Into the Web
The eastern sector of the Web felt like a phantom limb, a familiar ache I traced with careful steps. I doubled back on myself, checking angles, ghosting through the crowds. A tail wasn't a certainty, just a risk I couldn’t afford to ignore. Not today.
By the time I reached The Dome, the morning had fully bloomed into a chaotic midday. The air throbbed with the shouts of vendors, the laughter of children, the sharp cries of those relieved of their coin. Above, the cracked ceiling – a fractured mirror of a sky I barely remembered. One day, I’d see clouds again. One day, I'd feel the spray of the sea. But until the surface was safe, such dreams were luxuries. I’d never known the sea, but I knew its stories.
I scanned the stalls, a kaleidoscope of goods. Everything was for sale, if you had the credits to spend. Credits were tight for everyone, especially now that third-tier magic was outlawed. We, the few who still clung to the old ways, scraped by on odd jobs, picking up the scraps the authorities left behind. I needed something, anything, to keep us afloat. I began to circle the perimeter of the dome, my back pressed against the curved wall, eliminating blind spots. I glanced at the floor above, at the “Crimson Spire” bar, a gaudy, opulent structure owned by some second-tier mage. They all owned something.
“Any news, y/n?”
The voice was a whisper against my ear, and I jumped, a reflex honed by years of paranoia. CL stood beside me, as if she’d been there all along. She had that way about her.
“Long time no see,” she said, her eyes assessing. “What can I do for you?”
“I need a job.” I stated it bluntly. CL grinned, a flash of white teeth against the smoky shadows. She swept a strand of black hair over her shoulder, a gesture that felt… deliberate.
“Sure. Light a fire down in the west sector. Stretten’s place. You know him?”
“Yes…” I hesitated. “But why?”
“Personal grudge,” she said, her voice low. “Consider it… a favor. Leave this behind too.” She handed me a metal disc, cool and heavy in my palm, bearing her initials in stark relief.
“How much?”
“Eight hundred in silver.”
The figure nearly stole my breath. Months of security with that kind of credit.
“I’ll take it.”
I sold off a few potions before heading west, enough to buy a decent supper. Jin would be glad. He always felt the pinch of empty bellies the most. I paused before a table overflowing with trinkets – tiny sculptures of roses and feathers, arranged haphazardly. An old man smiled up at me, his eyes crinkled with age.
“One for the pretty lady,” he croaked, holding out a silver clip adorned with a delicate shell.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any money,” I replied, feeling a flush of shame. His work was beautiful, but he probably didn’t sell much.
“It’s on me,” he said, his smile toothy and kind.
I stared at him, stunned.
“Thank you, sir.” I clipped the shell to my hoodie as I walked away.
The west sector was a lung of smog and decay. The air tasted of ash and regret. I wished Jimin was with me, or even just someone. I pulled my hood tight, masking my mouth and nose. I couldn't risk being recognized. I glanced over my shoulder. The street was empty, save for the flickering neon sign of Stretten’s pub. The pub was surprisingly busy, a stark contrast to the usual emptiness of web-side establishments.
As I approached, I smelled the sharp tang of alcohol, heard the murmur of voices. Turning the corner, I saw it was packed. I tried to banish the faces I’d be burning, to steady my shaking hands. They were just magicians. They would be fine.
I took a ragged breath, pulled out the potion and the disc, and hurled them through the doorway. The impact was a dull thud, followed by a chorus of screams. Then, the flames erupted, licking the brickwork, crawling up the walls, curling like scarlet tongues. The street was bathed in an inferno glow.
I turned a corner, gasping for air, and leaned against the cool concrete. I pulled my mask down, forcing myself to breathe. I walked deeper into the alley, pausing to gather myself. Then, I froze. A deep chuckle echoed behind me.
I whipped around. A man had dropped from the rooftop, landing silently. He smirked, his eyes gleaming like a cat’s.
“Not bad, girlie,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “Not bad at all.”