Not all wars were fought with swords. Some were won - or lost - in whispers, pacts and blood-tinged coins. The Market of Souls had no name on maps, nor was it advertised in any language. Only those willing to lose something irreplaceable could find it.
Kael and the hunters arrived after crossing a gorge hidden by fog. There, deep within an ancient cave system, the air smelled of iron, incense and decay. A subway city emerged between pillars of bone and blue fire.
The marketplace was alive.
Creatures with human forms and others closer to myths walked the corridors: faceless sorcerers, corpse traders, alchemists who bought magical skins and traffickers of other people's memories. Every corner was a contract, a betrayal, a secret.
Kael could not look away.
-Is all this... real? -he whispered.
-As real as death," Cuervo answered, handing him an obsidian mask. You are not Kael here. You do not exist. Talk less, listen more.
The rules of the market were simple:
Don't ask questions.
Don't look marked slaves in the eye.
Never say your real name.
Kael followed the group into one of the inner chambers. There, the exchange was more than merchandise: crystallized souls floated in urns, their colors reflecting their origin, their power... and their suffering. Some were fragments of fallen gods, others, spirits of legendary warriors trapped by forgotten rites.
An old man with four arms and stone skin was waiting for them.
-They seek power," he said, without raising his voice. All who come here do. But few understand the price.
Kael was drawn to an opaque sphere. Inside, something pulsed. It had no color, no definite shape... but it moved as if it were still breathing. As he touched it, his body reacted. His blood burned, and for a second, he heard a familiar voice:
"We're not so different, Kael. You've been sold too."
He recoiled.
-What was that? -he asked.
-A part of you you don't know yet," the old man replied. A soul without a name. Like you.
Kael bought nothing. But the market left him with an invisible scar.
He had seen what the world did to bodies.
He had felt what was done to souls.
And he understood that his war... would not only be physical.
He would have to protect what little he had left of himself.