However it was that a dusty path existed in the heart of such a forest, Zane couldn't explain. More than that, there was something about this place that felt fundamentally unreal, a fleeting thought perpetually at the edge of his mind, dissolving each time he tried to grasp it.
He could breathe the air, but it didn't feel right. With every inhale came the rich, earthy scent of forest soil, layered with the heavy, cloying perfume of the Selenus trees. It was a smell that tugged at a deep, buried part of him, reminding him of another forest—the Flemuer Forest, the fayen, and… the memory slipped away, a wisp of smoke through his fingers.
Flemuer Forest. The name rang in his mind with the force of a long-forgotten bell, sparking a nostalgic longing that swelled with every breath, every glance at the impossible trees around him. But Blendriad had said this was Elgard Forest. How could he remember a place he had never visited, never even heard of?
Then there was the path itself. His shoes should have been caked in dust, yet they remained perplexingly clean, as if the very particles shifted aside with each step to avoid soiling him. And like the forest, the path stirred a phantom recollection—a pilgrimage to a temple he had once taken in his youth, to worship some ancient, nameless god…
Above it all hung the two suns. Helion—a bright yellow blazing ball that evoked memories of morning basks under a yellow giant, a joyous start to countless days. And Hydrium, a bright blue luminary whose evening watch meant the day's resolution, a preparation for the dark embrace of night. Now they circled each other at their zenith, a celestial dance that always, always meant noon.
His legs moved with a continuous, automatic rhythm, marking the passage of hours that should have built a deep ache in his muscles. But the ache never came. Instead, a steady, unfamiliar power thrummed within him, a resonant rhythm that whispered he could walk like this forever. Why does this feel so easy?
The question was just cohering in his mind when the trees finally thinned, parting like a stage curtain to reveal a stone-gray giant of a mountain—Endor Mountain.
But its peak was not the white, familiar crown he somehow remembered from another life. Carved into its very summit was a city. A wall of sheer, pale stone encircled it—Eryndor. It had to be. His breath caught. Beyond the formidable battlements, the shadowy spines of a few towers speared the azure sky, but the city's heart remained a secret, stubbornly hidden from the outside world.
The path ahead stretched a considerable distance to the mountain's foot, then transformed into a stone serpent, coiling up and around the colossal rock face. It led to a single, narrow gate—a toothless mouth in the immense wall. From that narrow gap, Zane could just glimpse the city's interior, a blurry hint of life and structure distorted by the distance, the mysteries of Eryndor still jealously guarded from his sight.
---
As they approached the gate, two soldiers flanked the entrance, their armor gleaming like oiled slate. An emerald the size of a robin's egg was set into each of their breastplates. Plumes of deep crimson feathers swept back from helmets that obscured their faces completely, rendering them impersonal, living statues.
Zane braced for the challenge—for demanded papers, for suspicious glares leveled at the strange, brown-headed outsider. But it never came. In perfect, silent unison, the two guards stepped aside, clearing the path. Their blank, metal gazes fixed on some distant point ahead, utterly ignoring him as he passed. A thread of unease coiled in his stomach. *Why no challenge?*
The city's interior was on another level entirely. Structures of elegant, impossible standards stood side by side—no two alike in size or shape, yet all carved from the same pale stone, plastered and laid with intricate designs that defied mundane geometry. The architecture was so exquisite it lent the entire city an overly artistic, almost theatrical quality, as if it were a grand exhibition rather than a living place.
A wide central street, inlaid with elaborate, swirling patterns, stretched from the entrance to a monumental domed structure in the distance. Narrower arteries branched off at intervals, offering glimpses into the city's deeper life.
Zane followed the Gentlets, his gaze sweeping the scene with growing wonder. It was unlike anything on Earth—not even the most ambitious films had conjured something like this. The designs were fluid and elegant, carved into every surface like a language of form and line. On Earth, it might have been called nineteenth-century neoclassical, but here it was something else—softer, more organic, and infinitely more sophisticated.
Down the branching streets, he glimpsed horse-drawn carriages and Gentish children at play. He spotted only a few elder Gentlets—standing like serene sentinels, watching the children or moving with slow, deliberate grace.
They walked until they reached the domed building. It was more monumental than the others—a hexagon of pale stone crowned by a vast, glassy dome supported by intricately fluted marble columns. The entrance was a vaulted affair held aloft by two ornate golden pillars, leading to a smooth marmoreal veranda and finally to arched double doors of rich brown wood, elaborate golden depictions gleaming from the archway above.
Blendriad moved forward and pushed the doors open. The three other Gentlets followed, with Zane close behind.
The interior was even more striking. A polished marble floor stretched before them, its elaborate patterns converging at the center of the vast hall like a stone mandala. Small, square pillars stood at strategic points throughout the space, each displaying vases, delicate statues, or vibrant alien flowers. The entire arrangement nagged at him—a déjà vu of a visit to the Achron Musoleon, a relic exhibit center he had toured on a school trip years ago in some unknown life.
The realization was dawning, murky but insistent. He was remembering things he had never lived, seeing echoes of a past that wasn't his. *Whose memories are these?* The fragments didn't form a coherent narrative, only adding to the disorienting wonder of this realm. It grew more fascinating with every passing second.
"I request a meeting with the Council," Blendriad announced.
A Gentish woman sat at a reception desk nestled in a marble booth in an eerily empty corner. Dressed in a deluxe navy blue suit with white shirt, gilded trim and adorned with golden chains dangling from the breastpocket. A cap with a golden crest rested on her blue head, she didn't speak. She simply pulled a cord hanging above her head.
Blendriad then proceeded to placed his palm flat on a clear orb mounted on a wooden stand beside the receptionist. A red wisp moved through his hand into the orb which then glowed bright red before turning clear once again.
Silence stretched thin and expectant. Blendriad stood perfectly still, satisfied. Then—a tremor. The ground shuddered, and a large circular portion of the floor around them began to rise, tearing smoothly from the rest. Only the reception area remained stationary below.
The platform ascended into the dome, stopping high above the main floor. They now stood bathed in vibrant, shifting light—kaleidoscopic hues cast through the stained glass dome above. Before them arced a semi-circular wooden structure that stretched impossibly high—a podium where council members would sit, constructed so they looked down from a great height upon anyone standing below.
There was a moment of suspended silence. Then, hooded figures appeared on the high wooden platforms, materializing as if from nowhere. They wore deep purple robes, their heads shadowed by hoods. The prismatic light from the dome made it impossible to see their faces, leaving only dark, imposing silhouettes.
"What brings you here, younglings?"
A rich, heavy voice boomed through the chamber, emanating from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Easyglow stepped forward, stealing a quick, triumphant glance at Blendriad. "Forgive the intrusion, Senior Elders. We were returning from a hunt when we chanced upon an ancestor lying by the Travore Well. We brought him to the city and now seek the Council's guidance."
Blendriad's face soured instantly, his expression grudging as he watched Easyglow claim the moment he'd been waiting for.
"You have all done a great service in reporting this to us and in bringing our esteemed guest to Eryndor. You will be greatly rewarded."
The voice enveloped them, resonant and final.
"The Council would now speak with our guest alone. You will be contacted to discuss your rewards. The younglings may take their leave."
"We—"
Both Blendriad and Easyglow began in unison. They cut off abruptly, glaring at one another. Blendriad cleared his throat—a clear signal for Easyglow to stand down.
"We have nothing more to say. We will take our leave."
With that, the platform descended, leaving Zane alone on the central circular section. It rose again moments later, now bearing only him before the Council.
"The Council greets the esteemed guest. Eryndor is blessed to have you."
The entire assembly of hooded figures bowed as one. A powerful, tangible pressure descended upon the chamber—a weight of attention that seemed to press solely on Zane's shoulders, making the air itself feel heavier.
"Please, don't flatter me too much," Zane replied, his voice steady despite the oppressive force. "The honor is mine. I am grateful to be welcomed into your beautiful city."
The pressure vanished as abruptly as it had appeared when the Council members raised their heads.
"What brings the esteemed guest to our beloved Eryndor?"
The chamber boomed with the question Zane had been desperately preparing to answer for what felt like an eternity.
"I am a merchant of the human race. My reason for being here is to conduct trade. I am also an envoy representing the Ashburn Kingdom. I bring greetings from my kind."
The words were simply true. The moment they left his lips, the fictional kingdom solidified in his mind—its borders drawn, its history implied. It was now a fact of this meeting, as concrete as the marble beneath his feet.
Vulnerability was a risk he couldn't afford. As much as he knew, Gentlets were human-like creatures that behaved like humans. With no backing, a Gentish scientist—if they had one—could simply decide to capture him and experiment on an "ancestor."
"The Council gladly receives your greetings. We are pleased and eager to trade with your kind." A pause, deliberate and measuring. "With that, we are inclined to ask some questions. First, as we do not see anything with you, what sort of thing do you intend to trade? Also, based on information we have, ancestors—or the human race, as per your claim—are forever trapped in dream bubbles. How did you manage to escape a dream?"
So dream bubbles had something to do with dreams, and ancestors were forever trapped in them. Did it relate to human dreams? Or was it just a strange phenomenon that occurred in this realm? That could wait. Now, he had business at hand.
The Bazaar had limits. He didn't yet know what he could trade with it. As for how he left a "dream," they didn't know either—so he could fabricate something.
His items of trade... he had some. He just didn't know what yet. He should have asked. Factoring the worst-case scenario, he could trade Nyx. No. He wouldn't trade Nyx. Not his lifelong companion. He would just trade information. But then, he would have to gauge what sort of information he could offer.
"Humankind are curious creatures, quite interested in information. For centuries, we have collected vast stores of knowledge as we wander between realms, trading and learning more about our world and beyond. For this reason, the first item of trade is information."
He willed his posture to remain relaxed, his expression one of polite, confident expectation.
"The human race has never encountered Gentlets anywhere in our various travels. Thus, we would be glad to learn more about your kind. In exchange, we would give you an equal amount of information about ours. If not interested, we would gladly pay your kind for said information. In addition, we have more knowledge acquired through years of exploration we would be glad to exchange."
If what Zane suspected was correct, the Gentlets would very much like to know about humans. With all the reverence given by the hunters, they would fall into his trap. He was also almost certain they had never left this realm. If true, then they didn't have information about his universe. With that information, he could earn currency—or more knowledge. He definitely wanted to know more about this realm. The Council hadn't replied yet, waiting for him to finish. Or had they seen through his lies? Definitely not. Not unless they knew more than they portrayed.
"The Kingdom of Ashburn is a highly respectable trading hub, known widely for its reach. We offer a variety of goods and services to our partners. We offer the city of Eryndor friendship and partnership."
Inhalation. A mouthful of air before the cherry on top.
"As for how I escaped a dream—I do not come from a dream bubble. I am but a visitor from the Ashburn Kingdom. Still, I would happily exchange information about dreams with your kind. Humans have quite an experience with these fleeting events."
A profound silence hung in the chamber after his declaration, thick and heavy as velvet. The hooded figures remained motionless, but he could feel the weight of their collective gaze—a pressure that was both physical and psychic. The shifting light from the dome seemed to slow, the colors deepening to something more ominous.
Finally, the voice boomed again, its resonance now laced with a new, sharp intensity.
"The City of Eryndor is happy to partner with your Kingdom of Ashburn. We accept your friendship. We anticipate exchanging information with your kind. Gentlets, very much like humans, are also curious creatures. Still, once again the Council is inclined to ask: where are the goods you plan to exchange with us? As we do not see them with you, our curiosity reaches its peak, and we must hold your claims with suspicion. For all we know, you might just be an impostor posing as an ancestor, going so far as to fabricate a human race entirely."
This Council could not be underestimated. They weren't as simple as he'd expected. What was he even thinking? Had they seen through all his lies? Where had he fumbled? 'Calm down.' They had not yet seen through his fabricated kingdom. They just needed proof. As they thought he'd created a fake race, that meant they didn't know of humans. They just needed to confirm his legitimacy. Calmness returned, a bright spark igniting in his eyes. He still held the narrative.
"Forgive my lack of clarity. It seems I was not precise enough. The Ashburn Kingdom uses portals to transfer merchandise once an order is made. Thus, it isn't required for me to carry all items of trade. I also do not know what sort of items your city needs. For that reason, I cannot place an order yet until I determine your requirements. Hence why I didn't bring anything with me. I clearly understand why you would doubt me, but rest assured—Ashburn is a very respectable trading hub with high integrity. Once Eryndor City identifies its needs, and if Ashburn has them, you exchange with items of equal value, and the deal is done."
He smiled, having delivered his pitch. 'Just believe it.'
«Nyx.»
He mentally called for his solitary aide. Right now, he urgently needed to identify what sort of thing he could exchange with the Bazaar. His reservations about mind reading be damned. He no longer cared if Nyx read his mind. He just wanted answers.
And Nyx responded, his voice a cool thread in the storm of his thoughts.
«Eternal patron, your servant heeds your call.»
'How are you hearing me if you can't read my mind?' The question was a flicker, instantly suppressed. Urgent matters first.
«What sort of things can I exchange with the Bazaar?» he projected, the thought shaped with desperate clarity.
«The Grand Exchange deals in all things, patron. But your current privilege is limited. You may only exchange physical items, provided you possess sufficient information about them.»
A wave of relief, cold and sharp, washed over him. Nyx could hear him. Physical items? With information? The concept was bizarre, yet it clicked into place with the eerie logic of this entire system. It wasn't about having the object in his hand; it was about knowing it intimately enough to offer its concept to the Bazaar.
And in that moment, he understood. He wasn't a merchant carrying a pack. He was a merchant carrying a lexicon. His first trade wouldn't be an object, but a definition. A blueprint. A memory made manifest.
He turned his attention back to the Council, the nascent plan already crystallizing.
"To demonstrate my kingdom's goodwill and capability," Zane announced, his voice cutting through the heavy silence, "I will make a preliminary exchange. Not of information, but of a tangible artifact from Ashburn. If you would provide me with a single, simple item—a fruit, a tool, a piece of cloth—I will show you the mechanism of our trade."
He met the darkness beneath their hoods, his own gaze now gleaming with a light that was not entirely his own.
"Let the first trade begin."
---