The first black snowfall began pouring over the streets of Megacity.
Dark ice pellets mixed with mystical ash drifted down from the pitch-black sky, clinging to the surfaces of skyscrapers and snuffing out the city's neon glow one light at a time.
In the narrow alleys of the Lower District, isolated from the luxury of downtown, the air felt like breathing through a filter laced with poison—cold, damp, and heavy with the scent of forbidden magic.
Serin pulled her dark emerald fur coat tighter around herself. Her footsteps traced a flooded stone passage, following Kaelen's broad-shouldered figure as he walked a couple of paces ahead of her.
The man wore a heavy black hooded cloak, concealing his hard features and the military uniform that normally clung to his body.
“Sector Nine Black Market,” Serin whispered, her eyes sweeping over the shabby shops with iron-barred windows lining the street. “I never imagined the Commander of the Main Guard would set foot in a den of criminals.”
Kaelen did not look back. His eyes moved warily beneath the hood's shadow. “Military law can't buy ancient magical poison or antidotes, Serin. If we want to slow the meteorite's freezing process before forty days are up, we need a Balancing Artifact that isn't recorded in the official histories.”
They stopped in front of a weathered wooden door carved with a fading protective spell. Above it hung a rusted iron sign bearing the name of the place they were looking for: Antiques & Dark Artifacts Shop.
Kaelen pushed open the wooden door. The faint chime of a bronze bell broke the silence of the shop, which reeked of incense, old paint oil, and pungent magical dust.
Behind a counter crowded with supernatural creature skulls and glittering potion bottles, a hunched old man was polishing a silver-plated mirror.
“We're closed,” the old shopkeeper called without turning around, his voice rasping like scraping iron. “Unless you've brought gold coins from the era of the old kingdoms.”
THUD.
Kaelen dropped a heavy leather pouch onto the counter. The clink of antique silver coins echoed through the room. “We're looking for a Salamander Bloodstone. A high-level artifact capable of withstanding Ancient Ice radiation.”
The old shopkeeper stopped what he was doing. Slowly, he turned his thin body around. His cloudy, cataract-filmed eyes lingered on the gold pouch for a moment, then gradually traveled up Serin's elegant figure before finally locking onto Kaelen's face.
The night wind blowing through the gap in the door lowered Kaelen's hood, revealing his sharply defined jaw and the scar slicing through his eyebrow.
The old shopkeeper's skin turned deathly pale at once. The hand holding the rag began to tremble violently. The silver mirror slipped from his grasp and shattered across the wooden floor.
“You...” the old man squeaked, his voice rising a full octave with pure terror. He stumbled backward until his back slammed into the artifact shelves, knocking down a dozen glass bottles that shattered on impact.
Serin narrowed her eyes, sensing the sudden wave of panic filling the room. “You know him?”
“Demon...” the old shopkeeper shrieked, his trembling finger pointing straight at Kaelen's face. His eyes bulged wide, as though he were staring at an executioner who had come to claim his life. “You! You're the amnesiac man who slaughtered the Peach Clan under a brainwashing spell!”
Serin's blood froze.
The words struck her consciousness like a bolt of lightning in the dead of night. Serin spun around and stared at Kaelen in disbelief. Beside her, Kaelen's body went rigid.
The gray irises of the man's eyes trembled violently—a fine crack radiating through the cold, impenetrable expression he had worn all this time.
“What... what did you say?” Serin whispered, her voice catching in her throat, trembling between shattered rage and despair.
Amnesia? So Kael accidentally slaughtered Serin's clan? On to Chapter 7!