Sera locked up her shop with a practiced flick of her wrist, the shutters clattering into place as the street outside continued to hum with midday life. Alinda watched her do it, amused, crimson eyes dipping down and then back up again.
"You ever notice," Alinda said lightly, "how unfair it is that the world insists on making alchemists pocket-sized?"
Sera shot her a look over her shoulder. "I am not pocket-sized."
Alinda smirked. "Compared to them?" She gestured vaguely toward Tar, who was already crouching to avoid taking out a signpost with his horns, and then to Neo, who still managed to look tall even when he tried not to. "You're practically a collectible."
Sera huffed but didn't argue. She adjusted her robes and fell into step beside them as they headed down the street.
Black Hollow Remedies wasn't hard to find.
You could hear it before you saw it.
A crowd had gathered in a loose semicircle around a raised platform set up in front of the shop, voices overlapping with excited murmurs and half-breathed disbelief. A banner hung overhead, dark cloth stitched with pale lettering, the name almost understated for something that drew this much attention. Alinda noted that immediately. A shop that powerful didn't need to shout.
Neo slowed as they approached, unease prickling along his spine. Tar shifted closer without comment, his bulk a silent wall at Neo's back.
"They always look amazed," Sera murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "No matter how many times they've seen it."
Alinda's gaze swept the crowd. "People like miracles. Especially when they come with blood."
At the centre of it all stood the announcer.
He was animated, voice carrying easily over the noise, hands moving as if the air itself were part of the performance. "Step right up! You've all heard the stories, you've all seen the scars vanish but today today you get to witness it up close!"
A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd.
"Now," the announcer continued, grin wide and unapologetic, "I won't lie to you. It will hurt. Just for a moment. Pain reminds us we're alive, yes?"
A few nervous laughs followed.
"Who's brave enough to volunteer?"
There was a pause. Then a man stepped forward young, broad-shouldered, trying very hard to look fearless. The announcer clasped his hand enthusiastically and guided him onto the platform.
"Excellent choice, my friend. Roll up the sleeve, if you would."
Neo felt his stomach tighten.
The blade flashed.
The volunteer cried out as the cut was made clean, brutal, severing arm from body in one decisive motion. Blood sprayed across the platform, and the crowd gasped as one.
"Drink!" the announcer barked.
The volunteer barely needed to be told. He downed the potion in a single, shaking gulp.
What followed made Neo's breath catch despite himself.
Bone pushed forward first, pale and wet, knitting itself together with an audible crackle. Muscle followed, fibers weaving and thickening as if pulled by invisible hands. Skin flowed over it last, sealing the limb whole again, unbroken, unmarred.
The crowd erupted.
The volunteer stared at his restored arm in disbelief, flexing his fingers, laughing breathlessly. "I I can feel it. Gods, I can feel it!"
The announcer beamed, turning to the crowd. "Another life made whole! Give him a hand!"
And then, almost as an afterthought, he picked up the severed arm from the table and held it out. "A souvenir, as promised."
The volunteer took it, grinning like he'd won a prize.
Alinda watched without blinking.
Neo swallowed hard. "That shouldn't be possible," he whispered.
"No," Alinda replied quietly. "It shouldn't."
The announcer let the applause fade just enough before lifting a hand again, smile never leaving his face.
"Now," he said, voice warm and inviting, "some of you might be wondering whether what you've seen only works on fresh wounds. Cuts. Losses that just happened." He paced slowly, letting the question hang. "What about injuries that have been there for years? Ones that grow with the body. Ones that twist bone, strain muscle, and steal futures before they ever begin?"
That caught the crowd.
From the side of the platform, a family was guided forward. A man and woman dressed plainly, their clothes well-worn but clean, hands resting protectively on the shoulders of their daughter. The girl leaned heavily on a wooden walking stick, knuckles white where she gripped it. One leg bent inward at a wrong angle, the foot turned just enough that every step had clearly been a careful negotiation with pain.
"This," the announcer said, lowering himself slightly to the girl's height, "is Mira."
Her name rippled through the crowd.
"Mira's parents work the river docks," he continued, gesturing to them kindly. "Good, honest labor and today today they've been chosen for Black Hollow's weekly gift. A full restorative draught."
Mira's eyes were wide, darting between the crowd and the bottle in the announcer's hand. She swallowed. "Will it hurt?"
The announcer didn't laugh. He didn't deflect. He knelt fully this time, meeting her gaze. "Yes," he said gently. "It will hurt but only for a little while and I won't let go of you."
She hesitated, then nodded, small and brave.
The potion was placed in her hands. Her fingers trembled as she drank.
At first there was only silence.
Then her scream split the air.
It wasn't theatrical. It wasn't the sharp cry of a quick wound. It was raw, panicked, pulled from somewhere deep in her chest as her body began to rebel against what was happening to it. Her leg jerked violently, the twisted bone forcing itself straight with a wet, grinding crack that made several people in the crowd turn away in horror.
Muscle tightened and shifted beneath her skin, pulling and reforming as if invisible hands were tearing it apart and rebuilding it in the same breath. Veins stood out dark and swollen. Her fingers clawed desperately at the announcer's arm, nails digging in so hard they broke skin, blood welling where she held him.
He didn't pull away.
"Easy," he murmured, voice steady, calm, grounding. "You're doing so well. I've got you."
Mira sobbed, body shaking as her leg finished realigning. Her scream dissolved into broken gasps, her face streaked with tears and sweat, eyes glassy with pain and shock. When it finally stopped, she sagged forward, exhausted, breath hitching in short, uneven pulls.
The announcer caught her easily, supporting her weight as if she were weightless.
"Slow now," he said. "Let your body catch up."
The crowd was silent.
Mira was set gently back on her feet. She swayed, instinctively reaching for her walking stick then stopped.
Her leg was straight.
Tentatively, she placed weight on it. She stumbled, unfamiliar with balance she had never known, and the announcer was there instantly, steadying her before she could fall.
"Again," he encouraged softly.
This time, she stood.
Perfectly.
Her parents broke. Her mother covered her mouth, tears streaming freely as her father dropped to his knees, laughter and sobs tangled together. The crowd erupted cheers, applause, voices raised in awe and gratitude.
Mira took one careful step.
Then another.
Her face crumpled, overwhelmed, and she laughed through her tears, half-running into her parents' arms.
Even Alinda hadn't expected that.
The brutality of it the sheer violence required to correct something so deeply ingrained sat heavy in her chest. That wasn't healing in the way people understood it. It was forceful correction. A body being overruled.
Neo turned to her, eyes wide, searching her face for reassurance.
What he found instead made his breath catch.
Alinda's expression was tight, eyes narrowed, jaw set hard enough that muscle jumped along her cheek. She wasn't shaken.
She was angry.
"That," she said quietly, voice edged like a blade, "should not work that cleanly."
Neo swallowed. "But… it helped her."
"Yes," Alinda replied, gaze never leaving Mira as she was lifted into her parents' embrace. "And it hurt her more than it ever should have."
The announcer was already basking in the crowd's devotion again, spinning the moment into praise and promise but Alinda barely noticed anymore. Her focus had narrowed to the potion, the process, the implications threading together with sickening clarity.
Whatever Black Hollow Remedies was offering the city…
…it demanded a price no one here yet understood.
The announcer waited for the cheers to crest again before lifting both hands, his grin widening as if he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
"And because today's miracle belongs to all of you," he called out, voice carrying easily over the crowd, "Black Hollow Remedies is proud to announce a special honor for this week's winner."
The murmurs rose, anticipation rippling through the gathered mass.
"Just for today," he continued, drawing it out, "the price of our restorative draught drops from fifty gold… to ten."
For half a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then the street exploded.
Cheers broke out, loud and uncontrolled. People grabbed each other, shouting over one another in disbelief. A woman near the front laughed and cried at the same time, clutching her friend's arm. "I can finally heal him," she kept repeating. "Gods, I can finally heal my husband."
Another man threw his fist into the air, friends slapping his back and cheering as if they'd just won a war. "Ten gold! That's nothing! I spend more on ale in a month!"
Alinda watched it all without reacting.
Her face remained calm, composed, even faintly amused if anyone had been looking closely. Inside, something burned hot and sharp. This wasn't generosity. It was bait and the crowd was rushing toward it with open arms.
Sera stood stiff beside her, color draining from her face. "Ten gold," she whispered. "That's… that's almost anyone."
Alinda nodded slightly, eyes still on the platform.
The announcer wasn't done.
"And for those unfortunate enough to miss today's blessing," he added smoothly, "fear not. For a limited time after, the price will remain reduced only thirty gold."
Another wave of cheers followed, though this one carried a different edge relief rather than pure excitement.
Sera's hands curled into the fabric of her robes. "That's still low," she murmured. "Lower than anything like this should ever be. People will line up for it."
"They already are," Alinda replied.
Indeed, the crowd was shifting, reorganizing itself instinctively into something resembling a queue, people already counting coins, already planning who would drink and who would wait.
Alinda's gaze swept over them the desperate, the hopeful, the pragmatic, the greedy. None of them saw the trap. They saw a miracle made affordable.
She exhaled slowly, keeping her anger buried deep. Losing control here would help no one.
"This is how it spreads," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Not through force. Through kindness people can afford."
Sera swallowed, eyes fixed on the growing line. "If even half the city buys it…"
Alinda's eyes hardened. "Then half the city belongs to it."
The announcer continued to speak, voice warm and triumphant but Alinda barely heard him anymore. Her focus had narrowed, threading together everything she'd seen the brutality of the healing, the sickness in the city, the Rupture, the Archon of Threads.
This wasn't just a business.
It was a web being sold, one coin at a time.
Neo felt it before he understood it.
Alinda hadn't moved. She stood where she was, arms loose at her sides, posture relaxed enough that no one in the crowd gave her a second glance but something in her had shifted. The air around her felt tighter, heavier, like a drawn bowstring.
He looked up at her face and his breath caught.
The black sclera of her eyes seemed darker than before, swallowing the light, her red irises sharp and restless as they tracked the crowd. Not unfocused rage calculating rage. The kind that weighed distances, exits, bodies. The kind that decided how much damage could be done before anyone realized what was happening.
She looked like she was deciding whether to tear the place apart.
Neo swallowed and stepped a little closer to Tar, instinctively seeking the solid certainty of the minotaur's presence. Tar noticed immediately, shifting just enough to block Neo from the crowd without making it obvious.
"Alinda," Neo said quietly.
She didn't respond.
The announcer was still talking, still smiling, still feeding the crowd lines about generosity and healing but Neo barely heard him anymore. His attention stayed fixed on her. He'd seen her angry before teasing-angry, sharp-tongued, amusedly cruel.
This was different.
This was the kind of anger that preceded violence.
"Alinda," he tried again, softer. "You're… you're scaring people."
That did it.
Her gaze snapped to him, the heat in it startling, and for half a heartbeat he wondered if he'd made a mistake. Then something in her expression shifted. Not gone but restrained. Like claws retracting just enough not to draw blood.
She exhaled slowly through her nose.
"I know," she said, voice low. Controlled. "That's why I'm not doing anything."
Neo hesitated. "You look like you want to."
"I do."
Her eyes flicked back to the crowd people laughing, crying, counting coins, already planning whose pain would be erased next. "But ripping this place apart right now wouldn't stop anything. It would just make them martyrs and martyrs sell better than miracles."
Sera edged closer, voice barely above a whisper. "If you're thinking of stopping them…"
"I'm thinking of understanding them," Alinda cut in. "Who's behind this. Who benefits and how deep it goes."
Neo's chest tightened. "And if you don't?"
Alinda's lips curved but there was no humor in it. "Then eventually," she said softly, "someone else will tear it apart and it won't be clean."
She looked down at him then, really looked at him, and some of the fire dimmed not gone, never gone but banked, controlled.
"You did good," she said again, quieter this time. "You noticed."
Neo frowned slightly. "Noticed… what?"
"That this wasn't just noise," Alinda replied. "That the smiles didn't match what was happening underneath. That people weren't just happy they were desperate and being guided where desperation is easiest to exploit."
She tapped two fingers lightly against his temple, not unkindly. "Most people don't read rooms. They read stories. Whatever they're told loudest, they believe. You didn't."
Neo swallowed, unsure how to take that. "I just… felt like something was wrong."
"That's not 'just,'" Alinda said. "That's awareness. Pattern sense. The ability to look at people and see what they're about to do, not what they're pretending to do."
Her gaze sharpened slightly, appraising rather than intimidating. "You're not some lost kid stumbling through things he doesn't understand. You see more than you think. More than most ever will."
Neo looked away, heat creeping up his neck. "Doesn't feel like it most of the time."
"It never does," she said. "That's how you know it's real."
Behind them, the crowd surged again as another batch of potions was brought out, hope swelling louder than reason. Alinda's eyes flicked back to the platform, jaw tightening once more but this time, the anger was tempered by intent.
She straightened, voice steady. "Remember that instinct. Trust it. It'll keep you alive when everyone else is too busy cheering."
Neo nodded slowly.
For the first time since they'd arrived, he didn't feel small.
He felt alert.
Alinda exhaled once, long and controlled, then rolled her shoulders as if settling a decision into place.
"Alright," she said flatly. "Time for shopping."
No theatrics. No teasing grin. Just intent.
She stepped forward and merged with the line, letting the flow of bodies carry her toward the entrance of Black Hollow Remedies. The announcer had already disappeared inside, voice fading behind the door as attendants began ushering people forward in orderly increments.
Tar stopped short of the threshold.
The doorway wasn't built for him, and even if it had been, his instincts told him not to follow. He folded his arms and took up position just outside, massive frame becoming part of the scenery unmissable, immovable.
Sera lingered beside him, hands twisting at the edge of her sleeves. She adjusted her round glasses repeatedly, eyes fixed on the door as though it might bite her. "I… I'll stay here," she murmured. "I don't like places that look at you like you're a coin purse."
Tar gave a low, agreeable huff.
Neo hesitated, torn between staying with them and following Alinda. He glanced up just in time to see her several people ahead now, back straight, attention narrowed entirely on the entrance. She wasn't looking around. Wasn't scanning for reactions. She was done observing from the outside.
He made his choice and slipped into the line after her.
Inside, the movement was slow and deliberate, one customer at a time. Coins changed hands. Bottles passed across counters. Quiet reassurances were given. The promise of relief hung thick in the air.
Alinda didn't look back.
She didn't check to see if Neo was still there. Didn't signal to Tar or Sera. Her focus was locked forward, eyes fixed on the dark interior beyond the door, where whatever machinery social or otherwise made this work was hidden from the street.
Neo watched her from a distance, noting the way her posture was different now. Less playful. Less openly dangerous. This wasn't hunting.
It was infiltration.
The line inched forward.
Behind him, Sera shifted nervously beside Tar, the minotaur a silent bulwark at her side. Ahead, Alinda passed beneath the threshold without a word, swallowed by the shop's shadows.
Neo followed, heart beating a little faster, knowing without quite knowing why that whatever waited inside was going to matter far more than any miracle sold out front.
Alinda disappeared inside before Neo reached the threshold, swallowed by the doorway along with the announcer and the next wave of eager customers. The line shuffled forward slowly, coins clinking, voices low and excited. By the time Neo stepped inside, the noise from the street dulled behind him, replaced by something heavier quieter, controlled.
The interior was far larger than the storefront had any right to be.
The space stretched wide and deep, the walls opening into adjoining structures on either side as if the shop had quietly consumed its neighbors. Archways led off into side rooms, counters arranged with deliberate spacing, attendants moving with rehearsed efficiency. Lanternlight glowed warm against dark wood and stone, hiding corners more than illuminating them. It felt less like a shop and more like a venue designed to manage crowds.
Neo's eyes searched instinctively for Alinda.
She was nowhere in sight.
A flicker of unease crept up his spine. He took another step forward and then a finger tapped his shoulder.
He flinched.
Alinda stood right behind him, close enough that he hadn't heard her breathe. She'd positioned herself just inside the door, partially hidden by a support beam, eyes scanning the room with calm precision. She must have waited there deliberately.
"Don't talk," she murmured, voice low enough that it barely carried past him. "Not unless I tell you to."
Neo nodded automatically.
"And if anyone asks who you are," she continued, her mouth curving into a dry, almost lazy smirk, "you're my boytoy."
The word hit him like a stumble.
"What " he started, then stopped himself as her gaze sharpened.
The smirk didn't reach her eyes.
She leaned closer, just enough for him to smell iron and smoke beneath whatever scent she wore. "I'm serious," she said quietly. "People ask fewer questions when they think they already know the answer."
Neo swallowed. Heat crept up his neck not embarrassment so much as the realization that this wasn't teasing. Not really. It was a role. A shield.
"Just follow," she added. "Look pretty. Listen. Remember."
He nodded again, slower this time.
Alinda straightened and stepped forward, already blending back into the flow of customers, confidence in every movement. Neo followed a half-step behind her, suddenly very aware of where he was placing his feet, of who might be watching, of how easily he could be mistaken for something he wasn't or something he was trying very hard not to be.
The doors closed behind them.
And whatever Black Hollow Remedies truly was, Neo had the sense they were now fully inside its web.
They moved deeper into the shop, slipping into the slow current of customers drifting between the aisles. Shelves lined the walls in careful symmetry, each stacked with dark glass bottles sealed with wax of different colours. Small placards sat beneath them, etched with neat lettering.
Neo's eyes flicked from one to the next as Alinda slowed, pretending to browse.
"Tier One," she murmured idly, lifting a bottle just long enough to glance at the label before setting it back. "Cuts. Burns. Minor internal damage."
They walked on.
"Tier Two," she continued, fingers trailing across another shelf. "Organ repair. Bone mending. Muscle regeneration. Longer recovery time."
Neo swallowed, remembering the demonstration.
Alinda stopped briefly at the next section, head tilting as if impressed. "Tier Three," she said softly. "Full restoration. Structural correction. Congenital flaws."
Her tone was light, almost amused but her eyes were sharp, tracking reflections in the glass, watching attendants, counting exits.
Neo noticed how none of the customers questioned the tiers. They accepted the structure easily, as if pain and healing naturally came in neat, purchasable levels.
They passed a counter where an attendant was carefully explaining dosage to an elderly man, emphasizing the importance of drinking it immediately. Neo caught the repetition on the spot, no delays, no sharing.
Alinda nodded approvingly, as if she were just another intrigued buyer. "Efficient," she muttered. "They've thought this through."
She lifted another bottle, turning it so the lanternlight caught the liquid inside. It shimmered faintly, darker than the rest. "Funny thing, though," she added under her breath. "No Tier Four."
Neo leaned closer without speaking.
"You'd think," Alinda went on, setting the bottle back, "that if you're already breaking bodies apart and putting them back together, you'd sell something that goes even further."
She moved again, heels clicking softly on stone, posture relaxed, expression bored. Neo followed, playing his part, keeping his eyes low, saying nothing.
The aisles narrowed slightly as they reached the back of the shop. Fewer customers lingered here. The bottles were fewer too, spaced wider apart, their labels more restrained.
Alinda slowed, pretending to weigh her options then she stiffened.
Not much. Just enough that Neo noticed.
Her gaze had caught on a side corridor narrower, less adorned, partially obscured by hanging cloth. A door stood there, darker than the others, its surface unmarked. Before Neo could ask, it opened.
The announcer stepped through, voice low now, all warmth stripped away. Beside him walked a man in fine noble attire, rings flashing on his fingers, his expression tight with something between anticipation and fear. No one else seemed to pay them any attention.
Alinda didn't hesitate.
She shifted her path smoothly, drifting toward the corridor as if it had always been her intention. By the time Neo realized she was moving off the main floor, she was already at the door. It closed softly behind her and him.
She turned to him at once, hand lifting. "Wait here," she said under her breath. "If anyone comes through, make sure they don't see me."
Neo frowned, glancing back toward the shop floor. "What if they "
He turned back.
Alinda was gone.
Not slipping away. Not hiding behind something. Simply gone, as if she had never been there at all.
Neo froze, heart kicking hard in his chest. He stared at the empty corridor, the closed door ahead of him, the quiet hum of the shop bleeding faintly through the walls.
She hadn't just moved fast.
She'd vanished.
Swallowing, Neo took his place where she'd told him to stand, forcing himself to breathe evenly, to look bored, to look harmless. Whatever Alinda was doing now, it was already beyond him.
And all he could do was make sure no one noticed the space she'd left behind.
A voice broke the quiet at his side.
"Do you need any help?"
Neo startled despite himself.
The worker stood close too close for how quietly he'd approached. He looked young, barely older than Neo by human standards, slight of build, dark hair cut short and neat. His clothes marked him as staff but there was something off about the way he stood. Too still. Too attentive.
Neo almost shook his head on reflex.
Then he caught himself and nodded instead, remembering Alinda's instructions. "Uh yeah," he said, keeping his tone casual. "I don't really get the difference between the tiers."
The worker smiled quickly, relieved, and gestured toward the shelves. "It confuses a lot of people. Think of it like depth. The lower tiers handle surface injuries cuts, breaks, simple trauma. Higher tiers…" He trailed off, fingers hovering over a darker vial. "They go deeper. Inside."
Neo followed his hand, trying not to tense. The worker leaned in slightly, too interested, his gaze flicking back to Neo again and again instead of the bottles. Not leering. Studying.
Neo's unease sharpened.
They stood shoulder to shoulder now, both looking at the vials. The worker spoke again, casually, as if asking about the weather.
"So," he said, "how is Thal?"
The name hit Neo like a blade between the ribs.
His breath caught. His thoughts scattered. For a split second, he forgot every rule Thal had drilled into him about control. Slowly, carefully, he turned his head.
The worker's eyes were no longer human.
Black sclera swallowed the whites completely, and at their centre burned a bright, unmistakable purple iris alive, luminous, Voth.
Neo's heart slammed against his chest.
The worker tilted his head, studying Neo's reaction with open curiosity. "Why so shocked?" he asked lightly. "We should stick together. Us Kruul."
Neo took a half-step back before he could stop himself. Fear crept in fast, cold and sharp. This was exactly what Thal had warned him about being seen, being known. His mind raced through options and found none.
"I I don't " he started, then stopped, unsure what not to say.
The man raised his hands slowly, palms open. "Easy," he said. "Relax. I'm being kind by showing you who I am. For now."
"For now," echoed unpleasantly in Neo's head.
The worker smiled again, softer this time but there was something predatory under it. "Name's Velmyn," he said. "And you, young Voth, are very far from where you should be."
Neo swallowed hard.
Every instinct screamed at him to run to find Thal, to find Alinda but he forced himself to stay still, to breathe, to listen.
Because whatever Velmyn was… he hadn't raised his voice.
And that somehow made it worse.