Adriel stayed sprawled on the couch for some time. His eyes were fixed on the glowing projection of his SpectraComm, the device streaming a movie to keep him entertained. Somewhere along the way, his spoon had scraped the last bits from his bowl, and he had emptied it without even realizing.
When the end credits finally rolled across the screen, he blinked, stretched slightly, and stood up with the bowl in hand. The parlor was quiet, and the sound of his footsteps echoed faintly against the polished floor as he walked to the kitchen.
The clatter of ceramic against metal broke the silence as he slid the bowl into the dishwasher. For a moment, the soft hum of the machine filled the room before fading into background stillness.
'I should probably go out for a walk…' he thought, turning toward the stairs. His steps carried him upward at a steady pace until he reached his room, the door sliding open with a faint hiss.
He walked over to his wardrobe. The sleek panel shifted open silently, revealing neatly folded stacks of clothing inside. Adriel stood there for a few seconds, staring as though weighing a grave decision, before finally reaching in.
'Let's go with something comfy,' he decided.
He pulled out a pair of black joggers and a matching black top. For a second, he considered throwing on a jacket, but a glance out the window reminded him that the air was warm, the sun already climbing.
'That'd be so dumb,' he thought with a blank expression.
He changed into the outfit, the black fabric snug yet comfortable. A pair of black socks followed, then sleek black sneakers that gave him a polished, almost deliberate look.
Adriel caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror by the wardrobe. The reflection staring back at him was sharp, clean-cut, dressed in pure black from head to toe. For a brief moment, he wondered why he had unconsciously chosen such a monochrome style.
'I look good though…' he admitted to himself before turning away.
He left the room, passing back through the parlor until he reached the front door. With a press of his SpectraComm, the lock disengaged with a faint chime. It contained his personal information and unlocking a door was just one of its many features.
Stepping outside, Adriel followed the familiar path toward the gate. He tapped the SpectraComm again, and the mechanism clicked open. The gate creaked slightly as it swung aside, and he stepped out onto the quiet street beyond.
With no real destination in mind, he decided on the training center. It wasn't far, and at the very least, he could keep himself occupied there.
As he walked, his mind briefly drifted. At sixteen, one might expect him to be at school, but that chapter of his life had already closed. He had finished his compulsory education the previous year and had since devoted himself fully to training.
The educational system of Astron was structured in a unique format. It consisted of two main stages, carefully designed to build both the body of knowledge and the mind of a child.
The first stage focused on essentials—teaching reading and writing, instilling basic numeracy with simple arithmetic like addition and subtraction, and laying the foundation for language and communication.
The second stage introduced more advanced subjects—geography, chemistry, biology, and other essential fields of knowledge.
Together, these two stages formed what was known as basic education.
After completing this stage, education was no longer compulsory. From that point, one could choose to pursue higher learning, take up a job, or, if fortunate enough, awaken as an Ascendant—opening a whole new world of opportunities.
—
The shortest route to the training center cut across the Market District, and Adriel chose it without hesitation.
The Market District was the largest collection of shops in the city, a sprawling hub where it was said one could find anything they desired.
Adriel's gaze wandered as he walked, the endless variety of shops and goods immediately catching his attention.
Some were operated by advanced AIs, their sleek efficiency drawing the eye, while others were run by humans whose lively exchanges added warmth to the atmosphere. The entire district was vast and strikingly beautiful, alive with color and motion. Cleaning bots glided along the polished streets, meticulously sweeping and scrubbing as they worked to keep the place spotless—and their efforts showed, for not a speck of dust lingered in sight.
The Market District carried with it a certain euphoria, a subtle thrill that never faded, no matter how many times one had walked its avenues. It was a place that demanded wonder.
A clothing mall soon drew his attention. At its entrance, a mannequin stood in a glass display case, its form flickering every two seconds as a holographic outfit shifted seamlessly from one style to another. The display seemed to beckon passersby, dazzling them with endless possibilities.
Above, the hum of delivery drones filled the air. They darted swiftly through the sky, weaving between towers and stalls, each one racing with impeccable precision toward its destination.
A smoky, spiced aroma curled through the air, pulling his gaze to a nearby food stand. An old man—weathered by age but steady—turned skewers over the grill with the ease of decades, each flip releasing another mouthwatering hiss. Adriel lingered for a brief moment, before his feet carried him to the stand without a second thought.
"Boss, can I get five skewers?" he asked, eyes fixed on the glistening meat.
"Of course, boy. Two credits apiece, so ten in total." The old man said with a light smile, packing the skewers neatly into a food bag before handing it over.
Adriel swiped his SpectraComm across the scanner. A soft chime confirmed the deduction, ten credits vanishing from his account in an instant. He fished out a skewer from the bag as he stepped away, biting into the hot, juicy meat while his free hand flicked open his balance display.
'Two hundred and forty-nine credits left,' he noted, chewing as he walked on.
—
Soon, something caught his eye.
'Eh, what's that all about…' Adriel muttered inwardly as his gaze drifted across the street.
There was a shop with a banner unlike the flashy signs used by most modern businesses. No holographic projections, no glowing letters or animated boards. Instead, a plain sheet of white material hung overhead, with stark black lettering that simply read: "The Merchant."
Very simple. Almost too simple.
But the banner wasn't the strangest thing.
The owner of the stall—presumably the so-called merchant—was what truly captured Adriel's and everyone else's attention.
He was completely shrouded in a gray cloak, draped from head to toe, so much so that not a single inch of skin was visible. Even his face was swallowed in shadow, as if the hood itself absorbed any light that dared draw near. Strange symbols etched in silver and gold ran along the fabric, glimmering faintly whenever the breeze shifted the folds of the cloth.
The stall itself was simple—just the plain banner overhead and a solitary table behind which the merchant sat.
Yet the objects displayed upon it made the scene anything but ordinary. Strange plants with twisting stems and unnatural hues rested beside peculiar trinkets and artifacts that seemed to hum with an unseen weight. Each item looked out of place, as though plucked from worlds far beyond the street around them.
Silent and motionless, the cloaked figure watched the stream of passersby as they went on their way.
"...Been three days now since this strange stall has been open," a voice rang out nearby.
Adriel slowed his steps, ears pricking as he caught the conversation of two pedestrians walking just ahead.
"Yeah, and it's so weird," another replied.
"Bro, who even opens a stall dressed like that?"
"Not gonna lie though, those gold and silver designs on the robe? Kinda dope."
"Yea, but why cover yourself up like that? No one can even see his face—not even his eyes are visible. So fucking weird."
"It's probably because you're too far away."
"Nah," the man shook his head, his tone hushed but firm. "There's something off about that stall, I can feel it. I just haven't proven it yet."
"If you're that curious, why not just buy something and see?"
"Nope, the guy just looks too creepy for me. Besides, I heard it's a waste of time anyway."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. He claims he can give you whatever you need, but the prices are outrageous. I heard from someone that he charged fifteen thousand credits—for a leaf. A leaf, man. A fucking leaf!"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. He even gave it a fancy name too… something like the Azure Vein Leaf. Who the hell is supposed to fall for that?"
"So you're saying he's just a con artist?"
"Of course. If you ask me, he might even be worse than that—maybe a criminal fencing stolen goods."
"That… would explain why he hides his face," the other muttered.
"Probably doesn't want to be recognized by his victims."
"You think he's even gotten any sales?"
"Maybe. Probably only those rich bastards with money to burn would be dumb enough to buy something from..."
The conversation drifted away as the two men turned into a nearby shop, their voices fading with distance.
'Would've loved to hear more,' Adriel thought, resuming his pace, 'but I think I get the gist now. Or at least, part of it.'
From their words, he pieced together a rough picture: The Merchant had appeared three days ago, claiming to sell exactly what anyone needed—but at outrageous, almost laughable prices. His only customers were supposedly the rich, those with the luxury to indulge curiosity.
He cast another glance at the mysterious shop and noticed two people approaching—one in simple attire, the other in a sharp business suit. A closer look told Adriel the suit was from a well-known designer brand, the kind that came with an equally expensive price tag.
"It seems those guys were right. Only the rich would even think about buying from him," he muttered, pulling another skewer from the paper bag in his hand. He bit into the meat, chewing idly as he walked.
His gaze lingered one last time on the hooded figure and the approaching customers before he shrugged and turned away, having no intention of checking out the shop.
—
"Young master, the legend of The Merchant is nothing more than a tale… a myth."
The speaker was a young man, no older than twenty-three, dressed immaculately in a black suit with matching trousers. A crisp white shirt and black tie completed the look, his appearance polished and professional. He walked a step behind an eighteen-year-old boy, who strode ahead with quiet determination.
"A lot of ascendants have spoken of this 'legend.' Some even claim to have met the figure themselves. He is real," the boy replied firmly, not once glancing back.
"... He has to be."
The man exhaled, a faint sigh slipping past his lips.
"Alright, let's assume The Merchant does exist. What are the chances of him setting up a stall here, in this backwater city? Wouldn't it make more sense for him to be somewhere crawling with ascendants?"
The boy's pace slowed, his steps growing more thoughtful. Seizing the moment, the man pressed further.
"There's also the possibility that it's just some ordinary peddler pretending to be him. Anyone could put up a stall and call themselves 'The Merchant.'"
The boy hesitated for only a breath before resuming his stride.
"Yeah, what are the odds of that…? Besides, there's no harm in trying."
The man's shoulders sagged with weariness, though he continued at his young master's side. They walked in silence for several moments, until at last a stall came into view—a plain table beneath a banner boldly marked with the words: The Merchant.
"Young Master Damien, I don't think—"
"Sylas," Damien cut him off, his tone edged with determination and slight annoyance. "Let's just try this one. If it turns out to be nothing, then I'll stop chasing after The Merchant and look for another solution. Fair?"
Sylas gave a reluctant nod, though inwardly he sighed. 'This is the seventh time you've promised me that, young master.'
They soon stood before the stall, facing the cloaked figure seated behind it.
"Welcome to my humble shop, my dear friends," The Merchant said warmly, his tone unexpectedly pleasant. "What is it you wish to purchase today?"
Damien blinked, momentarily caught off guard. The voice that emerged from the hood was neither hoarse nor ancient, but youthful—almost casual.
'I was half-expecting some deep, sinister rasp… but his voice sounds young,' Damien thought, collecting himself.
"Are you The Merchant?" he asked, steadying his tone. "The real one?"
"Of course," the robed man answered smoothly. "Who else would I be?"
'You'd better be the real deal… or else,' Sylas muttered inwardly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he studied the figure.
"So," The Merchant said again, his voice steady and inviting, "what is it you wish to purchase?"
"I want…"