"Some markets trade in gold.
Others… trade in what you try to forget."
It started with the coin.
A rusted circle of metal slipped under Lengaza's classroom door while no one looked.
No mark. No number.
Just a symbol: a single feather—splitting in two.
He picked it up, and instantly—the world tilted.
That night, the coin pulsed under his pillow. It buzzed like a heartbeat.
When he closed his eyes, he wasn't in his room anymore.
He was somewhere else.
The Echo Market.
It smelled like burnt paper and rain.
No sky, only floating lanterns.
No ground, only shifting glass beneath his feet.
Figures moved like ghosts through thick smoke. Some wore masks. Some didn't have faces at all.
They whispered in dozens of voices at once:
"Forgotten birthdays for sale…"
"Trade me your name, I'll give you a moment of joy…"
"One eye for one truth…"
Lengaza stumbled forward, holding the coin tightly.
"Looking for something, little lost one?"
A merchant with no arms and eyes stitched shut leaned toward him from a crooked stall.
"Your scent is… rare. You've been erased, haven't you?"
Lengaza took a step back.
"I'm looking for someone. Her name is Nyra."
The merchant's smile widened—though his mouth was invisible.
"Ah… the girl of feathers and forbidden code. You're late.
The Collector is already looking for her."
Suddenly, the Market fell silent.
A tall figure entered.
Smooth steps. No sound.
A long black coat swept behind him, and over his face—a mask with no mouth. Just two thin eye slits, glowing gold.
Every merchant, every ghost, every shadow bowed.
The Masked Collector had arrived.
Lengaza felt something inside his chest twist.
Terror.
Recognition.
And… shame.
He didn't know why.
"Bring me the boy," the Collector said.
His voice didn't come from the mask.
It came from inside Lengaza's mind.
"He should not exist."
Lengaza ran.
Through alleys of old dreams.
Through piles of discarded memories that screamed his name.
"Lengaza…"
"Lengaza…"
"Lengaza…"
He found a mirror. Looked in.
But the reflection was not him.
It was someone else.
Someone older. Broken. Dangerous.
Then a voice behind him:
"That was you… once."
He turned.
Nyra.
But her robe was torn. Her eyes were flickering like static.
"He's found us. The Collector. He'll unravel you unless—"
Suddenly, feathers burst in every direction like knives.
The Collector had arrived.