Evening sunlight soon bathed Aurvyn City in warm hues. The sky glowed a soft orange, streaked with lingering traces of blue.
Driving toward another location, Myth eventually reached the outskirts of the city's slum districts. He parked his car in a mall's parking lot. His destination was deeper in—too far to drive in unnoticed. Out of caution, he decided to walk the rest of the way.
With his location app open on his mobile, Myth weaved through the narrow streets. The slums were packed with people, many of them bearing the signature red eyes. A few glanced at him, some with curiosity, others with suspicion—like he didn't belong.
He ignored the stares.
Eventually, he arrived at a large, dilapidated warehouse tucked between crumbling apartment blocks. It looked abandoned from the outside, but Myth knew better.
Two guards stood at the entrance, chatting idly. Slung under their arms were sleek, black energy rifles—each pulsing faintly with a glowing blue core.
Myth approached.
"I'm here to buy. Name's Sid," he said calmly.
One of the guards checked his mobile, scanning the access log. After a second, he nodded.
"Welcome, sir," the guard said, pushing the heavy door open. "It's still early, so the place is a little empty. Market usually fills up later in the evening."
Myth gave a silent nod and stepped inside.
The warehouse stretched wide, with vendor stalls lined along its edges—metal booths selling everything from old tech to weapon parts. In the center, a square clearing hosted a few buyers milling about, their hushed voices echoing faintly through the cavernous space.
Giving the shop a quick once-over, Myth's eyes landed on one that specialized in combat gear.
He stepped inside.
The layout was clean and functional—combat rifles lined the right wall, armor pieces hung along the left, and the back glowed with cases of energy weapons and accessories. A counter stood directly ahead, and behind it, a man was idly scrolling on his mobile.
"Do you have any handguns?" Myth asked, walking up.
The man glanced at him, then lazily pointed to a section on the far wall. "Yeah. Best ones are over there. Got a few more in the back too—I'll bring them out if you want."
Without looking where the man had pointed, Myth replied, "Yeah, bring them out. I'll check while you do."
The man sighed but complied.
Myth began browsing the displayed weapons, skimming the price tags before actually examining anything.
20,000 credits for a handgun? He raised an eyebrow, picking one up.
That much for a gun in a place like this? You've gotta be kidding.
The gun felt solid, well-crafted. But unlike the rifles the guards outside carried, this one's energy core wasn't glowing.
Inactive, he guessed.
"What's your range, anyway?" the shopkeeper asked.
"About ten thousand," Myth replied, eyes still scanning the display.
"I've got three models in that range—one at 8k, another at 12k, and the last at 13k," the man said, placing them carefully on the counter.
Myth nodded. "Alright. Let me take a look."
The shopkeeper lined up the pistols. Myth stared at them, completely blank. He didn't know what to look for. He glanced at the man, silently asking for help.
The shopkeeper sighed.
"Alright. This one"—he pointed to the longest pistol—"is 12k. Long barrel, better accuracy. Fires 15 rounds before a five-second cooldown. The core lasts for about 50 shots.
The short one's 8k—cheaper, but not as stable. Fires 10 rounds per cycle, same 50-shot limit.
The last one's similar to the first, but comes with a built-in silencer and reinforced grip. That one's 13k."
Myth leaned in, running his fingers lightly across the metallic frames, eyes narrowing slightly in thought.
He stepped away from the pistols and wandered toward the sniper rifles, curiosity piqued—but it was the price tags that truly caught his attention. His eyes widened.
"What's the lowest price for a sniper?" he asked.
"You won't get one below 100k," the shopkeeper replied casually. "They all need a Level 3 energy core."
"What about the pistols? What kind of cores do these use?" Myth asked, returning to the counter.
"These use artificial cores," the man said. "Basically a half-step below Level 1—call it Level 0, maybe. They're cheap, weak, but more stable than full Level 1s."
Myth paused, thinking.
His original plan had been simple: buy a cheap pistol for basic self-defense and close-range travel safety. Once he reached the safe zone, where prices were more reasonable, he'd invest in a proper sniper—his true weapon of choice.
But it seemed he'd have to adjust.
Looks like I'll have to change my plan a bit, he thought.
"I'll take the 13k pistol," he said.
"We only accept chips," the shopkeeper replied.
Myth pulled two chips from his pocket—one older, the one he'd received earlier for withdrawing from the college seat, and a new one, freshly registered.
He inserted the old chip into the side slot of his mobile and the new one into the top. The screen lit up. With a few taps, he transferred 13,000 credits from the old chip to the new one.
Then he handed the new chip over.
The shopkeeper inserted it into his own device to verify. After a moment, he nodded.
He disappeared into the back and returned with a glowing energy core. Swapping out the old one, he loaded it into the pistol and placed it on the counter, along with a matching silencer.
"Here you go," he said. "Fully loaded. Just pull the trigger to shoot."
Myth took the weapon in hand, feeling the weight of it settle against his palm. He studied the design more carefully now, tracing the smooth frame with his fingers.
When his hand brushed the trigger, something stirred inside him—his heart beating faster, adrenaline lacing the edges of his thoughts.
Excitement. Anticipation.
Placing the gun under his belt and pulling his shirt over it, Myth gave the shopkeeper a nod of thanks and stepped out of the shop.
He made his way through the rest of the warehouse, stopping at a different stall to pick up a generic black vest and a matching gun holster. Nothing flashy—just functional.
Shopping done, he returned to his car and began the drive back to his villa. On the way, he made a quick stop to pick up a rose.
By the time he reached home, night had settled over Aurvyn. Parking his car outside his mother's villa, Myth stepped out, but instead of going inside, he walked through the quiet neighborhood toward a large mansion nearby, the rose tucked gently in his hand.
Knock, knock.
Myth rapped on the grand wooden door and waited.
A moment later, it opened to reveal a familiar man in a servant's uniform.
"Myth! How are you? Come in, come in. Are you here to see Sira?" the man asked warmly.
"Yeah," Myth replied with a casual smile. "I called her, but... looks like she was busy."
The servant stepped aside, gesturing for Myth to enter.
"Busy? Yes, yes—of course she's busy talking. Let me tell you, she never does any housework—"
"—and when she does, she gives everyone a headache," Myth finished with a smirk, clearly having heard the complaint many times before.
The man chuckled and called out to the other servants. "Go get Sira. Tell her Myth is here."
Sira, with her dark red eyes and tousled brown hair, came hurrying down the grand staircase in her servant outfit, just a bit taller than Myth. She raised her voice playfully as she moved:
"Myth! What's up?"
Myth looked up, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"I hadn't seen you in a while. Figured I needed a reason to drop by."
She narrowed her eyes, feigning innocence.
"We literally saw each other yesterday. At your party."
Sira reached the bottom of the stairs, the servant quietly excusing himself and leaving the two of them alone.
Without a word, Myth held out a single rose.
"A beautiful rose for a beautiful lady," he said with a half-smirk.
A bright, genuine smile bloomed across her face as she accepted it, clearly delighted.
"If only you actually meant that," Sira replied, trying to sound skeptical, but her joy gave her away.
Seeing her smile like that made Myth feel unexpectedly warm inside.
"Let's go for a walk," he said quietly.
Sira nodded.
"Okay…"
Her voice was softer this time.