CHAPTER 109: THE MARKET PLACE

The capital’s main market square bustled with afternoon trade. Merchants called out prices. Customers haggled over produce. The normal rhythm of commerce continued despite everything.

But the conversations between transactions told a different story.

"One hundred forty-eight." A baker named Bren spoke quietly to his neighbor while weighing flour. "That’s how many children died. One hundred forty-eight families got notifications instead of their sons and daughters coming home."

His neighbor, Maris, nodded grimly. She sold pottery three stalls down. Had done so for fifteen years. Long enough to know most of the merchant families in this section. "My cousin’s boy was one of them. Awakened six months ago. B-rank ice manipulation. They were so proud. Sent him to the Academy with high hopes."

"Was?"

"Didn’t make it out of the rift." Maris’s voice was flat. Emotionless in the way that suggested she’d cried herself dry already. "They brought back what they could recover. Not much. Three days in that place..."

She didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.

Bren packed the flour with careful precision. His hands shook slightly. "My daughter trains at the Academy. Second year student. She wasn’t anywhere near the arena when the rift opened. Different division entirely. Pure luck of scheduling."

"But she’s safe now?"

"She’s still there." Bren’s jaw tightened. "Campus is on suspension but some students stayed. She sent word yesterday. Said she felt safer with Master-rank supervision than traveling home during crisis."

Maris’s expression darkened. "Safe? At the Academy? After what happened?"

"The wards are supposed to be reinforced. Security enhanced. Master-rank oversight increased." But Bren’s tone suggested he didn’t fully believe his own words. "The King authorized full mobilization after the rift opened. Every resource dedicated to understanding what happened and preventing recurrence."

"Three days later and we still don’t know what caused it." Another merchant joined their conversation. Taren sold leather goods from a nearby stall. His voice carried the frustrated edge of someone who’d been following every scrap of news. "The Academy had the most sophisticated dimensional protections in the kingdom. Wards that had operated safely for fifty years. And something tore through them like they were paper."

"The King’s investigation is ongoing." Bren offered weakly.

"The King’s investigation should have answers by now." Taren’s frustration bled through. "Two hundred students disappeared. Fifty-two came back. One hundred forty-eight died. And we’re supposed to trust that enhanced security and ongoing investigation will prevent this from happening again?"

Maris glanced around nervously. Speaking critically of royal response wasn’t technically forbidden but it drew attention. The kind of attention merchants preferred to avoid.

"The King personally met with noble families." She said quietly. "Visited Baron Millbrook after his daughter was injured. That shows he’s taking this seriously."

"Baron Millbrook." Taren’s tone shifted. Became something between sympathy and bitter recognition. "You know they were standing in markets like this one just eight months ago? Sarah’s father at his work shop. Her mother did laundry for noble houses. Common folk. Like us."

Bren paused in his work. "I’d forgotten they were elevated so recently."

"Hard to forget when you remember seeing them haggling over copper pieces for bread." Maris’s voice carried complexity. Not quite resentment but not quite happiness either. "Then their daughter awakens with SS-rank temporal manipulation and overnight they’re Baron and Baroness Millbrook. Given estate. Title. Access to royal circles."

"The girl earned it." Taren said. Though his tone suggested ambivalence. "SS-rank awakening is rare. Valuable to the kingdom. The family’s elevation was appropriate given her potential."

"Was appropriate." Maris corrected quietly. "Past tense. Because now that girl who elevated her entire family from poverty to nobility got caught in dimensional rift. Had to have corrupted tissue cut from her body to prevent turning into one of those things."

"But she’s fine now." Bren interjected. "I heard the Academy has Professor Harold. Best healer in the kingdom. He treated her immediately. The wounds are already closing. She’ll be good as new in a few days."

Taren shook his head. "Physical wounds close. Mental scars don’t. The girl had to watch her own flesh being carved away to save her life. Had to fight corrupted classmates. Spent three days in dimensional hell. You think a few healing sessions fix that?"

"It’s better than being dead." Maris pointed out. "One hundred forty-eight families would trade places with the Millbrooks in an instant. At least their daughter is alive and will recover fully."

"Will she though?" A new voice joined. An older woman carrying a basket of vegetables. "I knew Sarah’s mother. Worked laundry together for ten years before the girl’s awakening. Saw her yesterday at the temple."

The merchants waited. Sensing she had more to say.

"She was praying. Crying. Not because of physical wounds." The woman’s voice was heavy. "Because her daughter keeps having nightmares. Wakes up screaming about corruption spreading through her body. About watching classmates die. Professor Harold healed the physical damage in hours but the girl’s mind is still trapped in that rift."

Silence fell between them.

"The Academy offered counseling." Bren said weakly. "Trauma specialists. Resources for mental recovery."

"Resources." The woman’s laugh was bitter. "The Millbrooks were common folk eight months ago. They understood hard work and copper pieces and simple problems. Now their daughter has SS-rank abilities that made them nobility. And nightmares about dimensional horror that no amount of healing magic touches."

"She’s young." Maris tried to sound hopeful. "Time will help. She’ll process the trauma and move forward."

"Time." Taren repeated. His voice flat. "Tell that to the families burying children. Tell them time heals all wounds. See how well that lands."

"The Millbrooks should be grateful their daughter survived." Another customer spoke up from nearby. Had been listening to the conversation while pretending to examine pottery. "Physical wounds healed. Abilities intact. Still has her whole life ahead of her. Some families got nothing but bodies and badges."

"Grateful." The woman with vegetables set her basket down heavily. "You want them to be grateful their daughter had corruption cut from her body? Grateful she survived when others died? That’s the comfort we offer now?"

"I’m saying perspective matters." The customer’s voice rose slightly. "My nephew died in that rift. Seventeen years old. B-rank fire manipulation. His parents got a notification and a box with his personal effects. The Millbrooks got their daughter back alive with injuries that are already healed. Yes. They should be grateful."

Bren raised his hands. Trying to calm the rising tension. "Everyone’s grief is valid. The Millbrooks’ trauma doesn’t diminish because others died. And the families who lost children have every right to their pain."

"Valid." Taren’s voice carried edge now. "What’s valid is asking why the Academy’s protections failed. Why dimensional rifts can open in supposedly secure training grounds. Why one hundred forty-eight children died while the kingdom’s elite institution scrambles for explanations."

Maris glanced around nervously. Several other customers had stopped their shopping. Were listening openly now. Dangerous when conversations turned toward institutional criticism.

"The King is investigating." She said firmly. "Enhanced security is in place. Steps are being taken to prevent recurrence."

"Steps taken after catastrophe are admission of prior failure." The woman with vegetables spoke quietly but her words carried. "The Millbrooks went from poverty to nobility because their daughter had exceptional abilities. Now that daughter is traumatized and scarred mentally even if her body healed. And we’re supposed to accept this as acceptable cost of training awakened youth?"

"What’s the alternative?" Bren challenged. "Don’t train SS-rank awakened? Let their abilities develop without guidance? That’s more dangerous than Academy training even with recent failures."

"The alternative is accountability." Taren said. "Understanding what failed. Who failed. Why protections that worked for fifty years suddenly meant nothing. The Millbrooks’ daughter survived but one hundred forty-eight families want answers. Want to know their children’s deaths weren’t meaningless."

The customer who’d spoken about perspective shook his head. "Answers won’t bring them back. Investigation won’t undo the rift. We’re arguing about things we have no control over while the people with actual power make decisions behind closed doors."

"Which is why we should be demanding transparency." The woman’s voice was firm. "Common families like the Millbrooks paid the highest price. Their daughter nearly died. Other common families lost children entirely. We deserve to know what the kingdom is doing to prevent this from happening again."

"We’ll know when they tell us." Maris said wearily. "That’s how these things work. Royal investigation. Palace announcements. Filtered information released when they decide we’re ready to hear it."

Bren returned to his flour. The conversation had circled back to familiar frustration. No answers. No comfort. Just collective processing of trauma that touched everyone in different ways.

"I pray for the Millbrooks." The woman picked up her vegetables again. "For their daughter’s mental recovery. For their adjustment to nobility. For understanding of what their elevation cost them." She paused. "And I pray they find it worthwhile. Because if SS-rank abilities bring nothing but trauma and nightmares then what’s the point of awakening at all?"

She left before anyone could respond.

The market continued its commerce. But the mood had shifted. Heavier. More troubled.

The Millbrooks represented something the capital was still processing. The dream of elevation. The cost of exceptional abilities. The price of survival when others died.

Their daughter would recover physically. Professor Harold’s healing guaranteed that. But mental scars didn’t close with essence manipulation. And no title or estate provided comfort against nightmares about corruption spreading through your body while classmates died around you.

Bren packed his flour mechanically. Maris returned to her pottery. Taren went back to his leather goods.

Life continued because it had to.

But the questions remained. And in temples across the capital former laundry workers prayed while their daughters recovered from trauma no healing magic could touch.