In the two months since Xhaelyn had arrived in Ozyria, she had made a conscious effort to learn and adapt to the environment of this dominion.
On her first day in Ozyria, she found her way to what seemed to be a central market. It was a lively yet chaotic place, where nobles, merchants, and commoners mingled in a loud symphony of trade. Vendors called out their wares—spices, trinkets, weapons, enchanted items—while customers haggled with varying degrees of intensity.
Having arrived with nothing, Xhaelyn knew she needed to earn money—and quickly. She observed first, memorizing the coin shapes and colors, the names for each unit of currency, the way people exchanged goods. She took note of how sellers advertised their wares and how buyers tested their value. By the end of the day, she already had a rough understanding of how Ozyrian trade worked.
She was an assassin in her first life, which is obviously irrelevant to the challenge she's currently facing. Sure, this observation to learn is crucial.
She was a working college student in her second life. Though she has potential in some business aspects, it was too much of an effort—she refused to make herself suffer another hardship at that time; thus, she chose a course unrelated to business. Good thing I've always been observant. Eventually, I'll figure this out.
But knowledge alone didn't fill an empty stomach.
She began considering options—odd jobs, errand running, helping with deliveries—but most of them required either local connections or official permits. As she wandered past rows of colorful stalls and grand tents, something unusual caught her attention.
The stall was oddly quiet, tucked between louder, livelier vendors. Its cloth canopy hung low, partially shading the lone chair inside—an extended, reclining one more fitting for leisure than work. As Xhaelyn came closer, she noticed that the supposed stall owner wasn't just absent—the stall owner was right there, just... sleeping.
A frail girl, maybe ten years old, lay slumped on the chair. Her limbs looked almost weightless, her skin unnaturally pale, and a few stray strands of dark hair peeked out from beneath a wide, worn hat—most of it seemingly tucked away and hidden inside. She looked like she hadn't moved in hours.
Is this really the owner? Xhaelyn blinked.
There were no adults in sight—no guardian lingering nearby. Just this strangely languid girl in charge of a stall filled with small boxes, curled scrolls, and unfamiliar trinkets. Most passersby ignored the stall completely, perhaps assuming it was closed—or not worth their time.
Still, Xhaelyn stepped closer.
"...Are you awake?" she asked cautiously.
The girl didn't stir.
Ten years old? Running a stall? Sleeping through the day? It wasn't the strangeness that unsettled her—it was the stillness. Quiet in a way that felt… wrong.
She crouched slightly, examining the items on the table. They didn't look like everyday goods. One box had an odd symbol etched into its lid. Another was sealed with what resembled wax—though the texture looked unnatural, like it pulsed faintly. Then she noticed a small parchment pinned to the table:
"Fortunes. Curse Lifting. Minor Insight. Don't waste my time unless you've got the Lira."
Xhaelyn narrowed her eyes. A curse lifter? Insights into what? At ten?
As if sensing her thoughts, the girl stirred. Her voice emerged lazy and dry.
"Don't judge by age. I'm just as real as the Lira in your pocket... if you even have any."
Xhaelyn blinked. "You were awake?"
The girl slowly sat up, rubbing one eye with a finger. "Not really. I just didn't want to talk to anyone. But you're still here, so... either you're too nosy or too poor to leave."
Xhaelyn frowned. "You're not very friendly."
The girl shrugged. "Friendliness is extra. Costs a Sera."
A strange beat passed between them—then, unexpectedly, Xhaelyn smiled. This girl wasn't stupid at all. Lazy, yes. Sickly, absolutely. But her eyes—though tired—were sharp. Calculating. As if she'd seen far more than any child should.
"What's your name?" Xhaelyn asked.
The girl yawned. "Grey."
"Grey what?"
"Grey. If you make me repeat it again, I'll charge you a Lira."
Xhaelyn chuckled under her breath.
Grey leaned forward now, giving her a full look. "You look like you've been through some real crap. And... you're not from around here."
"Sharp guess."
"I don't guess. With eyes, ears, and mind. I read."
She tapped her temple.
Xhaelyn tilted her head. "Are you an ability user?" Though she could've used her ability to check, she respected others' privacy—especially those who hadn't done her harm.
Grey smirked faintly. "Maybe. Maybe I'm just a really good scammer."
"Then why are you selling curses and insights in a half-dead stall?"
Grey flopped back onto her recliner. "Because most people are too stupid to recognize value unless it's loud and flashy. I'd rather sleep until someone smart enough comes along."
Xhaelyn stood in silence for a moment, then took a seat on an empty crate beside the stall.
"You're staying?" Grey asked, peeking over her hat's brim.
Xhaelyn stared at her. Pursed her lips. "Can I?"
Hearing that, Grey's lips curled into a tired but unmistakable smile. "Obviously homeless. I'm not heartless. Feel free."
Xhaelyn blinked, not expecting kindness from such a sarcastic mouth. It felt strange—being invited in without suspicion or expectation. She didn't know if it was a trick—or the kind of honesty you only found in the broken corners of the world.
For a moment, the two girls—equally strange, equally out of place—shared the silence.
Then, Xhaelyn's gaze drifted over the items on the table again. They seemed... useless.
But she reminded herself: Don't judge a book by its cover.
She hesitated before activating her Unique Ability, feeling the familiar pull of energy drain through her core. She carefully controlled the flow, mindful not to tap too deep into her reserves.
To her relief—it worked.
But what truly surprised her was the items themselves. They carried residual traces of unique energy—not a common kind, either. It felt eerily similar to what she sensed in the Duskwither Forest; maybe it was from other places, their origin.
She turned her gaze to Grey, who had returned to her lounging posture, hat dipped over her face.
"What are these?" Xhaelyn asked plainly.
Grey didn't stir or even bother to open her eyes, but she responded.
"They're fragments. Touched things. Stuff people throw away when they think the energy's gone."
Her tone lacked sarcasm, for once. Not detailed, but... sincere. Xhaelyn stayed silent, thinking that was the end of it.
But Grey didn't stop speaking.
"Some of them are cursed. Some are just misunderstood. Some—" she pointed lazily to a curled scroll—"are encrypted so badly even the caster forgot what they wrote."
Xhaelyn stared at the scroll.
Grey went on, voice quiet but steady. "I don't fix things. I just figure out what still hums. People bring them here. I sort them. If they're dead, I toss 'em. If they're not, I wait for someone who sees."
It was more than she expected. More than she thought this girl would share.
And in that moment, the city didn't feel quite so loud.
She'd also learned something else from Grey:
100 Sera made a Lira.
100 Lira made a Krono.
And 20 Sera could feed a family for a day—if they didn't eat much.
Xhaelyn slowly leaned back on her crate, her eyes still scanning the array of mysterious items. Remembering the small parchment pinned on the table earlier, she recalled that Grey's price was Lira, and her eyes twitched briefly at the thought.
For the entire day, Xhaelyn failed to assist in making a sale at Grey's stall. She had hoped to help move some items in exchange for a portion of the profits, but no deals were struck. She wasn't surprised—she had expected it—but still, disappointment settled in. I guess I won't be eating today. She wondered how long this body could hold onto hunger.
Xhaelyn was surprised when Grey soundlessly handed her two pieces of bread and a jug of water. She glanced at Grey, now eating the same meal.
An hour passed. As the sun began to set, Xhaelyn noticed Grey shifting in her chair. She adjusted her seat with practiced precision, revealing it to be a cleverly disguised wheelchair. Though she looked fragile, her movements were efficient and smooth—her thin arms surprisingly steady as she clicked the tires into place and folded up the stall.
It was clear now—her body might be weak, but she had long adapted to it.
Just as Grey finished, she wheeled herself out of the stall while she spoke without turning around.
"Wanna stay here?"
Before Xhaelyn could answer, she added, "Night in Northern Ozyria's colder than it looks."
Xhaelyn nodded and walked behind Grey, kindly taking the initiative to push her wheelchair as she guided her.
As they moved, Xhaelyn glanced down at the pale girl in the oversized hat. Most of her hair was still hidden beneath it, tied back tightly.
She wondered quietly: Who was this girl, really? What kind of person hid beneath that lazy drawl and oversized hat? And what was she thinking, letting a stranger in so easily?