"Memory hunting," the man repeated, his smirk spreading like a blade across his face.
The words rattled in the boy's skull. Memory hunting. The old bastard warned me about hunters prowling these stalls…
His hand drifted to the pouch instinctively.
The man's eyes flicked toward it, glinting with interest. "Relax. If I wanted your pouch, you'd already be bleeding in the gutter. I'm offering work. Credit. Food. Maybe even answers."
Answers.
His jaw tightened. "And what's the catch?"
The man chuckled, pushing off the pillar. His cloak shifted, and for a heartbeat, the boy caught sight of a weapon strapped beneath it—curved, jagged, not quite a sword, not quite a dagger.
"The catch," the man said smoothly, "is that you'll see the ugly part of this world up close. Hunting's not clean. But the payout?" He tapped the coin pouch at his belt. "Worth it."
The boy studied him. Sharp jawline, pale grey eyes, a predator dressed as a merchant. Confidence dripped from him like poison.
"…And if I say no?"
The man's smirk widened. "Then you'll starve, sell your trauma coins, or end up stripped in an alley with your skull cracked open. Take your pick."
The words sank into him like hooks. His stomach twisted. He hated the truth in them.
"Fine," he muttered. "Explain."
The man's grin was all teeth. "Good choice."
He led him through the maze of stalls, past buyers whispering over bloody coins and sellers with hollow eyes. The deeper they went, the darker the market grew, lantern light thinning until only shadows clung to the stone walls.
Finally, they stopped at a stall guarded by iron bars. Inside, cages rattled. The boy's breath hitched.
People.
Men and women crouched inside, some catatonic, some muttering to themselves. Their eyes were vacant, their mouths slack. Empty vessels.
The hunter gestured lazily. "Memory husks. Stripped clean. Some bought themselves into nothingness. Some were harvested by force. Either way, they're worth coin—if you've got the stomach."
The boy's gut churned. "You're telling me… we hunt people for memories?"
The man's gaze sharpened. "Not people. Assets. Walking banks of coin. You'll understand soon enough."
Something inside him snapped. "That's fucked up."
The hunter only chuckled. "You'll learn. Everything's fucked here. Best get used to it."
His smirk lingered as he turned back toward the light. "Name's Kael. If you're not dead tomorrow, meet me at the cavern gate. Midnight. Bring your pouch."
Then he vanished into the crowd, cloak melting into shadow.
The boy stood frozen, the echoes of cages rattling in his skull.
Kael's words burned like a brand: Midnight. Cavern gate. Bring your pouch.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles went white.
If I want answers… I'll need to step into the dark with them.
He staggered back toward the main row of stalls, Kael's words gnawing at his brain. Hunt memories. Strip people clean. Midnight.
His stomach twisted. The onion broth from earlier churned like sour water.
He passed the little girl's stall again. She didn't look up this time, just chewed her stale bread with the lifeless rhythm of someone already halfway gone.
"Still alive?" she asked flatly.
"Barely." His voice was hoarse.
She gave no reply. Only shifted another coin on her tray, her hands mechanical.
He wanted to say something. Anything. But what was there to say? That he was about to try hunting? That he didn't even know his own fucking name, and yet he was planning to tear memories from strangers like meat off a carcass?
Instead, he shoved a coin onto her counter. "Bread."
Her eyebrow rose, faint amusement flickering for the first time. "You buying food instead of skills? Smart for a newbie."
She tossed him a hard, cracked loaf. He bit into it, jaw aching at the resistance, but it eased the hollow pit in his gut.
The world blurred into background noise as he chewed. Merchants bartered, people sobbed, coins clinked. All of it faded against the pounding in his skull.
When the bread was gone, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and whispered under his breath:
"…I'll survive this. No matter what it takes."
The pouch clinked at his side, the runes on the coins glowing faintly as if mocking him.
Survive. Buy back his past. Hunt if he had to.
He shoved the last crumb of bread into his mouth, straightened his spine, and stepped back into the crowd.
Tomorrow, at midnight, he would meet Kael.
And when he did—his life would never be the same again.