“Going somewhere, bottom-feeder?” Jaro looked up. Raxus, flanked by two other heavily armed combatants, stood squarely in his path, blocking his way. His flinty stare drilled into Jaro with an unsettling mix of curiosity and disdain. “Tell me how a bottom-feeder with a joke skill survived. Now.” Jaro’s fingers tightened on the worn strap of his messenger bag. The market’s clamor, which had minutes ago felt like a comforting blanket of noise, now pressed in, suffocating. A few nearby shoppers paused their haggling, drawn by Raxus’s booming voice, their gazes flicking between the hulking brute and the scrawny courier. “Survival isn’t a mystery, only quick reflexes,” Jaro retorted, voice raspy, betraying none of the furious scramble in his gut. He knew Raxus, or men like him. All brawn, no brain, looking for an easy target or a secret to exploit. Jaro had seen enough bullies in his life to recognize the type. Pekka, perched on Jaro’s shoulder, let out a soft chitter, then puffed out his chest, mimicking Raxus’s puffed posture with comical precision before dramatically collapsing in a heap, pretending to be squashed. A few onlookers snickered, stifling their amusement when Raxus’s glare swept over them. Raxus scowled, teeth grinding. “Reflexes? You call cowering behind a cloud of microscopic vermin smart? I saw your pathetic display, Jaro. Those… *things*… they’re useless. You got lucky.” He took a heavy step closer, his two companions shifting, their hands resting on the grips of their energy blades. “Don’t waste my time. Tell me your secret, or I’ll ensure you don’t live to see the next Instance.” Jaro’s short fuse ignited. The man wanted secrets? He’d give him a performance. He wasn’t going to just spill the beans to some swaggering thug. Not after Raxus had mocked him in the gathering square. He scanned the bustling market around them, his gaze falling on an unattended stall piled high with lustrous, iridescent fabrics — the sort of material that shed microscopic, translucent fibers. “My secret?” Jaro leaned in, a cynical grin twisting his mouth. “It’s called ‘being too busy to cater to S-rank demands’.” As he spoke, he channeled Lesser Appraisal, not on Raxus, but on the air around him, a silent command to his swarm. Hundreds, then thousands, of Pitterlings, microscopic to the naked eye, detached from the hidden pockets of his courier uniform, from the seams of his bag, from the very dust of the market flagstones. They didn’t attack. They didn’t bite. They weren’t weapons in the way Raxus understood them. Instead, Jaro directed them. A dense, swirling drift of microscopic life, each Pitterling carrying his intent, converged on the two flanking guards, targeting their pristine combat suits. Raxus scoffed, but his companions suddenly stiffened. A dull film formed on the dark, reflective surfaces of their armor. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a scar bisecting his eyebrow, raised a hand to his helmet’s visor. “Boss… I can’t see. My vision is… blurring.” The Pitterlings, instructed by Jaro, coated every optical sensor, every ventilation grille, every fine seam of their suits with gathered dust, pollen, and lustrous fabric fibers. They weren’t harming them; they were blinding the optics and clogging the air filters. The two men began coughing, swatting blindly at empty air, completely disorganized. Raxus bellowed, face crimson. “What in the…! You pest!” He lunged forward, but Jaro was already ducking sideways, his swarm’s job done. The disruption bought him clean clearance. “Enjoy the view, Raxus!” Jaro yelled over his shoulder, Pekka flapping wings in silent triumph. He ducked under a canopy rope, weaving through a knot of startled wanderers, his alleyway balance from scooter shifts carrying him through. The crowd swallowed him whole, leaving Raxus’s bellowing far behind. He emerged on the other side of the central thoroughfare, lungs burning, a wry smirk tugging his mouth. That worked cleanly, though Raxus would hardly drop the grudge. Jaro spent the next hour trying to blend in, browsing the myriad stalls. He passed a vendor selling exotic herbs, their scents a dizzying mix of sweet and acrid. He paused at a small, unassuming table displaying a handful of dried, silvery stalks. They looked like common Artemisia, but something about their dull sheen caught his eye. He activated Lesser Appraisal. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing. Frustrated, he went to step away when a faint glimmer caught his peripheral vision. He pushed his skill deeper. Tiny motes drifted around the dry stems, prompting a floating prompt to resolve: [“Lumiflora Stalk (Rare) – Contains potent restorative compounds. Requires careful preparation. Tends to degrade rapidly in open air.”] “Well, that’s interesting,” Jaro muttered, picking up the stalk. It certainly didn’t look rare. He wondered what ‘degrade rapidly’ meant for its value. Before he could ponder it further, a quiet voice spoke beside him. “That’s an unusual find.” Jaro turned to find a young woman beside him, her expression composed. She wore simple, unadorned robes, a stark contrast to the armored combatants around them. Her nameplate, floating above her head, read ‘Lin – Life Weaver’. A healer, Jaro deduced. Healers were rare and often undervalued in a world obsessed with combat. “It just looks like dried weeds to me,” Jaro said, feigning disinterest, wary of revealing his skill. Lin offered a faint smile. “It’s Lumiflora. Extremely fragile. Most pass it by before it loses its essence. The system classifies it as common detritus once potency drops.” She gestured to the stem in his hand. “Yours still retains its glow. You have a good eye.” “Luck, mostly,” Jaro grunted. “What’s it for?” “A very specific tonic,” Lin replied. “My usual sources are depleted. I could offer you… this.” She held out a small, intricately carved wooden box. When she opened it, Jaro saw three small, vibrant blue berries nestled within. He Appraised them. [“Aetherbloom Berry (Uncommon) – Restores 15% Stamina and grants temporary resistance to environmental toxins.”] Jaro considered. Stamina was always useful. “One stalk for one berry?” “Two berries,” Lin corrected gently. “For the Lumiflora’s rarity and the freshness you managed to preserve.” Jaro grinned, a rare, genuine smile. Two was better than one. “Deal.” They completed the trade. As Jaro tucked the berries into his bag, Lin’s brow furrowed slightly. “If you don’t mind me asking… your System interface. There’s a faint red static around the edges of your panel. I’ve never seen that before.” Jaro glanced at his own floating panel. He saw nothing unusual, just the crisp blue-green lines of his stats and skills. He frowned. “Red static? Must be a glitch on your end.” Lin tilted her head, her gaze still fixed on the air around Jaro’s panel. “Perhaps. But it’s quite distinct. Like a… discordant note in the harmony of the System’s display.” She shrugged lightly. “Just something I noticed.” A slight prickle of unease nagged at him, but Jaro set it aside. He thanked Lin and moved on, scanning for preserved field rations. He found a stall specializing in preserved nutrient pastes and energy bars. As he reached for a foil-wrapped bar, the merchant, a burly man with a thick beard, held up a hand. “Hold on there, friend. I can’t sell to you.” Jaro froze. “What are you talking about?” The merchant shifted uncomfortably. “Orders from the Grand Guild Alliance. Your name’s on the blacklist. Something about… ‘egregious disregard for neutral-zone commerce regulations and public harassment of Concord-ranked veterans’.” He eyed Jaro cautiously. “Sorry, pal. Business is business.” A knot of rage hardened in Jaro’s gut. Raxus. The man had used guild rank to lock him out of every official stall in the zone. No rations, no dried water-capsules, no repair salve. He was cut off from the supply chain before the next drop. [“Warning: Discordance Detected. Harmony is the measure of existence. Continued dissonance will result in corrective action.”]

Discordant Notes