Fabien glances over the crowd, his expression unreadable. “What about me?” he asks, voice as flat.
“Oh, nothing much,” I say, adding a shrug for good measure. “Just curious how it is you’re advising me to keep a low profile. You can’t really tell a man like me to stop drawing attention—people just naturally flock my way! But you? With all that... tallness, brooding, and that stash of ancient weaponry you’ve got on yourself? I’d say you’re leaving quite a trail yourself.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, his eyes still scanning the marketplace as if he’s calculating the risks of every person who crosses our path.
“Maybe,” he says at last. “I’ve made some enemies in my time. But if you’re asking if we’re about to get stabbed in broad daylight, the answer’s… probably not.”
“‘Probably not’?” I echo, a laugh catching in my throat. “Oh, that’s a comfort. So, only nighttime stabbings, then?”
For a second, I swear there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth—a flicker of something almost human. It’s a small victory, like catching a ghost of a smile from Gypsy. And call me sentimental, but cracking through his fortress feels a little more satisfying than a typical laugh.
I do my best not to place different values on people’s emotions—a smile is a smile, after all—but with him, it’s like finding a rare coin in the dirt. Makes me want to polish it, see it shine.
“I hope the clouds don’t darken, then,” I add with a grin. “I need all the daylight I can get if I’m avoiding rogue daggers.”
He gives me a sidelong glance, narrowing his eyes slightly, but stays silent as we wade deeper into the crowded market.
For the next few minutes, we walk in silence—him scanning our path like we’re about to be ambushed any second, and me dodging elbows and shoulders, nearly toppling over as more and more people shove their way past.
At last, we stumble into a sort of clearing—a circular dirt square lined with five branching paths, packed stalls, and groups of people haggling, chatting, and generally taking up way too much airspace. I finally let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
“Alright, my friend, where are we actually headed?” I ask as we reach the center of the square, doing my best to keep up as he veers sharply to the right. The crowds thin as we enter a more secluded path.
He doesn’t say a word until we’re well away from the noise, at which point he casts me a sidelong glance and says, “On the shipwreck, you broke my plant jar.”
Ah. Well. That’s... certainly not where I thought this was going.
“Your plant jar?” I echo, baffled but intrigued. Of all things, a plant jar wasn’t what I expected him to be harboring a grudge over.
“Yes,” he replies, his face as unreadable as a blank map. “That jar held a complete ecosystem. It didn’t require a single thing outside of what it already had. Crafted specifically for me, it was... a piece of land I carried to dull the key’s power.”
I stare at him, the words still settling like dust. “So… we’re here to find you… a new plant?”
“Ecosystem,” he corrects, his voice heavy with that particular brand of seriousness I already recognize. It says he’s getting angry.
“Right, anecosystem,“ I say, nodding as if it all makes perfect sense. “And this little world of yours somehow kept the Lady’s powers in check?”
Fabien nods curtly, not breaking stride. “It wasn’t perfect, but it helped. The key’s energy… let’s just say it’s a bit… wild. The ecosystem balanced some of that, kept it from overwhelming me or attracting unwanted eyes. It was a godsend—until you broke it.” His sarcasm practically drips when he saysgodsend.
I let out a chuckle, raising an eyebrow. “Well, in my defense, I didn’t exactly have time to weigh my options. You looked ready to kill when you were coming after me, and once the voice kicked in… let’s just say things got out of hand.”
“Indeed.”
“So, anyway… where do we find another one of these magical ecosystems? Can’t say I’ve spotted any among the usual market fare,” I say, glancing around at the mishmash of pirate stalls and shops. Everything from barrels of fish to the odd trinket, but not a single ecosystem jar.
“We’re heading to see an old contact of mine,” Fabien explains. “He’s something of an alchemist. If anyone on this island can make a new ecosystem jar, it’s him.”
An alchemist. Naturally. As if things weren’t bizarre enough, now we’re off to see a mystical scientist skulking around the shadowy corners of a pirate island. It’s all a bit on brand at this point, but that doesn’t make it any less unsettling.
If Mother were here, I’d be telling her this whole tale, perhaps adding a bit about how her son, the champion of the Sea goddess, is somehow now knee-deep in magic jars and cursed pieces of gold.
“Let’s just hope he’s not the sort who prefers to work in the dark, hm?” I quip, grinning. As usual, my joke fizzles out in the silence. Tough crowd.
We arrive at a tiny shop tucked away in the corner of the alley, its faded sign showing two crossed leaves instead of a name. Fabien pushes the door open, and a bell rings out, its dainty chime feeling strangely out of place against the rough wooden walls.
Inside, the air clings with the heady scent of herbs, mingling with something sharp that tickles the back of my throat. Shelves stack up to the ceiling, every inch crammed with jars, vials, and bundles of dried plants that look like they’d sooner curse youthan heal you. Behind a scarred counter stands a man—oh, this is a man worth seeing.
He’s tall and skinny, with hair so wild it looks like he challenged the wind and lost, and his spectacles teeter on the edge of his nose, as if deciding whether they want to stick around. His hands are splattered with stains that could be ink…or something a bit more explosive.
