The tavern was more noise than structure.

  Smoke clung to the rafters, curling between the low lanterns until it became part of the air. Laughter cracked through the haze like breaking glass. Somewhere, someone was shouting about debt, and someone else was playing a stringed instrument that hadn’t been tuned in years.

  Dante sat with his back to the wall, half-shadowed by the flamelight. A mug of something sour and cheap sat untouched before him. Kaiya leaned on the table beside him, her eyes scanning the crowd, while Valerik kept a lazy sort of watch near the door. Angel sat quietly, nursing a drink that glowed faintly when it caught the light, her gaze fixed somewhere deep within the crowd’s chaos.

  Then the doors slammed open.

  The tavern noise faltered just long enough for three familiar figures to stride in. Trailing laughter and curses from the door they had just barged through.

  Koi was the first to speak, already in the middle of an argument.

  “I said payment in gold! Not gemstones! How are we supposed to spend rocks in a city where half the merchants are drunk?”

  Kyric rolled his eyes. “Because, genius, gems don’t get tracked. And besides, you love shiny things.”

  “I love useful shiny things!”

  Valokyr followed last, shoulders dusted with travel grit, expression unreadable but somehow amused. “You both nearly got us killed over a bag of glitter.”

  Their entrance scattered two tables’ worth of dice and drink, and the crowd grumbled but gave them space. They were like a storm pretending to be a conversation.

  Angel's mouth twitched into something close to a smile. “You three still manage to make subtlety look like a foreign concept.”

  Koi spotted her immediately, eyes lighting up. “Angel! Finally someone here with actual taste. Maybe you’ll find something shiny enough to match that moody charm of yours.”

  Kaiya snorted into her drink. “Don’t encourage her.”

  “Too late,” Koi said, sliding into a seat beside Dante as if she’d never left. “We’ve been hearing things. About a place under the city. A market that sells what normal people pretend doesn’t exist.”

  Kyric leaned forward, lowering his voice though the grin never faded. “The Shadow Market. They say you can buy anything there. Spells, relics, curses in bottles. Even memories.”

  Angel looked up at that. “Memories?” Her tone was quiet, almost reverent.

  “Supposedly,” Kyric said. “You’d fit right in.”

  Valerik chuckled. “Sounds like another thing that bites here.”

  Koi winked at him. “Not everything that bites is bad.”

  Dante’s voice rumbled from across the table. “You lot sure know how to pick trouble.”

  “That’s the idea,” Valokyr said, his smile thin but knowing. “Trouble tends to leave things worth finding.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  For a moment, the noise of the tavern filled the silence between them again. The crack of mugs, the slosh of ale, the hum of people pretending they weren’t watching.

  Kaiya crossed her arms. “We’re not exactly in a position to go chasing rumors. The last time we met you three, half a building turned on us.”

  “That was a statement,” Koi said.

  Kyric added, “Technically.”

  Valokyr gave a slow shrug. “Mostly.”

  “Speaking of, good fight, Angel.” Koi nudged her shoulder. Angel’s hair brushed to the side and Koi let out a small gasp.

  “Is that new? I knew you were fancy.” Koi added when she saw her single horn.

  Angel blushed in embarrassed discomfort.

  “I don't like it, makes me feel like..” She said quietly.

  “A devil?” Koi raised an eyebrow. “What's wrong with that?” She shook her head to flaunt her own set of horns proudly.

  “I didn't mean to..” Angel began again.

  “Pride. Wear it with pride dear. Nobody can take that away unless you let them.” Koi replied.

  The group quieted for a moment, unsure what to say next.

  The Bard on stage played more off key notes, causing boo's from the crowd.

  “This man is awful.” Grumbled Kyric. His eyes began to glow faint red. The Bard straightened his posture and his eyes glazed over.

  Suddenly the music changed. Every note in tune, the crowd began to cheer at the new song.

  “That's better.” Kyric sighed in relief.

  Dante noticed the faintest spark of red lightning that shimmered between Kyric and the Bard.

  “So, mind control huh? Yet you argue with your friends. Why not charm them the same?” He asked with weary concern.

  “She's too scary, she'd kill me. He's got too many… voices up there, I'd go insane.” Kyric laughed.

  Valokyr grinned and gave them a wink. Koi let off a smug smile.

  Dante glanced between them, his hand tracing the rim of his mug. “Still. A place like that… it might have answers. Or things we could use.”

  Angel nodded faintly, her eyes distant. “Or things that use us.”

  The words hung in the air longer than they should have.

  Then Koi laughed, light and defiant. “Come on. When have we ever let that stop us?”

  Dante hesitated only a moment before giving a small, sharp grin. “Fine. Let’s see how deep this shadow runs.”

  Valerik raised his drink. “To bad ideas, then.”

  “Always,” Kyric said, clinking his mug.

  The noise swallowed them again. But beneath the laughter and the clatter of mugs, something darker seemed to stir, as if the city itself had heard their decision and was already waiting below.

  “So, we're bringing the bull?” Kyric chuckled.

  “Xander goes where I go.” Kaiya replied.

  “Don't think he'll be too big?” Angel asked.

  “I could try and..” Dante began.

  “No.” Kaiya cut him off quickly. Dante put his hands up in acceptance.

  The Trio led them through the warren of alleys, where every turn seemed to close tighter than the last. Crumbling walls leaned inward, their stones slick with moss and shadow. The air thinned as they moved, thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint, metallic tang of rain that had long ago stopped falling.

  Somewhere behind the walls, something small skittered away, claws scraping over stone.

  They emerged into what might once have been a courtyard. The ground was uneven, choked with weeds and fragments of old glass. A chapel rose before them, its spire broken and its doors half buried in creeping vines.

  The stained windows were long shattered, but traces of their color still clung to the shards scattered in the dirt, catching what little light dared to reach this forgotten place.

  Inside, the silence was heavier than air. Candles melted into stone had fused into pale lumps, their wicks black and frozen mid-drip. The cracked altar at the far end leaned like a dying monument.

  Kyric moved toward it without hesitation, kneeling as if greeting an old friend. He pressed his palm to the cold marble, brushing away dust until faint lines revealed themselves. The sigil beneath shimmered weakly, then flared, veins of light threading outward like a heartbeat beneath skin.

  The floor groaned.

  Stone slid against stone. A circular hatch shifted open, revealing a spiral staircase that descended into a faint, pulsing glow. Moisture clung to the steps. The air that drifted upward was old, yet alive, laced with the electric taste of buried magic.

  They went down.

  Each step sank deeper into a hum that vibrated in the bones. Lanterns of glass and bone hung at uneven intervals, glowing with pale blues and greens. The light swayed as if stirred by a slow breath. When they reached the bottom, the air changed again, thicker now, perfumed with incense, smoke, and the sour trace of iron.

  The Shadow Market unfolded before them.

  It stretched farther than the eye could follow, a maze of stalls and crooked paths, everything built from scavenged ruins. Merchants whispered from behind counters of tarnished silver. Tables sagged under the weight of cracked relics and jars that glowed faintly from within.

  Bottled dreams drifted in lazy spirals, their light faint as moonlight on water. Blood vials shimmered with inner warmth, as though they remembered the pulse that once moved through them. Whispering spell components chattered softly in their cages, caught between existence and memory.

  The walls themselves seemed alive, breathing through seams of glowing runes that pulsed in slow rhythm.

  Angel paused at the threshold. Her breath hitched. The magic here spoke in the same language as her blood. The corruption in the air pressed against her skin, recognizing her as kin, or prey, or both.

  Her eyes caught the shifting gleam of crimson reflected in the lanterns, and for a moment she saw herself not as human, not as whole, but as something the dark would welcome home.

  Kaiya felt it too, though differently. She turned to glance at Dante. The shadows near him were thicker, bending toward him, drawn like moths to warmth. They seemed to stretch in his direction before recoiling, uncertain. It was as if the Market itself could see him.

  From the crowd, another gaze lingered on him.

  A woman stood near a stall of broken mirrors, her silver hair catching the ghost-light like strands of frost. Her eyes were too bright, too still. She smiled faintly when she noticed Dante’s unease, as if she were watching the inevitable unfold.

  The hum of the Market continued, low and endless, as if the earth beneath it still remembered prayers that had long since turned to whispers.