The black market stretched out like a hidden city beneath the world.
Narrow alleys wound between crooked stalls, their tables piled high with strange goods—rare herbs, forbidden weapons, glittering stones that pulsed faintly with magic.
The air was thick with the scent of spice, smoke, and something faintly metallic, as if danger itself had a smell.
Hooded figures moved quietly through the crowd, their faces hidden in shadow. Some bartered in hushed tones, others passed small parcels under the table, coins clinking softly in exchange.
Lanterns hung overhead, their dim light casting long, uneasy shadows across the worn cobblestones.
It was a place where laws meant nothing, and every smile hid a knife.
Azhriel didn't stop for sightseeing.
He had planned to wander these streets after his tasks were done, to see the curiosities the Black Market was infamous for—but that plan was gone now.
Things had become dangerous.
