Artemis woke with the dawn's grey light bleeding through the plastic windows. Recalling the conversation he had with his mum, he sensed the lingering discomfort in her voice.
Do I really want to make her worry about my safety?
The thought was a constant knot. His desire to enlist was for her—to provide, to protect. The contradiction ached: to shield her, he had to step into danger.
"Blessed Bell, Miss Bulat," he greeted the ancient Brazenmarked woman next door, whose face was a road-map of grievances. Rumors said she was about two hundred and fifty years old—older than Ocela itself.. She answered with a grunt that could have meant anything.
He moved to the woodpile, the morning chill sharp in his lungs. Though Fleshborn, he had a laborer's strength. 'You have steady bones,' older fishermen often remarked, a backhanded compliment in a world that valued metal in your veins.
After stacking the split wood, he returned for breakfast: Hiem Butly–a stew of silverback pigeon parts. The birds were elusive and tough to kill, but the meat was always rich, a small luxury.
"Arty," Rhea began, her back to him as she cleaned the hearth ashes. "Have you thought of maybe just joining the Marines?"
He knew her logic. The geography of Lunateria meant naval battles were rare. Marines policed pirates and traded insults; they rarely bled. It was why they were a laughingstock, a dumping ground for useless Noble scions.
"I thought about it," he said, handing her the fresh firewood. "But admission is expensive. Military school is free. It's the only math that works."
Besides, he didn't add, the Marines are where dreams go to rust.
She paused, her shoulders tightening almost imperceptibly. "Fine. Will Arthur be going with you?"
He hadn't considered it. "I haven't told him. I only decided last night."
"Alright," she said, the word final.
"Let's eat. The farm needs me today."
***
"Blessed Bell, Yaya Anne," Artemis used the Tamajan word for 'Aunty' as he entered Arthur's house which, unlike his own, was made of concrete designed to weather the storms better.
"Artemis, welcome. How is your Oma?" she asked him. Her hands are busy with a bolt of violet fabric.
"She is fine, we thank the Heavenly Glass," He stepped into the parlor, clean and orderly.
"Arthur is upstairs helping Lyra clean her room. You can go and meet them."
The wooden stairs announced each step with a tired groan. Arthur's family was well-to-do; his father, Leon, was a city guard, and his mother was a prominent tailor in all of Ocela.
"You are genuinely disgusting, you know that?" Arthur's voice echoed from a doorway, followed by the flight of a rag that smelled of mildew and mystery.
"Takes one to know one!" Lyra's retort was swift. She dodged, and the rag found a new target: Artemis's face. He recoiled, gagging at the odor.
"Didn't that frog die under your—Art!" Lyra clapped her hands over her mouth, mortified. "Sorry! His fault!"
"Priceless! The look on your face, Art!" Arthur howled, holding his stomach.
"We need to get going. Rox would be really pissed if we miss the early market," Artemis said as he peeled the cloth from his face.
"Alright, but first help me get that shelf in here." he gestured to the shelf "Lyra, you will have to finish this mess on your own."
"Who said I needed your help?" she shot back, a proud pout on her lips.
On the road to the port, the air salty and windy, Artemis turned to Arthur.
"I've decided. I'm going to military school."
Arthur looked sideways at him, surprised. "Yeah... me too. My dad's been… suggesting it, but I didn't really want to." He kicked a pebble. "What changed your mind?"
"What Rox was saying made me think."
"Wait, you want to marry into a Noble House?" A grin ran across his face.
"No!" He shoved Arthur with his elbow while cringing at the thought. "Obviously I don't want to die in battle for glory or whatnot." He rolled his eyes. "But getting the job of a clerk or something like that should earn me enough money."
"What was that little shudder for? Do you think you could actually trick a Noble Lady to marry you?" Arthur glanced at Artemis.
"Of course," he said smugly. "I mean, if it's one of the dumb ones."
"Suuurrrree." Arthur nodded sarcastically. "Anyway, we better ask the Old Man what he thinks."
***
Normally, I'd shout that you're late and enjoy your pathetic excuses," Rox stated, not looking up from coiling a rope. "But not today."
"Why?" Arthur's head tilted like a curious hound.
"I'm in too good a mood." He pointed to two large, weaved baskets brimming with silver-scaled fish. "Carry those."
"He loves haggling with that merchant more than fishing," Arthur whispered as they hoisted the baskets, following Rox into the bustling heart of Callen.
"Trade is a war in itself," Artemis mused, adjusting his basket. "The act of trading is usually a zero-sum game."
"Not necessarily," Rox said over his shoulder, his voice carrying a strange, rare note of mentorship. "A fair trade is where both sides lose a little. Today, you meet one of my rare.. but good customers."
They walked to Callen–the commercial hub of Ocela, and even the surrounding cities. People from all over the Kingdom of Tamas and beyond came for the best seafood because of its proximity to the water; some even called it the Water City. Burot Jan Vion, the Noble Lord of Ocela, always encouraged the fishermen by providing loans to buy Reculators and other equipment.
"Aru'le, Cur'nu," Rox greeted in the guttural vowels of Makalan.
The Fleshborn who turned was of modest height, but in Ocela, where many fishermen were broad and towering, his five-foot-six stature seemed slight. His saffron-toned complexion wasn't the shallow shade of illness, but the rich, deep gold of someone from the waterless Inlands of Makal, where the very soil tinted the skin across generations. He looked like a man carved from amber, smiling with teeth dyed dark by vel nuts.
"Vio'cel," Cur'nu greeted back, his eyes crinkling. "Url Vin. How is my favorite customer?"
"Url Vin?" Arthur mumbled to Artemis.
"Uh, forgive my tongue. It means... how do you say it? People of coast." He snapped his fingers. "Yes, Coastlanders. Your Tamajan doesn't like my tongue sometimes," Cur'nu said with a smile. "Aha, come in, come in. What do you have for me?"
He ushered them into his makeshift shop, a cave of hanging spices and curious artifacts.
"Ten Deep-Skates. Twenty Silver-Heads," Rox announced, nodding for the boys to lower the baskets. The catch gleamed, metallic and fresh. "All thirty for two thousand Cowries."
The price hung in the air, absurdly low. Arthur fumbled his basket, catching it against his thigh with a grunt. Artemis's eyes cut from Rox's stoic face to Cur'nu's amused one.
"Ah, friend, you insult me, I always tell this," Cur'nu said, shaking his head. "Tell Zunit… I mean, the truth. I will know this thing, if you lie."
Rox sighed, a soft concession. "Fine. Five thousand Cowries. I've heard about the shortages in the Inlands. With the war coming."
"Bui'on! Don't disrespect my honor as a merchant." Cur'nu beat a fist against his chest. "I buy fair and sell fair. Five thousand Cowries it is, and I will add 200 Rukis for your boys."
He gestured to one of his servants to bring his coffer to take out the money.
Rox's voice lowered. "How are things, truly, in the Inlands? The rumors are dark. I wasn't sure you'd come."
"Nonsense, I am like wind; nothing can hold me," Cur'nu said. "And don't worry, the war is making everyone scared, that's why prices are high. We Makalis are peaceful people, you see. Your wars will not disturb us much."
"Thank the Heavenly Glass." Rox collected the bag of money but didn't even bother to count it. "When will you be coming back?"
"By the next Mukili festival. You people know how to celebrate."
They left the shop, swallowed again by the market's chaos. Shops peddled charms, glyph-marked doors promised fortunes, and mystical maps displayed predicted war-fronts in shimmering, dubious ink.
"Rox, why didn't you count the money?" Artemis asked, pushing past the crowd surrounding them. "Do you trust him that much?"
"Yes. People from Makal are very honest. People say it's because they were cursed by Zunit—a truth spirit—but I think it's just generally their honor."
Rox stopped at a spice shop. "Two jars of Illun pepper."
"That is twenty Rukis," the woman in the shop said, and Rox gave her the money.
"And also, as they cannot lie, they also always know when they're being lied to," Rox explained as he took the jars. "That's why they're the best merchants. Some say the person who created the Commercial Guild was Makal…"
His sentence died mid-breath. His entire body went still. His gaze locked onto a figure fifty paces away, slipping through the crowd with a familiar, ghostly gait.
He turned to the boys, his voice suddenly sharp.
"You guys carry the bags to my house and you're free tomorrow. I have some things to do."
His expression darkened as he turned away, walking purposefully in the direction of that figure, leaving Artemis and Arthur standing amidst the market noise.