They followed the corridor, counting turns under their breath, subconsciously marking landmarks that barely existed. Eventually, the smell reached them—smoke, oil, and something undeniably meaty. It made Lina's stomach growl loudly enough that she flushed and looked away.
The cafeteria opened into a vast hall.
It was less a dining room and more a controlled feeding ground. Long stone tables filled the space in rigid rows, scarred and cracked from years of use. At the far end, a massive counter stretched wall to wall, behind which several Sleepers worked with mechanical efficiency—carving meat, ladling thick stews, slicing dense black bread.
The noise hit them all at once.
Conversation, laughter, shouting. The clatter of bowls. The scrape of metal on stone. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of people packed into the hall, eating, arguing, trading rumors and insults. Power hung in the air like static; Jahness could feel it even without seeing active Aspects.
This was where strength gathered when it wasn't killing.
They drew stares immediately.
New blood was obvious. Their torn clothes, the way they hovered at the entrance, the faint stiffness of people who hadn't eaten properly in days. Some gazes were indifferent. Others were predatory. A few were openly amused.
"Don't look like prey," Lina murmured through clenched teeth.
"Hard when I feel like a walking corpse," Varkass replied, but he straightened anyway.
They joined the end of a short line. The Sleeper in front of them—a broad-shouldered man with a broken nose—glanced back and smirked.
"Newbies?" he asked casually.
Jahness nodded. "Just arrived."
The man grunted. "Thought so. Eat fast. Don't get into fights. And don't sit near the Guards unless you want trouble."
"Noted," Lina said dryly.
When they reached the counter, a tired-looking woman barely glanced up. "New?"
"Yes," Jahness answered.
She slid three bowls across the stone without comment, along with chunks of dark bread and metal cups filled with something hot and bitter-smelling. "Free. Today only."
They didn't wait for anything else.
The trio moved quickly, claiming a corner of a table already crowded with strangers. Varkass nearly burned his tongue on the first spoonful and didn't care. Lina ate like someone afraid the food might vanish if she slowed down. Jahness forced himself to eat steadily, even as his Aspect quietly worked through his body, repairing what little damage remained.
The stew was thick and oily, made from some kind of monster meat. It tasted awful.
It was the best thing they had eaten in weeks.
For a few minutes, none of them spoke.
Only after the edge of hunger dulled did Jahness start really observing the room. He saw Guards sitting together, armor partially unfastened, laughing too loudly. Hunters scattered throughout, more alert, their conversations quieter. Artisans, he guessed, sat near the walls, discussing materials and tools instead of kills.
This place wasn't just a cafeteria.
It was a hierarchy, laid out in stone and noise.
Lina wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "So this is what passes for civilization."
Varkass glanced around, lowering his voice. "It's better than starving. Barely."
Jahness nodded slowly. "But it's not safe. Not really."
Across the hall, an argument broke out over a seat. It ended quickly when one man slammed the other's head into the table hard enough to crack stone. No one intervened. The loser was dragged away, bleeding but alive.
The woman at the counter didn't even look up.
As they finished eating, Jahness felt it settle in—this was the Bright Castle. Warmth, food, protection.
At a price.
After leaving the cafeteria, the trio lingered in the corridor for a moment, letting the noise fade behind them.
"Well," Varkass said, flexing his fingers, some color finally returning to his face, "if Hell has a dining hall, it probably has a gift shop too."
"The market," Lina replied. "Right turn."
Jahness nodded. "And we should look. Even if we can't afford anything."
They followed the corridor Sasrir had indicated earlier. As promised, the Castle's interior quickly grew disorienting—identical stone, identical torchlight, identical turns. The only thing that changed was the flow of people. More armed Sleepers appeared, some openly carrying bloodstained weapons, others wrapped in cloaks that hid far more than they revealed.
Gradually, a low murmur of voices reached them again.
The Memory Market opened into a wide, circular hall reinforced with metal beams and thick stone pillars. Compared to the cafeteria, the space felt controlled—less chaotic, more watchful. Guards were posted at each entrance, and pairs of Hunters stood at elevated walkways above, eyes sweeping the crowd with practiced ease.
No one here was careless.
Stalls lined the perimeter, each carved into the stone itself or constructed from salvaged ruins. Glass cases, metal racks, hanging chains—every display was different, tailored to whatever was being sold. Weapons with faintly glowing runes. Armor pieces that seemed to breathe. Trinkets mounted on velvet cloth that pulsed with dormant power.
Memories.
Echoes.
And a great deal of junk pretending to be either.
The crowd was thick but subdued. Voices stayed low. Bargaining was sharp, efficient. No shouting, no laughter—just the quiet tension of people negotiating with their lives.
Varkass let out a slow whistle. "Okay. Yeah. This is more my speed."
At the center of it all stood the largest stall by far.
It wasn't flashy. No banners, no glowing sigils. Just a massive reinforced counter of dark stone and metal, behind which shelves rose high, packed with carefully catalogued items. Above it hung a simple iron sign etched with a single name:
STEV
The man himself leaned against the counter, arms folded.
He looked…ordinary. Middle-aged, broad-shouldered, with short-cropped hair and sharp, observant eyes. He wore practical armor with no decoration, but Jahness could feel something about him—an oppressive stillness, like a predator at rest.
As they approached, Stev's gaze slid to them immediately.
"New faces," he said, voice calm and surprisingly warm. "And broke ones, if I had to guess."
Varkass bristled. "We just came from the cafeteria."
Stev chuckled. "Then I'm right."
Lina leaned closer to Jahness. "He's not wrong."
Stev straightened slightly. "Relax. Looking doesn't cost anything. Touching does."
Jahness stepped forward. "You run the market?"
"I run the part that matters," Stev replied easily. "The rest are licensed stalls. They answer to me, and I answer to the Castle."
He gestured broadly. "Memories. Echoes. Tools. Curios. If it survived the Shore and someone didn't die using it, it probably passed through my hands."
Varkass's eyes were glued to a dagger floating slightly above its display, rotating slowly. "And the prices?"
Stev's smile thinned. "Soul Shards. Favors. Contracts. Occasionally blood. Depends on the item."
Lina folded her arms. "Any freebies for newbies?"
Stev laughed outright. "Funny girl. No."
He studied them more closely then, eyes lingering on their injuries, their posture, the way they stood together.
"You're alive," he said finally. "That alone makes you interesting. But don't get ideas. The Castle doesn't hand out charity."
Jahness nodded slowly. "We're not buying. Just learning."
"Smart," Stev said. "Most people learn the hard way."
As they moved along the stalls, Jahness saw just how dangerous the market was. Some items radiated such pressure that his skin prickled. Others looked harmless—rings, pendants, bits of cloth—but felt wrong, like traps waiting for the unwary.
A small stall sold Echoes trapped in crystal vials, faint silhouettes writhing inside. Another offered "enhancements," whispered about in hushed tones. Guards watched every transaction closely.
This place wasn't protected because it was valuable.
It was protected because it was volatile.
Varkass exhaled slowly. "Okay," he murmured, "note to self: never owe anyone here anything."
Lina nodded. "And never let anyone know what you really want."
Jahness glanced back at Stev's central stall, the man already engrossed in another negotiation.
The Memory Market wasn't just a place to buy power.
It was where people sold pieces of themselves—and sometimes didn't even realize it.
They left the Memory Market without buying anything, the weight of unclaimed power clinging to them like a second skin. The corridors beyond felt narrower somehow, as if the Castle resented indecision.
They walked without a clear destination.