Sarn heard the child before he smelled them.
And he smelled them before he felt the heat ripple sideways in his booth.
He didn't know their name. Not yet. But he felt the silence change shape when they stepped near.
He was stringing cracked mana wire through the husk of a broken projection orb when it happened — and the wire snapped in half.
"Ah," he muttered, "so that's the kind of day this is."
---
The salvage booth wasn't much.
A lean-to against a forgotten stone wall, three tables made of mixed crate parts, and one hanging chime that only rang when mana surged nearby. It had been silent for weeks.
Today it rang once.
Then again.
Then stopped.
Sarn waited.
---
"You gonna browse?" he asked.
Silence.
Then a voice — quiet, even. "I don't need to look."
Sarn raised an eyebrow. "You here to steal, then?"
"No."
"Good. Because I'd know."
The child didn't laugh. Most did.
Sarn set the orb aside.
"Come closer."
The child stepped forward.
Not shy. Not aggressive.
Just… present.
---
"You're not from here," Sarn said.
"Not really."
"And you're not what you seem."
"…No."
"Good."
Sarn chuckled. "I hate it when people are exactly what they look like. Leaves no room for story."
The child was quiet.
Then: "You don't see me."
"I see everything worth seeing," Sarn replied, tapping his temple.
---
Kael stepped closer to the counter.
"How do you know I'm not what I seem?"
Sarn grinned. "Because people who are don't ask that question."
Kael exhaled slowly. "You're not like the others."
"Nope."
"You didn't flinch."
"Nope."
"You're not curious?"
"Immensely. But I've learned not to grab fire just to know how hot it is."
Kael said nothing.
But the air around them warmed.
Not literally.
Emotionally.
Like a lock being tested for weakness.
---
Sarn reached under the counter and pulled out a small scrap of blackened glass.
"Take this."
Kael looked down. "What is it?"
"Mirror shard. From an old mage's viewing frame. Can't be enchanted anymore — too fractured. But it's still honest, in its own way."
Kael picked it up without hesitation.
Their reflection stared back.
Unfiltered. Undistorted.
Exactly what they'd come to expect every morning — the face only they ever saw.
But something about holding it there, in someone else's presence, made it feel more real than usual.
More defiant.
Sarn leaned forward, sensing the silence shift.
"You see it?"
Kael nodded slowly. "I always do."
Sarn gave a toothy grin. "Good. Don't let this world talk you out of it."
Kael stared at the shard a moment longer. Then set it down.
"You won't see it," they said softly.
"No," Sarn agreed. "But I think I already have."
Kael's head tilted slightly. "How?"
Sarn tapped the space over his heart.
"Don't need eyes to notice when someone's hiding in plain sight."
---
Kael returned two days later.
Same hour. Same fog. Same silence in their step.
Sarn didn't look up. Didn't need to.
"Still carrying that mirror shard?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Still trying to decide what it means?"
Kael stepped closer to the booth. "I already know what it means."
"Oh?"
"It means I'm not the one who's broken."
That gave Sarn pause.
Then he grinned. "Took me forty years to figure that out about myself. You're ahead of schedule."
Kael's mouth twitched upward. Almost a smile.
---
They sat on an overturned crate while Sarn sorted a bin of cracked glowstones. Most were inert, but Kael could feel the old energy buzzing beneath their shell.
Not magical awareness. Just memory.
The sense that power could live here — if asked correctly.
Sarn's hands moved with patient precision. He worked by texture, by pressure, by sound.
"You remind me of someone," he said suddenly.
Kael looked up.
"She was like you. Walked softly. Asked too little. Knew too much."
Kael waited.
"She erased herself to stay safe. Spoke with the voices people wanted to hear. Became what they needed — until one day she forgot what her real voice sounded like."
Kael's throat tightened.
"What happened to her?"
Sarn didn't stop sorting.
"She died remembered by everyone… but never known by anyone."
---
A long silence followed.
Then Kael asked, "Did you know her well?"
Sarn's voice was softer now. "She was my sister."
Kael looked down.
"I won't forget myself," they said.
Sarn stopped working. Turned his head.
"No," he said. "You won't. But the world's gonna try real hard to make you wish you could."
---
That night, Kael returned home later than usual.
Mira noticed.
Tarren didn't speak at first.
Just watched them as they washed their hands, removed their sandals, and sat at the table without comment.
"Where were you?" Mira asked gently.
Kael looked up. "Visiting someone who doesn't see me."
She blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Exactly that."
Kael took a piece of bread. Bit it slowly.
Mira exchanged a look with Tarren.
Later, after Kael had gone to bed, they spoke in low voices.
---
"You're worried," Tarren said.
"He's slipping away," Mira whispered.
"No. He's reaching."
"Toward what?"
Tarren didn't answer.
---
The next day, Kael returned to Sarn's booth again — this time with a question burning.
"You can't see faces," they said. "But you said you 'felt' mine."
"I did."
"How?"
Sarn gestured at the chime hanging from his roof — the one that only rang when mana was present.
"It rang louder when you were near. Not just loud — wrong. Like it wanted to bend toward you but couldn't settle."
Kael frowned. "You think I'm cursed?"
Sarn shrugged. "I think you're stitched into the weave upside down."
"Is that bad?"
"No. Just not easy."
---
Kael didn't ask any more questions that day.
They just sat quietly, helping him sort and untangle.
They said nothing.
But the air around them felt steadier.
Like something inside them had stopped bracing.