Lucid walked through the merchant district with the ring burning a hole in his pocket. Not literally. Just mentally. Seven gold coins. Gone. For a piece of metal that probably cost less to make than the velvet it sat on. The merchant girl had played him like an instrument and he had let her.
'Twice in one day. Scammed twice. By street merchants. What is wrong with me?'
Arthur walked beside him. Said nothing. Probably noticed the way Lucid kept touching his pocket. Probably choosing to be polite about it. That was Arthur. Always polite even when silence would be kinder.
The middle district sprawled ahead. Not wealthy. Not poor. The space between where people with money mixed with people pretending they had money and everyone performed roles with commitment that bordered on desperation.
A crowd had gathered in the main square. Large enough to block the fountain. Dense enough that whatever sat at the center must be worth the crush of bodies and the smell of too many people pressed together.
Lucid's first thought was to avoid it. Crowds meant trouble. Pickpockets. Scams. More opportunities to lose things he could not afford to lose.
His second thought was that avoiding everything meant learning nothing.
He moved toward the crowd. Arthur followed without question. His knight training made him better at navigating packed spaces. He created gaps. Lucid slipped through behind him.
They reached the front. Got clear view.
A boy stood in the center. Young. Maybe Lucid's age or close to it. He wore a cap pulled low over yellow curls. Blue vest over white shirt. His hands moved with efficiency that spoke of practice. Years of it. He was demonstrating knives. Holding them up. Testing edges on leather scraps.
"Sharp knives! All of them for less than a silver! Come see the quality! Come see craftsmanship you will not find anywhere else in Port Vexis!"
His voice carried over the murmur of skeptical onlookers. Confident. Practiced. The particular tone of someone who had given this pitch hundreds of times and refined it to perfection.
His golden eyes scanned the crowd constantly. Reading faces. Adjusting approach. When they passed over Lucid they paused. Just for a moment. Recognition flickered there. Then moved on.
'He saw me. He knows I am watching.'
A woman pushed through from the opposite side. Tall. Severe features. Hair pulled back so tight it must hurt. She wore a suit. Black fabric. Quality material. Professional cut. Everything about her screamed corporate authority.
"Excuse me," she said. Her voice cut through crowd noise like a blade through cloth. "On behalf of my corporation I must inform these good people that you are selling inferior products."
The boy looked at her. His expression stayed pleasant. Unworried.
"Is that so?"
"Yes. These knives are cheap imports. They bend under minimal pressure. You are defrauding honest customers."
She reached down. Grabbed one of the displayed knives. Held it up for everyone to see.
Then she bent it. Easy. Casual. The blade curved into a sad arc without resistance.
The crowd erupted.
"Fraud!"
"Con artist!"
"I knew it was too cheap!"
The boy stood there. Watching his bent knife. His smile never wavered.
Then it widened.
"Poor fools," he said. His voice carried across the sudden quiet. "Poor sheep following whatever narrative gets presented. Do you know what realms I traversed to bring you these? Alfheim! Yes! Where iron is soft! Where metal bends!"
He crouched. Retrieved another knife from his collection. Held it up for inspection.
"But soft does not mean useless. Soft means flexible. Means it has properties your limited understanding cannot grasp!"
He positioned the blade against his index finger. The crowd leaned forward. Lucid found himself leaning too despite knowing this was theater.
"Watch closely."
The boy drew the knife across his skin. Fast. Deliberate.
Blood welled up immediately. Dripped down his finger. Fell to cobblestones in bright red drops.
The crowd gasped. Different sound this time. Shock instead of anger.
The boy held up his bleeding finger. Showed the knife still in his other hand.
"Did you see? Did you see that the blade never touched my skin?"
Lucid watched carefully. His perception was trained. Honed through inherited memories and desperate situations. He saw what happened.
The blade had been perfectly still. Motionless. But the wound had opened anyway. Like reality itself had been cut instead of flesh. Like sharpness existed independent of contact.
'What material does that? What kind of metal cuts without touching?'
The crowd surged forward. Pushing. Shoving. Desperate hands reaching for remaining knives. The woman in the suit stumbled back. Got caught in the press of bodies. Lost her professional composure.
The boy moved quickly. Gathering knives. Taking payment. Coins disappeared into his vest. Knives disappeared into eager hands. Perfect controlled chaos.
Arthur stood rigid beside Lucid. "This is a stunt."
Lucid glanced at him. "You noticed?"
"The woman works with him. Obviously. The bent knife was planned. The blood is real but the demonstration was staged to look spontaneous."
"So you are not as blind as you seem."
Arthur huffed. "I have seen street performances. This one is just better executed."
The boy finished his sales. Started packing remaining inventory. Called out thanks to departing customers.
A man stumbled forward. Drunk. His face was red. His breath probably toxic from ten feet away. He reeked of ale. Old ale. The sour smell of someone who drank to forget and forgot to stop drinking.
"What is your name boy?" The drunk slurred.
"Me?" The boy adjusted his cap. "Name is Valen. Valen Thorne. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Valen Thorne! You look like that other bastard! The Generous Scoundrel! That fraud who ruined this town!"
The boy's smile tightened slightly. "I get that a lot actually. Common mistake. Different person entirely."
"Sure! Sure you are! Bringing your charity here! Making people visible! Getting them killed!"
"Sir, I sell knives. Nothing more. You are confusing me with someone else."
The drunk laughed. Heavy. Bitter. "They all say that! They all claim innocence while we pay the price!"
The boy finished packing. Started moving away. The drunk tried to follow but his legs were not cooperating. He stumbled. Caught himself on the fountain edge.
Lucid moved forward. Not thinking. Just reacting. He pushed through lingering crowd members. Grabbed shoulders. Made space.
Arthur followed. "Lucid? What are you doing?"
Lucid did not answer. Just kept moving. Reached the empty space where the boy had stood.
Gone.
Completely gone. Like he had never existed.
"What?" Lucid turned in a circle. Scanned the square. Nothing.
Arthur's hand moved to his sword hilt. "He was just here. Right here."
"Can you sense him? Any fate essence? Any trail?"
Arthur closed his eyes. His breathing slowed. Concentrated. After several seconds his eyes opened.
"Faint. Very faint. Blue fate essence. There." He pointed toward an alley. "But it is concealed. Hidden behind something I cannot identify."
"Can you follow it?"
"Maybe. But it is moving fast."
Lucid grabbed Arthur's shoulder. "Wait. Do not."
Arthur turned. Looked at him with confusion. "Why not?"
"Because we do not know what we are chasing. We do not know the terrain. We do not know what he is capable of." Lucid released his grip. "And we are already being hunted by cultists who know our faces. Charging into unknown situations is how people die."
Arthur's expression shifted. Understanding replacing urgency. "You want to track him later. When we have more information."
"Yes. We know what he looks like now. We know he operates here. We know he calls himself Valen Thorne. That is more than we had before."
"And if he disappears completely?"
"Then we find another way."
Arthur considered this. His hand relaxed on his sword hilt. "Alright. You are right. We observe. We gather intelligence. We plan."
They started walking. Away from the square. Through merchant district streets that were starting to empty as afternoon wore on.
Lucid's mind worked through what he had seen. The knives. The blood. The way the boy had moved with absolute confidence. The woman playing her role perfectly. The drunk providing exactly the right conflict.
'All staged. But why? To sell knives? Or something else?'
A cloaked figure stood at the next intersection. Watching them. When Lucid made eye contact the figure turned. Disappeared down an alley.
Arthur noticed. "Did you see that?"
"Yes."
"Should we follow?"
"No. Same logic applies. We do not chase unknowns."
They kept walking. Turned a corner.
The street opened into a wider plaza. A stage had been erected in the center. Temporary construction. Wood and canvas. A woman stood on it. Mid thirties. Dark hair. Sharp features. She wore magistrate robes. Official. Expensive.
"Citizens of Port Vexis!" Her voice carried across the plaza with practiced authority. "I am Magistrate Celeste. Rightful owner of this city's future. I come to you today with news about the relic that has caused so much speculation. So much bloodshed."
The crowd that had gathered fell silent. Attentive. Lucid felt Arthur go still beside him.
'The relic. She is talking about the relic. In public. Why?'
"The relic will be secured," Celeste continued. "It will be placed under proper authority. No more violence. No more chaos. Order will be restored."
Lucid opened his mouth to say something to Arthur.
Everything stopped.
Not slowed. Stopped.
People around him froze mid motion. A man with his hand raised. A woman mid step. A child reaching for his mother's hand. All perfectly still. Like time itself had paused.
Arthur stood frozen beside him. His mouth open. His eyes fixed on the stage.
Lucid tried to move. Found he could. Turned his head. Looked around.
Everyone was frozen. Everyone except him.
And Celeste.
On the stage the magistrate's head turned. Slowly. Deliberately. Her eyes found Lucid through the crowd of frozen bodies.
She stared.