Morning fog rolled thick through the market levels, providing perfect cover for Hayazaki's practice. He moved like smoke between the stalls, his Malara abilities letting him blend with the toxic haze. His Axis terminal chimed softly with each successful acquisition, marking his growing proficiency in stealth.
A weapons dealer turned away to haggle with a customer, and Hayazaki's hand darted out, quick as thought, snagging a well-maintained knife. His terminal noted not just the successful theft, but the efficiency of his movement, the careful control of his toxic emissions to mask his presence. He was learning to fine-tune his abilities, discovering that his poison could do more than just harm - it could conceal, distract, even temporarily alter people's perceptions.
He found himself grinning as he slipped past guards, his borrowed body moving with a grace that surprised even Filis's muscle memory. Each success built on the last, unlocking new possibilities in his ability tree. Soon, he told himself, he'd be strong enough to make real changes here. He imagined using these same skills to protect people, to right the wrongs that seemed built into the Rim's very structure.
A piece of armor here, a tool there - his collection grew steadily. Some items he grabbed purely to test different techniques, enjoying the challenge of stealing increasingly difficult targets. His terminal seemed to approve of this methodical approach to skill development, rewarding him with bonus experience for particularly creative solutions.
By midday, he had quite a haul. He made his way back to the nest, practically bouncing with enthusiasm despite his borrowed body's natural tendency toward cautious movement. Min was going to be impressed with his progress - though he'd have to explain that this was all for training purposes, not actual theft. Well, mostly for training purposes.
His terminal chimed again as he arranged his acquisitions in the nest, suggesting he was close to unlocking a new ability branch. Something about enhanced sensory perception through poison detection. Perfect for a would-be hero of the Rim.
The collection of stolen goods slipped from Hayazaki's arms, clattering across the nest's floor. The space felt wrong - too quiet, too still. Min's absence hit him like a physical blow.
He scanned the small chamber, his senses automatically seeking traces of movement, unusual scents, anything that might tell him what happened. The blanket where Min had slept lay rumpled, as if the child had left in a hurry. No signs of struggle, but that meant little in the Rim where professionals knew how to work clean.
His borrowed body's instincts began cataloging possibilities, each worse than the last. Corpse traders returning for their lost merchandise. Slasher's men sending a message. Random opportunists spotting an unprotected child. The Rim had so many ways to make people disappear.
His Axis terminal pulsed with information - tracking options, detection abilities he could unlock if he were just a few levels higher. But those possibilities meant nothing now, with Min already gone. He'd been so caught up in playing hero, in training his abilities, that he'd left a child alone in one of the most dangerous parts of Sveethlad.
The stolen trinkets that had seemed so clever just moments ago now mocked him from the floor. What good was stealth training if he couldn't protect one small person? What use were dreams of becoming a hero if he couldn't handle the most basic responsibility?
Hayazaki forced himself to be still, to think. Panic wouldn't help Min. He needed to approach this like the puzzle it was. His Axis terminal could help analyze clues, but first he needed to find them.
He started with the nest itself, examining every detail with his enhanced senses. The blanket still held Min's scent, but there was something else - a faint chemical trace that didn't belong. He leaned closer, letting his poison receptors process the unfamiliar compound. His terminal identified it as a common preservative, the kind used in the market's food stalls.
The market. Min had mentioned knowing all the food vendors' routines. Maybe the child had gone scavenging on their own, despite their agreement. But something about that felt wrong. Min had seemed genuinely willing to follow Hayazaki's rules, even if they didn't make sense in Rim terms.
He found small footprints in the toxic residue near the nest's entrance. They led out, but didn't return. More importantly, they showed no signs of hurry or struggle. Min had left voluntarily, probably expecting to come back.
Hayazaki moved to the walkway outside, where the toxic fog made tracking difficult for most people. But his Malara senses could detect disruptions in the chemical soup - multiple sets of footprints, some leading to his nest, others moving away. Recent ones. His terminal began mapping their patterns, suggesting relationships between different tracks.
A vendor passed by on a lower level. Hayazaki noticed her glance up at his position, then quickly look away. She knew something. In the Rim, everyone saw more than they admitted to seeing. The trick was getting them to talk.
He needed to start asking questions, but carefully. The wrong inquiry to the wrong person could alert whoever took Min. He had to build his information web slowly, testing each strand before putting weight on it.
His terminal suggested starting with the preservative trace. Only certain vendors used that particular compound. It wasn't much, but it was a beginning. A way to start mapping the connections that might lead to his little friend.
Hayazaki started with the vendor who'd glanced at his nest - not by approaching her directly, but by lingering near her stall, letting his Malara senses analyze the preservatives she used. Different compound than what he'd found. Not a direct connection, but she still knew something. He could tell by the way she kept her back to his position, too deliberately casual.
He bought something small from the stall next to hers, making sure she could overhear his conversation. "My young friend," he mentioned casually to the other vendor, keeping his voice gentle despite his purple-tinged appearance, "usually helps me carry supplies. Hasn't been around today. Strange."
The woman's shoulders tensed slightly. His terminal registered the reaction, suggesting possible stress responses. He kept talking, describing Min in ways that emphasized the child's youth, their friendship. He noticed the woman's hands pause in their work when he mentioned how Min had been teaching him market customs.
"Brave kid," the neighboring vendor commented. "Running with a Malara."
"Brave and kind," Hayazaki agreed. "Deserves better than the Rim usually offers." He felt the woman's attention sharpen at that, though she still didn't turn.
As he moved away, his terminal highlighted a pattern - several other vendors had shown similar subtle reactions to his presence. They formed a rough triangle in the market layout, all using similar preservatives. A territory, he realized. Someone's protected zone.
He bought something from each shop in the triangle, building a pattern of movement that looked random but let him observe their operations. His terminal recorded small details - which shops received deliveries first, which vendors seemed to defer to others. A hierarchy emerged.
At one stall, a worker's sleeve rode up as they reached for inventory, revealing a tattoo - three vertical lines crossed by one horizontal. His terminal cataloged it, cross-referencing with Filis's memories. A gang mark, but not one of Slasher's. The territory belonged to someone else.
By mid-afternoon, he had a clearer picture. This section of the market operated under the protection of someone called the Broker. The preservative trace was their signature - they supplied it to their affiliated vendors at reduced rates. Min must have crossed into their territory, knowingly or not.
The question was: had they taken the child as a warning to Hayazaki for operating in their zone, or was there another reason? Either way, he needed to find this Broker. But first, he needed to understand exactly what kind of power he was dealing with.
Through careful observation and strategic questions, a picture of the Broker's operation began to emerge. Unlike Slasher's crude brutality, the Broker worked through systems and dependencies. The preserved food trade was just the surface - they controlled supply lines, decided which vendors got prime locations, who received protection and who didn't.
Hayazaki noticed how information flowed through the market. Messages passed between vendors through specific routes, carried by children who looked remarkably like Min - small, quick, observant. His terminal tagged this pattern: the Broker didn't just control goods, they collected information.
He followed one of these messenger children, keeping his distance, using his Malara abilities to stay undetected in the toxic haze. The child moved with practiced efficiency, stopping at certain stalls, exchanging small packages. But Hayazaki noticed something else - at each stop, the child listened. Gathered snippets of conversation, observed interactions.
His terminal highlighted a crucial detail: the Broker's operation wasn't just about territory or goods - it was an intelligence network. The preservative-marked vendors formed a web of observation points throughout the market. The messenger children weren't just delivering packages; they were collecting information about everyone who passed through.
Min would have been perfect for their operation - smart, observant, already familiar with market patterns. Had the Broker's people been watching them? Had they seen Min's ability to navigate the Rim, to understand its rhythms?
A vendor who'd been particularly cold to him yesterday now gave him a different kind of look - still cautious, but evaluating. Word of his search was spreading through the Broker's network. They were watching to see what he would do.
His terminal suggested he was being tested. The Broker's people were likely reporting his every move, there was a conspiracy building up, and he needed to find out how deep he had gotten himself and Min into it.
Back in his nest, Hayazaki sat among his collected supplies, forcing himself to think clearly. Min's disappearance gnawed at him, but rushing blindly into the Broker's web wouldn't help anyone. His Axis terminal displayed Slasher's deadline - five days remaining to venture into the Undawild and return with ash. The weight of multiple responsibilities pressed down on him like the toxic fog outside.
He began organizing his stolen goods, using the methodical action to order his thoughts. The market's careful architecture of information and control suggested something larger at work. The Broker's system was too sophisticated for simple territory control - they were building something, preparing for something. But what?
His terminal suggested cross-referencing what he knew: the Broker's interest in information, their network of child observers, their control of preserved food distribution. All of it spoke to someone playing a longer game than the usual Rim power struggles. And they'd taken interest in Min right when Hayazaki had started asking questions about dungeon entrances and ash trading.
The coincidence felt significant, but he couldn't afford to investigate further. Not yet. His friends were out there somewhere, probably in as much danger as he was. The Undakwin threatened the entire city. And Slasher... Slasher wouldn't accept excuses about missing children or market conspiracies.
Hayazaki sorted his collected equipment with careful precision, just as Min had taught him to evaluate resources. The thought of the child made his chest tight, but he forced himself to focus. He would come back for Min, but first he needed to grow stronger, to understand this world better. Running in unprepared would only get them both killed.
Still, as he prepared for his first venture into the Undawild, he made notes of everything he'd learned about the Broker's operation. His terminal recorded his observations, marking them for future reference. This wasn't over - it was just delayed until he could face it properly.