The chime of the rusty bell died away quickly in the heavy air of the shop. Inside, the atmosphere was radically different from the electric bustle of the Iron Market. Here, the air was stagnant, heavy with the smell of millennial dust, old paper, and oxidized metal. Rotting wooden shelves rose to the invisible ceiling, sagging under the weight of miscellaneous objects: misaligned gears, broken telescope lenses, and parchments whose ink had been erased by time. To Leon, everything here seemed to be nothing more than a pile of defective counterfeits and useless junk.
— Welcome, traveler, a quavering voice rose from the back of the room.
An old man emerged from the shadows. His eyes were covered by a milky white veil, a sign of total blindness, yet he moved with surprising ease, his fingers brushing the counters as if he were reading an invisible map.
— Do not trust appearances, he resumed with an enigmatic smile. My shop houses many priceless treasures for those who know how to look with something other than their eyes. My name is Silas. And you, young man, you carry a very heavy shadow on your shoulders.
Leon did not answer. He began searching through bins of components, moving dull crystal fragments and severed mana cables. The more he searched, the more his frustration grew. Everything he touched was a disappointment. In a gesture of annoyance, he tapped the floor with the tip of his boot, kicking up a layer of dust.
— Nothing... he grunted. There is nothing here.
Silas tilted his head, as if listening to a sound Leon did not perceive.
— What is a young man looking for with such urgency?
— A monster core, Leon replied curtly. A core capable of supporting the awakening of a heart of magic, but I feel like I'm wasting my time.
The old man gave a dry little laugh, like the rustling of old parchment.
— The exam... always the Institute. But wait. The sound your heart makes... that erratic rhythm I heard as soon as you pushed open the door... it reminds me of something. An object that vibrates in the same way deep in my chests.
Silas stepped away for a few moments into the back room, from which came the sounds of latches being manipulated. When he returned, he held a tin box in his trembling hands, blackened by oxidation. He placed it on the counter with care.
— Look at this.
Leon opened the box, and his last hopes instantly vanished. Inside lay a core the size of an apple—an unusual, almost monstrous dimension. But what truly despaired him was its color: a deep black, marbled with purplish veins that seemed to throb beneath the surface. According to the fundamental principles his father had taught him, clarity was the only indicator of purity. A black core was the very antithesis of magic; it was waste, a dead stone saturated with impurities or, worse, corruption.
He looked at the old man. Silas was smiling, his white eyes fixed toward the ceiling. Leon felt a pang of pity tighten in his throat. What shitty supplier could have swindled this poor blind man by selling him this horror as a treasure? he thought. Silas seemed so proud of his find, so convinced of its authenticity.
— It's... it's very impressive, Leon finally said, unable to break the old man's heart by telling him the truth.
— It is yours for thirty silver pieces, Silas said. It's a paltry price, I know, but I feel this object already belongs to you. I've lived alone here since my wife passed away twenty years ago. Customers are rare, and conversations even more so. Consider this a parting gift for a future great mage.
Leon looked at his pouch. Thirty silver pieces represented a huge portion of what he had left. Buying this useless stone was pure madness, financial suicide three weeks before the exam. But seeing Silas's wrinkled face and thinking of his own solitude, he couldn't bring himself to abandon him. He placed the coins one by one on the counter.
— I'll take it, Silas. Thank you.
— No, thank you, Leon, the old man replied, clutching the coins to himself. And be careful... sometimes, the purest light hides in the deepest darkness.
Back in his inn room, bitterness overwhelmed Leon. On the rickety table, he lined up his trophies of the day: the light orange core obtained in extremis at the market, the dull and cracked yellow one, and this black monstrosity that seemed to absorb the faint glow of his oil lamp. He had spent his entire day chasing opportunities only to end up with debris.
After a freezing shower in the common room down the hall and a dinner of stale bread and watery soup, he threw himself onto his straw mattress. Fatigue took him, but rest was short-lived.
The nightmare returned, more violent than ever.
He saw the flames licking the marble columns of Scala ad Caelum. He saw his father, Regis, and the members of his family lined up on the central square, under the bloody banner of the Golden Lion. He saw the blades gleaming under the moon. And then, the corpses rose, their eyes bloodshot, pointing skeletal fingers at him.
— Why did you leave? they screamed. Why did you let us die?
Leon woke up with a start, his body drenched in sweat, his cry muffled by the darkness of the room. He stayed for long minutes staring at the ceiling, his heart pounding. Five years, and the wound had never closed.
The next morning, he left the inn at dawn, determined not to waste another second. The streets of Celestia were beginning to wake up in the morning mist. As he skirted a narrow alley leading toward the wealthy districts, a sound stopped him cold. A cry. Brief, muffled, but charged with pure terror.
Leon pressed himself against the wall and moved forward with the discretion of a predator. At the end of the alley, two men in their thirties, dressed in dilapidated leather coats, were fussing near a pile of crates. One of them held a massive burlap sack, its sides moving in jerks.
— Damn it, I told you not to do it! hissed the first one, casting nervous glances toward the main street. Now we're in deep trouble.
— Shut up! the second replied, clutching the bag to him. Look, I managed to get her. It was so simple. Now we just have to exchange her with that man and wealth is ours. We'll never be nobodies again.
— Nobody saw you? Are you sure? How can a girl like her be without supervision?
— Shh! Watch what you say, the second replied with a predatory smile. I just followed the stranger's plan. He told me that at dawn, she would try to run away from her residence. I only had to pluck her. Nobody saw me, you're worrying for nothing. Let's go to the rendezvous point.
The man threw the bag over his shoulder. Leon then heard a muffled sob emanating from the canvas, a groan of distress that confirmed his suspicions. It wasn't merchandise. It was a kidnapping. And given the kidnappers' previous discussion, the victim was no ordinary person.
Leon felt the mana burn in his veins, still unawakened but driven by a sudden rage. He couldn't let this happen. Not again.