Beorn, followed closely by Nyxander, stepped out of the shop and into the bustling heart of the district. The once cold, crisp air had long since faded, replaced by the oppressive weight of afternoon heat. Daylight streamed down relentlessly, bathing the streets in a golden hue, reflecting off metallic surfaces, and casting long, wavering shadows beneath hurried footsteps. Compared to when they had first entered, the district now throbbed with even greater intensity, a chaotic dance of merchants hawking their wares, customers bargaining in eager, sharp tones, and the ever-present murmur of countless overlapping conversations.

As Nyxander adjusted to the sudden shift in atmosphere, Beorn turned to him, his expression filled with intrigue. "Since we're already out here," he began, falling into step beside him, "why don't we stride down to the central station? By the time we arrive, night will have settled over us, and we can participate in the Black Market while it lasts. You might even find something worth your attention."

Nyxander shot him a skeptical glance. "Black Market?" He echoed, his tone edged with curiosity. "I've been at this station for over a month, blending into every activity, every corner, and I've never come across anything like a Black Market."

Beorn smirked knowingly. "That's because it's always held in secret, every night, two days after the official Astro Gathering, and it only lasts for five days. It takes place just a few meters away from the Astro Lord's hall." His smirk deepened. "And tonight is the last night." A flicker of interest crossed Nyxander's face. "I see… In that case, let's not waste time. Lead the way."

Without hesitation, they plunged into the thick current of moving bodies, weaving their way through the crowded district. The air buzzed with life, filled with the mingling scents of roasted street food, pungent spices, and the unmistakable metallic tang of weapons being displayed for sale. The clamor of the merchants' shouts and heated bartering created a symphony of daily survival, a language all its own.

"So," Nyxander said, his voice cutting through the dense background noise, "what exactly makes this so-called Black Market special?"

Beorn, walking shoulder to shoulder with him, inhaled deeply before answering. "Marketers from Heaven itself journey down here to the Primordial World, landing at the headquarter first, bringing with them all manner of goods. Most of it consists of failed products, used artifacts, or partially damaged relics." He let that sink in before continuing, his tone growing more enigmatic. "But that's where the mystery lies. Among the discarded junk, one might stumble upon something unexpected, like gold buried beneath a pile of rubble."

Nyxander left brow raised. "So, it's a gamble?"

"Exactly," Beorn affirmed. "It's a place where those with sharp eyes and sharper instincts can walk away with something priceless for mere scraps." By the time his explanation ended, they had already emerged from the chaotic heart of the district, the noise gradually dissolving behind them. The transition was stark, where once they were engulfed by bustling life, now they found themselves in a space where movement became purposeful, urgent, determined.

Their pace quickened, not a sprint, but the measured urgency of men with purpose, as if drawn toward an unseen force waiting at their destination. With every step, the streets grew quieter, the density of people around them thinning as they neared the borders of Aqua Astro Station.

Nyxander and Beorn strode forward, their footsteps falling into rhythm as they left the familiar grounds of Aqua Astro Station behind. The air had grown cooler with the approaching night, yet there was an undercurrent of anticipation stirring beneath the vast cosmic sky. Stars, like celestial watchmen, flickered in silent vigil, casting a dim glow over their path.

As they neared the grand Astro Lord Hall, Nyxander instinctively slowed, his gaze flickering between the imposing structure behind them and the unfamiliar path Beorn was leading him down. His brow furrowed slightly.

"Where exactly are we going?" Nyxander questioned, his voice edged with curiosity. Beorn, sensing his shifting gaze, gave a short chuckle. "Don't worry. We're close. Just keep up."

Minutes passed, their strides swallowing the distance in steady, determined steps. Soon, an endless wooden wall stretched before them, its weathered surface disappearing into the darkness on both sides. There was no door, no clear entrance, just an open passage, like a mouth inviting them in.

By now, night had fully taken its throne, casting the world in deep shades of obsidian and silver. Above, the galaxy unfurled its vast, radiant canvas, a symphony of twinkling lights dotting the infinite expanse.

"Here we are," Beorn announced, stepping through the entrance. Nyxander hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on the mysterious wooden wall, as if it held secrets carved into its grain. But with a quiet breath, he followed Beorn inside, and immediately, his expectations shattered like fragile glass.

The so-called Black Market wasn't a shadowy den of secrecy, nor a confined space reeking of clandestine deals. Instead, it bustled with life, a hidden village pulsing with energy, where the only thing missing seemed to be children.

Lanterns of various colors floated overhead, casting an eerie yet mesmerizing glow over the winding streets. Stalls lined the paths, their owners shouting hoarse invitations, each one promising rarities more valuable than the last. Pop-up shops and makeshift booths created a labyrinth of commerce, every corner offering something, whether useful or entirely useless, to the highest bidder.

Nyxander swept his gaze across the lively scene, his mind racing to process the contrast between what he had expected and what unfolded before him.

Beorn smirked at his dazed expression. "What are you waiting for? If you waste time gawking, someone else will snatch up anything worthwhile."

Snapping out of his trance, Nyxander strode forward. "Sorry," he muttered, then let his thoughts slip aloud. "I always assumed the center of the station was solely occupied by the Astro Lord Hall… but this… this was here all along?"

Beorn chuckled. "What are you saying? Just as the other Astro Stations have their own landmark territories, the Astro Lord does as well," he explained as they navigated deeper into the market.

As they walked, Nyxander's gaze flitted from one merchant stall to another, observing piles of discarded weapons, broken pills, and low-quality relics strewn about. It was a bizarre sight, a graveyard of forgotten things, yet each piece held the potential to be more than what it seemed.

Beorn continued, his voice weaving through the hum of the bustling market. "Unlike the business districts of the other Astro Stations, which run daily, the Astro Hall's Black Market only appears for five days following the Astro Gathering. A fleeting moment of opportunity for those who seek what the world deems unwanted."

Just then, a rough voice sliced through the noise, beckoning them over. "Young immortals, why not browse my collection?" the old merchant beckoned, his voice woven with the practiced persuasion of a seasoned salesman. "You might just find treasures worth far more than you'd expect."

An elderly merchant, his face etched with time and cunning, waved them over from behind his makeshift stand. His eyes gleamed with the unmistakable glint of a seasoned seller, one who could spot a potential buyer from miles away.

Beorn gripped Nyxander's wrist, excitement flickering in his expression. "Come on, let's check it out. Maybe something here will call to you."

Nyxander sighed but allowed himself to be pulled forward, his gaze drifting over the various weapons on display, rusted blades, fractured staffs, jagged daggers, each one worn by time and battle. But as his eyes skimmed the collection, something unexpected happened.

His breath hitched. There, among the discarded remnants, lay a broken sword, its once-proud blade now severed, its surface marred by the passage of ages. And yet, as he stared at it, its body radiating an eerie sense of familiarity, that something within him stirred.

"I'll take that one," he said, his voice firm as he pointed at the blade. The merchant's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Ah, you have a sharp eye, young man," he said, lifting the broken weapon. "This sword was forged with Primordial Bone, a rarity. Though it's broken, its strength still remains… interesting." His gaze flickered toward Nyxander, assessing him before finally stating, "I'll part with it for 17 Fate Coins."

Before Nyxander could react. A hand shot out from behind him, snatching the sword from the merchant's grasp. "I'm buying this," a voice declared, laced with arrogance and amusement. Both Nyxander and Beorn turned in unison, their eyes landing on the intruder

The man's smug expression reeked of entitlement, his fingers casually gripping the broken blade as if it were already his. He was none other than Kal Centric's assistant, his swagger accentuated by the chucked laughter of his subordinates dripping with amusement at the situation unfolding, standing behind him like a pack of hungry jackals. chuckled, their laughter

Beorn's face darkened immediately, his jaw tightening in irritation. But Nyxander remained motionless, his expression unreadable, as if nothing had happened at all.

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