The room was too warm.
Not because of the flickering lanterns or the stone walls laced with heat-conducting runes—but because Nyxia woke tangled in silk sheets with a sheen of sweat along her spine. Her muscles ached, not in the sharp way they had days ago, but with the slow burn of healing. Her hair clung damply to her cheek. The scent of jasmine still lingered in the pillows, along with something smokier and spiced—perfume from one of Boo's attendants, most likely.
She sat up, blinking slowly. The room was still dim, but the glowstones had shifted their hue. Morning in Serath'Kai, such as it was.
A folded note had been left on the low table beside the divan.
So had a swimsuit.
Tight. Black. Trimmed in crimson lace that looked hand-stitched. It barely qualified as clothing—a halter-top held together with thin bands across the back, and matching bottoms that rode dangerously low.
Pinned to it was a scrap of velum.
From Boo, with love. <3 Thought this might help you 'shop smart.' Try not to get arrested. Or do. I'm not your mom.
Nyxia groaned and pressed her hands to her face.
"Of course."
She slipped out from under the blanket and padded to the nearby basin, splashing her face with cool water. Loque stirred from his coil at the foot of the divan and let out a low, throaty yawn. Perseus was gone from the room, likely fetching supplies or speaking with Boo's people. She found a neatly folded robe beside her usual armor—still cracked, dried, and crusted in places. Useless now.
With no other real options, she gritted her teeth and pulled the swimsuit on.
It clung like a second skin.
The robe went over it—but barely closed. The fabric kept slipping from one shoulder, and every movement felt like a dare.
When Perseus returned, he was carrying two mugs of spiced tea. He stopped in the doorway the moment he saw her.
His ears turned pink.
"You're… not wearing armor."
"I noticed."
He coughed into his tea. "Is that from—?"
"She left a note," Nyxia muttered, adjusting the robe for the fifth time. "With a heart and a kiss mark."
Perseus blinked. "You're not seriously going out like that?"
"We need armor. I need armor. I can't wear this forever." She stepped past him, brushing his shoulder. "Unless you plan on loaning me yours."
"Nyxia, you can't—"
"I can. I am."
She slipped into her boots, leaving the rest of her gear behind, and tossed the note onto his lap. "Don't pout. It's just skin."
Perseus looked like he might combust.
They stepped into the hazy light of Serath'Kai's mid-tier market, the neon glare of advertising slicing through the illusion of dawn. The moment Nyxia emerged, heads turned. A nearby goblin dropped his wrench. A trio of elven mercenaries nearly walked into a light post.
Perseus walked a half-step behind her, expression tight. "You're enjoying this."
"Little bit." Nyxia said with a slight smirk.
The upper markets of Serath'Kai were chaotic even early in the day. Lamps flickered above like a mockery of a sunrise, and the false-breeze from overhead fans sent scraps of paper and the occasional advert drone tumbling past them. Nyxia kept her hood up as best she could, though more than one vendor still paused mid-pitch to ogle her bare legs.
Their first stop was a stall run by a thin, four-eyed goblin in a patchwork coat. He had three sets of armor on display: one encrusted with greenish runes, one spiked with bleached bone, and one that shimmered slightly when it caught the light.
Nyxia eyed the last one. "How much?"
"Ahh, the Shadowweaver's Mantle. Pristine condition. Built from salvaged spell-thread and voidglass plating. Only twelve hundred crowns!"
"Pass," she said flatly, and turned.
The next shop was a proper structure with metal shutters and a glowing sign: ZENNA'S GEAR FOR THE ELITE. The shopkeeper was a draenei woman dressed head to toe in ceremonial plating, each piece etched with Light-born scripture.
"Your frame is too slight for heavy plate," Zenna observed, circling Nyxia like a hawk. "But I have a lightweave vestment laced with dusk-thread. Flexible, durable, breathable. Only nine hundred crowns."
"We're not outfitting royalty," Perseus muttered under his breath.
They left without another word.
A half-hour passed.
One stall smelled like brimstone and sold armor made of molten chainmail that hissed when touched. Another offered living leather—armored hide that pulsed faintly, still breathing. The final merchant they visited gave Nyxia an appraising look and said, "You'd look better without it."
Perseus nearly slugged him.
Back in the slums, things were quieter. The noise faded into murmurs. Heat clung to the stone. Neon vines buzzed overhead, some flickering, some dead.
Nyxia was hot. Frustrated. And still very, very underdressed.
They passed a flickering billboard that read: VESTMENTS FOR VIGILANTS – PAY IN BLOOD OR GOLD.
"Next time," she muttered, "I'm raiding a corpse."
They turned a corner, approaching a square near Boo's den, when a loud, tinny voice cut through the alley.
"Come one, come all! Test your skill, test your fate—win a BRAND NEW to-you set of armor! That's right, folks, not just any hand-me-downs—these babies survived THREE owners!"
Perseus halted. "Oh no."
A small crowd had gathered around a makeshift stage. Standing atop a crate was a goblin wearing a tailcoat stitched from scrap fabric, holding a cane and shouting into a megaphone affixed to a drone's underside.
"Think you're fast? Think you're clever? Got hands and reflexes not made entirely of noodles? Step right up, pay no fee, win something shiny!"
Behind him, a tarp-covered rack shimmered faintly under the glow of an arc-lamp. Armor shapes. Some glinted. Some dripped.
Nyxia exchanged a look with Perseus.
"No."
"No," he echoed.
But they were already walking toward it.
The goblin's eyes lit up when he saw her.
"Ahhh, a challenger! And a fierce one too—look at the way she walks, ladies and gents! Like she's just murdered a duke and gotten away with it!"
"I might have," Nyxia said dryly.
The crowd laughed.
"Name's Skivv," the goblin said, sweeping into a bow. "And you're just in time. Step right up, and I'll tell you the rules. Win the game, claim the prize."
Perseus frowned. "What's the catch?"
Skivv grinned. "Oh, no catch. Just skill. Reflexes. And the willingness to get a little wet."
Behind the stage, a set of levers began to whir.
The tarp was pulled back.
And the armor—cobbled, yes, mismatched, sure—but sturdy and well-maintained—gleamed in the false sunlight.
One set in particular stood out. Black-leather bodysuit. Shadowplates sewn at the joints. Gleaming thigh armor reinforced with dusksteel. And on the chest, a faint glyph—a runic bloom of void and starfire.
Nyxia's eyes narrowed.
"That's mine," she said.
Skivv smirked.
"Then step up, sweetheart. And earn it."