The path beyond the High Crossing wound upward, disappearing into a swirl of silver mist. Each step felt lighter than the last, as if the air itself wanted to carry them forward. Ashan's sore legs appreciated the help, though his pride pretended otherwise.
The Nightfang Wolf padded at his side, silent but alert. The calf trotted ahead, its small horns catching glints of light from the clouds. Beyond the mist, shapes began to emerge — tall spires carved from crystal, glowing faintly from within.
Ashan slowed. "Is that…?"
"Cloudspire," the wolf confirmed, his voice carrying a rare note of respect. "The market between realms. Mortals rarely set foot here."
The mist thinned, and Ashan's eyes widened.
The city floated. Not like a castle on a mountain — no, this was an entire sprawling marketplace suspended on enormous stone platforms, drifting among clouds painted in gold and violet by the setting sun. Bridges of woven light connected the platforms, each arching over an endless drop.
The air was alive with sound. Not the chatter of a mortal bazaar, but a chorus of languages — some melodic, some like chimes in a storm, others deep and resonant enough to make Ashan's chest vibrate. Beasts with scales of jade or fur like fire prowled alongside robed cultivators and winged spirits. Stalls overflowed with goods: jars of bottled moonlight, scrolls that hummed with power, fruits that dripped silver nectar.
Ashan stared openly. "Right. So, no pressure — just try not to look like a tourist from the goat hills."
The wolf's tail flicked. "Control your tongue, mortal. Some here could buy and sell your soul before you blink."
They stepped onto the first bridge. Ashan kept the calf close, ignoring the curious looks it drew. If the wolf was right, the creatures here could sense value — and the calf wasn't just valuable, it was divine property.
At the market's heart stood a towering spire, its peak vanishing into the clouds above. A banner of living flame hung from its side, symbols shifting in and out of sight.
"That's the Central Tower," the wolf said quietly. "Merchants, informants, bounty traders — all answer to the tower's overseer."
Ashan wasn't sure he liked the word bounty.
They moved through the crowd, and for a while Ashan managed to keep his head down. But fate, as always, had other plans.
A shout split the air. "You there! The boy with the calf!"
Ashan turned, already regretting it. A tall figure strode toward him, draped in a robe of storm-grey silk. The man's eyes were sharp, metallic silver, and a faint crackle of lightning traced his fingers.
"You have something rare," the man said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command. "Name your price."
Ashan blinked. "My price…? Oh, you mean the calf? Sorry, not for sale. Family heirloom. Grew up with it. Practically related by now."
The man's gaze cooled. "Everything has a price. Even stubbornness."
Before Ashan could reply, the wolf stepped forward, teeth bared in a silent snarl. The air between them hummed with tension. Other market-goers began to notice, whispers stirring like wind through tall grass.
Ashan swallowed. This was exactly the kind of attention they didn't need.
A voice rang out from the crowd. "Leave him be, Jiran. Your greed will get you barred from the Tower yet."
A woman approached, her hair the pale gold of morning light. She wore armor worked from overlapping plates of silver, each etched with runes. At her hip hung a blade that seemed carved from crystal.
Jiran's lip curled. "Stay out of this, Lira."
"You're not the only one who knows the worth of a divine calf," she said evenly. "But unlike you, I know the rules. No trading or seizing without Tower sanction."
Jiran's eyes flicked over Ashan once more. "We'll see how long the rules protect him." Then he turned and melted back into the crowd.
Ashan exhaled slowly. "Thanks for that. I was about two heartbeats away from offering him three jars of goat cheese and hoping he took the deal."
Lira's mouth twitched — not quite a smile. "You're new here. That makes you dangerous, to yourself most of all. Come."
They followed her through winding rows of stalls until they reached a quieter platform. Here, the goods were stranger still — chunks of star-iron, feathers that glowed like suns, caged shadows that shifted against their bars.
Inside a small pavilion, Lira poured tea that shimmered faintly green. "Drink. It will settle the effects of the High Crossing."
Ashan eyed the cup, then sipped. Warmth spread through him, the ache in his limbs fading.
Lira studied him. "You're not just a wanderer. The whip on your back marks you — few mortals could even touch such a relic without burning their soul."
Ashan's hand brushed the coiled Heavenly Whip. "Let's just say I'm… good with animals. Even the celestial kind."
Her gaze shifted to the calf. "And good at attracting trouble. Jiran is not the only one who will come for it. Some will offer gold. Others will come with blades."
Ashan leaned back. "Sounds like my usual week, just… more airborne."
The wolf's ears flicked. "We should move soon. The longer we stay, the more eyes will notice."
Lira nodded. "I can get you out. But if you want to pass safely through the divine markets, you'll need allies — and coin. The Tower runs an arena. Fights, races, tests of skill. Wager well, and you might leave richer. Survive, and you might leave alive."
Ashan's stomach sank. "Let me guess — we're entering?"
The wolf's eyes gleamed. "It may be the only way forward."
Ashan sighed, looking out over the drifting platforms, the spire's flame-lit banner, the endless sea of strange faces and stranger motives.
He had crossed the High Crossing, fought wraiths, and stepped into a city where the wrong look could cost his soul.
And now, apparently, he was headed for a fight in front of half the divine realm.