It’s raining today. That’s nothing out of the ordinary, though. 

I open the door to my apartment and lock it on the way out. It’s a fumbling motion as I try to fit the key in the hole by feeling around with my hands. I’ve done it many times before but that doesn’t mean I can do it as easily as everyone else. The key slips in and I turn it quickly before pulling it back out again. I rattle the doorknob to make sure it’s locked before heading down the hallway. 

My apartment building doesn’t have an elevator so I have to take the stairs. I don’t mind it though. Using the elevator is difficult. I never know which floors the buttons go to.

I tread down four flights of stairs, holding the railing the entire time. I enter the lobby and make my way outside. 

“Going out today?” a voice asks from my left. Malik. The security guard. His voice is deep with a slight rasp. 

“How could you tell?” I respond jokingly. I like Malik. I don’t speak with him often, only when I enter and exit the building, but he always greets me, even when he could get away with ignoring me. 

He laughs. “Something to do with how you’re leaving the building, I think.” 

I let out a small chuckle. “I’m headed to the fish market. Need to restock.”

“Fish? Again? Don’t you ever get tired of eating it? I can’t get over the texture.” 

I shrug. “It’s cheap. I think you might be living in the wrong city if you don’t like fish.”

He laughs again. “I guess I might. You be safe out there,” Malik says, naturally ending the conversation.

“I always am,” I answer and continue forward. 

I pull up the hood of my jacket. I like the way its baggy structure fits around my torso. From what I remember, it’s black with red accents around the hood and sleeves. The jacket is tattered and worn but I refuse to get a new one. This one is comfortable. And my mother gave it to me. She isn’t around to give me a second one. 

As I step outside of the overhang of the building, I can feel droplets of water hit my head. They don’t reach my face, which is good. The piece of cloth tied around my eyes is very uncomfortable when wet. 

I know the way to the fish market by heart, having walked there so many times. I do intend to get some fish, but fish isn’t the only thing I’ll be there for. 

Suddenly, I hit something hard and I’m harshly knocked backwards. I steady myself so I don’t meet the ground, but my hood falls down in the process. The rain covers my face and hair uncomfortably. 

“Watch where you’re going, blueskin!” A voice shouts from behind me, presumably from the person who bumped into me. 

I don’t respond, despite being upset. I sigh, recollect myself and pull my hood back up. I’m disoriented and I don’t know where I am so I attempt to feel my surroundings. I realize I must look silly flailing my arms around, but I don’t stop. I’d try to listen if I were somewhere quieter but with the bustling of people and the patter of rain, I wouldn’t be able to hear anything else. 

I feel a light tap on my hip and spin to face where it came from. I carefully put my hand out in front of me but feel nothing. I lower it slowly until it lands on a small head of hair. 

“What are you doing?” a squeaky, child-like voice asks. 

I look down in the direction of the voice. “I’m a bit mixed up,” I say softly, “I’m trying to go to the fish market. Do you know where it is?”

The head nods, but the child doesn’t say anything. Did it point somewhere? Heavens, children are so difficult to communicate with. 

“Can you tell me?” 

“It’s that way,” the child says. 

I sigh in mild frustration before crouching down. “I can’t see what you’re pointing to. Can you tell me with words?”

The child fumbles a bit with a few ‘I’s and ‘uh’s and ‘um’s. I guess that’s a no.

I hold out my hand, offering the child to take it. “Can you point with me, then?” 

The child doesn’t say anything and I’ve removed my hand from its head so I can’t tell if it’s nodding either. After a few seconds, a small, soft hand grasps my index finger. My hand is gently pulled to the left and I find myself pointing somewhere. 

“It’s that way?”

“Mhm.”

I stand up and ruffle the kid’s hair, keeping a mental note of the direction I have to go. “Thanks kid.”

I know I’ve reached my destination when the stench of fish becomes overwhelming. I don’t mind it while I’m here but I wouldn’t want my apartment to smell this way. 

I walk around awkwardly before hearing someone call my name. 

“Rhuka, you dirty blueskin, get yer sexy ass over ‘ere.” 

I hesitate to walk toward the voice, partially out of embarrassment, partially out of a fear of the person the voice belongs to. After a few seconds of what I hope was a good deadpan in the direction of the voice, I walk over. 

“Hello, Ixie,” I reply, my naturally monotone voice working perfectly for the situation. “Was it really necessary to both insult me and compliment my ass in front of the entire market?” 

“Nah,” the crazy girl in front of me says. She’s behind her stall so I can’t effectively shove her, but I sure as hell want to. “But it sure brought me plenty of joy.” She giggles and I can’t help but imagine the crazed smile on her face. 

I’d be bothered if anyone else called me a blueskin, but coming from Ixie, it was a term of endearment. She was a human, but she treated all mystics just as well as she treated humans, if not better. I don’t have friends, but if I did, she would probably be my best friend. 

If I remember correctly, she’s got untameable, curly black hair. Ixie told me her skin was like hot cocoa with chocolate chip freckles. And her eyes were the color of the moon. I always liked the way she described herself to me. She painted a picture with every word. 

I roll my eyes, even if she can’t see them. 

“You should let me cut yer hair,” she says, twirling a finger in my fluffy hair. Last night it fell at my eyes and now that she mentions it, it is slightly bothersome. But I know better than to trust Ixie with a pair of scissors, let alone a pair of scissors and access to my hair. 

“Sure, if you want to lose a limb,” I say. I cross my arms and jerk my head away from her meddling fingers. 

“Suit yerself. What do ya want today?”

“Four of whatever’s cheapest,” I respond. Ixie and her family were the only people I trusted to sell me food. Any of the other vendors might attempt to trick me and sell me the fish for more than it’s worth. I know because it’s happened before. 

“We got some nice swordfish today,” Ixie says as she prepares the fish for me. 

“That’s nice,” I say despite not knowing the significance of such a statement. 

“Don’t act like ya know what I’m saying.” She laughs and hands me the fish, wrapped in paper. “That’ll be six.” 

I hand her the money, nod my head, and descend further into the market. I carefully set the fish in the bag I had hanging over my shoulder. After a series of lefts and rights engraved in my brain, I arrive at my destination. I feel around the ground with my foot until it hits the circle of engraved metal I was searching for. A manhole. 

I crouch on the ground and carefully remove the manhole from the hole it was covering. I reach my hand into the hole and grasp a cold, metal rung. After slowly lowering myself onto the ladder, I reach above me and slide the manhole cover over the hole, shrouding me in darkness. Not that it's any more than I’m already used to. 

I tread through a long, narrow tunnel-like corridor. I can hear every sound reverberated through the stone walls. The drip of what is probably sewage water, the scurry of mice, the faint voices from the approaching entrance to where I’m headed. The Monster Market. 

The large cavern in front of me is filled with a variety of sounds and smells. There’s something so strange and foreign about this place. And at the same time, it feels like home. 

I remember the first time I came here vividly. Every wall in every shop was covered with bright neon graffiti. There were bioluminescent lights strung everywhere. Mystics of all races, sizes, and colors filled the space. Sure, there were a few humans, but this place was really for us. It was named ‘The Monster Market’ as an ode to the primary slur humans had called us before coming to terms with our existence. 

Arius was with me that day. We weren’t even friends at the time, barely acquaintances. I hadn’t thought about him in a long time. He and I haven’t seen each other in years and I don’t intend to visit him anytime soon. 

I shake my train of thought and continue my mission. I need to find a stall here that I’ve never been to. My hearing or touch won’t exactly help with the task in this room. But my magic just might. 

I close my eyes and relax. Years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to lift a droplet in a loud room full of people, let alone do this. But my magic has come a long way since then. 

My vision opens, even with the cloth tied around my eyes. 

I can see various bright blue shapes around me, most resembling Mystics. The figures are void of detail but the beauty of the magic made up for it. The colors glow for the figures closest to me and are dull for the ones further away. They never still, constantly swirling around in an almost hypnotic movement. The colors are beautiful, and it’s times like this that I wish I could still see.

I walk through the crowds, looking for a certain shade of blue. I can only see the figures around me and the occasional bottle or cauldron of some kind of liquid. After a few minutes of careful searching, I see it. This hue this figure has is different. I recognize it. Because it’s just like mine. 

I stop in front of the figure and release my vision. I would keep it on all day if I could. But it’s an incredibly taxing spell and I can’t manage more than an hour of it. 

“Ah, a fellow walker, greetings,” the figure in front of me says. Her voice is light and pleasant to listen to. There is a pause in our conversation because the walker must have bowed. It’s a custom for our people.

I bow in response. “Greetings.”

Water walkers never made small talk. We would exchange pleasantries and get straight to the point. That was fine by me. I had never been much of a social butterfly. 

“I heard you have a spellbook in braille. Is this true?” The news, from a source I decided against mentioning, did excite me. But I tried not to get my hopes up. Books in braille were hard enough to find on their own. Spellbooks in braille were practically nonexistent. 

A pause and then, “Yes, but it’s expensive.” 

The news didn’t shock me, I had expected it to be. And I came prepared. I’m not a compulsive buyer. That and the fact that I have a well paying job meant I had quite a bit in savings. Specifically for things like this. 

“I can afford it,” I say confidently, even though a part of me wonders if it’s more expensive than I could ever know. 

She names that price and I sigh inwardly. I can, in fact, afford it. 

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a pouch of the metal, square coins this country uses as currency and give it to the walker. I can tell she’s counting the coins from the clinking of metal and shuffling of her clothes. 

After a minute, she lets out a contented ‘hmm’ and walks further into the booth. She comes back with the book, placing it gingerly on the table and slides it in my direction. I take the book, thank her, and make my way toward the exit. 

I avoid using my vision this time, deciding to save my energy, even though it would be easier to weave through the crowd with it. 

There are many voices surrounding me, engaging in conversation. I could eavesdrop if I wanted, gather some intel. But I preferred to ignore the sounds, treating them like white noise. This time, however, a particular conversation catches my attention, not because of its volume – it’s actually quieter than most of the conversations taking place – but because of its content. 

“...too old, no one’ll want him,” a stern, female voice says. 

I move toward the voice. It seems they’re behind a wall, or in a room? There were buildings in the monster market. Some were used for housing, for those traveling from far away. Others hosted more private and likely illegal business deals. I edge along the structure, listening carefully. 

“Yeah they’re hard enough to train as kids.” a second, gruffer male voice replies. “But then what’ll we do with him? We aren’t just throwing him back in the ocean, are we?”

“No, that’d be a waste.” There’s a pause. “Sell him for parts? I’m sure someone in the market would like his scales or his hair. You know fashion made from Mystics is all the rage these days.” 

“Yeah,” the man says, seemingly reasoning through the decision. “Yeah! And then we’ll go back, get a group of younger ones and sell ‘em for millions.” 

I hear some shuffling and footsteps as I feel the duo get closer. I back away and bump into a conveniently placed rock. I hide behind the stone just as a door to the building opens. The two rush out, probably to find someone to sell their hostage to. 

“Oh god,” I murmur under my breath. 

I really picked the worst day to come to the market. I should’ve just kept walking when I had the chance. I could just keep walking. Ignore what I heard. Pretend I didn’t see anything. Technically, I didn’t see anything. 

I come out from behind the rock and start to sneak away from the building. I get a few meters away before I stop in my tracks. No, I can’t just leave him. Whoever ‘he’ is. 

“Fuck.” I can already tell this is going to be a bad idea.