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James and Ofelia moved deeper into the bustling market square, weaving between stalls overflowing with goods. The air was thick with enticing scentsâroasted nuts, sweet fruits, spiced meatsâand layered with the low hum of bartering voices and clinking coins. Colorful awnings cast shifting shadows over the cobbled ground, and every step brought new sounds, smells, and flashes of light off polished metal or fine cloth.
James kept his eyes sharp, his Appraisal skill flickering to life each time something caught his attention.
At one particular stall draped in velvet and silk, his gaze locked on a small collection of silver jewelryârings, bracelets, and pendants. Among them, a plain silver band shimmered faintly under the lens of his skill.
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**It*m: Fire R$sitance S!lver ri/ng **
Cond*ti_n: G//d
Val//e: Estim@ted 65 s!lver
Eff%ct: Resist@-nce to H$at
----------------------------------
He barely had time to take it in before the vendor, an elderly woman with sharp eyes and a sly smile, leaned forward.
"That ring is one of my finer pieces," she said, her voice smooth. "For you, young manâfifteen silver."
James didn't blink. "Interesting piece. But it looks rather plain. Wouldn't it be better suited at eight silver?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Plain to some, perhapsâbut it has a charm. I could let it go for twelve."
James smiled faintly. "How about ten? That seems fair for both of us."
The woman studied him for a beat, then nodded. "Ten it is. But only because you're polite."
James passed her the coins with a respectful nod, then glanced again at the table. Half-hidden behind a ceramic dish was a dull iron pendant. He picked it up, feeling its surprising weight, and activated Appraisal again.
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It*m: Ir0n Pen?ant of re$tlessne/ss
Cond*ti_n: Av$r@ge
Val//e: Estim@ted 96 s!lver
Eff%ct: Re/sistanc$ to Sl$$p
----------------------------------
Interesting.
He turned it slowly in his fingers, noting the delicate etching along its edgeâsmall wave-like patterns, nearly invisible unless the light struck just right.
The vendor's gaze sharpened. "Ah, that one. Rare craftsmanship. A fine piece. It'll cost you ten silver."
James lifted an eyebrow, his tone skeptical. "Ten silver? For an iron pendant? Seems steep for something so⌠understated."
The woman chuckled, clearly experienced. "Plain to the untrained eye, maybe. But I already gave you a generous deal on the ring. That pendant's worth every coin."
James set it down lightly, as if weighing its worth. "I've seen similar ones sell for five."
"Impossible," she replied without missing a beat. "Eight silver. That's already a bargain."
James crossed his arms, smiling. "Seven. Final offer. I can appreciate good craftsmanship, but I'm not looking to start a collection today."
A pause. Then a theatrical sigh.
"Alright, seven silver. But only because I like your face."
James chuckled and handed over the coins.
As they stepped away from the stall and blended once more into the current of the market, Ofelia glanced sideways at James, her brow slightly furrowed.
"You really think those trinkets are worth it?" she asked, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the crowd. "They look... ordinary. Right ?"
James didn't answer right away. Instead, he slipped the silver ring and iron pendant into his packâthen, with a subtle flick of his fingers, invoked his skill. Both items shimmered briefly before vanishing into the void, tucked safely out of sight.
His gaze moved lazily over the surrounding stalls, as if her question hadn't registered. But the faint curve tugging at the corner of his mouth said otherwise.
Ofelia narrowed her eyes, slowing her steps. "JamesâŚ"
He turned just enough to meet her gaze, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
"What?" he said, the picture of innocence.
"You're doing that thing again," she said, folding her arms under her cloak.
"What thing?"
"That look. The one you give when you're hiding something."
He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying himself. "Maybe I am."
She stared at him a moment longer, then exhaled through her nose. "You're impossible."
"And yet, somehow still charming," he replied without missing a beat.
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
As James and Ofelia continued weaving through the vibrant market, a man stepped into their path with the casual grace of someone who'd done it a hundred times before.
Middle-aged, sharply dressed, with slicked-back hair and a grin just a little too eager, he spread his arms like a magician unveiling a trick. "Looking for rare treasures, my friends?" he asked, his voice smooth as oiled leather. "I have just what you need."
James didn't respond, but the slight arch of his brow said enough. The merchant took that as permission and gestured enthusiastically for them to follow. His stall, nestled between a spice vendor and a seller of scrolls, was a mess of glittering trinkets and odd-looking curiosâsome catching the sunlight with suspicious brilliance, others so dull they seemed forgotten even by their seller.
With practiced flair, the man grabbed a small ornate box and held it up between them. "Behold! A magical container from the Southern Isles. Said to hold endless secrets. Just thirty silver. A steal, truly."
James reached out, fingers brushing the edge of the lid, and silently triggered Appraisal.
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It*m: I\ron Com\mon Tr!nk#t.Conditi\on: Comm$n
Valu\e: 5 c*pp$r
Effe%t: No\ne
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"Interesting," James said evenly, returning the box to its place. "But not quite what I'm after."
The merchant's smile flickeredâjust a twitchâbut he recovered quickly. "Then perhaps something more... fortuitous?" He held up a necklace with a cloudy gem the size of a small plum. "A rare amulet, said to bring luck and prosperity to any who wear it. Only forty silver!"
James leaned closer, eyes narrowing as he activated his skill again.
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It*m: Gl\ass P#nd@nt.
Conditi\on: Comm$n
Valu\e: 2 c*pp$r
Effe%t: No\ne
----------------------------------
He straightened slowly, offering a polite smile he didn't mean. "We'll think about it. Thanks."
They turned to go, but not before Ofelia gave the merchant a glance that was equal parts amusement and warning. The man didn't followâjust shrugged, already turning his pitch to a pair of tourists passing by.
Ofelia waited until they were a few steps clear before speaking quietly. "Endless secrets, huh?"
James chuckled under his breath. "The only magic in that box was how quickly he came up with that price."
Ofelia leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "A scam?"
James smirked. "A swindler. But good practice for spotting fakes."
Ofelia gave a small nod, her eyes scanning the next row of stalls. "Let's hope we don't need too much more practice."
James glanced sideways at her, his grin returning. "Let's hope we do. The more we practice, the less we pay."
As James and Ofelia weaved through the crowded market, his eyes flicked toward a quieter stall wedged between two larger, flashier ones. There was no shouting merchant here, no flashy banners or glowing gemsâjust a weathered man in a thick leather apron, his face tanned and creased by years of sun and labor. The items on his table were a jumbled mess: rusted tools, dented buckles, old hunting knives, chipped belt clasps, a bent shield with no straps.
But something glinted beneath the clutter.
James's gaze narrowed. Half-buried beneath a tangled coil of rope and a broken lantern lay a dagger. The blade was badly pitted, its surface kissed by rust, the handle wrapped in old leather worn smooth with age. But just near the base, faint etchings remainedâso faded they were almost invisible.
He brushed the rope aside and picked it up.
Appraisal.
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It*m: Dr\wned Dagger of t\he S!!
Conditi\on: P>>r
Valu\e: Estimat///ed 10 S!lv%r
Effe%t: Inf$cts wa!er-based dam\age; enhan$ed effective&ess against f$ire creatures.
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His pulse skippedâjust slightly.
Suppressing the flicker of interest, he turned the dagger over lazily in his hand. "This old thing doesn't look like much," he said aloud, keeping his tone indifferent. "How much?"
The old man squinted over from his stool. "That one?" He shrugged. "Barely worth keeping. Fifteen copper and it's yours."
James ran his thumb along the leather grip, tilting the blade toward the light to emphasize the rust. "Fifteen seems a bit high for something that looks ready to fall apart. I'll give you eight."
The merchant smirked, not insultedâjust amused. "Still a weapon. Still cuts. Twelve, and you've got yourself a deal."
James let out a thoughtful breath, then set the dagger back down slowly. "Ten. I just need something to practice with."
A short pause. Then the man grunted and held out his hand. "Ten it is. You drive a hard bargain, lad."
James paid and slipped the blade into his pouch. As they continued on, his heart beat just a touch faster. It wasn't every day you found an enchanted weapon priced like scrap metal.
Ofelia gave him a sidelong glance. "That didn't look like much," she murmured. "Why buy it?"
James smiled faintly but didn't answer right away. The dagger now rested safely in his void storage, out of sight and mind to everyone but him.
He looked ahead, watching the crowd part and fold like a living tide. "Let's just say... I've got a good feeling about it."
Wanting to find a quiet place to test his latest purchase, James led Ofelia away from the dense center of the market. They turned down a narrow side path, half-shaded by overhanging cloth and stacked crates, where the sounds of haggling voices faded into a distant murmur.
He crouched near a low wall, back to the street, and carefully withdrew the dagger from his pouch.
The blade looked no better in the lightâpitted, dull, unevenly rusted. But as the sun struck it, a faint glimmer danced along the worn etchings near the base. Almost like they were remembering something.
James held it tight, wrapped his fingers around the leather-worn grip, and focused. He directed his intent into the weaponâclear, firm, like triggering a skill. He reached for the faint signature he'd sensed earlier. Expected resistance. Recoil. A surge of water-aligned energy.
Nothing.
The dagger remained cold and unresponsive in his hand. No shimmer. No glow. No hum. Just a piece of old metal, as lifeless as the cobblestones beneath his boots.
James frowned, turning the blade over, squinting at the faint lines again. "Come on," he murmured under his breath, rotating the hilt, trying different grips. Still nothing.
Ofelia leaned against a nearby barrel, watching with quiet curiosity. "You sure it's not just... old junk?"
He didn't answer right away. There had been something. He knew what the skill had shown him.
But now? It felt like grasping at smoke.
"It's not junk," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "There's something here. I just haven't figured out how to wake it up."
He glanced at the blade againâat the water-worn look, the name embedded in its memory. Drowned Dagger of the Sea.
Maybe it needed more than just intent.
Maybe it needed the right context.
James stared at the blade for another moment, then let out a slow breath through his nose. No use forcing itânot here, not now. Whatever power it held, it wasn't something he could brute-force into revealing itself.
He slid the dagger back into his pouch and rose to his feet.
Maybe it needed to be near water. Maybe it needed a target. Or maybe... he was just missing something obvious.
His thoughts drifted to Wilbertâthe seasoned adventurer who'd helped them reach Edima. If anyone had seen strange weapons or obscure enchantments in his time, it would be him.
I'll ask Wilbert later, James thought, brushing off his hands. He might recognize the name⌠or at least point me in the right direction.
The dagger mystery would have to wait.
After some time wandering the market, bartering glances and filtering through stalls with nothing new to offer, James caught the scent of something that made him stop mid-step.
Warm bread. Spiced meat. A hint of something herbalâmaybe fennel or rosemary.
His eyes followed the trail to a small, tucked-away stall nestled in the shade between two larger canopies. It looked almost forgotten, but the smell made it impossible to ignore. Behind the counter stood a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and flour-dusted hands, her apron lightly stained with a morning's worth of honest work.
"These meat buns are fresh out of the oven," she said, gesturing to a neatly stacked tray that steamed faintly in the dappled sunlight. "Six copper each. Hearty enough to keep you going all day."
James didn't hesitate. There was no pretense hereâno sales pitch, no glitter, no false magic. Just food.
He placed twelve copper coins into the woman's hand and received two warm buns wrapped in crisp paper. The heat of them seeped into his palms, comforting after the cool steel of the dagger.
He offered her the second bun with a grin, before taking a big bite of his own. That first bite made him close his eyes briefly. The pastry was soft and golden, the filling richâminced meat, perfectly seasoned, with just a touch of heat that lingered on the tongue.
Beside him, Ofelia watched silently, one eyebrow raised. "Good?" she asked, voice light.
James nodded. "Very. Try it."
She looked at it for a moment, then reached out and took it, unwrapping the paper carefully. She bit into it, chewed slowly⌠and smiled, just enough to lift the corners of her mouth.
"It's delicious," she murmured, her words almost lost to the surrounding hum of the crowd.
They walked on in no particular hurry, the noise of the market softening as they passed beneath a canopy of faded cloth, each lost in their thoughts for a momentâsharing a simple meal, in a city where very little was simple.
Once their lunch break was over, they wandered back into the streets of Edima, neither of them quite sure where they were headed. The sun had shifted slightly, casting long shadows between the tightly packed stalls. The noise of the marketplace rolled around them â a mix of bartering voices, clinking metal, and the occasional shout from a child darting through the crowd.
Ofelia kept her hood low, one hand gently resting on James's arm as they walked side by side. There was no rush.
From time to time, they stopped at a vendor's table â picking up a trinket here, a tool there â whenever the price felt fair, or when a merchant didn't seem to realize the worth of what they were selling.
Sometimes they bought small things â nothing special at first glance â but more than once, James's eye for detail and Ofelia's quiet instinct led them to true finds.
Compared to the modest stalls of Trudid, the market in Edima felt like a labyrinth. Spices from distant lands, engraved charms, bundles of strange herbs, and tools of curious design all mingled in the warm, busy air. It was overwhelming, but also exhilarating.
They didn't speak much â no need. Each small purchase, each shared glance, each quiet laugh at a vendor's exaggerated sales pitch said enough.
Eventually, their wandering brought them to a broader street lined with stone pillars and tiled awnings. Ahead stood a large building â far more imposing than the surrounding stalls â its entrance flanked by heavy wooden doors, propped open to let the noise spill out.
A crowd buzzed within, voices layered and loud, punctuated by rhythmic chants and sharp commands. James slowed his pace, instinctively stepping in front of Ofelia. Inside, the air was thick with tension. The unmistakable cadence of an auctioneer's voice carried out into the street.
Ofelia stopped abruptly. Her fingers, until now gently resting on James's arm, curled inward. She took a step back, her breath catching as a faint sound escaped her lips.
"AhhâŚ"
James turned quickly. "Feli? What's wrong?"
Her eyes didn't meet his. They were fixed on the interior, on the shadows of people lined up behind a raised platform. Her voice came low, barely above a whisper.
"Bad memoriesâŚ" she murmured. "That's⌠a slave market."
Her voice grew quieter with each word, like it was sinking under the weight of what she remembered. By the end, it was barely audible.
James's expression darkened instantly. He looked back toward the building, taking in the shape of it with new understanding â the crowd, the shouting, the posture of the figures inside. Suddenly, the festive tone of the market outside felt thinner, like a bright sheet draped over something rotten.
He stepped between her and the entrance, shielding her from the view.
"Let's go," he said, his voice quiet but firm.
Ofelia didn't protest. She turned with him, and together they walked away, the din of the building fading behind them â but not the weight it had stirred.
They continued walking, weaving back into the market's winding paths, but the mood had shifted.
What had once felt like a lazy afternoon filled with wandering curiosity now carried a heaviness neither of them could shake. The colors of the stalls seemed dimmer, the noise more distant. Even the sunlight, still warm on their skin, felt somehow dulled â like the world had lost a layer of its warmth.
James didn't speak. He kept close to Ofelia, watching her from the corner of his eye. She moved with the same grace, but her posture had changed â shoulders slightly hunched, hands tucked beneath her cloak, as if shielding herself from more than just the breeze.
Vendors still called out cheerfully, waving cloth and trinkets in the air, but James's attention was elsewhere now. He barely glanced at the goods. His mind was turning, chewing on the bitter taste left by that building⌠by those voices.
He had seen the scars on Ofelia's back â long, pale lines carved by a whip. Imagining men like those inside that building hurting her, or anyone like her, made his jaw clench. His fists tightened. For a brief moment, the market around him seemed to blur, replaced by red-tinged thoughts and quiet fury.
But he forced himself to breathe.
Not now.
He inhaled slowly through his nose, exhaled through his mouth. One step at a time. Ofelia was here, with him. Safe. He had to focus on that â not the ghosts of her past.
They stopped once to buy a small bundle of dried fruit from an old woman with missing teeth. Ofelia gave a polite smile, thin and practiced, but James could tell her heart wasn't in it.
He paid without haggling.
A few stalls later, something caught his eye â a simple pendant carved from pale wood, shaped like a leaf caught mid-fall. It wasn't enchanted. It wasn't rare. But it was quiet, delicate⌠gentle.
James picked it up and paid for it quickly, barely exchanging a word with the vendor. Then he turned back to Ofelia and, without speaking, placed it gently in her hand â keeping his hand on hers for a moment longer.
She looked up first, meeting his gaze â searching, worried, and full of unspoken care. For a moment, she held it, as if anchoring herself there.
Then her eyes slowly drifted down to her hand, as he pull his away. She opened her palm and saw the pendant â a small, delicate carving in the shape of a falling leaf.
Ofelia looked down at it in her palm. She didn't speak either â just stood there, staring at the tiny carving, tracing its edge with her thumb. Then, slowly, her eyes lifted to meet his again.
A faint smile touched her lips. Not joy â not yet â but something softer. Something real.
They walked on.
The market was still vast, still full of wonder and mystery. But for the rest of the afternoon, it all felt a little colder â and the warmth they held onto came not from the sun, but from each other.