As Finn and Marcellus stepped out from Aulus's dimly lit den, the evening sun greeted them with a glare that was both blinding and revealing.
It painted the world in a stark contrast that was new to Finn's eyes; the sunbeams fractured into a prism of unseen colours that danced around the edges of his vision.
The shadows cast by the towering structures of the city didn't just appear as absences of light, but as entities themselves, pulsating with an ethereal energy that beckoned his newfound senses.
Marcellus watched him, noting the way Finn's gaze darted to the corners of the world that had once been invisible to them both. He walked beside his transformed friend, his mind awash with a complex brew of awe, envy, and curiosity.
A soft breeze wound its way through the narrow street, carrying with it the myriad scents of the marketplace—a tapestry of spices, fresh bread, and the iron tang of smithwork.
To Finn, however, it was as though he could smell the colours and hear the textures. His senses were no longer distinct streams, but converging rivers, feeding into an ocean of perception that was overwhelming in its vastness.
The bustle of the city was a symphony of life, each passerby a note, each carriage wheels a beat.
Marcellus felt a twinge of isolation in this sensory cacophony, a traveller at the borders of a foreign land he could not enter. Yet, alongside this solitude was the spark of determination.
He was not one to be left in the dust—his path to the supernatural abilities, and his resolve to pursue it hardened with every step they took away from Aulus's door.
As they moved through the throngs of people, Finn seemed to be swimming against a current that only he could feel, his body moving with a new, fluid grace.
He was both present in the moment and obviously apart from it, his eyes reflecting a world beyond the world. When a beggar reached out, his hand didn't just appear as flesh and bone but as a constellation of life force, a nebula of need and hope.
Marcellus was silent, allowing Finn the space to adjust to his new capabilities, but his thoughts were loud with plans and negotiations. He would speak to Aulus alone, barter for his own, his own taste of the power that had so subtly but irrevocably altered his friend.
Finally, they reached the city's edge, where the urban river they had been traversing gave way to the tranquil sea of the countryside.
The natural world beckoned with its own forms of magic—ones not crafted in alchemical labs but woven through the very fabric of creation. Here, Finn stopped, taking a deep, deliberate breath. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the leaves in the trees, and his pulse echoed the hidden heartbeats of the creatures watching from forest and field.
"Blackeye," he said, his voice no longer just a sound but a vibration that seemed to resonate with the earth itself, "I feel... alive. Truly alive. Not just within my body, but part of everything. The feeling is... indescribable."
Marcellus's tone held a touch of jest, but his eyes were serious, "Where is the rest of my money?"
The gravity of the mundane world, of debts and dues, clawed back into focus.
Finn's smile, a boxer's—worn, knowing, and slightly mischievous—betrayed none of the monumental change he had just undergone. It was a deflection, a return to the banter and roles they had always played.
"Come to my inn," Finn's response was smooth, practised as if he had not just danced with the metaphysical but was merely a man discussing a simple transaction. "I could not carry such an amount out in public, I will treat you to dinner."
Marcellus's hand remained on Finn's shoulder, but now it was a softer grip.
He is still real right? he is not going to evaporate, is he? Marcellus was becoming nervous he did not know the full scope of Finn's abilities.
They began to move toward the inn, their strides matching in rhythm, the dust of the road rising and falling to the cadence of their steps. The city seemed to fall away, a receding tide of noise and clamour, as they approached the quieter street where Finn's inn lay.
The inn itself was a nondescript establishment, nestled between a blacksmith's clanging workshop and a baker whose bread perfumed the sunset air. It was the sort of place that promised no adventures, a haven of normalcy where one could be anonymous, unremarkable—a sharp contrast to the tumultuous journey they had just embarked upon.
Finn pushed open the door, the familiar creak a welcome sound.
The interior was dim, lit by slivers of light that cut through the shutters, dust motes dancing in the sunbeams like tiny, carefree spirits. The innkeeper nodded at them, a tacit recognition of frequent patrons, before going back to polishing a row of mugs.
Upstairs, in the modest security of his rented room, Finn retrieved the rest of the money. It was a substantial sum, carefully wrapped in oiled cloth and hidden within a false bottom of his wooden chest—a chest that had seen more brawls than a back-alley pugilist.
Handing over the remainder of the funds to Marcellus, Finn's gaze was steady.
Marcellus's fingers were nimble as they sifted through the coins, the clink and clatter of silver creating a mundane melody that seemed out of place in the wake of their recent otherworldly encounter.
His eyes, sharp and calculating, glanced from the coins to Finn intermittently, a silent question in their depths.
The coins shone with the soft sheen of well-crafted currency, each bearing the visage of the current sovereign, pressed into metal with a craftsman's care. The silver was real—each piece a small promise of food, shelter, or pleasure in the markets of the city.
As he counted, his gaze darted up not to Finn but to the corners of the room, to the shadows where the light seemed reluctant to dwell. Marcellus's recent exposure to the supernatural, to the spirits that clung to Aulus like unseen attendants, had pricked at the edges of his reality, sowing seeds of doubt about what truly lurked in the unseen corners of the world.
"Four hundred," he stated flatly, once the counting was done. His voice, though steady, could not entirely mask the undercurrent of unease that the day's events had stirred within him. The weight of the coins in his hands was a comforting assurance, but the memory of translucent apparitions made his spine tingle with a mixture of apprehension and a burgeoning curiosity.
Turning his wary eyes back to Finn, he allowed the silence to stretch for a heartbeat. "This is a fair sum," Marcellus said.
He paused, allowing his words to hang in the air between them. His statement was rhetorical, yet it bore the weight of genuine inquiry. For all his outward scepticism, Marcellus was not immune to the allure of the more coin.
The coins in his hand suddenly seemed less like an end and more like a means—perhaps to an end far beyond the mundane aspirations he had held until now.
Finn watched Marcellus with a look of understanding that was new and old at the same time. "The price will increase," Finn said slowly, "depends on how far you're willing to go, what you're willing to risk. Today was just the beginning, Blackeye. Just the beginning."
And in Finn's eyes, Marcellus saw not just the fiery pirate he had known but a man who had stepped through a door and glimpsed the infinite corridors beyond. It was an invitation and a warning, wrapped in the enigma of his friend's new bearing.
Marcellus weighed the coins in his hand once more, feeling their solidity and pondering their potential. "Let's talk more Finn," he said finally, "Let's see what doors you can open."