night Market...' he repeated a few times to himself in his own thoughts.
'It was a night market that went behind laws, regulations, undetected even by Ironcloud and several other forms of authority. It's... from what I can remember, a market that has several "items" for sale, as they call it. Humans, Resonance Fragments, Resonance Shards, Monster Cores, elves, beasts that were captured, felines... similar to humans but they naturally have more of a connection to aura than humans do. They're weaker physically but also quicker, and have better senses and smell than humans.'
Zay stood still, watching a flower bed of roses he saw in the distance as he continued to think.
'There were also weapons for sale. I forgot which ones, though, but I do remember the Moonspear of Dread was one weapon that sold for several hundred gold pieces. After it was purchased, it was kept hidden by the buyer for years until someone appeared with it in the second realm.'
He stood still for another moment as the sound of the airship came to a stop. Loud steam hissed from the vents, echoing through the damp streets.
'I guess I need to reorganize my priorities a little. I need to... buy this "Naomi Duskvine" person, find Rei, somehow convince him to join, then... I could start the fourth sequence, but I think I'll wait until Rei has caught up,' he thought, beginning to walk again and leaving the flower bed of roses behind him.
'First things first, I guess,' Zay muttered under his breath as he moved forward, glancing around the kingdom of Cindra. He looked ahead and spotted a sign hanging above a narrow, slate-colored building. It swayed gently in the breeze, etched in elegant gold lettering that read: Cindra's Library.
Zay walked up seven worn stone steps before stopping in front of a tall wooden door. The door was dark mahogany, smooth from age, with a brass handle shaped like a curled vine mounted on the right. He reached out, grasped it firmly, and pushed it down until he heard a quiet click.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Instantly, a blend of scents filled his nose: the dry musk of aged books, the soft floral perfume of fresh roses set in glass vases, and the rich, savory aroma of roasted boar that hinted someone had recently eaten nearby. He let the door shut behind him with a soft thud.
Inside the library, the ceiling arched high above, framed with oak beams and faintly glowing with oil lanterns suspended from wrought-iron chains. The shelves were tall and narrow, stuffed with books of all kinds. Thick tomes bound in cracked leather, slim journals tied with ribbons, and even a few metallic-bound volumes glinted in the low light. Deep red rugs lined the floors, and between each shelf stood tables, some round and others long, where people sat in quiet concentration.
He noticed women dressed in tailored tunics, dresses, and dark trousers walking between shelves. Men wore trench coats, sharp vests, and long jackets, their boots muffled by the carpet. Children sat at lower tables, flipping pages or reading aloud in hushed voices. In a far corner, one child sat alone reading a book. Zay only caught a glimpse of the title: The Way Steam Works.
He turned his attention to the front desk. Behind it stood an older man, the librarian, who looked up as Zay approached. His silver hair reached his shoulders, neatly combed, and his face was sharp but calm. He wore a dark blue tunic that was spotless, white trousers that fell to his ankles, and polished black shoes that reflected the light like glass.