“This is like a large city. It’s certainly bigger and more populated than the Mortal District,” she notes, and I agree.
If we’ve seen people walking around before, it’s nothing compared to how many there are in this area. But there is one thing in common.
The same sense of urgency.
Figures move between the ruins, never in straight lines and never lingering in the open for long. Some walk alone, their posture tight, eyes constantly scanning. Others pass each other in brief, wordless exchanges. There’s no greetings, noacknowledgment beyond what’s necessary. Everyone looks like they’re waiting for something to go wrong. That the person before him will be their next opponent.
As much as this resembles a normal city, there’s still a horrific undercurrent that each moment might be your last; that your friend might end up your enemy.
The more I observe the people around, the more I curse this place.
We’ve only been here a day or so and already, I’ve seen enough to know that the more time we spend here, the more likely we are to lose our mind…our sanity.
It’s survival in its rawest form. And inherently, that means there is no room for relationships.
In that regard, perhaps I’m lucky Moe is with me. Bound together as we are, it’s the only way to have a partnership.
If I were alone…
Don’t think of that, Nykander!
We walk deeper into the ruins. A road opens up ahead, like a large corridor. On each side, there are more openings within the rock, but this time they’re forward facing, allowing outsiders to glimpse inside.
The closest thing I can liken them to are the stalls from a marketplace.
But there is one major difference. All the sellers are wraiths.
People gather here, though “gather” might be too generous a word. They pass through. They stop briefly, exchange things, then move on again. No one stays longer than they have to.
There are no pleasantries, just pure business. The wraiths process the tokens and exchange them for items—food, clothing, weaponry among others.
“Why does this feel so predatory?” Moe murmurs as she takes in the multiple exchanges taking place in this market.“They could have hired people to operate the stalls. Instead, they use these soulless things.”
“All the tokens get recycled back into the system.”
At the nearest stall, a wraith sets down a small bundle wrapped in rough fabric. Across from him, a woman reaches into a pouch at her side and pulls out a handful of small, dull discs.
She counts the tokens carefully. When she’s done, the wraith acknowledges the tokens and slides the bundle toward her. She doesn’t thank him; doesn’t look at him again. She just takes her items and leaves.
“What should we get to eat?” Moe asks.
“There’s food that way.” I point to another stall across the road.
The wraith behind it barely acknowledges us, his attention split between arranging the items in front of him and watching everything else happening around him.
I glance down at the offerings.
Bundles of dried meat, tough and dark, cut into strips that look like they’d take effort to chew. One token each. Compact blocks of something grain-like, pressed together so tightly they almost resemble stone, half a token each. Some vegetables that have seen better days are a token per weighted bag.
A few small fruits sit off to one side—wrinkled, slightly discolored, but still intact. Some are dusted with a faint, crystalline powder that catches the red light in odd ways. Those are the most expensive. A token for a handful.
Nothing looks particularly appetizing, though everything is expensive.
“Choose whatever you like,” I tell her.
Moe crouches slightly, carefully picking a bundle of dried meat, some grain and vegetables. She glances briefly at the fruit but shakes her head. “I think this is enough for two days.”
Two days? I doubt it. But I don’t say anything. We’ll likely be back tomorrow for more.
