Chapter 5 : Trading at the Last Gasp
1606 Words
"Halt. State your name and your business, old man."
Aren kept his head down, his face hidden beneath a hood that smelled of damp wool and rot. "Names are for the living. I am just here to trade."
"Trade what?" the guard asked, his hand resting on a heavy club. "We do not want your rags. Get moving."
Aren reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small, glowing blue coin. He held it out between two fingers. "Is this enough to buy your silence, or do I need to find a guard with more vision?"
The guard's eyes widened. He grabbed the coin and tucked it away in his belt. "Enter. But if you are still here by dawn, you are a dead man. The market is not kind to people who stay too long."
"I do not plan on staying," Aren said.
He walked past the guard into the shadows of the Void Market. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and wet earth. Every few steps, he passed a vendor selling things that were illegal in the world above. Human teeth, bottled screams, and jars of spirit energy that flickered like dying stars. He kept his hands close to his sides, avoiding eye contact with the thieves and mercenaries who watched him from the doorways.
He found the shop at the end of a narrow, dead-end alley. A sign hung above the door, depicting a single, weeping eye.
"Are you Sael?" Aren asked as he stepped inside.
A man sat behind a counter, his skin so pale it looked like parchment. He was sharpening a dagger with a rhythmic, scraping sound. "I might be. Who is asking?"
"The Architect sent me," Aren said. He used his normal voice, letting the authority of his rank show through the disguise. "He said you have something for me. Something called the Heaven-Eater."
Sael froze. He dropped the dagger and looked up, his eyes darting to the door. "You? You are the one? But the message said you would be... older."
"I have been many things, Sael. Old is not one of them right now," Aren replied. "Do you have it?"
"I have it. But we have a problem," Sael whispered. He leaned over the counter, his breath smelling of bitter herbs. "The Alliance. They were here. They were asking questions about the artifact."
Aren't heart skipped a beat. "The Alliance? How would they know about the Heaven-Eater?"
"I do not know," Sael said. He reached under the counter and pulled out a rolled-up scroll. "But they are not just looking for artifacts, Aren. Look at this. I stole it from one of their couriers last night."
Aren took the scroll and spread it out on the counter. It was a blueprint, but it was not for the Celestial Ladder. It showed a massive structure deep beneath the foundation of the main pillar. It was a grid of small, cramped rooms, each one lined with soul-tempered steel.
"What am I looking at?" Aren asked, his voice low.
"It is a prison," Sael said. "A soul-prison. The Alliance is building it in secret. It is designed to hold thousands of people. But not their bodies, Aren. Just their souls."
Aren stared at the blueprints. He felt a wave of nausea hit him. "They are not just waiting for the Ascension to feed the gods. They are planning to store the souls. Like cattle in a barn."
"They are going to harvest everyone," Sael whispered. "The weak, the strong, the children. Everyone who steps onto that mountain will be stripped of their spirit and locked in those cells until the Upper Realm is ready to drink."
"And I am the one building the cage," Aren said. He felt the weight of his own hands. They felt dirty. He had spent months perfecting the arrays for the foundation, thinking he was sabotaging a ladder. He did not realize he was helpings build a warehouse for the dead.
"You have to stop them," Sael said.
"I know," Aren replied. "Give me the Heaven-Eater. I need it to break the prison arrays."
Sael reached for a small obsidian box on a shelf behind him. "Here. Take it and go. I do not want to be anywhere near you when the Archon finds out it is missing."
He handed the box to Aren. Just as Aren't fingers touched the cold stone, the front door of the shop burst open.
"Alliance Enforcers! Nobody move!"
Four men in white and gold robes surged into the room. They carried spears that glowed with a harsh, artificial light.
"Sael, you coward," Aren growled, his hand tightening around the box.
"I am sorry!" Sael screamed, falling to his knees. "They have my daughter, Aren! They told me they would let her go if I gave them the Architect!"
The lead enforcer stepped forward, his spear pointed at Aren't chest. "Identify yourself, old man. Or do we have to peel that cloak off your corpse?"
Aren didn't answer. He looked at Sael, who was sobbing on the floor. He felt a flash of pity, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, sharp focus. He had no time for mercy.
"I am the man who is going to burn your world down," Aren said.
"Kill him!" the enforcer shouted.
The guards lunged forward. Aren didn't reach for a weapon. He didn't even move. He just slammed his foot onto the wooden floor.
"Array: Void Step," he muttered.
A circle of black light erupted from beneath his boots. The air in the room suddenly turned freezing. The guards stopped mid-thrust, their bodies jerking as the energy hit them. They didn't scream. They couldn't. The air was being sucked out of the room, creating a vacuum that crushed the oxygen from their lungs.
Aren walked through the chaos, his footsteps silent on the wood. He passed the enforcer, who was clawing at his own throat, his eyes bulging in terror.
"You should have stayed in the palace," Aren whispered.
He stepped out of the back door and into the rain. He didn't look back at the shop. He didn't look back at Sael. He ran through the narrow alleys, his heart hammering against his ribs. He didn't stop until he was deep in the woods, miles away from the market.
He leaned against a tree, gasping for air. He opened the obsidian box.
Inside was a black stone, perfectly smooth and polished. It was the size of a pigeon's egg. It looked like a piece of the night sky had been trapped in glass.
Aren reached out and touched it.
*Thump.*
He pulled his hand back. "What was that?"
He touched it again.
*Thump. Thump.*
It was a heartbeat. The stone was pulsing.
Aren put his other hand over his own heart. He waited.
*Thump. Thump.*
The stone and his heart hit the exact same rhythm. The pulse of the Heaven-Eater was perfectly in sync with his own blood.
"It is not an artifact," Aren whispered, his voice trembling in the dark.
He felt a sudden, sharp pain in his chest. It felt like a needle was being driven into his soul. He looked down at the stone. A tiny, thin thread of black energy was stretching from the artifact and sinking into his skin.
"Wait," Aren said, trying to drop the box.
But his fingers wouldn't move. The stone was stuck to his palm. The black thread grew thicker, pulsing with a dark, hungry light.
"What are you doing to me?" he gasped.
He fell to his knees, his vision blurring. He could feel the artifact drinking from him, pulling his energy out of his body and replacing it with something cold and ancient. He felt like he was drowning in shadows.
Then, a voice spoke in his head. It wasn't the voice from the future. It was something else. Something much older.
*We are one now, Architect.*
Aren screamed as the black energy surged into his heart. The world went dark for a second, and when he opened his eyes, the stone was gone. There was only a small, black mark on his palm, shaped like a weeping eye.
He looked up at the sky. The stars looked different now. They didn't look like lights. They looked like windows. And something was looking back at him.
He heard footsteps behind him. He turned, his hand already glowing with a dark, terrifying power.
"Aren? Is that you?"
It was Elara. She was standing in the clearing, her blue robes soaked with rain. She looked horrified.
"What have you done, Aren?" she whispered, staring at his hand. "What did you just do?"
Aren didn't answer. He looked at her, and for the first time, he didn't see the woman he loved. He saw the energy flowing through her veins. He saw the golden light of the Alliance in her soul.
He saw his enemy.
"I am doing what I have to do, Elara," Aren said. His voice was not his own. It was deeper, hollow, like it was coming from the bottom of a well. "Go home."
"I cannot do that," she said, drawing a small, silver dagger. "The Archon sent me to bring you back. He knows about the market, Aren. He knows everything."
Aren stepped toward her. The ground beneath his feet turned black and withered. "He knows nothing. And neither do you."
Elara raised her dagger, her hand shaking. "I do not want to hurt you."
"Then do not try," Aren said.
He raised his hand, and the weeping eye on his palm began to glow.
- Writer
