The cobbled streets of Helia pulsed with vibrant life under the soft glow of lanterns strung above the marketplace. The warm hues of the setting sun bathed the city in gold, mingling with the flickering light of braziers stationed at every corner. Caelus, Lorian, Darius, and Cheese wandered leisurely through the lively bazaar, their earlier exhaustion from training melting away in the cheerful ambiance.

  Brightly colored stalls lined the winding paths, their canopies swaying gently in the cool evening breeze. Merchants called out in practiced tones, advertising everything from freshly baked loaves of bread to intricately crafted jewelry. The sweet scent of honeyed pastries mingled with the earthy aroma of leather goods, and faint sparks danced in the air from a nearby forge. Townsfolk bustled around them, their chatter and laughter creating a lively symphony of everyday life.

  Lorian sighed contentedly, tossing Cheese into the air like a child with a favorite toy. The slime emitted a delighted gurgle as it wobbled mid-air before plopping back into his hands. “Finally,” Lorian declared with a grin, “a normal shop! No creepy vampires, no mysterious tests—just good, old-fashioned shopping.”

  Darius laughed, his deep voice resonating warmly. The soft light reflected off his red scales, making them gleam like embers. “Agreed. No veiled merchants handing us cursed trinkets or riddles about life and death. Just honest-to-goodness stalls with things we actually understand. Maybe I’ll grab a snack—or a new weapon.” He patted the worn weapon strapped to his back with a wistful expression.

  Caelus smirked, his own posture relaxed as he strolled alongside them. “A weapons shop sounds like a good start,” he said, gesturing to a stall adorned with polished swords and shields that gleamed in the fading sunlight. “After that, let’s see if we can find a blacksmith to give our gear a once-over.”

  Cheese wobbled in Lorian’s hands, extending a tiny, quivering pseudopod toward a stall that sparkled with trinkets and baubles, eyeing a shiny golden crown in particular. Its gelatinous body shivered with excitement, and it let out a bubbly squeak.

  Lorian followed Cheese’s gaze, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the glittering goods. “Oh, look at that one, Cheese! It’s so shiny! Do you think it’d suit you?” He giggled, holding the slime closer to the stall for a better look.

  They approached the weapons stall first, where an elderly vendor with a bushy beard and keen eyes inspected them as they drew near. His display boasted an impressive collection of blades, axes, and shields, each polished to a mirror finish. “Ah, travelers!” the merchant called out, his voice carrying a friendly rasp. “Looking for something sharp or sturdy today? These aren’t just for show—they’ve seen real battles, crafted with care and tempered in the best forges of Helia!”

  Caelus examined a sleek longsword, its blade etched with faint, swirling patterns. He ran his fingers along the hilt, testing its balance. “This is good work,” he remarked, impressed. “Who’s your smith?”

  The merchant’s chest puffed up with pride. “That’d be my grandson, Orin. Talented lad—got his skill from me, of course. If you need custom work, his forge is at the eastern end of the market.”

  Darius picked up a hefty axe, its head adorned with intricate carvings of dragons. He gave it a few test swings, his muscles flexing beneath his scales.

  Lorian darted to a rack of throwing knives near the corner of the shop, his face lighting up like a kid on his birthday. He reached out, picking up a pair of small, sleek blades. The polished steel gleamed under the lantern light, the edges sharp and precise. “These are perfect!” he exclaimed, testing their weight with a flick of his wrist. The knives twirled effortlessly between his fingers, their balance just right. “Not too heavy, not too light.”

  “You’ve got a sharp eye, lad,” the shopkeeper said, his voice rich and gravelly. “Those are precision blades, balanced just right for quick throws. A favorite among rogues and scouts.”

  Lorian beamed, holding one knife up to the light. “I’m no rogue yet,” he admitted, spinning the blade deftly in his fingers, “but I want to learn. These just feel… right.”

  The shopkeeper chuckled, folding his arms across his broad chest. “A good throwing knife should feel like an extension of your hand. If they’re calling to you, they’re yours. I’d wager you’ll be sticking targets in no time.”

  As the two chatted, Cheese had wandered off, wobbling toward a low shelf filled with small, glinting objects. Its jelly-like body quivered with excitement as it spotted a box of shurikens—small, star-shaped weapons neatly arranged in rows. The slime stretched out a pair of translucent pseudopods, poking at the shiny stars with curiosity.

  Before anyone noticed, Cheese let out a bubbly squeak and flung two shurikens across the shop. One soared through the air with surprising accuracy, embedding itself with a solid thunk in a wooden support beam. The other spun wildly, clattering harmlessly to the floor.

  “Cheese!” Lorian shouted, his eyes wide with panic. He darted over, scooping up the slime and gently shaking it. “What are you doing? You can’t just throw stuff!”

  The shopkeeper roared with laughter, his deep voice echoing through the store. He waved a hand, his expression entirely unbothered. “Don’t fret, lad! That little critter’s got more aim than half the customers I see here. Not every day a slime shows up with that much spirit.”

  Cheese jiggled in Lorian’s hands, its surface rippling as if preening under the compliment.

  Darius, who had been inspecting a rack of maces, turned at the commotion, his dark green eyes twinkling with amusement. “That’s one way to get attention, Cheese. You aiming to be a sharpshooter now?”

  Lorian sheepishly gathered the shuriken from the floor and returned it to the box. “Sorry about that,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “It gets… excited sometimes.”

  “No harm done,” the shopkeeper said, clapping Lorian on the shoulder with a hearty grin. “It’s all in good fun. Just keep an eye on it—next time it might stick one of these blades in the ceiling.”

  Cheese jiggled again, clearly proud of its newfound projectile skills. Lorian groaned, cradling the slime as if scolding a mischievous pet. “You’re going to get us banned from every shop in Helia at this rate.”

  Caelus, who had been quietly examining a shelf of daggers nearby, couldn’t help but chuckle. “Maybe we should find something safer for Cheese to play with before it decides to throw something bigger.”

  As Caelus had anticipated, no weapon in the shop resonated with him the way his sword did. The others had browsed the racks with interest, but for Caelus, nothing compared to the familiar weight and balance of the blade that had become an extension of himself. He set down the last weapon he inspected, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Guess I’m sticking with what I’ve got," he murmured.

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  Darius, meanwhile, had examined a few options but ultimately shook his head. "I think my halberd still has some life left in it," he said, tapping the battered weapon slung across his back. "It’s been through hell, but maybe it’s salvageable."

  Lorian, however, was visibly thrilled with his purchase. He clutched the pair of sleek throwing knives he had selected earlier, his face glowing with satisfaction. "These are going to be awesome," he declared, spinning one experimentally in his hand before carefully tucking it into a sheath at his side.

  With their business in the weapon shop concluded, the group made their way to the blacksmith’s forge nearby, ready to see if Darius’s trusty halberd could be restored to its former glory.

  The blacksmith’s forge nestled snugly into a bustling corner of the marketplace, its presence impossible to miss. The intense heat from the roaring flames spilled out onto the cobbled street, mingling with the smoky scent of molten metal and charred wood. Rhythmic clangs echoed through the air, a steady percussion of hammer striking steel that seemed to set the tempo for the activity surrounding the forge.

  Behind the central anvil stood a burly gnome, his compact stature contrasting with the sheer power in his arms. Soot streaked his skin, and his black beard bristled with flecks of ash. His eyes, small but sharp, peeked out beneath the shadow of a pointy, slightly singed hat. Though his no-nonsense expression bordered on gruff, there was an unmistakable glimmer of pride in his work.

  Around him bustled a small clan of other gnomes, each with their own task. One worked the bellows with tireless energy, feeding the flames until they roared brilliantly. Another hammered away at a glowing blade, sparks dancing in the air with each strike. A third, smaller gnome darted between workstations, delivering tools and checking on progress with quick, efficient movements. It was clearly a family business, and each member moved with practiced precision, as if the forge was their shared heartbeat.

  The gnome at the anvil straightened and wiped his soot-streaked hands on a thick leather apron as the group approached. “What can I do for you lot?” he asked, his voice gravelly but not unkind.

  Darius stepped forward, unslinging his halberd from his back with a sheepish grin. The weapon, battered and worn, looked out of place among the polished wares and glowing metal in the forge. “Could you take a look at this?” he asked, holding it out. “It’s been through... well, a lot.”

  The blacksmith took the halberd with a practiced grip, turning it over in his calloused hands. His eyes narrowed as he examined the dull, chipped blade and the cracked shaft, running his fingers over the damaged sections with the precision of a surgeon.

  “A lot?” he echoed, his tone somewhere between incredulous and amused. “This thing’s been dragged through every battlefield in Helia and then some! When’s the last time you gave it proper maintenance?”

  Darius rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “Uh... a while?”

  The blacksmith let out a long, exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “A weapon’s like an extension of yourself,” he lectured, his voice firm. “You neglect it, it’ll fail you when you need it most. You’re lucky this hasn’t snapped clean in two.”

  Behind Darius, Lorian stifled a snicker, hiding his grin behind his hand. Darius shot him a sharp look over his shoulder, effectively silencing the young rogue, though Lorian’s eyes still sparkled with amusement.

  The blacksmith, noticing the exchange, softened his scowl with a small shake of his head. “I can fix it,” he said, his tone less harsh. “I’ll reinforce the shaft, reforge the blade, and sharpen it up good as new. But listen here,” he added, pointing a soot-darkened finger at Darius, “you need to take better care of this thing. It’s saved your hide more than once, hasn’t it?”

  Darius nodded, his red scales catching the forge’s light as he dipped his head in gratitude. “Yes, sir. I’ll do better.”

  The blacksmith grunted, satisfied. “See that you do. Now, give me a little time, and I’ll have this beauty ready to fight again.”

  The blacksmith set down Darius’s halberd and turned his attention to Caelus’s sword, his sharp eyes immediately honing in on the intricate blue runes etched along the blade. His brows lifted in appreciation, and he ran his calloused fingers gently over the glowing markings. “Now this,” he murmured, his tone a mixture of awe and respect, “this is a beauty.”

  He hefted the sword, testing its weight and balance before examining it more closely under the forge’s warm light. “Enchanted steel,” he mused, tracing the runes with a careful fingertip. “Impeccable craftsmanship. Where’d you get it?”

  Caelus hesitated, his grip tightening on the sheath at his side. He exchanged a brief glance with Darius, the unspoken complexities of the sword’s origins flashing between them. “Uh... it’s a bit of a long story,” he said finally, his tone light but evasive.

  The blacksmith chuckled, handing the sword back with a knowing smile. “Fair enough. Whoever made this knew their craft. Those runes amplify magical energy, don’t they? Makes your strikes hit harder?”

  “Something like that,” Caelus replied with a nod, sheathing the weapon again.

  “Well,” the blacksmith said, stepping back, “there’s nothing to fix here. Blade’s perfect. Just keep it sharp and, more importantly, don’t let anyone steal it. A sword like that? Worth more than gold in the wrong hands.”

  Caelus smiled faintly. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  As the blacksmith returned to reinforcing Darius’s halberd, Lorian sidled up to Caelus, his bright eyes gleaming with excitement. He held up his new throwing knives, still gleaming from the forge’s fire. “You think these will hold up in a fight?” he asked, twirling one experimentally.

  Caelus smirked and ruffled Lorian’s hair. “They will, if you throw them right.”

  Lorian’s grin widened, the youthful enthusiasm infectious. “Guess I’ll just have to practice, then.”

  By the time they left the forge, the sun was dipping low in the sky, casting the marketplace in hues of fiery orange and soft gold. The cobbled streets seemed to glow, reflecting the day’s last light, and the hum of activity was beginning to settle into a gentle evening rhythm.

  Darius carried his halberd over one shoulder, the weapon’s newly reinforced shaft gleaming faintly. Lorian had a small pouch tied to his belt, its weight reassuring as it carried his carefully selected throwing knives. Cheese bobbed happily on Lorian’s shoulder, letting out bubbly, contented noises that seemed to echo the group’s mood.

  “You know,” Darius said as they strolled through the market’s winding paths, “I think I prefer this kind of day. No monsters, no creepy merchants—just good people and a bit of coin.”

  Caelus smiled, his blue eyes scanning the lively streets. Vendors were starting to pack up their wares, their voices softening as the day wound down. The scent of freshly baked bread still lingered in the air, mingling with the sweetness of candies from a nearby stall. “Agreed,” he said, though his tone carried a note of caution. “But we shouldn’t get too comfortable. This peace won’t last forever.”

  Lorian glanced up at him, his youthful face unusually serious for a moment. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “But it’s nice while it lasts.”

  Cheese wiggled enthusiastically, stretching a tiny pseudopod toward a nearby stall where a cheerful vendor was packing up jars of colorful sweets. The confectionery stall was a feast for the eyes, with rows of glass jars filled with vibrant candies in every hue—soft pinks, electric blues, golden yellows, and deep reds. The scent of sugar and fruit lingered in the air, enticing even the weariest of passersby.

  Lorian approached, holding Cheese up so it could get a better look at the assortment of treats. “Alright, buddy,” he said, grinning. “Which one catches your eye? The pink ribbons? Or maybe the blue swirl?”

  Cheese wobbled decisively, leaning its gelatinous form toward a jar filled with bright blue spiral candies. Its enthusiasm was unmistakable, and Lorian laughed, delighted by the slime’s clear choice. “Blue it is, then!”

  The vendor chuckled at the interaction, her kind eyes sparkling. “Good choice. These are my best sellers,” she said, scooping a few of the candies into a small paper pouch. Lorian handed over a couple of coins, taking the treat with a nod of thanks.

  He unwrapped one of the blue candies and held it up for Cheese, who eagerly extended a pseudopod to engulf it. The sticky sweet vanished into the slime’s jiggly form with a satisfied gurgle, its translucent surface taking on a faint shimmer of blue.

  “Looks like you approve,” Lorian said, chuckling as Cheese wobbled happily, its bubbly noises echoing its contentment. He gave the vendor a wave before rejoining the group, Cheese perched on his shoulder and radiating pure joy.