The longer I walked these market streets, the more unreal everything felt—like I'd stepped into the painted dream of a god who couldn't decide whether it wanted beauty or madness.
The sky above was nothing like the one I'd left behind.
It stretched endlessly, draped in spilled gold, thousands—no, millions—of stars clustered so close together they looked like someone had shattered a celestial lantern and scattered its pieces across the heavens. The moon hung impossibly large, a silver coin painted with delicate runes that pulsed faintly in time with the distant drums.
The parade music—deep, rhythmic, and strangely cheerful—rippled through the air, giving the entire place a heartbeat. Even the lanterns bobbing overhead swayed as if dancing along.
And the anomalies…
They didn't try to kill me.
Which was probably the strangest part of all.
Tall, thin figures whose limbs bent in ways they shouldn't sauntered past with bags of shimmering dust. A cluster of floating masks drifted like jellyfish, each one softly chattering in a language that sounded like distant windchimes. One anomaly wearing a wolf mask towered at least three meters high, but it politely stepped aside for a human carrying a tray of glowing fruits.
No one attacked anyone.
No one screamed.
Nobody even looked irritated.
Just… business.
Trading,
Browsing.
A marketplace where humans and anomalies mingled as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
'Weird… are they scared of breaking the rules of this anomaly or something?'
The thought passed through my mind with a shiver.
Every figure—human or anomaly—walked with a strange kind of respect, almost reverence.
It dawned on me that this wasn't just a market.
It felt like… a sanctuary.
A place governed by rules older than the Bureau, older than cities, older than common sense.
I brushed the uneasy thought away and continued forward.
Some stalls were run by humans, dressed in the same black cloak and hood I wore. Their masks were simple—birds, moons, foxes. They displayed items neatly: shimmering talismans, books bound in metal, potions in swirling colors impossible in the real world.
Others… were very much not human.
A creature with eight arms arranged like a blooming flower hummed softly while carving sigils into floating stones. A vendor made of mist and glowing eyes offered "bound contracts" in exchange for memories. A trio of child-sized wooden dolls tended a stall filled with wooden hands and keys.
I kept my distance from that one.
'If I'm going to buy something, then preferably something made by a human.'
'Human-made items had fewer ways to accidentally kill me.'
'... In theory.'
A gust of warm air brushed past me as part of the parade slithered through the street ahead—masked dancers made of folded paper gliding as their movements sent bursts of golden confetti floating into the air. Drummers with animal masks marched behind them, beating rhythm into the stone that seemed to pulse beneath my shoes.
Even the ground was alive.
I was so lost in staring that I almost missed a rather normal-looking stall on my right.
Wooden. Lantern-lit. Quiet.
A comforting slice of something familiar in this dreamlike chaos.
The man running it looked like he belonged in a completely different story.
His hood was up, but golden hair spilled out in soft waves around his face, catching the lantern light like it was intentionally trying to look expensive. His posture was relaxed, ridiculously so—like he was sitting at some mundane customer service job and waiting for his shift to end.
He radiated mysterious coolness… except he also radiated way too much effort.
'He honestly looks like he's trying way too hard to appear put-together for someone dressed in all black. In the middle of an Anomaly, at that.'
'Weirdo.'
His eyes were pale, sharp, and strangely calm. Not menacing. Not overly interested.
Just observant. Watching.
Like he could read my entire life story with a glance and was unimpressed by it.
And that little half-smile he wore—
Not friendly.
Not hostile.
Just "I know something you don't."
'Just his looks alone seem shady as hell…'
His cloak didn't help. Pure black, smooth, and clearly expensive. Not a single wrinkle.
Perfectly tied. Perfectly draped.
He looked like he had stepped out of a ritual or a fashion shoot.
I genuinely couldn't decide which was worse.
'Overall?'
'He gives off the vibe of someone trying way too hard to look well put-together. He does seem confident though… so his anomalous items are probably trustworthy.'
… Probably.
He sat cross-legged behind the counter, sorting through trays of trinkets with casual care.
His table held:
– rings
– tiny vials of swirling mist
– a black kitchen knife
– a stack of thin cards etched with constellations
– a jar holding a fluttering silver flame
– and… random fruits?
'Most of the things he's selling seem to be completely normal, rather than Anomalous…'
I slowed to a stop.
The hooded man noticed immediately, eyes lighting with theatrical enthusiasm.
He leaned forward with an exaggerated flourish.
"Greetings, Boss! Please, take a look around my humble stall!" His voice was loud, cheerful, and absolutely shameless. "I offer you the best Anomalous Items this world has ever seen—no, scratch that—Best items both worlds have ever seen!"
I glanced at the floating lantern behind him, then back to him.
"… Both worlds?"
He coughed into his fist.
"Ah, yes. Meaning our world and the world of anomalies, of course!"
"You think they have a world of their own?" I raised a brow beneath my mask.
He shrugged dramatically. "Listen, Boss, I dunno. It just sounded cool in my head. But you get the point! I offer only the highest quality items!"
'Jeez… he's all over the place.'
Before I could respond, a sudden thought slipped out of my mouth.
"Out of curiosity… how bad is it if someone breaks the rules of this market?"
His movements stilled.
For a moment his smile faded.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"You'll become part of the parade and never leave this place."
My blood went cold.
'So the entire parade is made of humans and anomalies who broke the rules?'
The idea made my stomach twist.
Being trapped here forever, forced to march endlessly in some endless magical procession…
No thanks.
But just as quickly, his expression brightened again like that dark moment never happened.
He clapped his hands. "So! Looking for something specific, Boss?"
I straightened.
"Just… looking around."
"Perfect! Then take your time," he said, waving a hand lazily. "And tell me if something catches your eye."
I didn't want to step closer.
But of course, curiosity is a disease I've never found a cure for.
The parade music swelled again, deep and warm.
A burst of golden confetti drifted down like shimmering snow.
The moon overhead pulsed softly, bathing the stalls in a fairytale glow.
I took a careful step forward. Then another.
And beneath that fairytale glow, I finally let myself lean in and study the items laid out before me—each one glimmering like it held a story, a secret, or a promise of trouble.
None of them called to me. Not the rings. Not the cards. Not the oddly normal kitchen knife. Definitely not the fruits, which pulsed faintly as if they were breathing.
But one thing did.
A single jar.
Inside it, a silver flame fluttered gently like a tiny, trapped bird. Its glow was soft but sharp, casting delicate moving shadows over the man's hands. It didn't radiate warmth… but it wasn't cold either. It felt neutral—unnervingly neutral.
Like it existed outside the rules of temperature entirely.
I reached out a little, then stopped myself.
"… Uh," I cleared my throat, "what does this jar do?"
The hooded man's grin widened instantly—far too quickly.
He leaned forward, elbows on the counter, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Aha! A customer of taste," he said in a theatrical whisper, as if this were some conspiracy between us. "This jar right here? This, Boss, is one of my finest pieces."
I raised an eyebrow behind my mask. "Meaning…?"
He tapped the glass lightly with one finger. The silver flame inside swirled like it recognized the touch.
"It's called a Moon-Soul Ember. Rare. Extremely rare. You won't find another in this entire parade— Scrap that, it's actually one of a kind."
"I didn't ask what it's called," I deadpanned. "I asked what it does."
He blinked once.
Then twice.
Then groaned dramatically.
"Boss, Boss, Boss… you're killing the atmosphere."
He waved both hands as if shooing away invisible negativity.
"You gotta let the mystique settle in a bit! I need… ambiance!"
I stared.
He sighed like I'd just told him I don't believe in magic.
"Fine, fine," he muttered. "Straight to the point."
He lifted the jar carefully, turning it so the flame shifted, swirling toward my side like it was watching me.
"This little ember reacts to souls," he said, tone dropping into something noticeably more serious. "Not bodies, not thoughts—souls. Your core. Your essence. The part of you that can't lie."
Something in my chest tightened.
"It reveals the truth of whoever holds it while the jar is open," he continued. "What kind of truth? Depends entirely on the person. Some see memories. Some see desires. Some see fears. Others…" He paused meaningfully, eyes narrowing with interest.
"… see what they will one day become."
The flame flickered sharply at that—almost like it agreed.
I swallowed.
"And if I don't want to know any of that?"
"Then you put it down," he said simply, the half-smile returning.
"But most who pick it up… don't."
A soft breeze drifted through the market, carrying the scent of warm spices and something floral. Human chatter blended with the soft clicking of wooden dolls and the ethereal hum of floating anomalies. A dancer spun past at the end of the street in a burst of gold and green, leaving a trail of shimmering powder behind her.
The jar remained still in the vendor's hands.
The flame fluttered quietly—like a heartbeat trapped under glass.
"… Does it do anything else?" I asked finally.
The man tilted his head, golden hair shifting like liquid in the lantern light.
"Well, it can burn things," he admitted. "Though not fire, obviously. It burns lies. It burns illusions. It burns… unwanted bindings. Curses, too, sometimes."
"That sounds extremely overpowered."
"That's because it is."
"And you're just selling it in the middle of a parade?"
He gave a casual shrug. "Business is business."
I stared at the flame again, unable to tear my eyes away from the way it curled and coiled, almost… breathing. Like it recognized my presence. Like it wanted me to pick it up.
My fingers twitched.
"… Is it dangerous?" I asked.
The hooded man hesitated.
Which was never a good sign.
"Well," he said slowly, "only if you're the kind of person who's afraid of themselves."
The flame flared—bright, sharp, almost eager.
I felt something in me respond.
A small tug.
A quiet call.
I licked my lips, suddenly uneasy.
"… How much?"
The man grinned with all the confidence of someone about to commit daylight robbery.
"For you, Boss? A bargain."
I sighed.
'i hope he actually means that…'
He held up two fingers.
"Two grand."
It took every ounce of strength to keep my pokerface steady.
'What do you mean Two Grand?! This is Absurd!'
He tapped the jar lightly.
"Or a Memory."
I froze.
"Memory?"
"Only a small one," he said quickly. "Something you don't need anymore. Something you won't miss."
"That sounds like a terrible deal."
"Or a perfect one."
His smile deepened.
"Depends on the memory."
'He's got a Point. But considering I have overlapping memories of Two worlds... its a deal I can't accept... right?'
I stared at the jar once more.
At the silver flame that flickered like a voice waiting to speak.
And somewhere behind us, the parade roared—drums, bells, singing, chants—louder than before.
Almost urging me.
Almost guiding me.
I took a breath.
"Fine."