Chapter 8: Rumors at the Market and Joey's Decision
Thursday morning progressed, and the heat was already making itself felt around 10 AM.
At the street market, after the brief glimpse of the silver-haired figure, Léo couldn't get the subject out of his head.
"Man, I swear I saw someone who looked a lot like the description of the 'elf' who disappeared in the park last week," he commented to his friends, while they shared a pastel and a glass of sugarcane juice.
"Silver hair, kinda pointy ears... she passed by Zé das Couves' stall real quick."
"Oh, Léo, you and your conspiracy theories," one of his friends laughed. "Must be some girl in a costume trying to get attention. the city's full of weird people lately."
"Could be," Léo admitted, "but it was strange. She looked... scared."
The image of the elusive figure stuck in his mind. He decided that, after soccer, he might swing by the central library, just to "check out the news."
Meanwhile, Lyra, with the apple carefully hoarded, had managed to get away from the bustle of the market.
She found a small, wooded square, less crowded, and sat on a concrete bench in the shade of a mango tree, watching children play in the distance and pigeons peck at the ground.
The apple, though small and a bit bruised, was the most substantial food she'd had in days.
She ate it slowly, savoring each bite, her distrust of this strange world still strong, but the young human's small kindness the night before and the relative normality of the market (despite the stares) made her question if everyone here would be threatening.
At home, Joey fought his own inner demons. The feeling of having helped Pip was good, a rare positive reinforcement, but the anxiety about what to do next was paralyzing.
He thought of Lyra. Was she okay? Had she found more food?
The image of her in the alley, hungry and scared, wouldn't leave his mind.
He felt a deep empathy for her, this vulnerable being so out of place.
His dream of a world without wars or evil seemed to mock him; how could he dream of something so grand if he couldn't even help a single lost person? This thought echoed his tendency to be his own worst critic.
"I have to at least try to see if she's okay," he thought, his heart already starting to race at the mere idea of venturing out again, a typical reaction when he had to make decisions alone.
"Maybe... maybe I can leave another cereal bar near the library. Without her seeing me."
The idea of anonymous action was a little less terrifying.
It also circumvented his fear of direct social interaction.
He remembered the satisfaction of having helped Pip that way; giving felt more comfortable to him than receiving.
It was a tiny step, but it was a step in trying to overcome his problems.
Kael, the Tracker, continued his discreet patrol. After observing the activity at the market, his attention turned to the central library.
The symbols Joey and Lyra had observed the previous night were indeed dimensional transit markers, some ancient, others surprisingly recent.
Their concentration in that area indicated it could be an arrival or departure point, or perhaps a place where the veil between dimensions was particularly thin.
He noted Lyra's presence in the square near the library but decided to keep his distance for now, observing her interactions – or lack thereof – with the environment.
Pip, in her hideout, finally managed to get her portal locator to emit a weak signal. The recovered gear was crucial.
The map fragment, however, indicated that the nearest stable portal was a considerable distance away, and traversing it would require an energy charge she didn't currently possess.
She needed to find a concentrated and safe power source, something that seemed scarce in this world of noisy, dispersed technology.
In the makeshift detention center, Zylar received his meal – something the locals called "rice with beans and steak" – with growing frustration.
Attempts to explain the complexity of his situation seemed futile.
He began to consider that perhaps cooperation wasn't the best strategy. He needed to find a way to access his data, to contact someone, anyone, in his own system.
Joey, after much internal debate, a process fraught with his usual worry and self-doubt, took two cereal bars from his emergency stash, put them in his jacket pocket, and took a deep breath.
"It's just a walk," he told himself, trying to minimize the perceived threat to his security.
"No one needs to know."
He left the house, the late morning sun already strong, heading towards the city center, his heart torn between fear—a constant companion—and a new, fragile hope that perhaps, just perhaps, his actions could make a small difference.
It was almost 11:00 AM on that Thursday, and the sun was already warming the streets. Joey walked towards the city center, the two cereal bars in his jacket pocket feeling like they weighed a ton, each one a symbol of his fragile, newfound resolve.
Each step was a small battle against the voice in his head, the one that echoed his social phobia, telling him to return to the safety of his room, to the familiarity of his solitude where his security wasn't threatened.
But the image of Lyra, hungry and scared—a clear instance of someone oppressed and in need—was a powerful counterpoint, fueling his protective instincts.
The streets were moderately busy; people were doing their weekend shopping, families strolled, the sound of conversations and occasional traffic filled the air.
To any casual observer, Joey was just another young man walking through the city, perhaps a little downcast, his gaze often lowered, perhaps a little too hurried.
No one could guess the extraordinary nature of the mission he had set for himself, a mission he preferred to keep entirely to himself.
"Just leave the cereal bars somewhere discreet near the library," he repeated to himself, like a mantra.
This mental rehearsal was a coping mechanism, an attempt to manage the anxiety that came with taking decisions alone.
"She doesn't have to see me. I don't have to talk to anyone." The anonymity was crucial for him to even attempt this.
As he approached the square where Léo had been earlier and where Lyra had found the apple, Joey slowed his pace.
He looked around, his tendency to worry kicking in, searching for her, but didn't see her in the small wooded square.
His heart sank a little. Had she left? Was she safe?
Lyra, after eating the apple, had felt a pressing need to find a safer, more secluded place than a park bench.
The brief exposure at the market and in the square had left her exhausted.
With her elven instincts guiding her, she found a discreet entrance at the back of an old cinema that seemed to have been closed for years, adjacent to the library.
The interior was dark, dusty, and silent – perfect. There, she could rest a bit and try to process the whirlwind of information and sensations from this alien world.
Kael, the Tracker, from his vantage point on a nearby rooftop, noticed Joey's approach. He had also seen Lyra take refuge in the abandoned cinema moments before.
The determination on the young human's face as he headed towards the library area was noteworthy.
Kael watched, curious to see what Joey would do.
His orders were to observe and, if necessary, intervene discreetly, but the situation was becoming too complex for hasty interventions. There were multiple "displaced" beings with apparently diverse origins and intentions.
Joey reached the side of the library under renovation, the same place where he had found Lyra a few days ago.
The alley was deserted in the morning light.
The symbols on the wall seemed less threatening in the daylight but still exuded an aura of mystery that his reflective mind pondered. He looked for a place to leave the cereal bars – perhaps in the same recess where Lyra had hidden, a place that now felt significant to him.
Meanwhile, Pip, in her hideout, was making small progress. Her portal locator was partially functional, but the lack of a stable power source prevented her from getting a clear reading or attempting an activation.
She needed something like a dilithium crystal or a flux capacitor, but all she saw around her were copper wires and primitive chemical batteries.
In the detention center, Zylar was beginning to lose patience. After another session of repetitive questions, he demanded access to communication equipment or, at the very least, tools that would allow him to explain his knowledge practically.
His captors, however, remained impassive, treating him more like a dangerous curiosity than a scientist from an advanced civilization.
Joey finally found a small, sheltered gap near a boarded-up window of the library.
With trembling hands—a constant reminder of the effort it took to push past his anxiety—he placed the two cereal bars there.
He felt a mixture of relief at having completed his self-imposed task and a strange sadness.
He was helping, yes, and that act of giving felt more comfortable than receiving, but so distantly, so anonymously. It was the most his courage allowed at the moment, a fact that his inner critic might later seize upon, despite the clear progress he was making.
As he turned to leave the alley, a wave of conflicting emotions washing over him, he came face to face with Léo.
"Joey? What are you doing here?" Léo asked, his eyes wide with surprise, a bag of freshly bought pancakes in one hand. He had decided to pass by there on his way home, driven by curiosity about the "elf."
Joey froze, his heart pounding. All his efforts at anonymity, at avoiding explanations, were suddenly at risk.
A few meters away, sitting on a park bench partially hidden by a hibiscus bush, Mai Sakurajima watched the scene unfold with an analytical curiosity. The morning had been an exercise in controlled disorientation. This world was identical to hers, yet fundamentally wrong. Every familiar face was now a stranger's, every routine an empty echo. She maintained her stoic facade, a mask of mature politeness, but inside, her mind worked furiously, trying to find logic in the illogical.
Then, she saw him. The boy from the alley. Joey. The shy young man who could barely make eye contact, yet had taken down four men with a reluctant and brutal efficiency. The dichotomy still intrigued her. He looked terribly uncomfortable, cornered by the arrival of the other young man, who had a more vibrant and confident energy. Were they brothers, perhaps?
She observed Joey's silent panic, the way he seemed to want to merge with the brick wall to avoid scrutiny. It was the same vulnerability she had seen in the alley, but now without the adrenaline of danger. In this strange world where she was a complete unknown, with no agency, no connections, he was the only point of reference, however fragile it might be. He was real. His help had been real. Maybe, just maybe, he was a key to understanding what was happening.
With a decision made with her characteristic calm, Mai Sakurajima rose from the bench. She smoothed her skirt, an automatic gesture to restore order, and began to walk towards the alley, towards the two brothers, a figure of elegance and purpose moving through a reality that was not her own.
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I'll be redoing the story. Many things will remain, some will change. I hope to count on your feedback to know if you're enjoying the story or want me to change anything. This is my first time creating a story, so I made several mistakes the first time around. I read one of the comments on the chapters and decided to redo the story to make it more pleasant for you all.
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