"Come and look at this!" Jean's voice crackled with excitement, drawing me toward a particular stall. His eyes sparkled with wonder as he stopped in front of a display that immediately caught my attention. Above a woven basket, glass orbs floated languidly, each one catching the sunlight and splitting it into a dazzling array of colors. 

"These are sunspheres. They’re crafted by the Glassweavers of the Eastern Shore."

Drawn in like a moth to a flame, I edged closer to the stall. Tentatively, I reached out, my fingers hovering just inches away from the nearest orb. Its gentle warmth brushed against my skin. 

"How do they work?" 

"Magic," Jean answered. His golden eyes reflected the shimmering light of the orbs. "But it’s not just any magic—it’s captured sunlight, tamed and harnessed within these spheres."

My eyes widened in amazement, the thought of such a spell igniting my imagination. To capture sunlight, to hold a piece of the sky in your hands—it was like something out of the fairy tales I had loved as a child.

"Wow," I breathed softly, watching the orbs continue their graceful orbit, unswayed by my proximity. The warmth they radiated was soothing, almost alive, ebbing and flowing like a gentle tide.

"Can everyone do magic here?"

Jean’s expression dimmed slightly, a shadow of melancholy crossing his features. "No, only certain families in Lumicrestia. The magic used to make sunspheres is a heritage spell passed down through generations."

"They're the only ones?" I pressed, eager to understand the intricacies of this world.

"The Mages, of course, but they usually come from the few noble families who can practice magic," Jean responded, his tone carrying a hint of resignation.

"Is no one else allowed to learn it?"

Jean paused, his gaze distant as if recalling something from long ago. "The First King feared the widespread use of magic. He believed it was what had given Elirius his strength and that unrestricted magical practice could lead to another Unending Night. So, he decreed that magic was to be a privilege, not a right, reserved only for those deemed worthy. And thus, magic became restricted, a guarded secret among the select few."

"Who’s Elirius?" I asked, intrigued by the weight of the name.

Jean hesitated, his smile fading. "Elirius was the Dark God who ruled over these lands before the forming of Lumicrestia. The Unending Night is what that time is called, when they blotted out the sun, plunging the world into darkness and despair. It was a period of great suffering."

The gravity of his words hung between us, heavy with the sorrow of history. 

"That’s when these," Jean said, tracing the air beneath the floating orbs with his finger, "first came into existence." His voice dipped slightly, hinting at a history shadowed by events better left untouched for now. "But let’s not get lost in those darker times."

Jean flashed a quick, boyish grin and slid a coin across to the stallholder with the ease of an old friend. "Aeloria has far more light than shadows, you’ll see," he promised, tucking the orb into his pouch with care as if it were the most precious thing in the world. "Come on, let me show you the brighter side of the city," he said, his eyes alight with excitement as if he were about to reveal the world’s greatest secret.

"Lead the way," I replied, my mind still swirling with questions. As we moved away from the stall, I couldn’t help but glance back at the floating sunspheres. They seemed like small beacons of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, light could still find a way to shine through.

As we continued to explore the vibrant market, Jean and I stumbled upon a quaint bookstall, seemingly unnoticed by the bustling crowd. 

"The written word," I mused aloud, tracing the spine of a leather-bound book with my fingers, "it’s a kind of magic, isn’t it?" I remembered my mother’s words, spoken in a different time and world.

Jean, curious, followed my gaze. "How so?" 

I turned to him, a gentle, wistful smile on my lips. "Books have this power to transport us to places we’ve never been, to make us feel things we’ve forgotten," I explained. My hand reached for a slender volume; its spine cracked from use, the silver lettering shimmering mysteriously. "Sometimes, they can even help us reclaim lost memories."

Intrigued by my sentiment, Jean gently took the book from my hands. "Let this be my gift to you," he said softly, catching me by surprise. "Perhaps it will unlock something within you."

I watched, my heart fluttering, as Jean dug into his pouch for coins. The amount he handed over was significant, causing me to protest. "No, Jean, it’s too much for a gift. Besides, I can’t even read it," I whispered, a blush creeping up my cheeks.

The bookseller, overhearing our exchange and eager not to lose a sale, quickly interjected. "It’s an excellent book for beginners," he said encouragingly.

"And besides," he continued, his voice softening into a hypnotic cadence that drew us both in, "this book is no ordinary tome. It contains an ancient story before the creation of Lumicrestia, a narrative woven from the delicate fabric of snowflakes and the soft glow of starlight."

His aged, gnarled fingers gently caressed the elegant script embossed on the cover, his eyes twinkling with the joy of a man about to part with a treasure dear to his heart. "This book recounts the adventures of a brave maiden, summoned to a Kingdom crafted from ice, inhabited by fierce frost spirits and ruled by a King as cold as winter itself," he narrated with the skill of a seasoned storyteller, his words painting vivid images that danced in our minds.

Jean listened with a mixture of awe and intrigue, but I found myself utterly entranced. My heart thrummed against my chest, resonating with a strange familiarity at the mention of the ice kingdom and its enigmatic ruler. Memories, distant and fragmented, fluttered at the edge of my consciousness.

Gently, almost reverently, I extended my hand, allowing the bookseller to place the mystical book back into my grasp. It felt like a missing piece of a puzzle I didn’t know I was assembling.

"See?" the old man said with a sage nod, leaning closer as if sharing a great secret. His gray eyes sparkled with an inner light beneath bushy eyebrows. "A book finds its reader, not the other way around. And today, this book has chosen you," he whispered, a blend of solemnity and mischief in his tone.

"Mara," Jean reached out, gently taking my hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "If you don’t want it..."

But deep down, I knew I wanted this book more than anything I had encountered in this world so far.

Jean responded to my silent affirmation with a warm, comforting smile. He pulled out his pouch again and, without hesitation, handed the older man the required coins.

"Thank you."

"You ready to head out?" Jean inquired, his tone imbued with an eagerness to show me more of the city’s marvels.

Nodding, I clutched the book close to my heart, a feeling of anticipation swirling within me as we resumed our exploration of Aeloria.

We continued our walk through the city’s labyrinthine streets until we arrived at a tall stone staircase that wound upwards. Upon reaching the top, I was greeted with a breathtaking sight. A panoramic view of Aeloria unfurled before us, bathed in the golden hues of the afternoon sun. 

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" Jean whispered, standing so close I could feel the warmth of his breath.

"Stunning."

My eyes followed the elegant curve of the river that cut through the city, its surface glinting in the sunlight, resembling a stream of liquid light. Towering spires and grandiose buildings cast their long, majestic shadows across smaller homes and lively squares where fountains burbled and flowers bloomed in vibrant bursts. I noticed the orchards lying at the city’s edge, where rows of trees swayed in the gentle breeze, creating a serene green haven.

I could feel Jean's gaze lingering on me as I looked ahead. A slight blush crept into my cheeks as we stood there so close to each other.

"Where to next?" I asked, ready to dive deeper into the heart of Aeloria.

"There, just ahead," Jean pointed toward a bustling plaza surrounded by gushing fountains and the imposing facade of a grand cathedral that rose majestically against the sky. Excitement danced in Jean’s eyes as we descended the steep, spiraling cobblestone steps.

My foot caught on an uneven stone as we navigated the last curve of the staircase. I lurched forward, colliding with a portly man dressed in finery. With his round, flushed face, the man turned sharply, his expression twisting into a scowl of distaste. 

"Watch where you’re going, peasant!" he spat, his voice dripping with disdain as he brushed at his velvet coat as though my touch had sullied it.

Jean swiftly positioned himself protectively in front of me, bowing slightly. "My sincerest apologies, Count Houndly," he said, his tone polite yet firm. I could feel the tension radiating from him, his eyes locked with the Count’s.

Count Houndly’s lips curled disdainfully, "Apologies? Your clumsy friend has defiled my attire with her common filth!" His voice boomed across the plaza, drawing curious glances from passersby.

Jean attempted to soothe him, but the Count was relentless in his fury. He reached out, his fingers snatching toward my hood, intent on exposing me to the crowd. Reacting quickly, I jerked away, causing the Count’s face to contort with rage.

"Francis!" the Count barked suddenly. Out of nowhere, a tall man with broad shoulders materialized. With a swift and rough grip, he seized my arm, his fingers pressing into my skin. The suddenness of his appearance and the harshness of his grasp left me reeling, my heart pounding in my chest.

Jean’s stance stiffened, his eyes flashing with anger and concern. The situation escalated quickly, and I could sense the tension thick and charged, like the air before a storm.

"Let go of me!" 

The grip on my arm tightened painfully, a cruel reminder of just how vulnerable I was. Count Houndly loomed over me, his face twisted with contempt. 

"You will apologize properly," he hissed, each word dripping with venom. Francis, his brute of a henchman, shoved me with such force that I stumbled, ending up on my knees on the hard cobblestone, my dignity hanging by a thread.

"Stop this at once!" Jean's desperate and strained voice barely rose above the murmurs of the gathering crowd, their eyes wide with shock and curiosity.

Just then, a powerful voice sliced through the tension like a blade. "Is there a problem here, Count Houndly?" 

The crowd parted, revealing the source of the command—a striking figure with fiery red hair that seemed to burn like the setting sun.

My heart skipped a beat. It's the man from the river; I realized, recognition sparking as I took in the vivid strands framing his strong features.

Count Houndly's confidence wavered, his bravado crumbling under the scrutiny of the red-haired man. Bowing awkwardly, he stammered, "Lord Aster... this common girl—"

Aster? The name sent my mind racing, trying to piece together its significance.

Lord Aster, commanding and unyielding, raised a hand to silence Count Houndly. 

"I asked if there was a problem," he repeated, his voice calm but with an edge that could cut through steel. The plaza fell into a hush so profound that even the faintest rustle seemed loud.

Jean bowed his head, recognizing the gravity of the situation. "We apologize for the disturbance, Your Lordship," he said respectfully, his tone deferential.

I found my voice, speaking with more courage than I felt. "Your Lordship," I began hesitantly, "It was my fault for not paying attention to where I was going. I apologize." My words were simple and sincere, yet held an underlying strength that surprised even me.

Lord Aster regarded me with those piercing emerald eyes, assessing me before his lips curled into an amused smile.

His gaze shifted back to Count Houndly, and in an instant, the amusement vanished, replaced by an icy glare. The Count squirmed under Lord Aster's stare, his earlier confidence dissolving.

"Count Houndly," Belmont said smoothly, his voice dangerously calm, "the young lady has offered a gracious apology. It would be wise for a man of your stature to accept it with equal grace."

The Count's face flushed deep crimson as he fumbled for words, suddenly reduced to a stammering mess. "Yes... yes, of course, Your Lordship," he managed to choke out.

Lord Aster's gaze shifted to Francis, who still had a vice-like grip on my arm. His eyes, cold and unyielding, locked onto the henchman. "Release her."

Francis recoiled as if burned, releasing my arm instantly. Jean was at my side in a heartbeat, his touch steady and reassuring as he helped me to my feet.

Lord Aster turned back to us, his stern expression softening slightly as he offered a dignified nod. "I hope you find the rest of your time in Aeloria to be more pleasant," he said, his tone carrying a hint of finality before he turned on his heel and strode away.

As Lord Aster's figure receded into the distance, the square gradually returned to its usual buzz of activity. I let out a long, shuddering breath, my heart still racing from the encounter.

"That was brave," Jean murmured, gently brushing the dirt from my dress.

But before I could respond, Jean's eyes widened in alarm. "Your hair," he pointed out, his gaze fixated on a few raven strands that had slipped from my hood during the ordeal.

"Did they see?" I asked urgently, hastily tucking the loose locks back under the protective fabric.

Jean's eyes scanned the crowd, his expression serious. "I hope not," he replied, his voice tense.

As we made our way out of the now-animated plaza, I stole one last glance at Lord Aster's receding figure. The man had saved me twice now.

"We should keep moving to avoid drawing more attention," Jean suggested, gently nudging me forward. Together, we wove through the bustling marketplace, each step taking us further from the scene of our recent ordeal.