Rhys stared at the whole porcelain teacup, its clean surface shining under the dim light of the stall. Beside it, the miniature silver clock seemed to tick silently in a time outside our own. A vendor, a wiry man with shrewd eyes and fingers stained with unknown dyes, noticed our interest.
"Intrigued by the relics of the 'Before-Times'?" he rasped, his voice like dry leaves rustling. "Curiosities from shattered realities, they say. Powerful echoes, some believe." He eyed us with a mixture of suspicion and greed. "Interested in a purchase?"
I reached out, my fingers hovering over the teacup. It felt strangely familiar, yet odd in its unbroken state. "Where did you get this?" I asked, my voice low.
The vendor shrugged, his gaze flicking between Rhys and me. "Found amongst the ruins, like many things. This market thrives on the remnants of what was lost. Be careful what you touch, traveler. Some objects hold memories… unpleasant ones."
Rhys subtly placed a hand on my arm, his eyes conveying a silent warning. "We're just browsing," he said smoothly, offering the vendor a curt nod. "Interesting wares, though." He steered me away from the stall, pulling me deeper into the crowd of the market.
Once we were a safe distance away, hidden behind a towering display of luminous fungi, he spoke. "That teacup… it's too specific to be a coincidence, Elara. Especially after the vendor mentioned 'shattered realities'. It seems fragments of your world, or perhaps others connected to your 'Karma Twist', are bleeding into this one."
"And the clock?" I asked, my gaze drawn back to the stall. The miniature silver hands were fixed at precisely 3:17. An unremarkable time, yet somehow, it felt significant.
"Clocks are often symbols of temporal anomalies," Rhys murmured. "Could be a marker, a warning, or just another piece of the puzzle. The point is, this 'Grimhaven' seems to be more connected to your situation than I initially thought."
"So, what now?" I asked, my mind racing. The initial shock was fading, replaced by a surge of something akin to… intrigue. My analytical mind was kicking in, trying to make sense of the chaos.
"Now, we gather information," Rhys said, his eyes scanning the faces around us. "Find someone who knows about ley lines, about dimensional disturbances, about anything that might explain why you, a CEO from New York, are suddenly a 'Karma-Twist' with bounty hunters on her tail."
He approached a stall selling intricately carved wooden masks, engaging the vendor in a rapid exchange in a language I didn't understand. The vendor, a woman with piercing blue eyes and elaborate silver jewelry, listened intently, occasionally nodding or shaking her head. After a few minutes, Rhys returned, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"She says the ley lines around here have been erratic lately," he explained. "Fluctuations, unexpected surges. Some whisper of rifts opening and closing in the outskirts of the city."
"Rifts like the one you created in my kitchen?"
Rhys nodded grimly. "Potentially. She also mentioned a group who studies these phenomena – the 'Order of the Woven Thread'. They supposedly reside in the old observatory on the highest hill overlooking the city."
"An observatory?" I raised an eyebrow. "Sounds promising."
"It's a start," Rhys agreed. "But getting there won't be easy. This city isn't exactly a tourist hotspot. And those Weavers won't be far behind us." He glanced towards the market entrance, a flicker of caution in his eyes. "We need to move quickly and discreetly."
As if on cue, a figure in a dark cloak, the telltale amethyst glow of a staff barely concealed beneath, moved through the crowd. They were searching.
"Time for that discretion," Rhys muttered, grabbing my hand again. This time, the contact felt less jarring and more… necessary. He led me through a labyrinth of stalls, ducking under awnings and weaving through the crowds of strange and varied beings. I caught glimpses of creatures with scaled skin, beings with multiple limbs, and figures whose faces were hidden behind elaborate masks. It was a sensory overload, a far cry from the predictable rhythm of Vance Corp.
We found refuge in a dimly lit tavern, its air thick with the smell of stale ale and something vaguely reptilian. The patrons were a motley crew, their conversations hushed and their eyes wary. Rhys found a secluded table in a dark corner, ordering two tankards of a murky, amber liquid without asking for my preference.
"Don't worry, it's surprisingly palatable," he said, noticing my hesitant expression as he slid a tankard towards me. "And we need to look like we belong."
We sat in silence for a few moments, observing the tavern's inhabitants. Rhys's gaze was sharp, constantly scanning the room. Mine, however, kept drifting back to the miniature clock in my mind, its hands frozen at 3:17. Was it a time of importance? A date? A code?
Suddenly, a figure detached itself from the shadows near the bar and approached our table. He was a hulking individual with a scarred face and a set of crude metal knuckles. His eyes, hard and calculating, fixed on Rhys.
"Temporal," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "Word travels fast in Grimhaven. There's a bounty on your head. And your… associate." His gaze lingered on me, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
Rhys sighed, placing his tankard down with a deliberate thud. "Looks like our 'discreet' moment is over." He looked at me, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Ready for another unscheduled detour, Elara?"
Before I could answer, the hulking figure lunged. The market, it seemed, was a place where whispers turned into brawls in the blink of an eye, and our unwelcome arrival had just cast us squarely into the center of the chaos.