The words were soft but edged with steel, carried swiftly by the cool breeze. Kal blinked. "Huh? Boss?"

Centric's eyes, closed tightly for a moment, snapped open with a flicker of frustration. "Shut up and do as he said." His tone left no room for argument.

Kal hesitated, pride warring with fear on his face, but eventually stepped forward, standing across from Nyxander.

Nyxander tilted his head slightly, the streetlight glinting off his blade. "You're apologizing to the old merchant, not me."

He gestured toward the merchant, who now stood on unsteady feet, like a candle flickering in the wind. "And not just him." Nyxander's finger shifted, pointing squarely at Centric. "You as well."

Kal's eyes narrowed, the mask of arrogance slipping back over his face despite the sweat streaking his brow. "Don't bite off more than you can chew," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

Centric clenched his teeth, jaw tight enough to crack stone, before sighing, a long, tired breath as though surrendering a weight he couldn't carry. "Fine."

He stepped forward, closing the gap between himself and Kal. "Boss, do you really have to go this far?" Kal whispered. Centric didn't spare him a glance. "Keep quiet and follow me." His tone was ice.

The two men strode past Nyxander, their steps heavy, their bodies still trembling from the lingering fear that clung to them like frost.

Centric paused before the old merchant. His pride seemed to twist and fight within him, but he bowed nonetheless, the movement stiff and reluctant, as though the very act scraped against his soul.

Kal remained rigid, gaze still cold as it locked onto the old man, a silent ripple of fear passing between them.

Centric didn't tolerate the defiance. With one swift motion, he grabbed Kal's head and forced it down. The two now bowed together.

"Please," Centric said, his voice a mixture of forced humility and restrained anger, "forgive my subordinate's arrogance and my own incompetence in failing to rein in their behavior."

The old merchant, still weak, responded with a faint smile that resembled a worn portrait, faded but meaningful. "No... I should also apologize for my own faults," the old man murmured.

With that, Centric and Kal turned away. The moment Centric reached Nyxander's side, he paused, just for a heartbeat. "I don't know what you did," he whispered, his voice low as distant thunder, "but don't think this is the end."

He resumed walking, the night breeze stirring the hem of his cloak like a warning whispered in the dark. "Boys, let's leave," Centric commanded, and one after another, his subordinates followed him.

"I heard you sent a letter to the rogue fighters at your station." Nyxander's voice slithered through the air, each word dripping with subtle menace, chasing after Centric like a shadow at dusk.

Centric's step faltered. The weight of those words snatched his breath for a moment, and Kal's eyes widened, like windows thrown open by an unexpected storm. "What note? What was in it?" Centric asked, his head turning slightly, though his voice carried a sharp edge of concealed tension.

Nyxander, catching the flicker of confusion on Centric's face and the panic staining Kal's expression, let a faint, knowing smile curve his lips.

"Nothing much," he said, his tone light but layered with unspoken meaning. "You'd do well to focus more on your team than outsiders." The words hung in the air, a final warning wrapped in ambiguity.

Centric said nothing more. With a tense breath, he resumed his path into the depths of the black market, his subordinates trailing behind him. Their figures blurred into the winding streets, swallowed by the night's greedy shadows.

Nyxander stood there, his gaze fixed on the path they had taken. "What did he mean by what I did?" he murmured under his breath, his voice barely louder than a breeze whispering secrets through alleyways.

As he pondered, Lunara and Solara strode past him, their movements as fluid as moonlight gliding over still water. They approached Karl, who was still shaking off the lingering tension. "Are you okay?" Lunara asked, her voice soft but steady, like the gentle crackle of a hearth's flame.

"Sure, as long as Boss is around," Karl replied with a grin, though his voice hinted at relief. "His presence helps." By now, the scattered crowd had begun to disperse, drifting away into the night like leaves scattered by a departing wind.

Then came Nonara, the third sister. Her steps were slow and deliberate, each one landing with the curiosity of a predator circling its prey. She stopped directly in front of Nyxander, who had been watching the subtle drama unfold between Karl and her sisters.

Nyxander's gaze flicked to her, a reflex as natural as breathing. "Which god's vessel are you?" Nonara asked, her eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. "For the wind carried by the tip of your blade to scar the thick, solid ground, surely, you must bear a divine mark."

She leaned forward, her right hand lifting to her chin, thumb and index finger cradling it thoughtfully. Her head tilted ever so slightly, like an artist scrutinizing a mysterious painting. "Don't be silly," Lunara scolded, grabbing Nonara by the ear.

"Ow! Stop it, sis. It was just a question!" Nonara protested, squirming in Lunara's grip. Nyxander merely watched, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Suddenly, Beorn's voice rose from the background, steady and commanding, cutting through the playful moment.

"It's already late, and there are only a few people left around." His approach was calm but resolute, his words carrying a sense of purpose as if each step echoed with silent conviction. "Let's take our leave. There's no more time to waste."

"Sure," Nyxander replied, his voice returning to its usual calm, like the eye of a storm after the winds had passed. With that, they all strode together, their silhouettes melding into the dim glow of streetlamps, heading for the black market's exit.

The night blanket stretched above them, a beautiful galaxy painted in hues of deep indigo, stars twinkling like distant promises yet to be kept.

As they made their way back to their respective Astro Stations, conversations drifted between them, voices low and reflective under the watchful gaze of the cosmos.

One by one, they gradually dispersed, fading into the night's embrace, their stories carried onward by the quiet rhythm of the galaxy's eternal wake.

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