The Batangaran sun had barely reached its zenith when Ari found himself at the bustling heart of the Gemcutters' Consortium.
Rows of open market stalls surrounded a towering structure built from shining obsidian and blue glass, stitched together by threads of raw energy. Wagons clattered, vendors barked, and magical sigils danced above exotic goods. Ari had expected a quieter visit—perhaps something genteel and reserved. After all, it was Gem.
He was wrong.
"—No, you dumb rock-licking mule, I said three crates of aquarine, not two and a lump of donkey piss trying to pretend it's a sapphire!"
That voice, commanding and sharp, cut through the noise like a thrown dagger. Ari turned toward its source just in time to see Gem toss a thin ledger scroll at a frantic merchant, her braid whipping behind her like a war banner.
She looked radiant—sunlight catching the shimmer of her earrings and gem-threaded coat—but her words? Far from royal.
The merchant scurried off. Gem rolled her eyes, scribbled something onto a floating scroll, and barked again, "And someone tell the elven trader if he raises the price of the frost opals again, I'll shove a contract so deep into his vault, he'll need three generations to untangle the fine print!"
Ari blinked. "I… thought you'd be wearing something more noble. And using words less likely to cause aneurysms."
Gem glanced up, a glint in her eye. "Ari Solen, Compiler of Magical Existentialism, meet me in my natural habitat."
She tossed a glowing gem-chain over her shoulder and walked toward him with perfect posture, despite the uncouth trail of vulgarity she'd just left in her wake.
"I'm working today," she added, brushing her braid over one shoulder. "No time for pleasantries. You want tea or business?"
"I just came to check on you."
She blinked, surprised. "Sweet of you. Unfortunately, my sweetness died somewhere around the third haggle with a man who tried to pay me in counterfeit moonstones."
Ari chuckled. "You're… different like this."
Gem shrugged, reaching into a ledger-scroll and flicking a dozen contracts into orbit around her. Her fingers danced between them with the same grace she used in battle, threading her magic to pin certain phrases and flip clauses mid-air.
"My father's the head of Batangara's biggest trade guild," she said. "Which means I was trained in politics, poise, and how to eviscerate someone's financial spine without breaking a sweat."
"And the… shouting?"
"That's just inherited from my grandma," she said proudly. "She once haggled a royal emissary down to tears during a salt trade. Still had her pearls on."
Ari watched her quietly. There was something deeply real about this side of Gem—far from the duelist, from the graceful glint-and-chain wielder in the arena. This was the heartbeat of who she was: loud, sharp, fiercely loyal, and utterly unapologetic.
She paused suddenly, eyes softening.
"You fought with beauty in the arena, Ari. But the moment that diamond spell imprinted into mine… I realized you weren't just clever. You listened to my syntax. You learned it. That's rare."
"I respect people who build their magic from their life," Ari said. "Yours is raw and radiant."
Gem exhaled, a smirk crawling back onto her face. "Flatter me again and I'll make you a junior assistant of logistics. You'll be sorting lapis shards for weeks."
Ari raised a hand. "Mercy."
They stood together, surrounded by floating contracts and half-shouted barters in the background.
Then, quieter, Gem said, "You know… no one outside this city really sees this version of me. The brass-voiced merchant girl."
"I like her," Ari said simply.
She turned away, quickly pretending to study a contract. But the tip of her ears had flushed a soft pink.
"Get outta here before I start liking you back, Compiler," she muttered, trying to sound gruff. "I've got frauds to yell at."
Ari left with a smile, the echo of Gem's shouts following him like a song only Batangara knew how to hum.