Dijio trudged the halls of Verdetta's castle, his pace slowed. His conversation with the king was something he had long expected—but it burdened him all the same.
His eyes scanned the floor as he walked from the throne room, the sound of boots scraping the stone as he continued on. The sword he ever carried on his back somehow felt heavier all of a sudden.
A voice caught his attention and interrupted his mindless thinking.
"My lord! Do you still plan to head to the market?"
Dijio turned with a hint of fluster across his cheeks, but drowned them out. There stood Esmiel, as beautiful as ever, and carrying a basket across one arm.
"If so… I'd hate to be a burden, but could we go sooner? Lord Jik asked me to accompany him to the gardens later."
Ah. Jik, heir to the throne. A stunning young lad—about ten years of age.
"Yes of course. Pardon me, my lady. The meeting with his highness took a bit longer than I'd thought. You're free now?"
She nodded quickly, holding her basket in front.
"Sure am. I even brought a basket to hold any goods."
Dijio gave a chuckle. "Prepared as always, aren't you Esmiel?"
"Would you expect any different, my lord?"
His lips molded into a warm smile. "I didn't. And I told you to call me Dijio. You needn't keep such formality with me."
He waved her forward, waiting to step in unison beside one another toward the castle doors. Both bore grins as they were greeted with Verdelle's stunning daylife. The sun shone brightly upon the empire, and gave citizens a sense of summer joy.
Together, the two walked down the path from the castle toward the market district. It wasn't a far trek, but the path wound and curved through the district.
Endless stalls lined the streets, and the sound of merchants bartering echoed. Stone built shops and homes provided the roads with depth and much needed living space for the citizens of Verdetta.
"What is it you needed, Lord Dijio?"
Dijio scanned each stand with intent—ending in disappointment.
"I was searching for a new knapsack. One for traveling. My other one recently snapped at the shoulder."
"May I suggest Lucy Leathers?" Esmiel asked, tilting her head.
"Who's she?"
Esmiel laughed. "No, no. The shop. Lucy Leathers sells all kinds of goods. Traveling wares, clothes or even necessities for homes. I guarantee you'll find a knapsack there."
Dijio rubbed the back of his head. "Ah. Best we check it out then, my lady."
As they continued on, the conversations of the commonfolk whispered as he passed. It was to be expected. Dijio served as a celebrity and named royalty in association by being a Summoner.
Rumors caught the wind and spread like wildfires. Countless mentions of the recent Ninelight Duel between Lady Ghalstoria and Lord Xel. One quieter mention caught Dijio's ears.
An older woman, hunched in a cloak with a cane, spoke to another in a hushed tone.
"Did you hear that rumor? That caravan going missing on the way to Reauford?"
The second lady answered in an equal tone.
"I did. The Jatharsis Mountains are known for mysteries… it's the caravan's fault for going further than Reauford."
A caravan went missing in the Jatharsis Range?
Dijio slowed to a halt. Esmiel followed suit, her gaze studied his face deep in thought.
"Everything okay?"
A moment passed, before Dijio shook his head, with a quick smile.
"Yes. I'm sorry, my lady. Let us continue."
She agreed, but noticed his sudden hurry forward. His voice was calm, but didn't resemble his normal tone. Something had caught his mind.
He caught a breath, before wearing a smile that resembled the one earlier.
"Esmiel, where is this shop?"
"Just a bit further, on the right. Let me talk to the shopkeeper. I might be able to work you in for a discount."
Dijio gave a dismissive wave—not harsh, but telling that the action was unnecessary.
"No need, my lady. I shall pay the same as any other citizen. I'm no short of coin after all. His highness loves to keep me fed."
"Ah. As you wish."
A genuine look of surprise crossed her face. Then, a gaze of admiration.
"Almost there," she said pointing. To the right was a shop with a dusty sign that read 'Lucy Leathers.' Dijio arrived first, grasping the handle and pushing it inward. The door remained in his palm until Esmiel had entered, before he gently let it shut.
"Mornin—er, afternoon. Ah, who knows. What do ya scrabbers nee—oh!"
The shopkeeper spotted Esmiel, before warmly smiling.
"You ain't no scrabbers! It's the fine young woman Esmiel… and the Summoner of Verdelle? What're the two of ya lot doin' 'ere?"
Esmiel bowed. "Hello lady Gresha! I'm here with lord Dijio to acquire a new knapsack. We'd like to browse what you've got available."
Gresha studied the look of sincerity on Esmiel's face. "A knapsack eh? Got heaps of 'em. Follow me."
She turned from behind the counter, and strode into a further back part of the shop. Plopped on a table was a row of bags, all sitting in display.
Gresha stopped in front of the row of knapsacks, hands resting on her hips as she looked them over.
"Now then," she muttered. "Depends what kind of travel yer plannin' on."
Dijio stepped closer, scanning the selection. Most were simple leather packs—soft, worn, patched in places. Honest things. The kind used for errands or short trips beyond the city gates.
His eyes lingered on one at the far end.
It was darker than the rest. Thicker leather. Reinforced seams stitched tight with heavy thread. The straps were broader, padded at the shoulders, and the buckles had been replaced with solid brass instead of rope ties.
Gresha noticed his gaze and followed it.
"Ah," she said. "That one."
Esmiel tilted her head. "It looks… sturdier."
"Aye," Gresha replied. "Built it special-like. Caravans been askin' for tougher stock lately. Longer routes. Rougher roads." She shrugged. "Didn't sell many. Folk don't like thinkin' they'll need somethin' like that."
Dijio reached out, lifting the pack gently. It had weight to it even empty. When he ran a hand along the inside lining, he felt the hidden reinforcement stitched between the layers.
"It'll last," Gresha added. "Weather, wear, whatever finds you."
Dijio nodded once. "I'll take this one."
Esmiel glanced at him, surprised—but she said nothing.
Gresha named the price. Dijio didn't haggle. He counted the coin carefully and placed it on the counter, the clink of metal sharp in the quiet shop.
"Well then," Gresha said, scooping the coins away. "May it serve ya better than you ever need it to."
Dijio offered a polite smile. "I hope so."
She wrapped the knapsack in cloth before handing it over. Dijio accepted it with both hands, slinging it over his shoulder. The weight settled against his back naturally—like it had been made for him.
Esmiel watched him adjust the straps. Her gaze lingered there a moment longer than before.
"Ready?" she asked softly.
"Yes," Dijio replied. "Let's head back."
They stepped outside into the sunlit streets once more. The noise of the market washed over them again—laughter, bargaining, the rhythm of ordinary life continuing without pause.
Dijio walked a little faster this time.
Not enough to draw attention. It didn't cause any alarm.
Just enough to tell Esmiel that something had changed.
The castle rose ahead of them, its white stone catching the afternoon light.
For now, at least.
Dijio adjusted the strap of the knapsack across his shoulder and kept forward, the distant rumor echoing quietly in his mind as Verdelle carried on—unaware of how close the road ahead truly was.