The Royal Gardens were always considered one of the top spots in Fleettwixt for meeting up before going places. With its wide, spacious layout right in the foot of the castle, and its quiet, peaceful atmosphere, just as often as people came to visit, people also came to find each other before going somewhere else.

Amelia, thirty minutes late due to a delay on the Pomonok Line, entered the Royal Gardens in search of Korath, and found not a sign of the blue-skinned elf. Large, obnoxiously posed statues dotted the gardens like landmarks, and were the logical place for someone to stand and wait, but not Korath.

She worried for a moment that he might have gone ahead without her, but surely he was not so stupid as to face off against Castien alone—unless, of course, he wanted to join him instead.

He was a necromancer, but his dishonor did not stretch that far, she knew. Just playing coy somewhere around here, she was certain.

The Royal Gardens were beautiful past dark. As the sun set, the large spherical sculptures that separated the walkways revealed the mana lamps inside them and began to glow with a cool light that faded from a deep green to blue, then to indigo, before turning back into green.

She strolled down a row of multicolored roses, blooming out of season thanks to costly magical spells that kept the plants here happy and immune to the weather. The thorny vines poked out everywhere, and one specific rose jutted out just far enough out of its raised flowerbed that it entered the walkway. A young human child took waddling steps towards the plant and reached out a hand to touch the pretty flower—

Right before Amelia bent down and scooped them up.

They immediately started to cry. And loudly.

She set the child down before people began to look at her too closely. And then she grabbed that stray vine and tore it from its roots to prevent any future incidents. She took the rose too, just for safe keeping. It was white.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Behind her, Korath, wearing as always a well-cut suit and perfectly imperfect silver hair. He held out his hand. Reluctantly, Amelia placed the rose in his palm.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, attaching the rose to his suit like a lapel. “I heard about the delay on the Pomonok Line. Was that you?”

“What?”

“The explosion,” he said. “Blasted up Portside Station and killed an ambassador from the Toran Islands. A few dozen others, too. I just assumed you were late for finishing a job. Something like that.”

“No. I don’t do bombs.”

“Then it must have been Fleet’s Pride. Surprised you’re not with them yet.”

She said nothing. Especially nothing about the fact that she knew Fleet’s Pride, this rebel group, was deeply involved with Castien Brielwa himself and the synth drug trade.

Korath smiled in her silence. “You look ravishing, by the way. That jacket really works on you.”

“I know.”

“And isn’t this place gorgeous?” he asked, gesturing to the Royal Gardens around them. “A shame you’ll probably burn it down soon enough. I’m always at peace when I take walks here. The plants give off such a nice scent. Their mana radiates with a calming flavor.”

“Walks? You live around here?”

He looked at Amelia, knowingly smiling at her inquiry. “I live in Fleettwixt. For now. Perhaps not much longer if I get what I need.”

“Souls.”

“More than you can possibly imagine.”

“I can imagine a lot.”

“Then let’s bring it closer to a reality, shall we?” He beckoned her forward, as if to lead the way that she did not yet know. “Our meeting is in the Night Markets.”

“I’ve never been.”

“Oh, then you’ll love it. It’s one of the liveliest places in the whole city.”

Finally, they left the Royal Gardens, and the tip of Castle Fleettwixt soon sank past the countless buildings of ethnic neighborhoods and company offices. Were it not for the plentiful mana lamps that hung over every sidewalk on every street, this area would have faded into absolute darkness. Instead, it had the feel of a quaint and friendly night time.

They walked in silence through the small goblin neighborhood. It sported similarly sharp, angled architecture to Orctown—the two races both originated on the same continent—but not as vibrantly evocative of a distant continent and a homesick diaspora. The local businesses were all but closed up by this quite early hour. Not much going on here but a gaggle of goblins leaving their homes and heading down the street, all in the same direction.

The residential buildings were the same type of high-rise apartments as the rest of the city, but with shorter doors, and many more floors. The goblin population was high in the city, but the space here was limited, so they made use of what they had by essentially cleaving each floor in half. It meant no one but goblins and gnomes and shorter dwarves could feel comfortable, and some races could not even duck low enough to enter. Perhaps this was by design for repugnant exclusion, but despite that, the whole neighborhood still struck Amelia as cute. Countless thousands living in cramped spaces that a human or elf could hardly even fathom.

The crowd on the street alone told just how many people called this small neighborhood home. Amelia and Korath could hardly take a step without a goblin or two bumping into their legs as they passed them on the sidewalk. All of them going in the exact same direction.

“What’s with these goblins?” Amelia asked.

“They want the same thing we do,” Korath said. “A good time at a great place. The Night Markets.”

“Is this place going to be busy?”

“Let’s just say, if you have a coin purse on you, make sure it’s secure.”

“Got it.”

Very soon they were upon the Night Markets, and the cool dim neighborhood lights gave way to dazzling orange and whispy smoke rising from every which way. Tiny booths set up in front of ramshackle two-story buildings, lining down two whole city blocks in canned-fish levels of compactness. All the way from where they stood to the sky-high city walls half a district away, business boomed. And now it was not just rows of goblins, either; every race in the city mixed together in one big, savory melting pot.

The smell of smoked meat pervaded every single inch of the street. Amelia’s sense of smell dulled to the point that she simply decided to activate her system settings and turn it off.

Activating olfactory dampeners.

Sensory level at two percent.

I could go lower, but I imagine your mind would start to act funny if you completely lost a sense.

But I don’t know. I can’t smell.

“Thanks, Access Core,” she muttered.

You’re always welcome. It’s why I’m here.

I hope we can talk more often after your mission.

I’ve been thinking up a theory about your soul core.

“Yeah, okay.”

Amelia was unsure of the extent to which the Access Core could actually read her thoughts, so she decided to suppress the emotions of extreme annoyance that surged through her at the moment.

Korath looked back. “Talking to yourself again, eh? I thought you might have left that behind in Berryward.”

“It’s a golem thing.”

“I look forward to when all golems can speak, then. It’ll be amusing.”

“Where’s our meet up spot?”

Korath stopped and turned around to face her. Now, in the middle of the walkway, they were a nuisance to countless other beings around them. “I don’t know,” he said.

“You...”

“I was told to find a myxo, and it would lead us to where we need to go. Pretty simple, I think.”

“Clearly not.”

“Have a little patience, Amelia.” He smiled. “Let’s just enjoy ourselves. Soak in the Night Markets. See how the real people live.”

“We’re not real people?”

He shook his head. “We two are burdened with the knowledge that our lives are not ours to live. Those around us have no need to figure that out just yet.”

“That’s a bold assumption.”

“About you, or about everyone around us?” He turned back around and continued walking through the packed street. Stopped to buy a stick of fried kappa eggs—unfertilized, thankfully—and chomped at the tiny morsels. A delicacy to some, but disgusting to Amelia. He seemed to enjoy it.

The Night Markets were jammed up with booths on both sides of the street and sellers yelling out absurd discounts on useless junk or greasy food. Amelia remembered that Mino occasionally came out here to sell locally produced goods from Beechhurst, and wondered how far into the screaming spirit she got.

Korath slowed down and moved to Amelia’s side. He finished the last of his fried kappa eggs and tossed the empty stick on the ground. “Many people in Fleettwixt face pain and grief. Half the people here are castaways from distant lands, missing home but never able to return. Many have tragic loss of family and loved ones to deal with. Some struggle with addiction. All know what it feels like to fail and have others fail them. I empathize with all these people who flock to these streets for fun and cheap goods.”

“Yeah?” Was this leading anywhere?

“But these folk are not us, because they do not fight. We’re the lonely souls who know our paths are made to serve others, and let that dominate everything we do.”

Even in Berryward, she had not told Korath about her missing lover, about her year in the wilderness, about her grand mission. He had gathered it all on his own. Attempting to hide it would only have given away more of herself.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sure I’ve told you a little about myself, but I am not sure how much you realize the extent of my mission.”

“You’re a necromancer.”

“But why, you surely ask.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. And I trust you enough now. So let me give you some reassurance from my side of things.” Before he could continue, his eyes darted over to a booth on the other side of the street where a core elf vendor—faintly gold skin, hair in a bun, plain shirt and apron—had countless wooden trinkets on display, both small and large. She did not call to them or look around for customers at all; her attention was focused entirely on the block in her hands that she shaped into another figure.

“Mighty fine work you have,” Korath told the vendor as he took hold of a small human-shaped carving and felt its texture. “Artists deserve all the praise they get.”

“Thank you,” she said, not turning her head away from the work in progress. “Put the carving down, please.”

He complied. “Is this a hobby, or do you make a living from all this?”

“Hobby. It’s relaxing.”

“Even here in the Night Markets? Impressive. I wonder if that dissonance is reflected in the sheer quality of your work.”

“You’re very flattering,” the vendor said. “I hope you’re not looking for a discount.”

“By the Gods, no.” Korath gave the most transparently flirting smile Amelia had ever seen from someone not named Aeo Tatheth. “I’m just admiring the art. And the artist.”

Finally, she looked up to greet him, and from the look in her blank white eyes she seemed already won over. “Interested in learning woodwork?”

Something flickered across Korath’s face. “A one-on-one lesson, perhaps?”

“I could arrange that.”

“And of course, I’m looking to buy.” He scanned the figures on display and selected one with a monstrous bipedal shape. It was huge, over a foot tall, posed as if ready to strike down a foe. “What in blazes is this?”

She took the figure and showed it to him. “A minotaur. Half-man, half-beast. A lonely, monstrous being that roams the plains of Aukur, or in the jungles of Tibarn. They’re very mysterious.”

“Never heard of it,” Korath said. “Are you sure this isn’t just a messed-up centaur?”

“No. A completely different race.”

“I’ll take your word for it. All my friends would gawk if they saw this in my living room. I must have it. How much?”

The vendor blinked a few times. “For you? Eh, let’s say two gold.”

“Far too generous. How about six?” He took out his coin purse and clanked the pieces down one by one.

“Give me an address, and I’ll ship it over to you tomorrow. Does that sound good?”

“It sounds excellent,” he said after telling her a place out by New Saxonia. “Have a great rest of your night, um—”

“Thena,” she said. “See you, um—”

“Robiel.”

They parted ways, and Amelia gave a strange glare in Korath’s direction.

“That carving was worth at least ten gold,” he said. “I liked the look of it, but I wanted a bit better price.”

“So all of that...”

“Charm works just as well as fear, you know, Amelia. You should learn it sometime.”

“My face prevents that.” She pointed to the cracked rock and glowing purple from her false right eye.

“I’d really have to disagree. You’re gorgeous. Everyone says so.”

“Gorgeous and charming are not the same.”

Korath shrugged. “I’d have to disagree with that, too. But unfortunately, I wouldn’t know. I was cursed to be born with both qualities.”

“What a shame.”

After a minute, she added, “...Minotaurs aren’t real. Right?”

“Gods, no,” he said. “A child’s fantasy of a centaur but backwards. It’s hilarious just to imagine it.”

“I’ve never even heard of Aukur or Tibarn,” Amelia added.

“But the carving looks neat, at least. I’ll display it in my apartment.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.” He laughed with absolute insincerity. His sense of lightly dabbed humor faded with every step away from the vendor, and a tranquil chill took back over his gait, his voice. “We should be looking more for that myxo. It’s got to be around here somewhere.”

“I’m scanning for it.” Myxos in all their forms had a very distinct mana signature, so the Scan Module should have been able to ping it relatively easily. However, nothing came up just yet in a street this packed.

“Good.” Korath sighed. “I didn’t quite give you the ability to trust me yet, did I?”

“No.” And he never would.

“Then let me.”