Cane didn't look up at first. The only sound in the dim room was the sharp scratch of his quill against paper. His desk was old, worn at the edges but polished enough to reflect the flicker of the lantern that lit the space. Niko sat quietly across from him, taking in the scent of ink and smoke, the walls around them lined with parchment and maps—plans, maybe. Routes. Or schemes.
Then Cane spoke, his voice steady and low. "What are you here for, kid?"
His eyes remained fixed on the document he was scribbling. The pressure in the room felt heavy, like the walls themselves were listening.
Niko didn't flinch. "The black market," he said calmly.
Cane stopped writing.
Slowly, he lifted his head. His green eyes were sharp, calculating—like a hawk sizing up prey. Niko held his stare.
"What does a kid like you need in the black market?" Cane asked, the edge of a scoff in his voice.
"I don't need anything," Niko said. "I just want to know what happens there."
His voice was flat, but inside, his mind flashed back to last night—the girl, shaking in the alleyway, surrounded by monsters dressed as men. The rage from that moment still lingered just beneath his skin.
Cane leaned back in his chair, placing the quill gently into its holder. "Hmm," he muttered. He didn't dismiss Niko. Instead, his voice grew heavier, more thoughtful. "The Pale Arc… It's a strange place. Hard to explain to outsiders. Sometimes, it feels like it's watching. Judging. And sometimes…" Cane paused. "It rewards."
Niko narrowed his eyes. "Rewards?"
Cane nodded. "People who do things it deems worthy. Not that anyone really understands how it works, but there's a pattern. Someone saves a town, they wake up the next day with an item next to their bed. Someone clears a monster infestation, same thing. Weird trinkets. Tools. Weapons. Even random things. Useful or useless, depending on the hand that holds it."
Niko was silent for a moment, processing.
"These items—are they sold in the black market?"
Cane smirked. "That's where most of them end up. Not everything, but a lot. People want what they can't earn. And those who get lucky want something in return. So down there, under the city—yeah, you'll find traders, collectors, and scumbags."
Niko shifted slightly in his chair. "Are humans sold?"
The question landed heavy. Cane's expression dropped, his amusement gone. He sat forward, elbows on the desk.
"There are a few groups like that," he admitted, voice colder now. "It's not widespread, and most of 'em don't operate openly. But they exist. Scavengers. Predators. They're hated by most of us. Some make enemies fast. Others manage to keep hidden long enough to survive."
Niko nodded slowly, more to himself than Cane. The image of the dragon-crest coat flashed in his mind.
"Do you know of any?" Niko asked carefully.
Cane's eyes narrowed, but he didn't answer the question directly. "Why?" he asked instead.
Niko shrugged. "Just curious."
The room was quiet again, the only sound now the creaking of Cane's chair as he leaned back, studying the boy. He didn't fully trust Niko—but he didn't sense dishonesty either. And something about the kid… the stillness, the calm, the depth in his eyes—Cane had seen killers with less edge.
After a pause, Cane said, "Curiosity's dangerous here. Especially about that world."
Niko smiled faintly. "So am I."
Cane chuckled, shaking his head. "You're gonna get yourself killed."
"Maybe," Niko replied. "Maybe not."
They sat there for another moment, the tension slowly unraveling, a silent understanding passing between them. Cane stood, walking toward a shelf, and pulled out a black token with a silver ring on its edge.
"Give this to the bartender next time," he said, tossing it to Niko. "He'll know what to do."
Niko caught it mid-air, his eyes studying its strange markings.
Cane smirked. "Welcome to the underbelly, kid. Try not to die too fast."
Niko stood, slipping the token into his pocket, and made for the door.
"Thanks," he said over his shoulder.
"Don't thank me yet," Cane muttered. "You haven't seen anything."
Evening settled across the city like a veil, casting long golden shadows over rooftops and quiet alleyways. The last remnants of sunlight faded from the cobblestones as Niko handed the black token across the bar's counter. The bartender, who had spent the past hour in silent, rhythmic motions cleaning glasses and restocking shelves, paused when he saw it. His eyes rested on the symbol burned into the token's surface. Then, slowly, he looked up.
A flicker of surprise passed through the man's gaze, then approval.
"So… the boss must've liked you, huh?" he said, voice gravel-thick, hands now resting still on the counter.
Niko gave a casual shrug. "I guess so."
The bartender gave a short nod, like something had just been confirmed. He locked the till with a sharp click, grabbed his coat from a hook by the shelf, and motioned with his chin. "Come on. You'll need to be there before full night."
Niko stood from the barstool and followed him out the side door. The sky above had turned to a deep indigo, the city humming softly in its evening rhythm—doors creaking shut, oil lamps flickering to life, the occasional murmured conversation from open windows.
The bartender led them down a narrow street, one that cut between older stone buildings, weathered and cracked with time. The silence between them stretched until the man finally spoke.
"You know," he said, hands in his coat pockets, "I didn't always work in that old place."
Niko looked over at him, curious but cautious. "Yeah?"
"I was part of the House. A long time ago," he continued, voice low. "Before I was dropped here in the Pale Arc."
Niko's steps slowed slightly. "You're one of us?"
The man gave a short chuckle, almost bitter. "Was. I've been out here a while. Built a life. Or tried to, anyway."
There was a pause. Then Niko asked, "Do you remember anything? Before the House?"
"Not a damn thing," the man muttered. "And I stopped trying to a long time ago."
They walked in silence again until Niko tilted his head. "What's your name?"
The man glanced over, smirking faintly. "Yuki."
Niko blinked. "Isn't that a girl's name?"
Yuki laughed, a warm, genuine sound that echoed softly off the alley walls. "Yeah, maybe. I guess my parents had a sense of humor—if I even had parents. Truth is, most of us don't really know where we came from before the House."
"Guess not," Niko muttered, eyes downcast for a moment, his mind flickering to fragments—unformed thoughts and half-memories that always danced just out of reach.
Eventually, they reached a small restaurant tucked into a quiet corner of the district. The front was simple, but well-kept, glowing with the soft orange light of hanging lanterns. Yuki pushed the door open, and the two stepped into a cozy space filled with the scent of meat sizzling over fire and garlic simmering in oil.
The restaurant's main room was modest, a few families sitting at wooden tables. No one paid them any mind as they crossed to the kitchen door.
Inside, a girl stood at the stove, stirring a pan with methodical grace. She looked up as they entered but didn't stop what she was doing.
Yuki stepped forward and placed the token on the counter next to her.
"Buchi," he said.
The girl froze. Her expression shifted from calm to sharp in a second. She turned toward them, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then, without a word, she raised her hands and made a complex gesture—one that made the air bend.
Niko barely had time to register the movement before the space around them twisted.
With a rush of pressure and sound, the kitchen vanished.
They now stood in a different place entirely.
Before them stretched a sprawling underground market, glowing with the flicker of a thousand hidden lanterns. Booths and stalls lined the stone corridors, all built in a chaotic but efficient maze-like fashion. Every figure wore cloaks or coats, faces hidden beneath wide hats, scarves, or masks. There was an energy to the place, a hush like reverence—no shouting, just quiet deals and fast exchanges. Strange artifacts glowed behind glass. Weapons gleamed under torchlight. Some stalls displayed crystals or runes pulsing faintly with hidden power.
Niko turned in place slowly, taking it all in. "What is this place?"
Yuki didn't answer. He simply reached behind his coat and pulled out two long, hooded black coats from seemingly nowhere.
He tossed one to Niko.
Niko caught it, brow raised. "Where were you hiding these?"
Yuki gave a small shrug. "My ability."
"Could've just said magic," Niko muttered, slipping the coat on and adjusting the hood.
"Don't romanticize it," Yuki replied with a faint smirk, already moving ahead. "It's all just tools. And this place? You'll see. It's built on more than power."
They walked deeper into the market, their figures disappearing into the river of cloaked strangers as the deeper secrets of the Pale Arc waited just ahead.