The Undermarket had many rules. None of them were posted.
Rule one, apparently: don't touch the glowing fruit.
Rule two: if someone offers to "assess your spark for academic purposes," bite them.
I was considering that as Arwen and I walked deeper into the maze of flickering stalls and whispering banners. Here, the floors weren't stone... they were sigilroot, living roots soaked in magic, pulsing softly underfoot.
This place was alive. And I didn't trust it.
"I don't like this," I chirped.
"You're glowing," Arwen muttered. "Again."
I looked down. My feathers shimmered faint gold. Not dangerously. Just enough to draw attention.
Eyes followed us... masked, unblinking, calculating. Binders with unregistered familiars. Familiars who looked more curse than creature. None of them chirped. Most of them didn't breathe.
"I'm starting to miss the Tea Society," I whispered.
Arwen didn't smile. "At least they offered refreshments."
A long table rose before us, covered in cloth embroidered with sigil marks. Not written... woven with real binding signs. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. It radiated… wrongness.
Behind it sat a woman with a veil of shimmering fabric and no face that I could see.
"Welcome to the Bounty Table," she purred. "We recognize rare bonds."
I hissed. "We're just browsing."
Arwen stepped forward before I could bolt. "What do you want?"
The veiled woman tilted her head. "Your familiar's spark is… unsorted. Curious. There's demand for such anomalies."
I flared my feathers. "I'm not for sale."
"Oh, no," she said sweetly. "But someone has offered a bounty."
She gestured. The cloth shifted, revealing a woven spark sigil... not a name, but a binding signature. Mine.
"Unregistered. Class unknown. Source: Empire Registry leak."
Arwen's jaw tightened. "They leaked his profile."
"To draw him out," the woman agreed. "And you came."
I tried to jump onto the table. Arwen caught me mid-air.
"Don't," she whispered. "It's a trap."
The woman smiled behind her veil. "Aren't all bounties?"
The veiled woman tapped the embroidered cloth, her fingers unnaturally long, the sigil marks around the spark symbol glowing faintly.
"This bounty is open to any claimant," she said. "By order of the Council of Unbound Sigils."
"I don't care," Arwen replied. "He's mine."
The woman didn't flinch. "Unregistered bonds are considered… public interest."
"I'm going to bite something," I hissed.
"Not yet," Arwen whispered.
Behind us, the crowd shifted. One figure stepped forward... a man in an iridescent cloak, no visible house crest, but arrogance hung on him like perfume.
"I claim the bounty," he said, holding up a slip of soulbinding cloth. "For research purposes, naturally."
Arwen didn't move. "Do it and I'll unbind your fingers."
He smiled condescendingly. "The law allows claimants to test unregistered familiars in shared space. You brought him here. You consented."
"I consented to nothing."
The woman at the table shrugged. "The market allows certain… liberties."
I flared again. Not on purpose.
My spark pulsed gold-violet, and the floor shivered under us. The roots groaned.
"Test him," the man said, stepping closer, holding a small tuning chime. "It won't hurt. Much."
He reached for me.
I bit him.
Hard.
His scream echoed across the Undermarket like a sweet, noble symphony.
The chime hit the ground with a sad clink. His finger bled, not badly, but dramatically. Nobles gasped.
"Assault!" he shouted.
I chirped. "Self-defense."
Arwen didn't wait for the debate.
She raised a hand... magic coiled at her fingertips, not cast, just promised.
"Claim him again," she said, "and I'll remove your title with fire."
The man backed off, clutching his hand. "This will be reported."
"Good," Arwen said. "I love paperwork."
We didn't stay. The bounty table faded behind us, but I could feel the bindings of my spark pulling, like the world was watching now.
I didn't like it.
Arwen walked fast, cloak swirling, eyes hard.
"They want to own you," she muttered. "They don't understand."
"Neither do I," I chirped.
She stopped.
"I should have named you," she said softly.
"No," I whispered.
She looked at me... really looked.
"They'll come again."
I hopped to her shoulder. "Let them."
The ground shifted beneath us... a corridor opening where there hadn't been one.
We stepped through.
And the Undermarket whispered behind us like a door closing on something neither of us wanted to see again.
The veiled woman tapped the embroidered cloth, her fingers unnaturally long, the weave around the spark sigil glowing faintly.
"This bounty is open to any claimant," she said. "By order of the Council of Unbound Sigils."
"I don't care," Arwen replied. "He's mine."
The woman didn't flinch. "Unregistered bonds are considered… public interest."
"I'm going to bite something," I hissed.
"Not yet," Arwen whispered.
Behind us, the crowd shifted. One figure stepped forward... a man in an iridescent cloak, no visible house crest, but arrogance hung on him like perfume.
"I claim the bounty," he said, holding up a slip of soulbinding cloth. "For research purposes, naturally."
Arwen didn't move. "Do it and I'll unbind your fingers."
He smiled condescendingly. "The law allows claimants to test unregistered familiars in shared space. You brought him here. You consented."
"I consented to nothing."
The woman at the table shrugged. "The market allows certain… liberties."
I flared again. Not on purpose.
My spark pulsed gold-violet, and the floor shivered under us. The roots groaned.
"Test him," the man said, stepping closer, holding a small tuning chime. "It won't hurt. Much."
He reached for me.
I bit him.
Hard.
---
His scream echoed across the Undermarket like a sweet, noble symphony.
The chime hit the ground with a sad clink. His finger bled, not badly, but dramatically. Nobles gasped.
"Assault!" he shouted.
I chirped. "Self-defense."
Arwen didn't wait for the debate.
She raised a hand... magic coiled at her fingertips, not cast, just promised.
"Claim him again," she said, "and I'll remove your title with fire."
The man backed off, clutching his hand. "This will be reported."
"Good," Arwen said. "I love paperwork."
---
We didn't stay. The bounty table faded behind us, but I could feel the bindings of my spark pulling, like the world was watching now.
I didn't like it.
Arwen walked fast, cloak swirling, eyes hard.
"They want to own you," she muttered. "They don't understand."
"Neither do I," I chirped.
She stopped.
"I should have named you," she said softly.
"No," I whispered.
She looked at me... really looked.
"They'll come again."
I hopped to her shoulder. "Let them."
The ground shifted beneath us... a corridor opening where there hadn't been one.
We stepped through.
And the Undermarket whispered behind us like a door closing on something neither of us wanted to see again.
The corridor we entered wasn't made of stone.
It was made of sigilwood, pale and pulsing, carved with symbols that shifted when you looked too long. The air crackled. My spark itched under my feathers.
"This place is wrong," I whispered.
"It's hidden," Arwen said. "That's why we're here."
We moved in silence, our footsteps muffled by the strange floor. At the end of the hall stood a pedestal. Upon it lay a fractured mirror, webbed with golden cracks.
I chirped. "That's humming. Badly."
Arwen approached first. Her hand hovered over it. "It's not a mirror," she murmured. "It's a spark sigil. Broken."
Something inside me pulled. I stepped closer. My spark flickered. The sigil responded.
Not with light...but with memory.
---
I saw Arwen.
Not as she was now... but older. Wearing battle-worn clothes. Eyes haunted. Standing over a field of ruins, alone. Her hands clutched something... me, but not me. Another form. Another life.
I heard her voice: "Not again."
---
I stumbled back, dizzy.
Arwen caught me. "What did you see?"
"I… don't know," I whispered. "It felt… old. Like I've done this before."
Her grip tightened. "Your spark. It's cycling."
I blinked up at her.
She raised her hand, tracing a sigil above my feathers. The bond flared warm.
"I could stop this," she murmured. "If I named you…"
I didn't move.
She didn't finish.
Instead, she let the sigil fade. "Not yet."
---
Behind us, something shifted.
Not a person... a presence.
From the shadows, a voice whispered, "Now that is interesting."
We turned. The corridor was empty. But on the pedestal, the cracked sigil pulsed once more... and then shattered completely.
We were no longer alone.