The ship groaned as it settled against Vespera's docks, ropes creaking as sailors lashed it to the weathered posts. The air smelled of salt, fish, and the distant spice of market stalls—thick enough to taste. Around them, passengers jostled toward the gangplank while dockworkers heaved crates onto carts, their shouts blending into the rhythmic crash of waves.
Nyx stretched her arms behind her head, her shadow stretching unnaturally long across the sun-bleached planks. "Finally. I was starting to think we'd die of boredom before we ever reached this damn city."
Regulus adjusted the strap of his pack, glancing back one last time at the ship that had been their home for the past week. Borin stood near the galley door, arms crossed over his flour-dusted apron, watching the chaos with a grin.
Nyx waved two fingers at him. "Try not to burn the next ship down, chef."
The big man laughed, his voice booming over the din. "You try not to get stabbed before supper, shadow-girl!"
Regulus stepped forward, offering his hand. "Thanks. For everything."
Borin clasped it, his grip calloused and firm. "A damn shame, lad. With hands like yours, you could've been a master chef in some noble's kitchen."
Regulus smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe someday. Right now, I need strength more than seasoning."
Borin clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make his teeth rattle. "Bah! Just remember—knives cut meat and men. Don't neglect one for the other."
Nyx snorted, looping an arm through Regulus' elbow and tugging him toward the gangplank. "Enough heartfelt goodbyes. I want a bed that doesn't smell like fish and a drink that doesn't taste like bilge water."
Regulus let her drag him away, but not before catching one last glimpse of Cordelia—already halfway down the dock, her cloak fluttering as she disappeared into the crowd without so much as a backward glance.
Nyx followed his gaze, her smirk sharpening. "Oh? Were you hoping for a tearful farewell from our dear merchant?"
Regulus shrugged. "Just noting which way she went."
"Market District," Nyx said, her eyes twinkling. "Figures. All that guild nonsense of ours probably forced her to make preparations there."
Regulus adjusted his pack again, scanning the city ahead. Vespera sprawled before them, a maze of sun-bleached stone and teeming streets, where the shouts of hawkers mingled with the distant chime of temple bells. Somewhere in that chaos, Cordelia was already moving, already scheming.
And somewhere, whether she admitted it or not, Hephina the Mad's influence lingered.
Nyx jabbed him in the ribs. "Quit brooding. We've got a city to ruin."
Regulus exhaled, shaking off the tension. "Right. First things first—we need a place to stay."
Nyx's grin turned wicked. "Oh, I'm sure we'll find something interesting."
Together, they stepped off the docks and into Vespera's waiting embrace.
The moment Nyx's boots hit the city's cobblestones, her eyes lit up with predatory glee. The market street unfolded before them like a treasure hoard—spice merchants waving bronze censers that filled the air with aromatic smoke, fabric vendors unfurling silks from distant continents, and food stalls roasting meats that crackled with magical flames.
Regulus barely had time to reach for their coin pouch before Nyx snatched it from his belt with shadow-quick reflexes.
"Compromise," she declared, already backing toward a stall glittering with enchanted accessories. "You handle the boring logistics tomorrow. Today, I ensure we don't look like sea-rotted vagabonds when we meet Cordelia's new guild."
Regulus opened his mouth to argue when he remembered the weight of Cordelia's advance payment in his pocket—more valis than he'd ever held at once. He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Two conditions."
Nyx paused mid-step, a hairpin shaped like a dagger already between her fingers.
"First, no weapons we can't explain to city guards. Second—" He pointed at a stall displaying adventurer gear. "We get proper traveling supplies first."
What followed was less a shopping trip and more a tactical acquisition campaign. Nyx moved through the market with frightening efficiency:
She emerged from a armor stall wearing what could only be called "aristocratic menace" attire—a high-collared coat lined with dungeon-spider silk that repelled stains, knee-high boots of fire-wyrm hide that whispered against the cobblestones, and a belt that somehow concealed three knives in plain sight.
"Practical," she declared, modeling the outfit with a spin that made her new cloak flare dramatically.
Regulus rolled his eyes but found himself impressed despite himself. His attention turned to the adventurer's stall, where he procured their true necessities—a pair of "Hermes' Comfort" self-warming blankets woven from the wool of golden fleece sheep, and compressible pillows treated with a sleep-enhancing alchemical solution that the merchant swore could make even a dungeon floor feel like a featherbed.
"See?" Nyx said, poking at the miraculously thin blanket that folded smaller than a handkerchief. "This is why we keep you around. Practical thinking." She tossed him a significantly lighter coin purse. "Your turn. Find us lodging worthy of our new finery. However, these beddings does not satisfy me. It will do for now. BUT! I expect better in the future."
As twilight painted Vespera's rooftops gold, Regulus led them toward the lodging district. The pillows and blankets weighed nothing in his pack, yet promised their first proper rest in weeks. Nyx's new boots clicked rhythmically beside him, her shadow stretching long behind them in the lantern light.
For tonight, they could pretend to be ordinary travelers—ones who slept on self-warming magic blankets and wore wyrmhide boots, perhaps, but travelers nonetheless. Tomorrow they'd navigate Cordelia's web and Hephina the Mad's schemes. But for these few stolen hours, with the scent of spiced wine drifting from taverns and the distant sound of minstrels tuning their lutes, they could simply exist in the vibrant pulse of a new city.
Nyx hooked her arm through his as they passed a lively inn, its windows glowing with warm light. "That one smells like roasted boar and expensive wine. I'll even let you pay for my dinner."
Regulus snorted but didn't pull away. "How generous."
"Always," she said, and for once, neither of them were counting knives or calculating escape routes. The night was young, their pockets still jingled with coin, and Vespera spread before them like an unread book—full of danger, certainly, but perhaps a little magic too.
The inn's bed was softer than it had any right to be after what they'd paid. Regulus lay staring at the water-stained ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of Vespera's nightlife through the thin walls. After a week of sleeping in the ship's slightly cramped but decent bunk, the luxury of stretching out fully felt strangely foreign.
Nyx emerged from the washing alcove, her hair damp and tousled from the bath she'd demanded the moment they secured their room. She'd changed into one of her new purchases—a scandalously thin sleep tunic that shimmered like liquid shadow in the lamplight.
"You're thinking too loud," she announced, flopping onto the bed beside him with enough force to make the frame creak ominously.
Regulus didn't bother pointing out the perfectly good second bed across the room. They'd had this argument every night aboard ship, even with separate bunks barely an arm's length apart. Some habits, it seemed, died hard.
"Just planning tomorrow," he muttered, shifting to make room as she commandeered the better pillow.
Nyx snorted, wriggling under the self-warming blanket. "You mean worrying. About the not really a merchant girl. About Athena Familia. About whether you're strong enough." She turned her head to pin him with a knowing look. "It's tedious."
The accuracy stung. Regulus scowled at the ceiling. "One week at sea with you and suddenly you're an expert on my tells?"
"I was an expert by day two of meeting you." Nyx stretched like a cat, her elbow digging pointedly into his ribs. "You get this constipated look when you're brooding. Like you're trying to solve all the world's problems before breakfast."
Below them, a raucous cheer erupted from the tavern as someone won or lost a drinking contest. The sound faded into the general hum of the city—a constant reminder that they were strangers here, surrounded by potential enemies.
Nyx's fingers suddenly flicked his forehead. "Stop. Tomorrow we'll scout the city. We'll find Cordelia's new guildhouse. We'll eat something that isn't salted fish." She rolled onto her side, her back to him. "And if anyone tries to stab us, You'll kill them first. Simple."
Regulus opened his mouth to retort when the first soft snore escaped her. Just like on the ship, Nyx could apparently fall asleep mid-conversation when it suited her.
He sighed, adjusting the blanket over them both. The enchanted fabric radiated warmth without weight, a marked improvement over the mundane wool they'd endured at sea. Outside, a church bell tolled the late hour, its deep resonance vibrating through the floorboards.
Tomorrow would bring challenges. Tomorrow they'd step onto Babelonia's chessboard properly, where every move could mean life or death. But tonight, in this narrow bed with Nyx's familiar weight beside him and the city's pulse thrumming through the walls, Regulus allowed himself to believe—just for these few quiet hours—that they might actually be ready.
Somewhere in the dark, a shutter banged in the wind. Nyx muttered something unintelligible and burrowed closer. Regulus closed his eyes, and for the first time in days, slept without dreaming.