Part II: The Grand Bazaar
A week before the three-day Grand Bazaar, birds scattered from the trees at Lucy's voice echoing through the palace.
"NO NOT THIS YEAR, NEX!"
She hurried away, frantically cleaning his bedroom—a task she'd already assigned him multiple times. Her movements were sharp and agitated, unlike her usual gentle demeanor.
"But why?" Nex followed, frustration clear in his voice. "It wasn't allowed last year or the year before. When am I finally going to the Grand Bazaar you promised me four years ago?"
He caught himself before saying "mother." "Lucy, you promised me. I can't wait any longer. Maybe next year, after I defeat the twins and crown prince, I'll be selected for knighthood. I'll never go with you then. We need to go now. Please!"
He clutched her dress, looking up with desperate eyes.
Lucy looked down, worry etched across her features. Secrets hid in her gaze—reasons she'd never taken him, reasons she perhaps never wanted to reveal. Her mind flashed to the twins, Alexander and Abigail, and how she'd raised them from infancy until they entered military academy at twelve. She remembered Damon too, before his mother took him under her wing—how he'd clung to her skirts during his father's absences, how she'd sung him lullabies when nightmares plagued him. Those bonds had been precious, each child needing something different from her care.
But now the twins competed desperately for her attention, their need growing sharper with each passing day. They watched her every interaction with Nex, jealousy burning in their eyes. Even Damon, secure in his mother's love, sometimes cast wistful glances her way—remembering the woman who'd first taught him to read, who'd bandaged his scraped knees and listened to his childhood fears.
"Next year, I promise," she said, rushing toward the door.
"That's what you said last year!"
She quickened her steps, fleeing the room.
He ran after her. "IF YOU DON'T GO WITH ME, I'LL GET AN IMPERIAL DECREE! I'M SURE THE EMPEROR WILL BE DELIGHTED FOR ME TO GO ALONE!"
The threat stopped her. She turned back, face masked with worry and guilt.
"Okay," she said quietly, defeated. "But follow my lead at all times. And never—never—go near the center."
He jumped with joy, his curiosity about her strange condition overridden by excitement. This would be his first Grand Bazaar—the same one his mother had loved, where she'd bought him the necklace he still wore.
Seven days passed—Nex in eager anticipation, Lucy in growing apprehension. For the first time ever, maids found Lucy staring at blank walls, her mind elsewhere as the grand bazaar drew closer. For the first time ever, Nex slacked off in training with Sarah, his mind filled with imagined scenes of the bazaar.
Sarah noticed his distraction and gave him the final day off. He thanked her and ran to find Lucy.
He burst into her dormitory still wearing sparring clothes and holding his practice sword. Lucy, selecting clothes, laughed softly.
"What are you wearing, young prince?"
He looked down, startled, then sprinted back to change. Lucy's laughter followed him down the hall. He was still a child, no matter how much he seemed mature.
After changing, Lucy met him halfway, taking his hands. Wariness and panic filled her eyes, though she marveled at his excitement—the first time he'd reacted this way since birth.
At the front gate, a carriage waited without crest or flag, disguised as a minor noble's transport. Inside, Lucy dyed his hair brown with ground blueberries and food coloring, ensuring no one would recognize him. They had no imperial protection, per the emperor's orders.
At the Grand Bazaar's entrance, they continued on foot through narrow streets filled with commoners and nobles alike.
The bazaar was foreign to anything Nex had known—unlike his world of status and formal speech. His first sight of families shopping together was utterly unfamiliar.
Lucy guided him through the outskirts, firmly holding his hand, keeping him from the center. She pointed out blacksmiths, bought him snacks—anything to distract from the center's marvels.
After hours of shopping, Lucy's constant worry became obvious. Nex suggested they return, planning to come back alone next year to see the center.
Walking back to the carriage, Lucy spotted a mark on the wall—a rune she'd written four years ago on necromancer Jack's command. She'd never learned its meaning, but had always felt dread about Jack's orders, always turning a blind eye. Now, seeing it after all these years, terror filled her heart.
Her hands began shivering. When someone pushed through the crowd, it broke their grip. Standing still shaken and biting her nails, Lucy took a moment to realize she'd lost Nex.
Meanwhile, Nex finally saw the Center's spectacle—multitudes of people, cultural clothes, spices, weapons, northern slaves being auctioned. The sights froze him in awe.
Unaware he was separated from Lucy, the crowd pushed him deeper toward the Center.
The crowd pressed in around Nex, the noise blurring into a distant hum. A sudden chill prickled along his spine.
Where is she?
He spun around sharply, heart thudding—but no one was there. Just a sea of faces, strangers pushing past him.
He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breath. Then—again—from right behind him:
Where is she?
Nex's blood ran cold. He turned fully, eyes wide, searching the crowd. His hand reached out instinctively—only to grasp empty air.
The warmth was gone.
"Lucy?" His voice trembled as he called, but the crowd swallowed his words. No answer came.
No one noticed the small child. He was pushed until he saw a tall fountain at the Center's heart. If he climbed it, Lucy could easily spot him.
He made his way through rich displays—Eastern spices, Western weapons, Southern books—observing everything as he reached the fountain and began climbing.
Lucy snapped from her daze when she no longer felt his warm hand. She searched frantically, calling his fake name "Oscar," then desperately his real name "Nex." People ignored her hysterical cries.
She searched the outskirts, stopping families with brown-haired children, asking shopkeepers and passersby. It hadn't occurred to her that he'd go to the center—she'd forbidden it clearly.
When the thought crossed her mind, she headed for the center and spotted him atop the fountain, gripping its peak.
Relieved, she ran toward him, but purple flames suddenly erupted from the walls where the runes she'd previously drawn were. Everyone caught in the flames burned to ash instantly. The fire formed a complete circle around the center, making escape impossible.
Lucy acted quickly. She could see the runes others couldn't—the same ones she'd written on Jack's orders. Knowing this was her fault, she ran to the runes, desperately trying to erase them. But once completed, runes become hidden to all but their creators, and once active, they disappear, serving only as power channels. She gathered water and threw it at the wall of flame, but it only evaporated before it even reached the flames.
Inside the flame wall, Nex was terrified. As the last echoes of screams faded and purple flames roared quietly in the distance like a monstrous breath, the sky above the center turned a deeper, unnatural gray. Then came the crows.
They circled in lazy, slow spirals—silent, deliberate, as if they'd already made their choice.
A gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by silence. Then a woman fell to her knees, wailing.
"The crows! The crows are here!"
"Death has come for us!" an older man sobbed, clutching a rusted pendant tight to his chest. "They see our souls already. There is no escape."
Some covered their children's eyes, others raised prayers with trembling lips. Superstition choked rational thought. One merchant screamed at the birds, throwing fruit at the sky as if he could bribe death with rotten oranges.
Another man began laughing uncontrollably—high, broken laughter that made those nearby edge away. "They've come to count us! Just like they did in Elar's famine. Just like in the drowning of Utherin!" He dropped to his knees, muttering numbers to himself as though trying to stay ahead of death's tally.
A few sank into stillness, numb and staring—resigned. One soldier from the East gripped his spear tighter but lowered his eyes, whispering, "They fly high when kings fall… and gods turn away."
Even children knew. A little girl clung to her father's tunic, whispering, "The crows mean we're going to be stories, Papa."
Then silence. No one dared move. The flames surrounding them felt colder now, not hotter—as if they were being mourned before the dying even began.
Nex, after his talk with Mallory, believed he could defy death. Despite his terror, he acted first, calling with shivering lips:
"We're not dead yet! Get buckets, collect water from this fountain. If we all use water together at the same place, we can breach the wall and escape!"
Everyone ignored him, hugging loved ones, preparing for death. Then two men echoed his words—the ambassador of Wu and crown prince of Lavat. They rallied people to fill buckets and coordinate their attack on the walls.
But the walls began closing in. Desperate, people finally acted, filling hundreds of buckets.
As they prepared their assault, observant Nex noticed a robed figure moving toward the fountain—sick, weary, moving as if his limbs weren't his own.
Climbing down to investigate, Nex saw an incomplete drawing made of blood on the ground before the fountain. As he reached to touch it, the sick man pushed him away.
"What are you—" Nex stopped, seeing the man's face.
Injuries from axes and blades covered his terrifying visage. His skin was decayed, flesh clinging to bone, slowly turning blue. His hair had fallen out. One eye was destroyed by a blade, the other filled with blood.
Nex's breath caught in his throat. The man's face—no, corpse—was a tapestry of violence and decay. Nex's legs moved before his mind caught up, scrambling backward like an animal cornered by something ancient and wrong.
The death servant ignored him, focused on the drawing—the rune. He bit off his own finger and completed the rune with blood, screaming in an unknown language.
The earth began shattering like a broken mirror, cracks spiderwebbing everywhere. It shook violently, throwing everyone to their backs. Only Nex kept his eyes on the cause, trembling as he realized the ground beneath them was breaking apart.
The earth collapsed in a perfect circle, swallowing only those trapped within the flame wall. Of the few who survived the house-deep fall, only those who fell last had any chance.
Amid the ruin, Lucy sat curled against the cold stone, her arms wrapped tightly around her head as if trying to hold herself together. Her fingers trembled just slightly—too small to notice at first, but there. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, each one a quiet struggle. The weight of what had happened pressed down on her chest, steady and unyielding.
She didn't speak. She didn't cry. She only stared ahead, eyes unfocused and empty, as if the world beyond the walls had already slipped away. Every so often, her lips pressed together tightly, as if holding back a storm she couldn't name.
Minutes passed, or maybe hours—time lost all meaning. The silence around her grew thick, broken only by the faintest catch in her breath.
Voices rose in agony nearby. Crown Prince Dante of the Lavat lay with his back broken, unable to move but still conscious, his royal green robes torn and bloodied. Minor nobles lay dead around him.
Nex was spared physical harm, except for his necklace exploding, searing his chest with second-degree burns. He saw Jian, Wu's ambassador, legs impaled by steel fencing, head cracked but still conscious. Jian's helmet had a drawing of a tiger; as his eyes grew long red feathers, he looked up at the firewall still standing above them, then noticed the walls beginning to close in slowly.
"The walls," Jian gasped, blood trickling from his mouth. "They're moving inward. We have hours, maybe less." His eyes, though clouded with pain, remained sharp and calculating. "I can make you a shelter."
Using his "Soulharnessing" metal-controlling abilities despite severe blood loss, Jian began gathering scattered pieces of steel from the debris. "Fuck this."
The metal pieces twisted and contorted under his control, sparks flying as he shaped them into crude spears. "I've seen enough battles to know when death is coming," he said, his voice growing weaker. "I will save... you in return... tell people how we died."
He began ramming the makeshift spears repeatedly into the wall above, each thrust requiring enormous effort. Blood loss was making his vision blur, but his determination remained steel-hard. "Almost... there..." he muttered, creating a hole barely large enough for five people to crawl through.
His countless battles with the kingdom of Stella flashed before his eyes—the Wu kingdom's southerners praising him and calling out his name, The Fearless Tiger, celebrating his wins. Then he collapsed from blood loss, and everything went dark.
Nex climbed to the hole, digging with his hands to expand it for survivors.
Seventeen people remained from over six hundred. Only three were unharmed: Nex, protected by his mother's necklace; an infant cushioned by its parents' bodies; and a giant named Tazan, who'd held onto the hole's walls while falling.Of the remaining fourteen, nine were too injured to move, two had minor injuries but broken legs, and the rest were trapped under rubble.
With the walls closing in, after Tazan climbed into the small shelter, his massive size took three spots just for himself, leaving room for only one more person. Nex's sharp eyes scanned the wreckage. Two figures were still crawling—one closer, a younger archer with a snapped bow piece lodged in his shoulder, gritting his teeth as he pulled himself forward. The other was further off: Crown Prince Dante of Lavat, his spine crushed, unable to move. Behind him crawled a soldier in ornate grey armor etched with glowing green inscriptions in the Lavat tongue—his royal guard, marked with oaths of eternal loyalty.
"Aaron!" Dante called, his voice still laced with imperial command despite his ruined body. "Save me! I am your Master! Carry me to safety!"
But Aaron didn't so much as turn his head. His face was twisted with pain and desperation, eyes fixed ahead on the shelter. The green oath-script on his breastplate caught the dim light as he dragged himself forward with one working arm, his broken leg trailing uselessly behind him.
"Forgive me, Your Highness," he muttered, not even loud enough for Dante to hear. "I won't die for nothing."
Nex stepped to the edge and shouted to the two crawling figures, "What are your names?"
The younger archer looked up, wincing. "Actaeon!" he called.
Aaron didn't respond. He looked at Nex. He saw the boy—eleven years old, slender, blood-smeared, commanding from a perch above—and dismissed him instantly. Just another child playing hero in a burning world. Aaron was stronger, bigger, older. He didn't take orders from children.
With a grunt, he redoubled his crawl, elbow over elbow, eyes locked on the shelter. He angled his path to cut off Actaeon, determined to reach the platform first and haul himself up if he had to.
Nex's eyes narrowed. He'd seen this kind of desperation before—men who'd toss their comrades aside to gain a few more seconds of life.
"Grab Actaeon," Nex ordered sharply.
Tazan moved fast. He dropped down like a hammer, grabbed Actaeon with one hand, and heaved him up as if the wounded archer weighed nothing at all.
Aaron let out a furious shout. "He's weak!" he barked, struggling forward. "He'll slow you down—take me instead!"
Nex stared down at him coldly. "You didn't answer when asked."
Aaron's face twisted with hate and disbelief as the walls of the flames started closing in to reach them.
Behind him, Dante screamed, "Aaron! I command you!" His voice cracked with rage and helplessness.
But no one was listening.
Nex had made the only choice that made sense—save the one who listened, not the one who defied him."
Soon, Dante's and others' screams turned bone-chilling as the walls of flame finally settled in one spot in the middle of the massive hole. The crown prince's final cries echoed off the closing walls, his royal blood offering no protection from the flames, his broken back ensuring he couldn't escape his fate. Nex covered the infant's ears.
Later, as they sat waiting for help to come, introductions were made. Actaeon tried lightening the mood: "My name is Actaeon and I'm seventeen. How about you guys?"
"I'm Tazan, and you look twelve," Tazan replied, his voice deep and rumbling.
"Only because you're the size of a hog with the brain of one," Actaeon shot back, adjusting his grip on his broken bow. Despite his pain, his cat-like green eyes remained sharp and alert.
Both laughed, but Nex stared into the infant's eyes, lost in thought.
"How old are you?" Tazan asked, tapping his shoulder with a massive hand.
With dye half-melted, his black hair showing, Nex looked from Tazan's pure white eyes to Actaeon's distinctive green ones to the infant's brown ones.
"Eleven."
They couldn't believe it. The boy who'd rallied people at the fountain, spotted Jian's escape plan, heard an infant's cries over dying screams, and decided who lived or died—was just eleven years old.
Actaeon whistled low, wincing as the movement jarred his wounded shoulder. "Eleven and commanding like a general. My parents always said leadership wasn't about age—guess they were right."
Tazan nodded slowly, his red hair catching what little light filtered down. "My grandmother used to say the same. Small hands can carry heavy burdens."