The Market,The Magician and The Misunderstanding

Kairo hadn't expected his first day off in weeks to start with a literal chase through the town square after a flying onion.

"Stop that vegetable!" a stall vendor cried, pointing at the levitating produce that zipped through the air like a mischievous pixie.

Kairo, who had only come to buy bread, found himself instinctively reaching out. With a flick of his fingers and a muttered incantation, he tried to snatch the rogue onion from the air.

Instead, he accidentally summoned three more onions from nearby crates.

They hovered around him like mocking sentinels.

"Okay, okay, I admit that was on me," Kairo said, trying not to laugh as the townspeople watched the onion parade spiral into chaos.

He wasn't alone in the market. Samhael—hood pulled up, expression unreadable—stood nearby chewing what looked like a plum tart and observing the scene with raised brows.

"Do you always cause a food riot when you shop?" she asked flatly.

"Only on the weekends," Kairo muttered, finally grabbing one onion mid-flight and bowing exaggeratedly to the applauding children nearby. One of them threw a coin. Another, a half-eaten apple.

"Kairo the Jester," Samhael said. "Has a nice ring to it."

Kairo gave her a grin. "Don't tempt me. I've been looking for a better title than 'That Kid Who Talks to The Wind.'"

As the chaos settled and vendors resumed yelling about discounts, the two walked deeper into the market.

The town of Nerhollow was in a good mood that morning. Spring had arrived with a slow melt, and the scent of blooming sunwillows filled the air. Stalls were busy, flowers draped from windows, and bards played cheerful tunes in the plaza.

Kairo stole glances at Samhael as they passed a flower stall. She had her hair tied back today—less like a warrior and more like a scholar—and there was something peaceful in her silence. Until she raised her nose and sniffed dramatically.

"You reek of onion," she said.

"Oh come on, you weren't even that close."

"Magic lingers. It's like guilt. You can't wash it off."

Kairo stopped at a pastry stand. "You want anything?"

Samhael blinked. "You're buying me something?"

"I'm apologizing for the onion storm."

She stared at him for a long beat before finally saying, "One of those honey-stuffed croissants. And no nuts."

"Noted."

As he bartered with the vendor, Samhael leaned against a wooden beam, scanning the crowd.

Something about her posture shifted. A slight tension. Kairo noticed it instantly. He paid quickly and turned.

"What is it?" he asked, handing her the croissant.

Samhael didn't answer immediately. She bit into the pastry, chewed, and said, "There's a man over there. Blue cloak, left sleeve stitched twice. That means something."

Kairo looked discreetly. The man in question was examining carrots too closely for someone not planning to cook.

"Think he's after us?"

"No. He's watching someone else."

"Should we care?"

Samhael finished the croissant and wiped her fingers with surgical precision. "Only if you're bored."

"I'm always bored," Kairo said with mock solemnity.

They tailed the man through winding alleys, not bothering to be too discreet. The man seemed preoccupied—he kept glancing toward a shaded courtyard.

Kairo peeked through the ivy-covered arch.

Inside, a boy was practicing minor illusions. Small, glowing birds fluttered from his palm, vanishing with soft pops. The boy was smiling, utterly unaware of his audience.

"That's a street magician's trick," Samhael whispered.

"Not just that," Kairo murmured. "He's channeling energy from the air. That's… rare. And a little reckless."

"Why?"

"Because that much open mana draw could summon…"

A loud BANG interrupted him.

A toad the size of a wagon barrel appeared mid-air and landed with a soggy thump in the courtyard.

The boy yelped and fell backward.

Kairo and Samhael exchanged a look.

"Should we…?" Kairo started.

Samhael was already jumping the fence.

---

Three minutes later, they were helping the dazed boy up while the magical toad turned into a puddle of lemon-scented fog and floated away.

"I-I didn't mean to summon it!" the boy stammered. "It just happened! Sometimes when I'm happy, things appear!"

"Welcome to puberty," Kairo said dryly.

"Are you… magicians?" the boy asked.

Samhael raised an eyebrow. "Something like that."

Kairo knelt. "What's your name?"

"Fel."

"Well, Fel," Kairo said, "you've got raw talent. But if you keep pulling magic straight from the sky like that, you might end up summoning a wyvern next time. Or worse—someone with a clipboard from the Council."

Fel blinked. "The Council?"

"They hate unauthorized magic," Samhael added. "Almost as much as they hate me."

Kairo grinned. "We're working on a personal best."

Fel giggled. "Are you two married?"

Samhael blinked.

Kairo coughed.

"No," they both said too quickly.

The boy seemed disappointed. "Oh. You argue like married people."

Samhael stood up. "Let's leave before I turn him into a frog."

"Too soon," Kairo muttered, gesturing toward the puddle still steaming lemon mist in the corner.

---

Back on the main road, Samhael walked a step ahead, silent again. Kairo jogged to catch up.

"Hey," he said, "you okay?"

She didn't look at him. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"The Council. Unauthorized magic. That boy."

"Or the part where he called us married?"

She shot him a glare so sharp it could shave metal.

Kairo laughed. "Okay, okay. No need to break my nose."

They paused near the fountain. Children were splashing, tossing coins, and shouting names of fake gods.

A familiar voice rang out.

"Well if it isn't the Onion Prince and his Shadow Bride."

Kairo groaned. "I know that voice."

A tall young man in an ostentatious velvet cloak approached, grinning. He had perfect teeth and too many rings. His name was Lysander and he was, unfortunately, a cousin of one of Kairo's former mentors.

"What do you want, Lysander?" Kairo asked.

"To offer you both employment," Lysander said, flourishing a scroll. "A noble of House Windmere has requested magical aid. Something about cursed sheep. Or enchanted hay. I stopped listening."

Samhael raised an eyebrow. "You want us to deal with that?"

"Well, you are famous now. There's even a bounty on your head in three counties. Naturally, that makes you marketable."

"Tempting," Kairo said. "But I think we're busy that day."

"Which day?"

"All of them."

Lysander looked hurt. "Come now. Wouldn't you like gold? Fame? A better cloak?"

Kairo opened his mouth—but Samhael beat him to it.

"We're not interested in your petty noble errands, Lysander. Go sell your scroll to a goblin."

"Rude," Lysander sniffed. "But fair. I'll be in the wine district if you change your mind."

He strolled off with theatrical flair.

Kairo watched him go, amused. "Sometimes I wonder what it's like inside his brain. Probably velvet wallpaper and bad poetry."

Samhael actually snorted.

"Did you just laugh?" Kairo asked.

"No."

"I heard that."

"Must've been the wind."

Kairo grinned. "I knew it. You do have a sense of humor."

She walked away without replying, but her pace was lighter than before.

Kairo stood by the fountain for a moment, letting the sun warm his face. The day had turned out strange—but not in a bad way.

A peaceful morning, flying onions, accidental toads, and an unexpected laugh from Samhael.

Maybe the world wasn't ending today after all.