Chapter 7
916 Words
The air outside the tent felt colder than before, as if the market itself sensed the shift inside Adaora.
She wiped her cheeks, steadied her breathing, and stepped back onto the path. Lanterns flickered overhead, some bright, some dim, like they were studying her.
For the first time since she entered, Adaora didn’t feel swallowed by the place.
She felt watched.
And expected.
A voice rose behind her.
You saw it, didn’t you?
Adaora turned.
It was a vendor with no face, just a smooth surface where eyes and a mouth should’ve been. But his voice sounded strangely kind.
She took a step back.
Saw what?
He tilted his head.
The truth you hid from yourself.
Adaora clenched her hands.
She didn’t respond.
The faceless vendor leaned closer, whispering as if afraid of being overheard:
Now the market will want its balance.
Her skin prickled.
What balance?
But the vendor moved away, blending into the crowd.
Adaora exhaled shakily.
Then she noticed it; every stall she passed went silent as she approached.
Vendors turned their heads toward her.
Some leaned forward.
Others whispered.
Not with hostility.
With recognition.
As if they’d all been waiting for her.
The Hall of Lost Trades. The path narrowed again, leading her to a large wooden archway. Carved across the top were four words: THE HALL OF LOST TRADES. A shiver crawled up her spine.
Inside, the hall was dim and vast.
Rows of glowing shelves stretched into darkness.
Each shelf held objects: rings, watches, photos, keys, everyday things that pulsed faintly, like living memories.
A woman sat at a desk in the front.
She was old, thin, and wrapped in a flowing wrapper patterned with shapes Adaora couldn’t understand.
Her eyes lifted slowly.
Deep.
Ancient.
Knowing.
Adaora,
Her voice was rough, like pages turning in an old book.
Come closer. I’ve been waiting.
Adaora’s throat tightened.
How do you know my name?
The old woman smiled without warmth.
Because your mother once stood where you stand now.
Adaora stepped forward.
What did she trade? She asked, her voice trembling.
The woman didn’t speak.
She simply pointed to a shelf far down the hall.
A shelf glowing brighter than all the others.
Adaora walked slowly toward it.
Each step felt heavier.
Like the truth itself was pulling her forward.
When she reached the shelf, her heart stilled.
On it sat a small, carved wooden bracelet.
Her mother’s bracelet.
The one Chinwe never took off until she died.
Adaora reached toward it, but the old woman’s voice cut through the silence:
If you touch it, you will see everything. Not just what she traded.
Adaora stared at her.
What else is there?
The woman’s expression softened for the first time.
You will see what she saved you from.
Adaora’s hand hovered in the air.
Her breath trembled.
She needed to know.
She finally felt ready to know.
She touched the bracelet.
The Memory Unlocked. Everything shattered into light.
When the world reformed, Adaora stood in a forest.
Moonlight pierced through the trees.
A cold wind whipped around her.
She heard crying.
A baby crying.
Adaora turned and saw a younger Chinwe holding a tiny infant wrapped in cloth.
An infant Adaora.
Chinwe was running.
Panicked.
Terrified.
Someone chased her.
Footsteps thundered behind them, heavy, inhuman.
Adaora’s heart raced.
Mama?
Her younger mother couldn’t hear her.
Instead, she stumbled into a clearing illuminated by strange lanterns.
A market stall appeared from the shadows.
The same faint glow.
The same haunting energy.
A vendor stepped forward.
Not human.
Not quite monstrous.
Somewhere in between.
Its voice rasped:
What do you seek, Chinwe?
Chinwe held baby Adaora tighter.
Please… someone wants to take her. I need protection.
The vendor tilted its head.
My beauty. I don’t care.
The vendor smiled.
Not cruel.
Almost sad.
None of that is enough.
Chinwe trembled.
Then what? Tell me!
The vendor’s eyes glowed.
Your future.
Adaora’s breath caught.
No…
But the younger Chinwe nodded slowly.
Take it. I’ll live however long I can. Just keep her safe.
The vendor placed a glowing hand on the wooden bracelet then on Chinwe’s forehead.
Light burst.
Chinwe collapsed, panting.
The vendor spoke softly:
You will raise her. You will love her. But your years will be shortened. Your path will end early.
Adaora’s chest cracked open with pain.
Her mother hadn’t just died.
She had been traded.
By her own choice.
For her.
The vendor’s voice carried through the memory:
When the child grows, when grief strikes her, she will return here. And she will decide whether the cycle ends… or begins again.
The scene dissolved.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Back in the Hall, Adaora gasped and stumbled backward.
The bracelet clattered to the floor.
Her knees hit the ground.
Her hands shook violently.
The old woman watched her quietly.
Adaora whispered:
She died because of me.
The old woman shook her head.
She lived for you. The market wants its final decision. Will you pay your mother’s remaining debt… or will you break the cycle?
Adaora lifted her head, tears streaking her cheeks.
Her voice was hoarse.
What happens if I break it?
The woman’s eyes gleamed.
Everyone trapped here will be freed.
Adaora froze.
And if I don’t?
The woman whispered:
Then you will take your mother’s place.
Adaora stared at the bracelet.
Her mother had given her future for her.
Now the market wanted Adaora to choose her own fate.
The entire hall went silent, waiting.
Waiting for her answer.
- Writer
