Celes soared through the skies, the city behind her shrinking as she pushed forward, her path set toward the north.
The landscape beneath her was vast and quiet, its muted tones telling the story of a world still in recovery. The plains stretched in shades of soft browns and grays, dotted by jagged rock formations that stood like remnants of a time long past.
The rivers, winding through the terrain, carried a gentle pulse of life. Their waters flowed steadily, reflecting the twin suns above in shimmering ribbons of silver and deep blue. Along their banks, nature was beginning to reclaim its hold, patches of purple grass slowly emerging, weaving their way across the recovering soil.
Celes took in the view, her keen eyes scanning ahead.
Then, in the distance, beyond the recovering land, she spotted it.
The northern city.
Its domed structure stood against the barren backdrop, a marker of civilization surrounded by open, quiet terrain.
Without hesitation, she adjusted her course, angling toward it.
As she approached, the wind shifted around her, warm currents twisting against the energy that propelled her forward. The dome's protective barrier was smooth and seamless, reflecting light in faint ripples as she descended toward the outskirts.
The moment her feet touched solid ground, the contrast was immediate.
Where the Sugarians had been cautious in the first city, here, they barely noticed her presence at all.
There was no unease in their brief glances, no hesitance in their movements.
They were accustomed to seeing outsiders.
She took that as confirmation. The Cerealian was here.
Somewhere.
She wasted no time, weaving into the city's structured pathways, adjusting to the rhythm of movement around her.
The Sugarians maneuvered swiftly, their small forms moving with practiced ease as they navigated the city's structured pathways.
Everything followed a distinct order, cleanly arranged storefronts, sleek buildings lined with reinforced glass and polished metal, their designs practical yet advanced. Wide streets allowed for steady movement, their surfaces smooth and precisely maintained, ensuring the flow of traffic—both foot and transport—remained uninterrupted.
No hesitation. No uncertainty.
Just like before.
The air carried an underlying hum of energy, a subtle yet present reflection of the technology integrated into their daily lives. Devices embedded into storefronts streamlined transactions, while structured signage directed foot traffic with an efficiency that felt ingrained rather than intrusive.
Celes observed it all, taking in the rhythm of the city, precise, methodical, yet natural, as if every individual instinctively understood their role in the flow of daily life.
And unlike other places where outsiders might draw attention, she barely warranted a glance.
They had seen figures like her before, and they had long since stopped caring.
Celes moved through the crowds with purpose, speaking to those who would listen.
Her questioning began much the same as before.
And just like before, the responses varied.
Some claimed they had never seen anyone fitting her description.
Others offered vague, uncertain recollections, one recalling a glimpse of green hair from a distance, another mentioning a figure passing through the streets weeks ago.
The scattered pieces didn't form a complete picture.
But she kept pressing forward, weaving through the steady rhythm of the city, until a Sugarian immediately nodded, fins flicking slightly as they acknowledged her question.
"Green-haired?" they repeated, their voice carrying the distinct melodic tone of their species. "Yes, I've heard about them."
Celes kept her gaze steady, waiting.
"We don't see many outsiders here," the Sugarian continued, their tone casual, matter of fact. "But the green-haired one? I've seen them before, only in the Northern market."
Celes narrowed her eyes slightly.
"How often?"
"Not regularly," the Sugarian admitted. "They show up every so often, but I don't think they live here. Just passing through when they need something."
That was all she needed.
Without another word, she turned away, already setting her course toward the Northern market.
As Celes walked toward the Northern market, the streets grew noticeably more crowded the closer she got.
The change in atmosphere was immediate.
Where the rest of the city had been structured and orderly, the market thrived in its chaotic energy, Sugarians moving in rapid, efficient motions as they weaved between stalls, trading, chatting, and exchanging goods in a rhythm only they seemed to fully understand.
She narrowed her eyes slightly.
This was going to take time.
With a quiet exhale, she stepped forward, navigating through the clusters of pink-skinned figures.
She began asking around.
Most Sugarians responded positively, confirming that they had seen a green-haired outsider before.
But their answers, while plenty, were mostly useless.
One spoke at length about how the individual seemed quiet and strange but couldn't recall anything more than that. Another mentioned that they had seen the green-haired figure near a cloth vendor once but couldn't remember when. Others simply nodded and repeated the fact that he had been seen here before, offering no further insight beyond his occasional presence.
Celes kept asking.
Then, after several stalls, she found someone with something actually useful.
A merchant, seated behind a stand displaying various metalwork tools, considered her question carefully before responding.
"He doesn't come here often," the stall owner said, setting down a piece of polished steel. "Only every once in a while. Maybe once or twice a month?"
Celes listened carefully.
"No fixed schedule," they continued, their fins flicking absently. "Whenever he needs something, he shows up. Then he's gone again."
That was more concrete than anything else she had heard so far.
So, she had a location.
She just didn't have a guarantee of when.
That meant only one option.
She would wait.
Celes exhaled slowly, letting her focus shift from the conversation back to the city itself.
The market had given her the confirmation she needed, he was here, but his presence was fleeting. She wasn't going to find him through simple questioning alone.
She needed a better vantage point.
Her sharp gaze scanned the surrounding structures, observing their heights, angles, and layouts. Most of the buildings were compact, designed for efficient use of space rather than vertical expansion, but a few stood taller, their rooftops wide and relatively flat.
She took note of one in particular situated near the heart of the eastern market, its roof broad and unobstructed, offering a clear view of the area below.
That would do.
Without hesitation, she shifted her stance, then pushed off the ground, her body lifting smoothly into the air.
Within seconds, she landed atop the building, her movements controlled, precise.
She had found her vantage point.
Now, all she had to do was wait.
And that wait took far longer than expected.
Time stretched across the days, the bustling life of the city flowing below as she remained in place, watching, analyzing, searching.
Her patience never wavered, but after a week with no sign of him, she turned her focus inward.
"Raphael," she muttered, directing her thoughts inward. "Give me a status update on the Sugarians' network. What have we gained from it?"
A response echoed through her mind—calm, precise, delivering the facts clearly.
"All accessible data has been gathered. We've acquired approximately thirty-six new pieces of technology—primarily focused on infrastructure, energy efficiency, and trade logistics. Some developments appear to be adapted from off-world sources, though no direct records indicate their origin."
Celes absorbed the information, filing it away for later analysis.
"And what about the Dragon Balls and the Namekian?" she asked.
A pause. Then—
"No formal records exist tying the Sugarians to the Dragon Balls," Raphael reported, her voice steady. "Nothing in trade discussions, historical logs, or classified archives. There are no references to their existence within their network."
Celes listened carefully.
"There is something," Raphael continued.
Her tone shifted, carrying a note of significance.
"A discovery was logged in their scientific archives."
Celes' attention sharpened.
"A spherical object was found—small, radiating faint energy, with a single star embedded at its center. Currently, it's being studied at a research facility in the Southern City."
Raphael continued, her tone unwavering.
"The Sugarians have yet to determine its nature or origin. As of now, it remains an unidentified artifact in their records."
Celes exhaled slowly.
They didn't know what they had.
But she did.
A Dragon Ball.
"As for the Namekian," Raphael continued, "there are no official documents on their presence. No population records, no transactions, nothing suggesting they have ever lived among the Sugarians."
Celes remained silent, processing the implications.
No formal records.
But that didn't mean he wasn't here.
She let the thought settle before refocusing.
"What about our target?" she asked.
Another pause. Then—
"Sightings confirmed in two locations—here in the Northern city and in the Eastern city. Civilian reports show irregular appearances but consistent presence in both areas."
Celes narrowed her eyes slightly.
"Any pattern?"
Raphael processed the details for a moment before responding.
"Based on available data, his appearances occur approximately every two to three weeks. The last confirmed sighting was around two and a half weeks ago."
Celes let the information settle.
That meant he was due to show up any day now.
She exhaled slowly, shifting her stance.
Her patience had already carried her this far.
A little longer, and the wait would pay off.
But patience didn't mean remaining still.
After days of waiting, she knew the city had more to offer than just a vantage point.
She stepped off the rooftop, descending smoothly onto the busy streets below.
Now, she would see it for herself.
She had been in the Northern market once before, when she was questioning the locals, chasing scattered pieces of information.
But that was different.
Back then, she had moved through the streets with a purpose, focused entirely on gathering details that would lead her to the target. She hadn't taken the time to stop, to actually experience the city's rhythm, to truly look at the culture woven into its streets.
This time, she would.
The differences were immediately clear.
It wasn't just a place for exchange, it was an active, thriving center of community and tradition.
The marketplace stretched wide, filled with small, intricately designed stalls that catered to a variety of needs. Sugarians moved with efficiency and ease, their interactions swift yet oddly warm, focused on trade but threaded with a quiet sense of trust between vendors and buyers.
Celes studied it all with quiet intrigue.
This was different from the markets of her past life.
But at the same time, it wasn't.
Though the surroundings had changed, the foundation of trade, the pulse of a thriving marketplace, remained constant. There was something almost familiar in the way merchants called out to passing customers, the way deals were struck with knowing nods rather than words, the way necessity and culture merged seamlessly into an unspoken flow.
She allowed herself the moment of reflection, absorbing the details as she moved.
But beneath it all, she was still searching.
Then—
A flicker of movement.
A figure stepping through the marketplace, green strands catching the light.
Her focus sharpened instantly.
There.
The Cerealian.
The one she had been searching for this entire time.
Without hesitation, she adjusted her stance, preparing to follow.
She wasn't letting him slip away.
(Words: 1881)