Visitors from the Wastes

The city of Lunavin breathed differently than the world Kade knew.

It pulsed with magic that ran alleys like veins. Above, the three towers loomed, painted with the dying amber light of late afternoon, while the lower streets coiled with smoke from food carts and dust kicked up by hurrying boots.

Kade loved it.

“This place is alive,” he whispered, trailing one finger along the soot-stained wall of a building. “Like it’s watching us.”

Galir sighed like a person who’d already lived through this a dozen times in the past half hour. “It’s a city. It’s not watching us. People are. Because you keep pointing at everything.”

“I am being discreet,” Kade said, eyes wide with earnest offense.

“You ran into a bread cart,” Galir said flatly.

“I said sorry.”

“You apologized to the bread.”

“It looked very upset.”

Bilia didn’t care about their argument. She had her small hands wrapped around Galir’s, dragging him bodily through the market street like a captain hauling an unwilling sailor.
“You’re spending the day with us, so stop complaining,” she declared. “You’re always training or disappearing! Today you have fun.”

Galir’s sigh was long-suffering, but he let himself be led, expression slightly amused beneath his red hair.

The market was loud in a comfortable way, voices haggling, children calling to each other between stalls, the faint clang of someone testing a blade. Kade caught the smell of frying dough and sugared fruit and immediately knew where Bilia was headed.

The little sweet shop sat under an awning, the color of faded rose petals. Inside, glass jars caught the sunlight and sent it scattering over shelves lined with candies and little sugared cakes. The shopkeeper greeted them with a nod, and his wife, a round-faced woman with kind eyes, leaned over the counter to ask Bilia the same question she always did: “The usual, sweetheart?”

Bilia beamed. “The usual.”

Kade, however, was already scanning the jars like a treasure hunter.
“Something different this time…” His eyes lit on a swirl of pale blue dusted with silver sugar. “That one. What’s it called?”

The shopkeeper gave the name, something too long and fancy for Kade to remember, and passed it over. He made a private vow to never repeat the same flavor twice until he’d conquered them all.

When the shopkeeper’s daughter emerged from the back, she had a paper packet already in her hands, Bilia’s favorite. She passed it over with a smile. Then, hesitating, she reached for another jar and scooped out two pieces of the dark, spiced caramels Galir always bought when he did come in.

She held them out without meeting his eyes. “Here.”

Galir accepted them like it was nothing unusual. “Thank you.”

Kade, watching from behind Bilia’s shoulder, had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. The girl’s ears were red to the tips. Bilia, oblivious, was already unwrapping her sweet.

As they stepped back into the sunlit street, Kade glanced up at Galir and grinned so wide it was a wonder his face didn’t split.
“What?” Galir asked, brow raised.

“Oh, nothing,” Kade said, and popped the strange blue sweet into his mouth.

They’d only made it a few steps before Kade tilted his head, feigning casual curiosity.
“So… why’d you get yours for free?”

Galir bit into the first caramel without so much as a pause. “Did I?”

“Yes. You did. The owner’s daughter handed it to you, then refused payment.”

Galir’s face was as dry as ever. “Maybe she had extras.”

“Uh-huh.” Kade shook his head. “Ayen’s right. You’re selectively blind.”

That earned him a sideways glare, sharp enough to cut, but not enough to stop him from grinning.

By then, Bilia had already finished her sweet. She sidled closer to Galir, eyes on the last caramel in his hand.
“Can I try some?”

Without a word, Galir broke it cleanly in two. He passed half to her… and, to Kade’s surprise, held the other half out to him.

Kade stared for a second, then accepted it. He’d already devoured his own sweet, and the warm, casual act hit like an unexpected kindness.

Bilia took a bite of hers and narrowed her eyes at him in mock offense. “I wanted it all to myself.”

“Then you should learn to share,” Galir said simply, brushing past her toward the next row of stalls.

Kade popped the caramel in his mouth, smiling softly to himself.

They drifted through the market, the air thick with the scent of fried dough and spiced drinks, when a low murmur began to ripple through the crowd. It was the kind of sound that made people pause mid-step, heads turning toward the outer streets.

Galir slowed, eyes narrowing toward the city gates.

“What’s going on?” Kade asked, but no one in particular answered, until he spotted a familiar face behind a stall stacked with ripe, sun-gold pears.
“Renn!”

The fruit seller looked up from weighing a basket. The man was broad-shouldered, weathered by sun and years, and still as curt as the day Kade first met him.
“Hi, lad. You’re late today,” Renn said.

“We were just wandering. What’s happening over there?” Kade asked, jerking his chin toward the rising noise.

“Visitors.” Renn’s voice was casual, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something like curiosity mixed with wariness. “The gates don’t open much outside of caravans. Not this close to the Calling.”

Kade blinked. “Visitors?” He glanced toward the gates again. He’d never seen them open before, great white stone that usually loomed shut like part of the wall itself.

More city guards than usual had gathered, their spears gleaming in the sunlight.

People were stopping to watch, drawn into loose clusters, murmuring under their breath.

Kade craned his neck, trying to peer past the taller bodies. Beside him, Bilia hopped on her toes, straining for a view.

*****

The gates yawned open before them, spilling light and the smell of baked goods into the dust of the road.

Barkel rode at the head of the column, the Ralensan crest stitched sharp in white and black across his shoulder. He kept his eyes forward, though he felt them, the stares. Hundreds of them, perched on balconies, peering over railings, leaning into doorframes just to watch the strangers walk in.

Lunavin glittered in the sun. Not with gold, though there was plenty of that; it was the magic. Hanging in the air like perfume, pressed into the mortar between the white-stone buildings. The streets were swept clean, even the cobbles were sealed in some invisible spell that made them smooth and shiny.

He hated it instantly.
Not its beauty, he could respect beauty. But this was waste. Every wall and window whispering, we have so much magic, we can spill it on the streets.

His country didn’t have the luxury to paint the air with power. In Ralensa, magic was a rare resource for war and survival, not… decoration.

They walked in formation, the steel-white of their uniforms cutting through the crowd. Even their boots sounded different here, thudding against the charmed stone instead of ringing like they would on real rock. The Ralensan faces were weathered from wind and grit, hair kept short, eyes sharp and scanning.

The Lunavinese onlookers were softer. Weak, Barkel thought, tended. As if they’d been raised in an orchard instead of the open plains. Their silks caught the light in impossible colors; their hair was brushed to perfection, bas though they had all the time to do it.

And yet…
Every now and then, he caught a flash in a jawline, the set of a brow, the deliberate pace of a tall man watching from the crowd, some piece of him in the bone. Their bloodlines had mixed in the old days, when Ralensa still sent its sons and daughters to marry Lunavinese in uneasy pacts. But it wasn't simply that. Barkel knew the truth: no matter how far he tried to walk from it, the shape of it followed. He was once a Lunavin child, too. He could see himself in their faces, and the sight made him feel caged.

Behind him, the younger men in his escort were trying not to gawk. Ralensan discipline held, but he caught the flicker in their eyes, curiosity. Wonder.

He tightened his jaw.
This was not a place to wonder at. This was a place to survive.

And when the negotiations began, it would take more than soft words and bright light to make Ralensa kneel again.

Barkel’s gaze lingered on the boy who stepped forward without hesitation. The one with the curious eyes and fine clothes and silver hair. Another, taller, red-haired boy dragged a little girl back from the road, then followed with a barely concealed sigh of frustration.

They looked like spoiled children, the kind born with privilege and arrogance, soft hands never tested by hardship.

The boy came right up to him, eyes wide, no fear, only wonder.

“What are those beasts pulling your carriage?” the boy asked, his voice innocent.

Barkel glanced down at him.

“Wardrakes,” Barkel said, his tone clipped. “Strong, bred for war. Not playthings for pampered Marked brats.”

The red-haired boy stepped forward giving him a nasty glare, and pulled at his friend’s sleeve. “Move along, Kade.”

Barkel sneered, folding his arms. “Out of my way, spoiled children.”

The redhead’s gaze sharpened, a cold edge in his eyes. “We’re not children.”

Barkel scoffed. “Sure you aren’t.”

Kade looked between them, his smile flickering uncertainly. “Is it… offensive to ask about the animals? Why are you angry?”

Barkel’s eyes darkened as he took a slow breath. “There’s a real danger coming. One that people outside these walls face every day. I am here to do an important job.”

Kade nodded, voice steady. “We know about that. We’re fighting in the Calling, too. Right, Galir?”

Galir’s grip on Kade’s arm tightened, pulling him back as Barkel’s eyes followed them with a mixture of disdain and boredom. Childish bravado, nothing more.

Without another word, Barkel turned back toward the towering spires ahead, the weight of duty pulling him onward to the negotiations with the Lunar Triad. And his other, much darker reason for this visit.

But as he walked, a grudging thought surfaced: For all their faults, those Lunavin brats had boldness. A boldness that might one day matter.

He pushed the thought away and faced the looming towers once more.