The portal shimmered before us, a bridge of flickering symbols and astral fire stretched between the crumbling archways of forgotten Fenris. Even Lys, usually unflappable, went silent as we hovered at the threshold. The unnatural chill of the place wormed its way beneath my exosuit—either that, or I was shivering with excitement, because everything in my musician soul was screaming: "This is where the next verse starts."
Kaelor drew his sidearm, scanning the shadows. T'Lara's voice dropped so low it was almost a thought: "Remember, the market tests more than skill or strength."
The crew gathered close. Jax kept one eye on the perimeter, while Aunt Rinya adjusted the market interface, a strange relic-lattice that flickered like a DJ's turntable of fate. Pim uncorked a tiny vial of calming herbs and dabbed my exosuit's collar. "Never hurts to make a good first impression," he whispered with a wink. In another age or another band, he'd have been everyone's favorite hype man.
We stepped through as one, the gate swallowing us in a kaleidoscope of light and static. My senses reeled—a rush I remembered from nights on Earth, backstage before the curtain rose, only this time I wasn't sure the crowd was on my side.
The market resolved around us: a city-sized crossroads, endless stalls and spirals of alien geometry. Each stand pulsed with surreal offerings—living crystals, bottled soundscapes, weapons humming with memories. Traders in impossible shapes bartered in voices that seemed both close and miles away. Floating signage scrolled the rules in half-familiar glyphs.
Rule One: Only explorers may trade.
Rule Two: Every offer comes with a cost.
Kaelor led, cautious yet determined, as if he'd rehearsed for this solo all his life. T'Lara brushed her fingers against the nearest relic, her aura blending into the market's flow. She traded a fragment of ancient code for a memory charm—its light reflecting in her eyes, as if showing her a future only she could see.
Aunt Rinya hustled a deal with a three-eyed vendor trading star-forged microchips. Jax, less patient, wound up in a lengthy debate with a sentient swarm selling shield upgrades. Pim made friends with a vendor who extracted essence from planetary raindrops; the two of them swapped stories, each tale coming with its own pungent aroma.
I watched, absorbing everything. My mom's calm center, Dad's risk-taking edge, the messy swirl of trust and suspicion rippling through every negotiation. This was a place where fortunes were made—or unmade—on instinct, courage, and never letting yourself sound off-key.
Then, the market changed. A heavy bell tolled somewhere, echoing through the halls. All the traders grew fierce-eyed, turning to a new arrival: a masked figure in shimmering grey robes—a high-tier cultivator, rumored in stories to haunt the Rising Isles, looking for souls worth the wager.
Kaelor tensed, eyes narrowing. "Stay close," he ordered. "Deals here aren't just about credits—they're tests, and sometimes the market demands more than you're willing to pay."
The tension crackled. Jax's hand hovered near his blaster, Rinya whispered prayers to data-ghosts, Pim discretely pressed a luck-charm into my palm.
For a heartbeat, it seemed the entire market held its breath—as if waiting to see which song the strangers from the Astral Dagger would play.
With my family at my side, I felt the familiar hum of courage—not just from my own memories, but from theirs. The world, once again, was a stage.
I drew a shaky breath, grinned, and realized the risk and the melody were one and the same. Here, even an encore had a price.
This time, we'd make sure the next track was one the cosmos would never forget.