Page 6 of Starlit Bargains

“This whole place is weird,” Kai muttered. “And getting weirder by the minute.”

He resumed his shopping, but the strange energy persisted, a constant hum at the edge of his awareness. By the time he'd collected everything on Silas's list, the sun was beginning to sink toward the treetops, casting long shadows across the village.

Time to head back to Thornhaven, he thought, though the idea held less appeal than it had that morning. There was something happening here, something fascinating and potentially dangerous—exactly the kind of situation he found impossible to walk away from.

As he made his way toward the village gate, a young boy darted in front of him, nearly causing another collision.

“Sorry, mister!” the boy called, but instead of continuing on his way, he pressed something into Kai's hand. “From the baker lady,” he whispered, then disappeared into the crowd before Kai could respond.

Kai looked down at the object in his palm—a small, folded piece of parchment. He glanced around, but saw no one watching him with particular interest. Careful to shield the note from casual observers, he unfolded it.

The message was brief, written in a neat, flowing script:

If you want answers about what's waking in our village—and about the man with star-eyes—return after moonrise. The old well behind the tanner's shop.

Chapter 2

Ghost of the Past

Eliar stood motionless on the slanted roof of the tanner's shop, his body a dark silhouette against the setting sun. From this vantage point, he could see most of the marketplace—the vendors packing up their wares, the villagers making their final purchases before heading home, and one particular visitor who seemed determined to upend centuries of careful isolation.

Kai Everwood, with his easy smile and chaotic magic, was currently haggling with a fruit seller, seemingly oblivious to the ripples he was creating in the fabric of the village. The sprite on his shoulder—a troublesome little thing with vibrant wings—kept darting back and forth, occasionally whispering something that made Kai laugh.

Eliar's jaw tightened. He shouldn't have intervened earlier. Shouldn't have grabbed the stranger's wrist and pulled him to safety. After all these years, he knew better than to get involved.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself, the word carried away by the evening breeze. “Centuries of discipline, undone by a pair of warm eyes and a reckless smile.”

But even as he chastised himself, Eliar couldn't look away. There was something about Kai that pulled at him—a magnetism that went beyond mere physical attraction. His magic felt... familiar somehow. Wild and untrained, yes, but with an underlying resonance that stirred memories Eliar had long since buried.

Below, Kai pocketed his purchase and turned toward the eastern edge of the village. A young boy darted up to him, pressing something into his hand before disappearing into the crowd. Eliar narrowed his eyes, watching as Kai unfolded what appeared to be a note, his expression shifting from surprise to intrigued delight.

Someone's making contact, Eliar thought, a flicker of concern sparking to life.This is getting more complicated by the minute.

He closed his eyes, allowing his other senses to expand. The village thrummed beneath him, a subtle vibration that had been growing stronger since Kai's arrival. It wasn't necessarily a dangerous sensation—not yet—but it was change, and change had rarely been kind to Eliar.

The memories surfaced unbidden, as vivid now as they had been centuries ago: the searing pain as celestial fire turned against him, the endless fall through darkness, the impact of striking the earth with such force that the ground still bore the scar of his landing. The bitter taste of betrayal, the crushing weight of isolation, the slow realization that his punishment was not death, but something far more cruel—an eternity of watching, powerless, as the world moved on without him.

He had been a guardian once. A protector of realms, a being of light and purpose. Now he was just... Eliar. A recluse in a forgotten village, clinging to the shadows, afraid of being recognized for what he once was—or worse, for what he had become.

A loud laugh pulled him from his reverie. Kai was now gesturing wildly as he told some story to a trio of village children, his hands painting pictures in the air. As Eliar watched, a shimmer of golden light trailed Kai's fingertips—magic leaking out unconsciously, responding to his emotions.

More concerning than the display itself was the reaction of the plants nearby. The scraggly vines that clung to the wall behind Kai had begun to stir, new leaves unfurling in fast-forward, tiny buds swelling and blooming in a matter of seconds. The children gasped in delight, pointing, but Kai seemed unaware of the effect he was having.

Eliar felt a chill run down his spine. It wasn't just Kai's presence in the village that was disrupting things—it was the way the land itself was responding to him, as if recognizing something it had long forgotten.

This was exactly what Eliar had feared. The village of Mistwood existed in a delicate balance—a place where the veil between worlds was tissue-thin, where ancient powers slumbered just beneath the surface. It had taken him decades to establish himself here, to gently guide the flow of energies into harmless channels, to ensure that what lay dormant remained so.

And now this stranger—this bright, magnetic, utterly unaware man—was walking through it all like a torch through a room full of dry kindling.

“Damn it all,” Eliar whispered, rising fluidly to his feet. He would need to consult the elders. As much as he preferred to handle matters alone, this was beyond his ability to contain.

With a last glance at Kai, who was now being led toward the village tavern by a weathered-looking woman—probably the author of the note—Eliar stepped off the roof. His descent should have been fatal, a three-story drop onto hard-packedearth, but he landed with barely a sound, his body absorbing the impact as if he'd stepped off a low curb.

Small mercies, that some of his old abilities remained. Not enough to matter, not enough to reclaim what he'd lost, but enough to maintain the illusion of humanity while moving more freely than most.

Eliar pulled his dark cloak tighter around his shoulders and headed west, toward the ancient heart of the forest that surrounded Mistwood. His steps were silent, his passage unremarked. After so long in this place, he had learned how to be forgettable—just another shadow among many, nothing to hold the eye or linger in memory.

As he left the village proper, the buildings growing sparser and the trees more numerous, Eliar felt the knot in his chest begin to loosen. He had always been more comfortable away from the press of humanity, their brief, bright lives a constant reminder of everything he was not.

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