The next day, after spending most of the day finalizing materials and inspecting the location, it was finally time for a break. Working from early morning until evening had been exhausting. Yet, despite the fatigue, Lyra had no intention of resting.
Dylan, who had planned to invite Lyra to visit the marketplace with him in disguise, found himself disappointed as she hurried to her room without looking back. He frowned, recalling their postponed promise to hang out together.
Meanwhile, Lyra quickly changed into simple commoner clothing and donned a cape over her outfit. She avoided wearing all black, as such attire would only draw suspicion in a bustling public place. Securing a dagger in the belt around her waist, she slipped on the necklace containing the black magic powder intended for her father.
A knock at her door broke her focus.
"Come in," she called.
Priscilla entered stealthily, her sharp eyes taking in Lyra's appearance.
"It seems you're ready to go," she observed.
"Yes. Last night, Aurelia told me the location of the black magician. I need to investigate it immediately," Lyra replied firmly.
"I don't feel comfortable letting you go alone," Priscilla said, concern evident in her voice.
"I won't be alone. Mika is waiting for me outside the palace gates."
"Should I come with you?"
Lyra shook her head. "No, I need you here. If I don't return within three hours, gather the guards and come after me."
Priscilla hesitated before nodding. "Understood. I'll wait for you."
"Thank you."
As Lyra turned to leave, she suddenly remembered Dylan. He had mentioned wanting to join her on this mission. Her brows furrowed in indecision. Should she leave without him or let him know her plans?
"Is something the matter?" Priscilla asked, noticing Lyra's hesitation.
"Dylan might come with me," Lyra admitted.
Priscilla's expression eased. "In that case, I feel less worried."
Lyra left her room and hurried toward Dylan's quarters. She knocked softly, whispering, "Dylan, are you there? It's me."
Inside, Dylan stirred from his nap. Half-asleep, he initially thought he was dreaming until her voice came again, filled with urgency.
"It's Lyra! Is he sleeping? If he isn't here, should I leave without him?" she muttered to herself.
Startled awake, Dylan jumped out of bed, running a hand through his hair as he scrambled to look presentable. He opened the door, panting, and found Lyra about to leave.
"Lyra?" he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep.
Startled by his disheveled appearance, Lyra quickly stepped into his room, closing the door behind her.
"Apologies for barging in uninvited," she said hurriedly. "I didn't want anyone to see me in this attire. I came to ask if you're still willing to visit the black magician with me."
Dylan blinked, her question chasing away the last remnants of sleep. A slow grin spread across his face.
"Of course! I was waiting for you to ask," he said.
Lyra handed him a set of clothes. "Here. I borrowed these from Mika. He's about your height, though a bit slimmer. Let me know if they don't fit."
"Mika?" Dylan asked, his tone curious.
"My personal knight," Lyra explained, gesturing to indicate Mika's height. "Short brown hair. You may have seen him."
Recognition flickered across Dylan's face, but he chose not to comment.
"He's cute. You'll like him," Lyra added with a grin.
Dylan's expression darkened slightly, but he said nothing, disappearing into the attached dressing room to change.
Left alone, Lyra's eyes wandered over his room. It was surprisingly clean, though his desk was cluttered with books and papers. She spotted a sketchbook and couldn't resist flipping through it.
The detailed drawings of landscapes and animals impressed her, but one sketch stopped her cold. It was a drawing of herself, smiling brightly with sparkling eyes.
'When did he draw this?' she thought, overwhelmed by the emotions radiating from the page. She turned to another sketch, this one capturing her in a candid moment, framed by a window.
Before she could dwell further, the dressing room door opened, and Dylan emerged, fully dressed. His casual attire suited him so well that Lyra found herself momentarily speechless.
"You were right. They fit perfectly," Dylan said, adjusting his sheath.
"Is that necessary?" Lyra asked, gesturing to the weapon.
"What do you think?" he replied with a smirk.
"Fair enough. Let's go. Mika is waiting in the East Garden."
As they stepped into the corridor, Lyra peeked out cautiously, ensuring no one saw them. Priscilla, passing by on her way to her own room, raised an eyebrow at the sight of Lyra exiting Dylan's quarters.
"Still here?" she whispered.
"We're heading to the East Garden," Lyra whispered back.
Priscilla's eyes widened. "The King and Queen are there."
"What?"
"I just saw them," Priscilla confirmed.
Dylan shrugged. "We can still go. Let's not waste time."
Priscilla stepped forward. "I'll distract them. Follow my lead."
The trio made their way to the garden. As Priscilla approached the King and Queen, engaging them in conversation, Lyra and Dylan slipped past unnoticed.
On the other hand, Lyra and Dylan had managed to successfully evade their pursuers. They regrouped outside the palace, where Mika, clad in a modest yet impeccably tailored jacket, awaited them with a quiet air of patience. Upon seeing Dylan, he bowed deeply, the motion fluid and practiced.
"We're outside," Dylan remarked with a wry smile, "so no need for all that formality."
Mika straightened, his lips curving into a polite smile. It was then that Dylan truly took in the young man—the sharp cheekbones, the confident stance, and the unmistakable glint of familiarity. Recognition dawned as Lyra's fond anecdotes about a boy she'd seen grow up flashed through his mind.
'Ah, so this is the 'little brother' she's always mentioned,' Dylan mused. 'I'd almost forgotten his name was Mika.'
Breaking the reverie, Dylan asked, "Where exactly are we going?"
"A shop named Abracadabra," Mika replied, his tone light.
Dylan raised an eyebrow. "Abracadabra? That's the best name they could come up with?"
Lyra stifled a chuckle. "It's a magic shop. The name… fits."
"But why is a black magic shop so out in the open?" Dylan countered, his skepticism clear.
"There are no laws against black magic here," Mika explained smoothly. "So long as it doesn't harm anyone or break any laws, it's tolerated."
They began weaving their way through the bustling marketplace. The air was alive with chatter and the scent of roasted nuts, exotic spices, and freshly baked bread. Merchants called out to passersby, their colorful stalls brimming with wares—brightly dyed fabrics, shimmering trinkets, and curious artifacts. Children darted through the crowds, laughter trailing behind them, while street performers entertained onlookers with feats of acrobatics and sleight of hand.
The group approached an unassuming wooden door with the word *Abracadabra* etched in ornate gold lettering above it. Mika stepped forward, opening the door with a slight bow. As Lyra and Dylan entered, the soft chime of a brass bell announced their arrival.
Inside, the shop exuded an air of mystique. The walls were lined with shelves brimming with glass jars containing powders of every hue, shimmering crystals, and books bound in leather so worn it seemed ancient secrets might spill from their pages. The faint scent of incense hung in the air, mingling with the soft flicker of candlelight that illuminated the space. A young man, likely in his early twenties, emerged from behind the counter, his smile warm and inviting.
"Greetings! How may I assist you today?" he asked, his voice as smooth as velvet.
Lyra held up a small vial of powder. "We'd like this inspected."
The man's smile broadened as he explained, "Of course. Inspection costs 5,000 tins. Please note that we uphold strict confidentiality. We can inform you of the substance's nature and use, but no further details. If you require an antidote, that will cost double. Is that agreeable?"
Lyra nodded. "Yes."
"Then please follow me to the inspection desk."
The salesman led them past a thick velvet curtain into a narrow alleyway. The flickering light from the shop grew faint behind them. A second curtain loomed ahead, and he drew it back, gesturing for Lyra and Dylan to enter first. Beyond was a space so engulfed in darkness it felt like stepping into a void.
Lyra hesitated, her fingers instinctively reaching for Dylan's sleeve. Dylan, noticing her unease, lightly hooked his pinky around hers, a silent reassurance. Together, they stepped into the darkness.
"Please wait a moment," came the salesman's voice from the void.
Suddenly, five lanterns ignited in a soft cascade, casting a dim but sufficient glow. The room revealed itself slowly—a cavernous space dominated by a grand, dark-purple sofa facing a desk cluttered with arcane devices, vials of liquid, and powders of unknown origin.
"Please, take a seat," the salesman instructed. "Someone will attend to you shortly."
Lyra and Dylan exchanged glances before cautiously lowering themselves onto the plush sofa. Their anticipation grew as the room fell silent once more. A sudden plume of smoke erupted near the desk, curling upward like ghostly tendrils. From behind another curtain emerged a woman, perhaps in her thirties, her demeanor in stark contrast to the ominous surroundings. She wore a bright, sunny expression, her movements graceful and unhurried.
Dylan's hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword, while Lyra's fingers brushed against the hidden dagger at her side. Noticing their unease, the woman raised her hands in a gesture of peace, a light giggle escaping her lips.
"Oh, I didn't mean to startle you. There's no need for alarm," she said, her tone as bubbly as her smile.
Lyra relaxed marginally but kept her guard up. The woman stepped closer, her gaze flicking to the vial in Lyra's hand.
"Shall we see what we're dealing with?" she asked, extending her hand.
Lyra handed over the vial, watching intently as the woman uncorked it with practiced ease. "Oh my," the woman murmured, her brows lifting slightly as she examined the powder.
"Do you recognize it?" Lyra asked.
"In a moment," the woman replied, already engrossed in her work. She poured two drops of a clear liquid onto a small sample of the powder. Instantly, a plume of maroon smoke spiraled upward. She then dipped her pinky into the mixture and tasted it, her expression thoughtful.
"Hmm. Fascinating."
The woman continued her tests, mixing the powder with a bluish liquid. It turned blood-red upon contact, mirroring the earlier smoke. Lyra's patience wore thin.
"What is it for?" she pressed.
The woman set down her tools and met Lyra's gaze. "This is a unique concoction," she began. "It contains both a drug and its antidote. Ingenious, really. It induces illness by exacerbating minor ailments to their extremes while simultaneously ensuring the victim never succumbs entirely. They exist in a liminal state—neither fully healthy nor fatally ill. The sedative properties add another layer, creating a sense of comfort that's dangerously addictive. From its composition, I'd say it was designed for prolonged, controlled use."
Lyra's chest tightened as the description mirrored her father's symptoms with eerie precision.
"How can it be cured?" she demanded.
The woman paused, deep in thought. "First, the victim must cease all intake for at least two weeks. Replace it with sugar or chocolate for 30 days to mitigate withdrawal. Then, administer a purification serum daily for six months."
"Can I have the serum?"
"Certainly. It will cost 80,000 tins."
Lyra and Dylan's expressions betrayed their shock. The woman offered a sympathetic smile.
"Rare black magic requires equally rare remedies," she explained.
Lyra exhaled sharply. "Fine. I'll take it."
"Very well," the woman replied, her tone unwavering. "Please follow me to the reception desk."
As they followed the lady through the dimly lit corridor, the rich scent of aged wood and soft lavender from the shop's lingering aroma filling the air, Lyra leaned toward Dylan, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I am quite taken aback that Aunt managed to acquire such a rare concoction. I wonder where she sourced it from."
Dylan raised an eyebrow, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Isn't black magic prohibited in Anemoi?"
"It is," Lyra replied, her eyes narrowing with intrigue, "which is precisely why it surprises me."
Dylan gave a small nod, his gaze briefly flickering to the grand shelves lining the reception area, stocked with jars and bottles that seemed to pulse with secrets. "Well, I'm just glad you managed to get here."
Lyra offered a soft smile, her thoughts momentarily distracted. "Yes, it was quite the stroke of luck."
The receptionist, a young man with soft, polite features, handed Lyra a small, intricately wrapped bottle, his movements precise as he prepared the item. "Will that be all, miss? How would you like to settle the payment?"
Lyra handed over the coin, but a sudden thought flickered through her mind, causing her to pause. Her voice dropped lower. "I wonder... Do you happen to have anything that could cause someone to fall ill within two days, only to then pass away from heart failure—naturally, of course?"
The receptionist's expression shifted slightly, eyes narrowing in thought before he answered, his voice soft but firm. "We certainly do. But such a potion is not for sale, for it is... exceedingly dangerous. We keep it under lock and key, and it is not something we offer lightly."
Lyra's curiosity piqued, she pressed on. "So, there is a potion like that?"
His eyes flickered as he nodded. "Indeed. The potion begins subtly—low blood pressure, a vague sense of weakness, like anemia, but without the usual signs. Gradually, the person experiences nausea, stomach cramps, leading them to believe it is mere food poisoning. But it is not. Then, a sudden rise in blood pressure, and eventually... heart failure." He paused, eyes locking with hers. "It happens precisely within two days. If you know someone who has experienced these symptoms, I'm afraid you've encountered the work of black magic."
Lyra's heart skipped a beat, her thoughts rushing back to her mother's death—the very same symptoms, and the doctors' inability to determine the cause. A chill ran down her spine.
"...I see."
Dylan, sensing her distress, reached out to her with a concerned whisper. "Lyra?"
Lyra took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and forced a smile, though her mind raced with questions. "Thank you for the information."
The receptionist, sensing a shift in the atmosphere, brightened slightly. "It is my pleasure. If you'd like, we offer a complimentary fate reading, as a token of appreciation for your... generous purchase."
Lyra blinked, momentarily startled by the offer. "A fate reading?"
"Indeed," he said, his voice now smoother, almost coaxing. "You have spent much here, and we wish to offer you insight into your future. No strings attached, of course."
Lyra chuckled lightly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'm not one to believe that fate is prewritten. The future, in my view, is something we carve for ourselves, don't you think?"
"You are absolutely correct," he replied, his expression thoughtful. "Fate is not fixed. We don't tell you what you will do, but we can reveal what lies ahead. The choice, however, is yours. How you react, what you decide, that will shape your future. Will you accept the offer?"
Lyra glanced at Dylan, who gave a nonchalant shrug. "I don't typically put stock in these things, but... I admit, I'm curious."
"Same here," Lyra agreed, nodding, her expression softening.
The receptionist's smile widened, and with a sweeping gesture, he led them to a quiet, secluded corner of the shop, where a small table sat with velvet cushions awaiting their arrival.
They took their seats, and before them sat a man in his thirties, blond and blue-eyed, his face calm and unreadable. "Greetings. I must ask, will you be seeking a reading for yourselves, or perhaps... for your fates together?" His gaze flicked between them, and for a moment, Lyra and Dylan's faces flushed in shared confusion.
Dylan, ever the quick thinker, cleared his throat. "We're not together," he said flatly, though there was a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"My apologies," the man said, a light chuckle escaping his lips. "Now, shall we begin? I will perform a simple card reading. Who will go first?"
Lyra, hesitant but intrigued, nodded. "I'll go first."
The man nodded in approval and spread a deck of cards across the table, their edges glistening under the soft glow of a nearby lantern. "Choose three," he instructed.
Lyra selected the cards, her fingers brushing the edges as she did so. The man turned them over one by one, his voice steady and measured as he explained each card's meaning.
"The first card... it tells of loss. You will soon lose someone dear to you. It may be through death or separation for reasons unknown. What is certain, however, is that this loss is imminent."
Lyra's breath caught in her throat, her mind flashing back to her mother's passing.
The second card, the man said, was a rare one. "This card represents the balance between happiness and sorrow. It suggests that in the near future, you will experience both joy and sadness in equal measure. It could be a time of great contentment, tempered by inevitable moments of grief, or the opposite—a period of hardship, but amidst it, a glimmer of unexpected joy."
Lyra's brows furrowed as she processed his words, but she remained silent.
The third card was met with a solemn expression from the reader. He glanced at it and then at Lyra, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "This card... is blank. It signifies death. But do not be alarmed—death does not always mean the end. It could also represent a fresh beginning, a rebirth, a pivotal moment that requires you to take a leap of faith, to assert yourself in a world that demands change."
Both Lyra and Dylan stared at the card in shock, the air around them seeming to thicken with an unspoken tension. The man, sensing their unease, added quickly, "Or it could signify the arrival of new love, though the choice is yours how to interpret it."
Lyra's cheeks flushed at the mention of love, her thoughts drifting to Dylan, though she quickly pushed them away. She wasn't one for romance, and certainly, there was no room for it in her life now. But still, her eyes found themselves drifting toward him.
Dylan, noticing her gaze, quickly picked his cards. As the man laid them out, Lyra held her breath, her heart quickening as the first card was revealed—exactly the same as hers.
"You too will lose someone dear," the man said, glancing at Dylan with an almost amused twinkle in his eye. "And like her, you have the blank card, though its meaning remains as ambiguous as before. But this last one... ah, this is the most intriguing."
Dylan raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"It is the choice card," the man replied, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "In the future, you will face a difficult decision between two things you hold dear. Choose one, and you risk losing the other. For most, it is a dilemma that could shatter them. But you..." The man studied Dylan carefully. "You will find a third path, a way to keep both. Your decisiveness will be your greatest asset."
Dylan nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "That sounds about right."
The man's gaze lingered between them, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It seems your fates are intertwined, indeed."
Lyra felt a slight flush creep up her neck as she quickly deflected the attention. "We're not together," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper.
The man, unperturbed, chuckled. "Still, your destinies are linked, as the cards suggest."
As they left the shop, the weight of the reading seemed to hang in the air, the streets of Anemoi bustling around them. Mika, who had been waiting outside, now approached them, holding something in his hand—an envelope sealed with a royal insignia.
"A letter... from His Majesty himself," Mika said, hesitating, clearly unsure how to approach Lyra. "It was for you."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "From my father?"
Mika nodded. "Yes."
Before Lyra could open the letter, Dylan's sharp gaze caught something in the shadows—a figure watching them from a distance.
"I'll be right back," Dylan muttered, stepping away before Lyra could stop him.
As she watched him disappear into the alley, her thoughts swirled, unsure of what was unfolding.