The Market of Wonders in Celestria was alive with energy, a constant hum of voices blending with the clatter of merchants arranging their goods. Canopies of deep blue and crimson fluttered in the breeze, their vibrant colors rippling like waves above the throngs of people. Sunlight streamed down, casting dappled shadows over the stalls, where traders from all corners of the empire had set up shop. The smell of sizzling meats, sweet pastries, and exotic spices filled the air, teasing the senses of those wandering through the maze of stands.
Vendors called out to passersby, each trying to outdo the other with promises of rare wares and unbeatable prices. One merchant held up a shimmering green fabric, its surface catching the light like the scales of a fish. "From Verdantia! Woven with threads of gold!" he boasted, his voice rising above the chatter. A nearby stall featured intricate jewelry—silver bracelets etched with runes, and necklaces adorned with colorful stones. A woman held up a pair of earrings to her friend, who nodded approvingly.
Amidst this lively scene, a lone traveler stood, drawing a small but curious crowd. His cloak was tattered and his boots scuffed, but his presence was magnetic. The man, a stranger to most, had wandered into the market a few days prior, and since then, his stories had become the talk of the town. His voice, thick with an unfamiliar accent, carried above the usual din, inviting listeners closer with the promise of tales from far-off lands.
"'Ave a butcher's at this, mates!" he called out, his voice lilting in Cockney rhyming slang, baffling some but intriguing many. "I've been 'round the bleedin' houses, seen things ya wouldn't believe! Gaffs that float on water, mountains what talk back to ya—nah, I ain't pulling yer leg!"
A few townsfolk chuckled, exchanging amused glances. Despite the strangeness of his words, they were drawn to his confidence, the way he spoke as if he'd seen the edges of the world.
A middle-aged man with a thick beard crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Talking mountains, you say?" he asked, his tone skeptical but playful. "That's a bit of a stretch, isn't it?"
The traveler grinned, his face crinkling with lines that suggested a lifetime of sun, wind, and hard roads. "Oh, you're a right clever clogs, ain't ya?" he retorted. "But I swear on me mum's life, it's the truth! Ya trek far enough, past the desert that burns hotter than a dragon's breath, you'll find it. A mountain, tall as the gods themselves, that whispers secrets if ya know how to listen proper."
A woman in the crowd leaned in, her eyes wide. "What kind of secrets?"
"Ah, love, that's fer those brave enough to ask," the traveler replied, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Some say it's where old kings went to hide their treasure. Others reckon it's got the knowledge of the ancients, locked away in stone."
The crowd murmured among themselves, the air now thick with intrigue. More people began to gather, drawn by the buzz of excitement that rippled through the market.
One young boy tugged at his mother's sleeve. "Can we go to the talking mountain, Mum? Please?"
His mother chuckled and ruffled his hair. "Let's hear more of the man's tales before we pack our bags, eh?"
The traveler's eyes glinted mischievously as he continued. "But that ain't even the half of it. I've been to places where the rivers run black as ink, but they say if you drink from 'em, it'll heal any wound—poison or blade, don't matter. And I've walked through forests what glow in the dark, where the trees themselves sing you to sleep."
The skeptical man from before snorted, though there was a twinkle in his eye. "Singin' trees now? You've got an imagination on ya, I'll give you that."
"Oi! I don't make this up, mate," the traveler shot back with a grin. "Gospel truth, cross me heart. I've seen more of this world than most folk could dream of, and there's more out there than ya know. Why, just the other day, I heard about a plant—now this ain't yer regular garden variety, mind—that can cure the gravest ills. They say it's hidden deep in the forests of a faraway kingdom, past the lands most of you lot know."
That caught the attention of a few people in the crowd, their eyes narrowing with interest. Unbeknownst to the traveler, several of Emperor Eldryn's spies had been scattered among the marketplace that day, their ears ever attuned to rumors that might hold value. The mention of a miraculous cure immediately piqued their curiosity.
A woman in the crowd, her face half-hidden by the brim of her hat, stepped forward slightly. "A plant, you say? What kind of plant?"
The traveler turned to her with a sly smile, clearly enjoying the growing attention. "Ah, now that's a tale worth telling. This plant, see, they call it the Cursed Bloom. It's a rare one, with petals black as night and a smell that'll knock ya off yer feet if you ain't careful. But here's the thing—it don't just heal the body. They say it can cure the mind too, fix any ailment, no matter how far gone. A wonder, that one. Problem is, it's tucked away in a land that ain't so easy to get to. Dangerous, they say. But if you're lookin' fer somethin' to fix what the usual doctors can't, it's worth the trouble."
A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd, but the spies exchanged serious glances. One of them, a tall man with a scar running down his cheek, nodded to another. Without a word, the scarred man turned and slipped through the crowd, heading toward the towering Celestial Citadel that loomed over the city.
Theon, Lord of the Citadel and Emperor Eldryn's most trusted advisor, was not a man easily moved by the idle chatter of common folk. But when word reached his ears of a traveler speaking of rare remedies and far-off places, his attention sharpened like the edge of a blade. For weeks now, Emperor Eldryn's health had been failing, and no healer, no matter how skilled, had been able to reverse the decline. Desperation lingered in the halls of the citadel, though no one dared speak of it openly.
Theon leaned back in his chair, the stone walls of his chamber casting long shadows across his face as he considered the news brought to him by his spies. A plant with miraculous healing properties—if there was even a shred of truth to the traveler's claims, it was worth investigating.
He stood abruptly, the decision made. "Send for him," he ordered, his voice cold and firm. "Bring the traveler to me. I wish to hear these stories for myself."
Theon's soldiers, always quick to obey, moved at once. Two of them donned their helmets, their armor clinking as they exited the citadel and made their way toward the Market of Wonders. They moved through the bustling streets with purpose, the citizens of Celestria parting before them as they passed.
Back in the market, the traveler was still deep in his tales, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke of forgotten cities and treasures buried beneath the sand. The crowd was enraptured, hanging on his every word.
"Oi, what's this then?" the traveler muttered as he spotted the approaching soldiers, their faces hidden behind gleaming helmets. The crowd shifted uneasily, whispering as the two armored men pushed their way through.
One of the soldiers stepped forward, his voice gruff. "You there, traveler. You are summoned to the Celestial Citadel by Lord Theon. He wishes to hear more of your... stories."
The traveler's eyes widened in surprise, but his grin quickly returned. "Well, well! Ain't that a turn up for the books? Right then, lads, lead the way!"
---
The grand halls of the Celestial Citadel were imposing, their cold, grey stone walls adorned with banners bearing the emblem of Tharavara—an eagle with wings spread wide. Torches flickered in the alcoves, casting long shadows down the corridors, as the traveler was led deeper into the heart of the citadel. He walked with a slight swagger, his eyes scanning the lavish surroundings, though the two soldiers at his sides kept him moving swiftly toward his destination.
At the end of the corridor, a large wooden door creaked open, revealing a chamber dominated by a long stone table and the towering figure of Lord Theon. His stern, weathered face showed no hint of emotion as the traveler was brought before him. Behind Theon, tall windows looked out over the sprawling city of Celestria, though the advisor paid the view no mind. His focus was solely on the man before him.
The traveler, still wearing the remnants of his road-weary clothes, gave a low whistle. "Blimey, this place ain't half posh, is it? Right bit o' brass n' muck, innit?" he remarked, though there was a nervous edge to his voice now. Standing in the presence of power often had a sobering effect on even the boldest of men.
Theon, however, was not in the mood for banter. He rose from his seat, his sharp eyes appraising the traveler. "You've come to our market with many stories," Theon began, his voice calm but cold. "Stories of distant lands, forgotten treasures, and most importantly—of rare remedies. I have heard that you spoke of a plant, a plant capable of curing even the gravest of illnesses."
The traveler shifted on his feet, scratching the back of his head. "Aye, that I did, guv'nor. Word don't half travel fast, does it?"
Theon's expression did not change. "It does. And what you do not realize is that such information has greater value than you might think." He gestured for the traveler to sit. "The emperor, our ruler, is not well. His condition has worsened in recent months, and our best physicians have failed to reverse his decline. Tell me, traveler, about this plant you spoke of in the market. Is it real? Can it truly heal those whom other medicines cannot?"
The traveler paused, his easy smile faltering for a moment as he realized the gravity of the situation. He took a seat, leaning forward slightly. "Ah, right, the Cursed Bloom," he said, his voice quieter now. "It ain't just a fairy story, if that's what yer askin'. I seen it meself, right? Proper rare, though. Only grows in one place. Black petals, smell like a dog's dinner, but that's how yer know it's the real McCoy. They say it can sort out what no other herb or potion can."
Theon leaned in, his piercing gaze unrelenting. "Where is it found?"
The traveler scratched his chin, clearly weighing his words carefully. "Oh, it's well out o' yer way, mate. Far from here, past Tharavara's borders, in the empire of Valoria. You'll have ter trek up through the eastern mountains, beyond the kingdom of Brystane. There's a hidden valley there, they say. Nasty place, all winds and cliffs sharper than a butcher's blade. Most folk don't make it through, but those who do, that's where the Bloom grows. It ain't like nothin' you've seen before."
Theon studied him in silence for a long moment before he spoke again. "Do you have a map?"
The traveler grinned. "Now we're talkin', ain't we? Hold yer horses." He reached into his tattered cloak and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment, unrolling it carefully on the table. "Made this meself. Ain't much, but it'll get yer where you need to go."
Theon examined the map, his sharp eyes tracing the path the traveler had marked. After a moment, he nodded, satisfied. "This could prove useful. Very useful." He looked up at the traveler, his expression softening slightly as he pulled a small bag from his belt. "You've done well. For your service, you will be rewarded."
He tossed the bag of coins onto the table, the gold clinking together as it landed in front of the traveler. The man's eyes lit up, and he quickly snatched the bag, weighing it in his hand. "Much appreciated, guv'nor! You won't hear no complaints from me."
Theon waved a hand dismissively. "You may leave. But remember—speak of this to no one. The emperor's health is a matter of utmost secrecy."
The traveler nodded eagerly, pocketing the gold. "Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mate. My lips are tighter than a drum."
Theon watched as the traveler rose to his feet and made his way toward the door, escorted once more by the soldiers. But just before they reached the exit, Theon gave a subtle nod to the soldier standing nearest to him—a man known for his ruthless efficiency.
The traveler, unaware of the danger looming over him, was already thinking of how he'd spend his newfound wealth, whistling a tune as they walked down the corridor. But as they passed through the shadow of an archway, the soldier moved swiftly, his blade sliding out in one fluid motion. Before the traveler could even register what was happening, the cold steel was driven into his side, slipping between his ribs.
The traveler gasped, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. "W-what...?"
The soldier withdrew the blade, allowing the traveler to slump to the floor, his hand clutching at the wound as his lifeblood poured out onto the cold stone. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come.
The soldier knelt beside him, his voice barely a whisper. "Orders."
The traveler's eyes, once so full of life and mischief, dimmed as his breath came in shallow gasps. Within moments, he was still, his body lifeless at the foot of the grand citadel.
The soldier wiped his blade clean and glanced back at the entrance to Theon's chambers. The advisor stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a detached expression. He gave a final nod before turning away, retreating into the shadows of the citadel.
The traveler's tales would never reach the ears of the people. The emperor's illness would remain a secret, buried alongside the man who had come so close to changing the fate of Tharavara.
To Be Continued...