We finish our tea in comfortable silence, watching the cafe's other patrons. I study how they interact, how the power dynamics play out in subtle gestures and careful words. The pure-bloods speak and others listen. The sired vampires defer without being obsequious. The human slaves are invisible until needed, then vanish again.
It's a dance, I realize. Everyone knows the steps. Everyone plays their part.
And it works. The system functions smoothly, efficiently, without the chaos and conflict that destroyed my own civilization.
This is what we need, I think. This clarity. This structure.
As the afternoon wears on, the cafe gradually empties. The pure-bloods depart first, their slaves trailing behind them. Then the sired vampires and elves, until finally, we're the only customers remaining.
Regina appears at our table as the last patron leaves. "The buyer will be here in an hour," she says. "I've closed the cafe for the evening. You're welcome to wait here, or you can return—"
"We'll wait," I say.
She nods. "I thought you might. Can I get you anything else? More tea? Something stronger?"
"Information," Ghatak says. "You mentioned the eastern desert. How dangerous is it?"
Regina's expression grows serious. "Very. The desert itself is harsh—extreme temperatures, sandstorms, creatures that have adapted to survive in impossible conditions. But the real danger is magical. There are places where reality is... thin. Where the veil between worlds has worn through. People who venture too deep sometimes don't come back. And those who do..." She shakes her head. "They're changed. Broken."
Like Bia, I think. Pulled through a corrupted veil, her mind shattered by the transition.
"But there are guides?" I ask. "People who know how to navigate safely?"
"A few. Desert nomads, mostly. They know the safe routes, the places to avoid. They're expensive, but they're worth it if you value your sanity."
"We'll need names," Ghatak says. "Contacts."
"I can provide those," Regina agrees. "Once you have the currency to pay them."
The hour passes slowly. Regina busies herself with closing tasks—cleaning tables, banking the candles, preparing the cafe for the next day. We sit in our alcove, watching the street outside grow dark as night falls over Aerox.
Finally, there's a knock at the door. Three sharp raps, a pause, then two more.
Regina moves to answer it, and I feel my magic stirring beneath my skin—chaos and void intertwining, ready to defend if necessary.
But the figure who enters is alone and unthreatening. An elf, tall and thin, with silver hair and eyes like chips of ice. They're dressed in dark robes that seem to absorb light, and they move with the careful precision of someone who's survived by being cautious.
"Regina," the elf says, their voice soft and androgynous. "You said you had something interesting."
"I do." Regina gestures to our table. "These are my clients. They have an umbra crystal for sale."
The elf's eyes snap to us, and I see the hunger there—quickly masked but unmistakable. "May I see it?"
Regina produces the crystal and sets it on the table between us. The elf approaches slowly, reverently, and I notice their hands are trembling slightly as they reach for it.
"Authentic," they breathe, holding it up to the candlelight. "Fully charged. No cracks or imperfections." They look at us, and there's something like awe in their expression. "Where did you get this?"
"Our home world," I say simply. "We have no use for it here."
"No use—" The elf laughs, a sharp, disbelieving sound. "Do you understand what this is worth? What it can do?"
"We understand," Ghatak says. "That's why we're selling it."
The elf sets the crystal down carefully, then reaches into their robes and withdraws a small leather pouch. They open it, revealing a stack of platinum coins—Aerox currency, stamped with the seal of the vampire council.
"Five billion platinum," the elf says. "That's more than most people see in a lifetime."
"Is it enough?" I ask Regina.
She nods. "More than enough for your expedition. Enough to hire the best guides, buy the best supplies, and still have plenty left over."
I look at Ghatak. He nods once.
"Deal," I say.
The exchange is quick and efficient. The elf takes the crystal, we take the coins, and within minutes, they're gone—vanished back into the night as silently as they arrived.
Regina counts out a portion of the coins and sets them aside. "My commission," she explains. "Twenty percent, as is standard for dark market transactions."
"Fair," I agree.
She produces a small notebook and begins writing. "I'll give you the names of three guides who know the eastern desert. All of them are trustworthy—or as trustworthy as anyone in that business can be. You'll want to leave at dawn; the desert is cooler in the morning, and you'll make better time."
"And the settlement?" I ask. "The one where the outcasts gather?"
"It's called Thronkaville," Regina says. "Or at least, that's what the nomads call it. I've never been there myself, but the guides will know how to find it. If your silver-haired woman is anywhere, that's where she'll be."
Thronkaville.
The name settles into my mind like a key turning in a lock. This is it. This is where we'll find answers.
Regina finishes writing and tears the page from her notebook, handing it to me. "The guides' names and where to find them. Tell them I sent you—they'll give you a fair price."
"Thank you," I say, and I mean it. "You've been more helpful than you needed to be."
She smiles, and for the first time, it reaches her eyes. "I like you two. You're honest about what you are. No pretense, no false morality. Just pragmatism and purpose." She pauses. "Besides, I have a feeling you're going to do interesting things on Aerox. And I like being connected to interesting people."
Smart, I think. She's investing in us as potential allies.
We rise, and Regina walks us to the door. The street outside is dark and quiet, the settlement settling into its nighttime rhythms.
"Good luck," Regina says. "And if you find what you're looking for in Thronkaville... come back and tell me about it. I collect stories, and I suspect yours will be worth hearing."
"We will," I promise.
Ghatak and I step out into the night, the weight of the coin pouch heavy at my belt and Regina's list of names folded carefully in my pocket.
"Tomorrow," Ghatak says quietly. "We go to the desert."
"Tomorrow," I agree. "We find Thronkaville. We find whoever survived."
We find my sister.
And then... then we bring her home. We help her remember who she is. We use her power, her bloodline, her potential to rebuild everything that was stolen from us.
The guilt tries to surface again—the knowledge that I'm thinking of my own sister as a resource, as a tool to be used rather than a person to be saved.
But I push it down. Sentiment is a luxury I can't afford. Not when there's so much at stake.
We walk through the darkened streets of Aerox, two dragons in humanoid form, carrying a fortune in stolen currency and a list of names that will lead us into the desert.
Into danger.
Into answers.
This is just the beginning, I think again. And I'll do whatever it takes to see it through.
Whatever. It. Takes.