Chapter 306: Chapter 301: Dragon Girls et
Location:Obsidian City — Market District
Date/Ti:1 Infernorest, 9939 AZI
Realm:Lower Realm
The mineral compound dealer was out of grade-seven stock.
This was, in the grand taxonomy of problems Jayde had faced since arriving on Doha, sowhere between minor inconvenience and reason to restructure an entire supply chain. The dealer — a narrow-faced man nad Wen who ran his shop with the territorial precision of a cat defending a windowsill — spread his hands and offered grade five as a substitute.
"Grade five won’t hold resonance integrity past the priming sequence," Jayde said. "I need seven or above."
"Seven’s been bought out. Two won ca through yesterday — rcenaries, green-banded — bought every unit I had. Said they needed it for formation repairs on so contract work." Wen shrugged. The shrug of a man who’d sold his stock at full price and considered the problem solved.
Takara, perched on Jayde’s shoulder, swivelled his ears toward the doorway. Not at a threat — at the sound of footsteps approaching in matched cadence. Two sets. Paired pace.
The door opened.
Two young won. Dark hair with a blue-black sheen that caught the shop’s formation lighting. The taller one moved first — scanning the room the way soone trained in combat assessed spaces. Exits. Angles. Custors. Her amber eyes were sharp but deliberately dulled — the look of a cultivator suppressing their natural intensity to avoid attention. She carried herself with the coiled economy of soone who could be very dangerous very quickly and was choosing, mont by mont, not to be.
The shorter one followed. Sa colouring — dark hair, pale skin, the familial resemblance obvious. But where the taller sister was all controlled vigilance, this one was quieter. Smaller. Her dark grey eyes moved over the shop with an analytical precision that Jayde recognised because she did it herself — cataloguing inventory, assessing quality, calculating value. She walked close to the wall. The taller sister walked between her and the door.
rcenary tokens at their belts. Green-banded jade. Entry level.
"Ah," Wen said. "The ladies who bought my grade seven." He gestured at Jayde. "This one wants what you have."
The taller sister — amber eyes, controlled stance — looked at Jayde. The assessnt was fast. Professional. She saw: black hair, brown eyes, Academy robes (Elite, black, Grade 2 markings), a white kitten on her shoulder with three ribbons and an expression of considerable self-importance.
"You’re a formation worker?" the taller one asked. Direct. No hedging.
"Among other things." Jayde kept her voice neutral. "The grade seven — how much did you buy?"
"All of it." No apology. The simple honesty of soone who’d needed materials and had purchased them. "Twelve units."
"I need four."
The sisters exchanged a glance. The kind of glance that carried entire conversations — years of shared experience compressed into a look. The shorter one tilted her head. A fraction. The taller one’s jaw shifted.
"We can spare four," the taller one said. "At cost."
"At cost," Jayde repeated. Surprised. rcenaries didn’t sell materials at cost to strangers. They sold at a markup or not at all.
"We overbought." The shorter one spoke for the first ti. Her voice was quieter than her sister’s — softer, with sothing careful underneath. Like a person who weighed every word before releasing it. "The contract we bought them for fell through this morning. We have twelve units and need eight. The surplus is weight we don’t want to carry."
It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. It was also, Jayde noted, delivered with the practised fluency of a story prepared in advance — not because it was false, but because the shorter sister had thought about how to explain the situation before being asked.
(She plans conversations the way we plan formations.)
Noted.
"Four units, grade seven, at cost," Jayde said. "I’ll take them."
***
They completed the exchange outside — four sealed packets of grade-seven mineral compound traded for twelve Bronze Embers on a bench near the market’s eastern fountain. The taller sister counted the coins with practised fingers. The shorter one sat on the bench’s far end, dark grey eyes watching the crowd with that analytical sweep Jayde had noticed in the shop.
Takara, who had been observing the proceedings from Jayde’s shoulder with the gravity of a banking regulator, chose this mont to leap from his perch, cross the bench, and plant himself on the shorter sister’s lap.
She froze.
Not fear — surprise. Her dark grey eyes went wide. Her hands hovered at her sides, uncertain, the reaction of soone who hadn’t been approached by a small creature with this level of directness in a very long ti. Takara settled into her lap with the proprietary confidence of a kitten who had assessed the available seating and found this particular surface acceptable. His blue-tipped ears pressed flat in comfort. His frill curled against her thigh.
"He doesn’t do that," Jayde said. Because he didn’t. Takara tolerated most people. He liked very few. And he never — never — voluntarily sat on a stranger’s lap.
"It’s fine," the shorter sister said. Quietly. Her hands lowered — slowly, carefully — and rested on either side of the kitten without touching him. As if she wanted to, but wasn’t sure she was allowed. "He’s warm."
(She’s hurt,) Jade said. The child voice — quiet, certain, the instinct that operated below tactical assessnt and saw people instead of positions.
I know.
The taller sister watched the interaction with an expression that Jayde couldn’t quite read — protective, surprised, and sothing else. Sothing that softened the controlled vigilance for just a mont before she reassembled it.
"I’m Ying," the taller one said. The na landed with the weight of sothing chosen rather than given. "This is Teng. My sister."
"Jayde. Ashford."
"Academy student." Not a question.
"Second year. Elite stream."
"Hmm." The sound was approving without being impressed — the reaction of soone who understood what Elite stream ant and had decided to evaluate further before forming opinions. "You work formations?"
"Formations, refining, runology." Jayde paused. Considered. "And so product developnt. The grade seven is for resonance channel construction in a water purification device."
"You’re building water purifiers?"
"And irrigation systems. And a few other things."
Ying’s amber eyes narrowed. Not with suspicion — with interest. The assessnt was happening in real ti, and Jayde could feel it: the rcenary evaluating the student the way a scout evaluated terrain. Capability. Utility. Threat level. Worth.
"We run contracts out of Obsidian City," Ying said. "Beast clearing, formation repair, material sourcing. If you need suppliers who can source specific grades on schedule, we can arrange that."
A supply connection. Reliable. With people who understood material grades and didn’t ask unnecessary questions.
(Say yes!)
"That could work," Jayde said. "I need a consistent grade-seven mineral compound. Monthly. And if you can source refined nullite at competitive rates—"
"We can source anything." Ying’s chin lifted. Just slightly. The pride of a professional who’d been doing this work long enough to know her capabilities and short enough to still be proving them. "What grades, what quantities, how often?"
They discussed logistics for ten minutes. Ying was sharp — she knew sourcing networks, supplier reliability, transit routes between the city and the eastern mountain veins where the best nullite was extracted. She asked smart questions about Jayde’s production tilines. She didn’t ask what the products were for or who was buying them.
"Most rcenaries don’t source formation materials," Jayde observed.
"Most rcenaries can’t tell grade five from grade nine." Ying’s chin lifted. Just slightly. "We’re not most rcenaries."
"Where did you learn material grading?"
A pause. Brief enough to be natural, long enough to an sothing. "Our family had a forge. Growing up. We worked with materials before we worked with contracts."
It was probably true. It was definitely not the whole truth. But Jayde, who carried more secrets than anyone in this market and was sitting on a bench in a disguise artifact, having a conversation in a false identity, was not in a position to judge selective honesty.
(She sounds like us.)
She sounds like soone who learned to tell partial truths before she learned to lie. There’s a difference.
"Delivery schedules," Ying continued. "First of each month, at this fountain, sa ti. If either of us can’t make it, we leave a sealed note with the tea vendor on the corner — the one with the red awning. He holds ssages for rcenaries. Two Bronze Embers per note."
Professional. Organised. A system built for reliability between parties who’d just t and were operating on trust that hadn’t been earned yet.
Jayde liked it. The structure. The pragmatism. The absence of unnecessary warmth.
The shorter sister — Teng — said almost nothing during the logistics discussion. She sat on the bench with Takara in her lap and her dark grey eyes on the crowd and an expression on her face that Jayde recognised because she’d worn it herself: the look of soone who was present and participating and quietly grateful to be sowhere that didn’t require her to be anything other than still.
At one point, a cart rumbled past too close to the bench. Loud. Sudden. Teng’s whole body flinched — a sharp contraction, shoulders pulling in, hands curling. The movent was involuntary and over in a heartbeat. But Takara responded instantly: he pressed harder into her lap, his small body warm and deliberate against her thighs, his purr deepening to sothing felt more than heard. A vibration that said I’m here, you’re safe, the loud thing is gone.
Teng’s hands uncurled. Slowly. She looked down at the kitten. The dark grey eyes — haunted, guarded, carrying sothing she didn’t talk about — softened. Just at the edges. Just for a mont.
Ying saw it. Her amber eyes tracked the interaction from across the bench without turning her head. The sister who watched everything. The sister who was always between Teng and the crowd, between Teng and loud noises, between Teng and the world that had hurt her.
She saw the kitten do in thirty seconds what she’d been trying to do for months.
Takara hadn’t moved. His large blue eyes were half-closed. His breathing had slowed to the rhythm of a creature who had found sothing he’d been looking for and intended to stay.
Reiko’s bond humd at the back of Jayde’s awareness — not displeasure this ti. Curiosity. He could feel sothing through Takara’s behaviour, so shift in the kitten’s usual patterns that registered through the Pavilion’s awareness.
[Interesting,] Kazren observed from the soul space. [He likes her.]
He doesn’t like anyone.
[He likes you. He likes Huaxin. And apparently, he likes the quiet one with the hurt in her eyes. Three people in two worlds. Our cat has standards.]
***
They parted at the fountain. Ying extended a hand — the rcenary’s grip, firm and brief. Jayde returned it. Teng stood more slowly, displacing Takara with the reluctant care of soone returning sothing borrowed that she’d have preferred to keep. The kitten landed on Jayde’s shoulder and shook himself once. Settled. Ribbons adjusting — pink left, blue right, gold neck.
"Sa ti next month?" Ying asked. "We’ll have the grade-seven ready. And a price list for the nullite."
"Sa ti works. I’ll bring specifications."
Ying nodded. Turned. Teng fell into step beside her — close, matched pace, the sister always between her and the widest part of the crowd. They disappeared into the market traffic. Dark hair and blue-black sheen, and the way people moved when they were used to being sothing much larger than they currently appeared.
Jayde watched them go. Takara’s ears tracked them long after they’d vanished into the crowd — longer than he tracked most people, his large blue eyes fixed on the point where the sisters had turned the corner as if committing their essence signatures to so internal catalogue she couldn’t access.
Jayde watched them go. Sothing about the interaction sat in her chest — warm, unfamiliar, the feeling of having t people who operated at a frequency she understood. Capable. Direct. Carrying things they didn’t talk about but didn’t pretend weren’t there. The taller one’s vigilance wasn’t paranoia — it was love expressed through positioning. The shorter one’s silence wasn’t weakness — it was conservation of sothing that had been spent too freely sowhere else, by soone who hadn’t asked permission.
(I liked them.)
I liked them too.
She thought about Green nding the latest curtain. About White’s training weights clicking in the evening silence. About Yinxin telling the wyrmlings their bedti story — queen mories reshaped for small ears. About Reiko, who would want a full report on the new supply contacts and would express his opinion of the arrangent by either occupying her mattress or not occupying it, depending on variables that only he understood.
A shadow passed across the rooftop. Quick. Above her sightline. Takara’s ears tracked it. Satisfied.
A blue stone sat between his front paws when she glanced down. Small. Smooth. The colour of deep water. The fourth this month. She pocketed it without comnt.
She walked back toward the Academy. Kitten on shoulder. Bronze Embers lighter. Supply chain growing. And a na — two nas — sitting in her chest beside the other things she was building.
***
Three streets away, in a boarding house room with a window facing the Academy, Ying sat on her bed and cleaned her boots and did not look at her sister.
"You were chatty," she said. Kept her voice light. The voice she used when sothing mattered, and she didn’t want it to sound like it mattered.
Teng was at the window. Dark grey eyes on the mountain above. The Academy’s three crescent tiers rising in the afternoon light. The pull — warm, constant, the silver queen’s essence breathing through the concealnt — pressed against her sternum like a hand. Stronger today. As if sothing in that eting had tuned the frequency closer.
"Was I?"
"More words in ten minutes than you’ve spoken to anyone outside our family in months. Including ."
Teng didn’t answer for a long ti. Her hand went to her right shoulder — the old gesture, unconscious, pressing where the bruise had been. Then she stopped. Let her hand fall.
"I don’t know," she said. "I just... felt comfortable with her."
Ying’s hands paused on the boot. Her amber eyes lifted to her sister’s back — to the dark grey eyes reflected in the window glass, and the faintest echo of sothing that hadn’t been there yesterday.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.
The pull humd. The mountain waited. And sowhere inside it, behind concealnt that no dragon could pierce, a silver queen was singing bedti stories to three wyrmlings who would one day change everything the shadow dragons understood about what their kind could be.
But Ying and Teng didn’t know that yet. They only knew the pull. And now, the na of a girl with a white kitten who built water purifiers and spoke about resonance channels the way other people spoke about the weather.
Jayde Ashford.
Teng said the na once more, to herself, and the pull answered with warmth.
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