An hour slipped by. Daylight thinned into dusk, and the forest shadows deepened. At last, faint lights shimmered ahead—the outskirts of Santia. The city stood apart from the rest of Caber, reserved for human elites and the few natives granted permission to enter. Khater reached for the pass given to him by the mayor of Blukar, grateful for the small rectangle of authority that would open Santia’s gates.

  "Khater," the wizard's voice rings out from the mirror. Khater pulls it from his pocket and engages with the wizard. "How are you? What's your progress?"

  "I'm making my way to Santia to retrieve the suit," Khater replies.

  "They won't let you in," the wizard asserts.

  "But I have a pass. The Blukar mayor provided it," Khater insists.

  "A pass alone won't do. You must appear the part. Do you have finer clothing?"

  Khater examines his attire and admits, "No, I don't."

  "Alright, let me send one of my Rams," the wizard responds. "Wait under the tree to your left, and she will arrive in 20 Caber minutes."

  True to the wizard's word, a magnificent Ram appears carrying a bag. She opens it to reveal a suit crafted from golden silk. Khater hesitates, unsure about the flamboyant attire. "This isn't really my style," he remarks uncertainly.

  The Ram responds with a touch of sarcasm, "That's precisely why you don't belong in Santia." Khater chuckles and accepts the suit. As he dons it, the Ram approaches, producing her grooming tools. She trims his ragged hair, shaves his beard, and adorns him with jewelry, transforming his appearance.

  "Ugh. This really isn't my style," Khater remarks, feeling uneasy in the extravagant attire.

  The Ram responds with a knowing smile, "I suppose it's another sacrifice you make for the children," she says, winking mischievously. As a young and inexperienced Ram, she hasn't quite grasped the necessary boundaries when interacting with humans.

  Completing Khater's grooming, she steps back to admire her handiwork. "Wow, you clean up well," she remarks, her gaze lingering appreciatively. Khater finds himself enjoying the attention, perhaps a bit too much. The Ram is strikingly beautiful, with a mane of luscious brunette hair and piercing light blue eyes, complemented by full, inviting lips.

  Khater had not been with a woman since his son disappeared, and the long?buried pull of desire unsettled him now that it had resurfaced. The Ram’s attention only sharpened that awakening. When she met his gaze and stepped closer, something inside him—something he thought had gone dormant—stirred with unexpected force.

  Sensing the shift in him, the Ram seemed intrigued. She reached for his hand, guiding it to her body with quiet confidence, inviting his touch. Khater’s eyes widened, startled by the sudden intimacy. After a brief hesitation, he drew her closer, surrendering to the moment.

  Her clothing—a fitted top with tight sleeves that opened into loose, flowing arms, paired with pants that hugged her hips before falling freely around her legs—left her midriff bare. The Rams, though native to Caber, looked nearly identical to humans; enough so that love between the two was not unheard of, and children of mixed heritage existed.

  Khater slipped his hand beneath her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin, the softness of her breast. He inhaled sharply. It had been so long since he had touched a woman. She leaned into him, sharing his hunger, and what followed unfolded naturally between them. When it was over, she kissed him gently before departing, leaving Khater steadied, renewed, and strangely regal—as though something in him had been restored.

  With that newfound confidence, he set off toward Santia.

  Santia

  He stepped through the gate—a towering golden arch without doors—flanked by guards dressed in every color of the rainbow. Approaching the guard in red, Khater presented his pass.

  “Please proceed to yellow,” the guard instructed.

  “Yellow?” Khater asked.

  “Yes. Your pass is only processed by the yellow guard.”

  Khater moved on, handed the pass to the yellow?clad guard, and waited as the man scrutinized both him and the document before finally granting entry. Inside, he noticed others dressed in the same spectrum of colors. Perhaps this was why the Ram had dressed him in gold—close enough to yellow to blend in.

  Santia was lavish, almost overwhelming. Towering beings reminiscent of the Palas—yet far taller—moved among the crowds. Music, color, and spectacle filled the piazza, but Khater felt unmoored, unsure where to go. He slipped into a quiet corner and pulled out the mirror.

  “Wizard, I need your help.”

  The wizard appeared, already aware of his purpose. “To obtain the suit, walk to the right of the tower in the center of the piazza. You’ll find an auction. The suit is there. Your task is to acquire it.”

  “Thank you,” Khater said, and hurried toward the tower.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  He soon reached the auction area, where extravagant items were displayed. Then he saw it: a thick beige suit, almost like an astronaut’s. The plaque read, Do you dare! Do you dare to step into the Black Reef? This suit is your only way.

  Relief washed over him—he had found it. But getting it would not be simple. The suit sat inside a glass case, and the area was watched. As he scanned the crowd, he noticed someone staring at him. When he approached, he recognized her: the mayor of Seventh.

  “I remember you,” she said dryly. “One of those travelers looking for their children.”

  “Yes. I’m Khater.”

  “Have you found them?” Her tone suggested she didn’t care about the answer.

  “I’m getting closer.”

  That caught her attention. She leaned in. “Closer? How?”

  “We believe they’re at the Black Reef. I need this suit to reach them.”

  She inhaled slowly, glanced at the suit, then back at him. “Good luck, then.” With that, she walked away, leaving Khater with a familiar disappointment—another reminder of how little the humans on Caber mattered to some.

  He resumed scanning the area and spotted a small wooden door with an arched frame. He opened it quietly. It led outside Santia.

  “That’s it,” he whispered. “My way out.”

  But when he returned to the piazza, a crowd had already gathered. A voice boomed, “We will begin the auction, ladies and gentlemen! Please gather in the piazza.”

  Khater joined the group—fifty or sixty people, humans and non?humans alike. Stealing the suit now would be impossible. He waited.

  The auctioneer lifted his arms. “Here is the infamous suit! Crafted from the skin of one hundred lori—Caber’s native creature from the Black Reef. Fire?resistant. One of a kind. We begin at five hundred liens!”

  A bid went up. Then another.

  Khater considered bidding and escaping with the suit afterward. But a woman beside him murmured, “You’d have to pay before they hand it over.”

  He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. “Thank you,” he said.

  The bidding climbed to one thousand liens.

  “Fifteen hundred liens,” the mayor of Seventh declares, her voice cutting cleanly through the murmurs. She turns toward Khater with a grin that unsettles him—too sharp, too knowing. For a moment, he dares to hope she is doing this to help the humans reclaim their children.

  “Can I hear sixteen hundred?” the auctioneer calls, scanning the crowd. The room shifts with unease; desire for the suit battles with fear of the escalating price. When no one answers, the auctioneer locks eyes with the mayor and smiles.

  “Sold to the elegant mayor of Seventh.”

  She returns the smile, though it carries no warmth. Her gaze flicks around the room until it lands on Khater. The grin she gives him is unmistakably sinister.

  Khater raises a hand, puzzled, and starts toward her. She notices immediately. With a flick of her wrist, she signals her guard.

  “Escort me back to my chalet,” she orders. Then, leaning close to the guard, she adds in a low, cold whisper, “Keep a close watch on that one. I don’t want him anywhere near me. And if he happens to… disappear, that promotion you want might finally be yours.”

  The guard’s face remains expressionless. “I’ll see what can be done, Madam.”

  As Khater approaches, the guard whirls around and raises his sword, the blade stopping inches from Khater’s throat.

  “Take one more step,” he warns, voice steady, “and I won’t hesitate.”

  The tension draws curious glances from nearby onlookers. Khater steps back, eyes fixed on the mayor as she walks away with the suit, her grin lingering like a stain in the air.

  Questions churn inside him. Why would she need the suit—especially after he told her about his mission? Is she aligned with the ghostly creatures? What could she possibly gain from such an alliance? The uncertainty gnaws at him.

  Time presses on him like a tightening band. He worries about the travelers, unsure whether they remain safe in Ramil. Every passing moment feels like a threat.

  He decides to follow the mayor. Waiting until she and her guard are well ahead, he slips into stealth, moving quietly along the cement path lined with flowers. The crowd helps him blend in, but he stays alert, careful not to draw attention.

  They reach the auctioneer’s office. Khater watches from a distance as the mayor steps inside. He waits, heart steady but tense. Soon she emerges again, accompanied by her imposing non?human guard.

  The guard’s samurai?style armor leaves no doubt about his combat readiness. The suit is stuffed into a large black bag, its edges revealing faint glimpses of the precious material. Khater’s jaw tightens. So close—and yet impossibly far.

  He follows as they continue toward the chalet. The crowd thins, forcing him to widen the distance between them. Every step becomes more precarious. But he refuses to lose sight of them. He refuses to let the truth slip away.