(Ring 4 — The Argent Quarter)
Crowds flood the marble streets of Ring Four like a living current. Market bells chime overhead, each one sounding to mark a different trade hour. Banners ripple from rooftops—scarlet, silver, and green sigils glowing faintly under aura light.
Rin and Aria walk shoulder to shoulder through the noise, both lost in it. She carries a long list; he scans every storefront as if scouting a battlefield.
Weapon stalls line the boulevard—blades sealed in glass cases, gauntlets wired with lightning runes, stacks of scroll tubes labeled Summon-Class: Spirit / Beast / Phantom.
Aria whistles softly. "You could arm an army out here. Or bankrupt one."
Rin stops at a counter where a vendor cloaked in black unrolls a scroll of silver thread. Inside, a faint silhouette of a wolf howls silently, sealed in glyph wax. His eyes flick with brief interest.
"Spirit summons," he says. "Good stock for a city this crowded."
"You sound impressed," Aria teases, brushing dust off a spear rack. "What's Chun's market like? Thought your clan built half this stuff first."
That earns her silence at first—then a sharp, cold glance.
"What my clan built doesn't exist anymore," Rin says quietly.
Aria blinks, caught off guard. "I didn't mean—"
He cuts her off, voice rising, clipped with years of restraint. "What do you think you know about my clan, Aria? Nothing but propaganda from your country. Have you ever woken to the sound of your house burning? Have you ever seen your own crest carved into a corpse pile? No—you grew up under fireworks and flags."
She freezes. The crowd dulls around them.
Rin's eyes flare faintly red under the hood, Viatra light ghosting his pupils. "What do you know about losing thousands in a single night? About your family getting killed right in front of you, while your brother vanishes into smoke? Have you ever run through a forest while soldiers hunt you like dogs? Villages turned to ash while the world watched and called it a victory."
People nearby stop pretending not to listen.
Aria swallows, guilt flushing across her face. "Rin... I didn't—"
But he's already walking away, shoulders tight, vanishing into the swarm of color and noise.
She stands there for a long moment before exhaling hard, rubbing her eyes. "Nice job, Aria. Real smooth."
The vendor behind the counter clears his throat softly. "Happens here all the time. Wars end on paper, not in people."
She nods once, quiet. "Yeah." Then forces a slight grin. "Thanks."
(Ring 5 — The Artisan Promenade)
Ring Five shines brighter, cleaner. Shop windows gleam with enchanted fabrics and aura-thread mannequins turning slow circles under gold light.
Aria walks more slowly now, trying to shake the weight in her chest. Every shop smells different—perfume, oil, lightning-crack leather. Muti Signs advertise Seekerwear Custom Fits, Null-Salt Trim, Multi-Resistant Lining.
She stops at a boutique window where a blue jacket hangs on a levitating stand—metal-thread seams, reinforced sleeves, weather runes stitched along the spine. It's practical, strong, and just her style.
"Alright," she mutters. "Retail it is."
Inside, the clerk greets her with a practiced smile. "Welcome to Ether & Thread. Looking for fieldwear or formal?"
"Something I can fight and breathe in," Aria says. "And makes me look badass."
The clerk laughs softly and pulls down a rack of aura-weave coats. "We just got a batch from Britannia fabric houses—urban cut, resistant to lightning and flame bursts. You'll like this line."
Aria runs her fingers along the sleeve. It hums faintly with stored charge. "Lightning-proof?"
The clerk nods, impressed. "Up to a point."
Aria's lips curl into a half-smile. "That's all I need."
She glances around the shop. Racks of Seekerwear gleam under glass: armor coats stitched with wind-resistant sigils, cropped jackets with magnetic clasp belts, leg harnesses with holster loops for scrolls and blades. Every piece hums faintly with its own tune.
The city's glow filters through the window, painting her reflection in gold. She looks older than she feels—tired eyes, steady posture. She forces a grin anyway. "Guess I'll need something that screams 'Trial champion,' not 'random blonde girl.'"
The clerk gestures to a private rack. "Then you'll want the Raijin Line. High-grade combat armor. Shock-dampening plates, heat vents, adaptive threads. Each one tuned for resonance variance."
Aria steps closer. The armor coat is sleek—black with faint indigo veining that flashes when she breathes near it. When she touches the sleeve, static jumps from her fingertip to the seam, flickering like miniature lightning veins.
She exhales softly. "Feels alive."
"It reacts to aura output," the clerk explains. "The more you channel, the brighter the glow. Forged with Ferralume threading—imported from the Vinlan coast."
Aria rolls her shoulders, imagining the fit. "Lightweight. Flexible. Won't choke my swings."
"Exactly," the clerk says, sensing the sale.
"And weapons?" she asks. "Something with reach and rhythm. I've been stuck using prototypes since Chun."
The clerk leads her to a sealed wall display—ten blades mounted over a mirrored panel. Each hums differently. The air buzzes with faint metallic resonance.
Aria stops at one near the center—a narrow longsword with a silver spine and storm-gray edge, etched with lightning lines that spiral from the guard to the tip. The placard reads:
Ryuuen-27 — Elemental-Channel Class. Blade forged for kinetic burst strikes.
When she grips the hilt, the faint scent of ozone fills the air. The blade's surface flickers blue for a heartbeat—reacting to her lightning alignment.
Her reflection in the blade looks steadier than she feels. "Oh, I like you."
The clerk smiles carefully. "That model's untested. Too volatile."
"Perfect," Aria says, lifting it with an easy swing. The edge whistles, clean and fast, no drag. She sheaths it and clips it to her belt. "I'll take it."
Within minutes, her new set is packed—the Raijin armor, the Ryuuen blade, a belt of utility seals, and a short field cape marked with the Janoahian Seeker crest. She pays with seven thousand Tola and steps back into the open ring.
The promenade bursts with life—hawkers yelling charm deals, the scent of spice buns and forge smoke tangling in the breeze. Aura lamps flicker like fireworks overhead.
Aria walks down the steps with her bag slung over one shoulder, the grip of the Ryuuen peeking from beneath her coat. Her eyes catch every detail—kids sparring in practice circles, old Seekers polishing armor, an acrobat flipping between aura wires strung over the street.
A little girl in a soot-smeared apron stops her with wide eyes. "Miss Seeker! Are you in the Trial by Mercy?"
Aria pauses, kneels a bit, and smiles. "Yeah. You gonna watch?"
The girl nods hard. "My brother says only the brave ones enter!"
Aria taps the girl's forehead lightly. "Then your brother's right. But being brave's not about not being scared. It's about fighting anyway."
The girl beams, clutching her charm bead. "I'll cheer for you!"
"Then I'd better not lose," Aria says, grinning.
She stands and keeps walking, wind catching her hair and the faint crackle of static snapping around her shoulders. Her reflection flashes in every glass window—jacket gleaming, new sword bouncing at her hip—a fighter, alive and unbroken.
When she stops at a railing overlooking the molten skyline of Magnara, the sound of distant trains mixes with thunder over the harbor. For a second, the city feels like it's breathing with her.
She exhales, muttering to herself, "Two days... Let's see if I can outshine my own mistakes."
Then she turns, lightning flickering briefly at her boots as she disappears into the crowd—one more Seeker on a street full of legends in the making.