The moment they stepped into the Bazaar, the sheer chaos of it hit John like a tidal wave.

  "This place is packed," he muttered, eyes widening as he took in the teeming streets. Bodies jostled against each other in a mess of movement—shouts, laughter, and the hum of enchanted trinkets for sale clashed into a cacophony of sound. His gaze drifted upward, past the lantern-lit storefronts and vendor stalls, to the translucent ceiling that shimmered like polished glass. Beyond it, other layers of the Bazaar loomed, stacked like a labyrinth of worlds, each its own neon-drenched reality. His thoughts flickered back to the force that had killed him the moment the Ship tried to scan this place.

  His fingers curled unconsciously.

  "What are you?" he whispered, not entirely sure if he was addressing the dimension or himself.

  "Oi, come here, don’t get lost!" Chase’s voice cut through his thoughts, yanking him back to the present. John turned to see the werewolf already several paces ahead, muscles tensed as he shoved through the tide of bodies. "Friday nights here are always like this," Chase grumbled, barely dodging a floating tray carrying what looked like levitating shots of liquid fire. "Stick close, or I’ll have to sniff you out later."

  John smirked, but his gaze flicked toward a group of scantily clad mage women lounging against a vendor stall, their laughter bubbling like champagne. He barely had time to appreciate the view before his attention was yanked in the opposite direction—to a cluster of pale, thin-limbed humanoids draped in opulent silks, their clothes flashing with iridescent patterns. Their eyes were sunken but sharp, and even from across the street, they felt wrong. A pressure, subtle yet suffocating, slithered over him as if unseen tendrils were gauging his worth.

  John swallowed hard and looked away. "This place really feels like a regular night out," he muttered, catching up to Chase.

  Chase scoffed. "Yeah. If regular nightclubs had eldritch horrors and a 50/50 chance of accidental soul bargaining."

  John lit a cigarette as they weaved through the crowd, the acrid smoke trailing behind him. "I’ve never been to a magical bar. What’s it like?"

  "Not too different," Chase replied, though his nose scrunched as the scent of smoke hit him. "Except the drinks have to cater to so many different species. Some need way higher alcohol content just to feel anything, and there’s mana in most of them—"

  John paused mid-drag. "You put mana in your drinks? Why?"

  Chase shrugged. "Makes them taste better. Plus, it gives a nice little buzz." He suddenly stopped and nodded toward a building ahead. "Anyway, we’re here."

  John took in the bar’s exterior—a sleek concrete box wrapped in wooden slats, the warm glow from within spilling out through large windows. It looked more high-end than he expected, but the moment Chase pushed open the door, the pulse of heavy electronic music swallowed them whole. Inside, the atmosphere hit like a wave. The air reeked of spiced alcohol and magic, thick and heady. Laughter and the clink of glassware wove into the beat of the music, while creatures of all kinds—mostly werewolves and mages—crowded the space. Some perched on floating stools, others gathered around glowing tables where drinks pulsed with faint inner light.

  Chase slid onto a stool at the bar, kicking back like he owned the place. He patted the seat next to him. "C’mon, princess, don’t just stand there gawking."

  John rolled his eyes and sat down, scanning the room with mild curiosity. Before he could comment, the bartender appeared—a middle-aged mage woman covered in tattoos, her bright green tank top standing out against the dimly lit bar.

  "The usual?" she asked, barely waiting for Chase to nod before slamming down a pint of neon-green liquid, swirling with golden light. Her sharp gaze flicked to John. "And who’s your friend?"

  "New recruit," Chase said, grinning. "Dunno if he can handle—"

  "I’m not a little bitch, Chase," John cut in, flashing a cocky grin.

  The bartender chuckled, shaking her head as she set a matching drink in front of him. "Confident. I like that." She leaned in slightly. "What’s your name, new guy? It’s rare to see this gloomy bastard bring company."

  "J—" John caught himself. "Thomas."

  The bartender arched a brow, but didn’t press. "Well, Thomas, enjoy." She was already moving down the bar, tending to another patron.

  John turned back to his drink, lifting it slightly. The aroma hit first—a deep, smoky apple scent with an almost electric undertone. He took a hesitant sniff.

  Chase smirked. "Go on."

  John took a sip. A shock ran through him. It was like biting into a crisp apple wrapped in lightning, the flavors bursting through his senses with an intensity that nearly made him cough. His eyes watered as he exhaled, the taste still tingling on his tongue.

  Chase barked a laugh. "There it is. So, how is it?"

  John set the glass down, blinking rapidly. "It’s—fine." He took another sip, more prepared this time. It was strong, but something felt... off. "Wait. Did she give me the alcohol-free version?"

  Chase’s grin faltered. "No." His nose twitched as he sniffed at John’s glass. "Why would you think that?"

  "I dunno," John admitted, frowning. "I don’t feel anything."

  Before Chase could react, John tilted his head back and downed the entire pint in one gulp.

  Chase's eyes went wide. "What the fuck?!"

  John set the empty glass down with a satisfied exhale. "Yeah, don’t get me wrong, I like the taste, but—"

  "How are you still breathing?!" Chase hissed, leaning in with barely contained panic. "That was made for werewolves, John. The alcohol content is— well, let’s just say a mage like you should be in a coma right now."

  John blinked. "Huh." He flexed his fingers. "Neat."

  Chase just stared at him, horror flickering behind his eyes. "...I need another drink."

  John turned his empty glass in his hand, watching the last few glowing droplets swirl at the bottom. He frowned. “Huh.” He gave the glass a little shake, as if expecting some hidden reserve to spill out. “I don’t feel a damn thing.” His gaze slid toward the bartender, sharp with curiosity. “Got anything stronger?”

  The barmaid arched a skeptical brow, then flicked a glance at Chase. “That was already strong enough for a werewolf,” she said. “For a mage—”

  Chase snorted, waving dismissively. “Just give it to him. If he keels over, I’ll finish his drink.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a stage whisper. “Probably just trying to act tough.”

  The barmaid smirked knowingly. “Fine. But if he pukes, you’re paying extra for cleanup.” She turned and reached beneath the counter, pulling out a small glass filled with thick, crimson liquid. It shimmered unnaturally, as if it had a pulse of its own. A faint tendril of blue energy coiled through it like smoke trapped in honey. “Be careful,” she warned, sliding it toward John. “This stuff isn’t meant for the weak.”

  John lifted the glass and took a whiff. An overwhelming scent of cherries flooded his senses, rich and almost cloying. The moment the first drop touched his tongue, heat rippled through his veins, tingling in his fingertips. A pleasant buzz unfurled inside him like a slow-burning ember.

  He exhaled, savoring the feeling, then nodded in approval. “That’s better.”

  Chase, meanwhile, was staring at him like he’d just grown a second head. His eyes flickered between his own half-full glass and the now-diminished contents of John’s. “I— I have so many questions.”

  John raised an eyebrow, amused. “Shoot.”

  “That drink should’ve put you on your ass.” Chase gestured wildly at the empty glass. “I mean— Carter tried that once, and he ended up rolling under the table. And Carter drinks more than I do. How the hell are you still upright?”

  John smirked. “Maybe werewolves are just a bunch of lightweights.” He tipped back the rest of his drink with a content sigh. “I like this one— not too strong, not too light.”

  Chase muttered something under his breath, shaking his head. “Are all mages like this?”

  John only grinned. “If I pass out, you’re carrying me back.”

  Chase scoffed. “As if. I’d leave your sorry ass here to get robbed.”

  Their laughter mingled with the hum of the bar—loud conversations, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of rowdy cheering from another table. The neon lights overhead bathed the place in shifting hues of deep blue and violet, flickering against the glassware like scattered stardust.

  Then Chase leaned forward, his tone shifting. “That operation…” His voice was quieter now, as if the weight of it still clung to him. “That was something else.”

  John’s smile faltered. He stared into his newly filled glass, watching the liquid ripple as memories surged forward—too sharp, too fresh. For a brief moment, he could swear he saw something else reflected in the deep red: Chase’s lifeless body, sprawled on cold pavement. A corpse he had already seen once before. He blinked hard, pushing the thought away. “Yeah,” he murmured. “At least the Ninth Street is done.”

  “There’ll be stragglers, but they won’t last long. Other factions’ll pick their bones clean.” Chase swirled his drink absently. “Far as we’re concerned, they’re buried.”

  John exhaled slowly. “That’s a relief.” The ghost of a memory still clung to him—waiting in the shadows of his own apartment building, the cold press of a weapon in his hands, the moment he realized they were almost inside. He shook it off. “So now that they’re gone… do we really have to keep this charade up?”

  He pulled the small identification gem from his pocket, the name Thomas Greenheart lingering heavily in his heart. “The Ninth Street’s finished, and your family’s…”

  “Yeah.” Chase let out a long breath, shoulders dropping slightly. “About that.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  John immediately narrowed his eyes. “What now?”

  Instead of answering, Chase drained the last of his drink in a single gulp, then gestured for another round. The bartender, sensing the shift in mood, silently placed two fresh glasses in front of them. The moment stretched between them, heavy with unsaid things.

  John took a slow sip. “Don’t tell me there’s more bad news.”

  Chase gave a lopsided, sheepish smile. “I’ll be real with you—I have no idea what comes next.” He tapped a finger against the wooden counter. “I’ll cover for you, but the others? No clue if they’ll talk. They shouldn’t, but if someone slips… It’s only a matter of time before they find out you exist.”

  “Fantastic,” John muttered, rubbing his temple. “Just what I wanted. A ticking time bomb.”

  Chase shrugged. “Could be worse.”

  John snorted. “How?”

  Chase leaned back slightly, considering his words. “At first, yeah, it would’ve been bad. But now? You helped us in a big operation. No way some random human who stumbled into the Hidden World could’ve pulled that off.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” John said, exasperated. “So because I did a good job, they’re willing to ignore the fact that I shouldn’t exist?”

  Chase smirked. “Not exactly. More like… if they do find out about you, they’ll assume I just hired outside help without running it by the higher-ups. And while that’ll get me chewed out, it won’t get you killed.”

  John exhaled sharply and leaned back against the bar. “So what you’re saying is—my survival depends on bureaucracy.”

  Chase chuckled. “Basically.”

  John shook his head, lips curling into a dry smile. “God help us all.”

  He took another sip of his drink, feeling the warmth spread through his chest. For now, the night was still young, and the weight of the future could wait.

  John swirled the last few drops of liquor in his glass, watching them coat the bottom before vanishing down his throat. He exhaled slowly, savoring the burn before shaking his head. "Still, all of this does sound bad for you."

  Across from him, Chase only shrugged, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the conversation. "Carter and the others will help shoulder the blame, so I’m not too worried. Ideally, they’ll never find out about you, but if they do—" He paused, tapping his fingers against his glass. "Let’s just say we have an out that doesn’t involve any of us dying. The longer you stay in the Hidden World, the better. If you get interrogated and can bullshit like you've always been part of this, they’ll let you off easy."

  John arched an eyebrow. "So basically, lay low and learn as much as I can."

  "Bingo." Chase lifted his drink in mock celebration before taking another sip. His lips curled into a smirk as he set the glass down. "You know, I still can’t believe we threw a damn roof that far."

  John let out a low chuckle, the absurdity of the memory creeping back into his mind. "Still don’t get how it didn’t vaporize. What the hell was that thing made of? Reinforced titanium? They really don’t make ‘em like they used to."

  "Gods, stop—" Chase groaned, covering his face with one hand. "You're starting to sound like my mother."

  Chase then grinned. "Still, man. A whole-ass roof. Flying. Through the air."

  "Better than those cursed beads of yours," John muttered into his glass. "I hate those things with a passion."

  "Hey, we don’t all have the luxury of teleporting around!" Chase shot back, pointing at him. "Still have no idea how you get to the Hot Spot so fast. You don’t live close, and even if you drove like a maniac, there’s no way you—"

  John just smirked. "You’ve never seen me drive."

  "You’re impossible." Chase shook his head, laughing. He leaned back slightly, stretching out his legs. "Didn’t you say you wanted to buy a motorcycle at some point?"

  "Yeah, that was the plan." John exhaled, tapping the rim of his glass. "Then— well, all this happened." He gestured vaguely around them, encompassing the supernatural chaos that had become his life. "Kinda put other priorities ahead of it."

  "Yeah, I get that." Chase glanced around the bar, eyes scanning the dimly lit room before landing back on his drink. He frowned. "Already half-empty?" Without hesitation, he downed the rest and waved the bartender over. "Need a refill?"

  John locked eyes with him, then, with a smirk, tossed back the last of his own drink and slammed the glass on the bar. "Beat you to it."

  "You’re an idiot," Chase chuckled, signaling for another round.

  John tilted his head. "All this shit started because you were a massive idiot in the first place."

  "Hey!" Chase pouted, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "That wasn’t my fault! Anyone could have made the same mistake."

  "Walking straight into a gang-controlled building owned by people who hate your guts?" John arched an eyebrow. "Really? Who in their right mind thinks that’s a good idea?"

  Chase scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Well, when you put it like that—" His lips twitched, then he let out a snort. "Yeah, okay. I see your point."

  John smirked, shaking his head. "You're just lucky you have friends dumb enough to charge in after you."

  "Right." Chase’s expression softened, and he let out a breath. "Thank you, by the way. I don’t know if I ever told you this, but blood debts are sacred for werewolves. According to our customs, I’m honor-bound to defend you and come to your aid until the debt is repaid."

  John blinked. "That sounds—Thanks, I guess?" He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I don’t want to put you at odds with your family. Or your pack. Or whatever."

  Chase’s expression turned serious. "The old laws are clear. Blood debts come first. Above all else. It comes from back when we lived in our homeworld."

  John narrowed his eyes. "Verdanthia?"

  Chase paused, then let out a dry chuckle. "You already know the name of our homeworld. I don’t know if I should be impressed or afraid."

  "So," John said, leaning in, "are you allergic to silver or—?"

  Chase shot him a deadpan look.

  "Hey, I had to ask!"

  "Anyway," Chase continued, ignoring him, "the old laws are deeply respected. Even my mother would understand if I had to stand against her to defend you." He exhaled sharply. "I honestly hope it never comes to that since we wouldn’t stand a chance, but—at least you know."

  John groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "The Hidden World is so damn confusing."

  "You’ll get used to it." Chase smirked.

  John exhaled, glancing around the bar, then leaned in slightly. "So, that leaves me with a few questions, and I don’t know if I can ask them here."

  Chase waved a dismissive hand. "Don’t worry. These stools are warded. No one hears a word unless we want them to."

  John narrowed his eyes, then nodded. "Alright. First question—do I still have to help?" He made exaggerated air quotes. "That warehouse operation was one thing, but it could’ve turned into a disaster real fast."

  "For now, you’re in the clear." Chase took another sip. "I went with the secret agent cover story. My brother and his boys bought it, so you shouldn’t be dragged into anything else. But…" He hesitated. "There’s still a chance they’ll call you in for questioning."

  John groaned. "Seriously? And I’m guessing I don’t get a choice in this."

  Chase gave him an apologetic shrug. "It’d make things a lot easier if you didn’t kick up too much of a fuss."

  John sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, guess I better get used to this shit, huh?"

  Chase raised his glass. "Welcome to the Hidden World."

  "Very reassuring," John muttered, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a sip. "Now, I’ve got to ask something that only someone like you can answer."

  "Someone like me?" Chase arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

  John leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if they were plotting a heist. "You must know all the secret stuff the Enforcers scrub off the HiddenNet, right?"

  Chase scoffed, shaking his head. "I think you're overestimating me, buddy. I'm not exactly sitting in on top-secret meetings."

  "Authorities." John felt his heart stutter for a beat, waiting for that eerie, crushing sensation—the Authority of Permanence seizing his very existence like a steel trap.

  Nothing.

  Still, Chase’s reaction was immediate. The easy smirk vanished from his face, his fingers tightening around his drink. He stared at the liquid for a long moment before exhaling sharply. "Where did you hear that?"

  "Does it matter?" John grinned, taking a slow sip. "I want to know more about them—"

  "I'm honor-bound to protect you," Chase muttered, rubbing his temple. "Which means I have to warn you. I've only ever heard that word once or twice, and both times, it was followed by one clear message: ‘Stay the hell away.’”

  John’s grin didn’t waver. "And?"

  Chase sighed, clearly wishing he’d picked another stool. "I’m not bullshitting you. I only know that Authorities aren’t normal magic. It’s not mana. It’s… different. Twisted. From what I’ve heard, no one wields an Authority. It wields them." He set his drink down with a dull clink. "Now, are you gonna tell me why you’re asking?"

  John hesitated for half a second before slipping on his best poker face.

  "I saw a ton of fanfictions on the HiddenNet about the Authority of Love," he deadpanned, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Figured I’d check out a wiki page. Didn’t find much, so I thought I’d ask you."

  For a second, Chase just stared at him. Then he let out a wheezing laugh, burying his face in his palm before downing the rest of his drink. "Dude, you scared the hell out of me!" He shook his head, still chuckling. "I thought you knew something real, but—Fanfiction? The hell, John? I had no idea you were into that kind of thing."

  "Fuck off, Chase." John flipped him off without hesitation. "You know those godawful stories flood every forum about magic. You’d think a society that can throw fireballs would’ve figured out a functioning search engine by now."

  "Yeah, yeah, I get it," Chase smirked. "Still, good thing you asked me first. Authorities are dangerous, and you really don’t want to mess with them. Not that you’ll ever see one in action. They’re rare—practically legends."

  "Right. Legends." John murmured, gripping his glass a little tighter. The dim glow of the bar caught on the edges of his Spell Glove as he flexed his fingers.

  “If that shitty metal box thinks it can control me, it's in for a rude awakening.” He thought with grim determination.

  His gaze flicked to his Terminal, where a single unfamiliar contact sat in his list.

  Ziraya.

  She’d looked at her Terminal at the same time as him. A coincidence? Or had the Ship done something?

  "What are you mumbling about?" Chase nudged him with his elbow.

  John ignored him. "Hey Chase, what do you know about Ziraya?"

  Chase groaned immediately. "Oh, no. No, no, no—don't tell me you've fallen for her."

  John turned to glare at him. "It’s not like that."

  Chase didn’t look convinced. "Look, man. I try not to judge people, but a lizard chick? Really?"

  John clicked his tongue. "First of all, screw you. Second, I know your family isn’t exactly on friendly terms with hers."

  "Yeah, no shit," Chase muttered. "But you two were giving each other the look."

  "Fuck off, Chase."

  "Maybe it really was some weird Scalebound Coercion I didn’t know about," Chase teased, nudging him again.

  John groaned. "I swear, if I hear the word ‘Scalebound’ one more time—"

  "Hey, I’m just saying, if you really want to date a lizard, maybe pick one from a decent family." Chase clicked his tongue. "The Scalebound are trouble. You know they’re pushing for war."

  John frowned, his mind flashing back to the Ninth Street’s weapon. "They did supply those fishy bastards with that magma beam."

  "And that’s just the tip of the iceberg," Chase muttered darkly. Then, as if catching himself, he shook his head and exhaled sharply. "But we’re here to drink, not talk politics. So…" His body language had shifted—closed off, guarded. Whatever grudge his family had against the Scalebound, he wasn’t about to spill it in a bar.

  "Right." John took the hint and smoothly changed the subject. "So, what about you? Seeing anyone?"

  Chase narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure you’re not into her?"

  John groaned. "Seriously, drop it."

  "Just saying. I have heard that mages have some… remarkable compatibilities with other races."

  John raised an eyebrow. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  Chase took a slow sip of his drink, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Oh, you don’t know? Huh. Right, I guess there’s no way you would know." His smirk widened. "Long story short? Male mages—guys like you—can, uh, technically get just about any female of any race pregnant. And the same applies to female mages with other species."

  John blinked. "What."

  Chase snorted. "Yeah. The Hidden World’s sex-ed chapter is a real mess, man. You’d be amazed how many fathers don’t want their daughters hanging around mages."

  John let out a low chuckle. "Your world makes no goddamn sense."

  "Oh, trust me, I know," Chase muttered.

  John swirled his drink, then looked at Chase with an amused glint in his eye. "So… how the hell does that work with a fishwoman?"

  Chase barely got a sip down before John’s words hit him like a sucker punch. He spat out his drink, coughing and wheezing as he slammed a fist against his chest.

  “D-Don’t say shit like that when I’m drinking, you moron!” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head. “Now I can’t get the damn image out of my head—ugh, you asshole!”

  John leaned back with a self-satisfied smirk. “My pleasure.” He lifted his glass and knocked back another gulp, pausing mid-drink to frown. “Should I be worried that I can’t taste the alcohol in this?”

  Chase snorted, regaining his composure. “Nah. Means the party’s just getting started.”

  “You’re a massive idiot,” John chuckled, swirling the last drops in his glass before slamming it down. He wiggled his eyebrows at Chase, eyes glinting with challenge.

  The werewolf let out a deep growl before breaking into a sharp-toothed grin. “Challenging me?” His stool scraped against the wooden floor as he leaned forward, eyes gleaming with reckless excitement. “Oh, you are so getting put in your place.”

  He jabbed a finger toward the barmaid. “Two more of whatever this idiot’s drinking. And keep ‘em coming.”

  The bartender sighed, barely sparing them a glance as she slid the fresh drinks across the counter. “It costs extra to clean up vomit,” she muttered.

  John laughed, grabbing his glass. “Chase, you’ve always been a lightweight. Don’t think you can win this.” With that, he downed his drink in one gulp, slamming the glass on the counter with a cocky grin.

  Chase’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.” He grabbed his own glass, throwing it back without hesitation. The burn hit his throat like liquid fire, but he barely flinched. He wiped his mouth, cracking his knuckles.

  “This,” he declared, grinning like a wolf ready to pounce, “is gonna be fun.”