The first thing Luka noticed was the intricate amount of gold leaf, delicately and tastefully applied into the deep, winding grooves of the towering marble pillars that held up the vast, vaulted roof of The Emporium. Each pillar gleamed with a subtle shimmer, catching the dim light and reflecting it in soft, golden hues that danced with every flicker of the enchanted torches lining the entrance. The title ‘The Emporium’ itself was emblazoned in bold, ink-black lettering over a massive slab of polished marble that hovered mysteriously in front of the triangular roof of the structure, casting a faint shadow that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy. Demons, ghosts, and damned souls alike poured in and out of the grand entrance, their forms flickering between the tangible and the ethereal, while four imposing masked guards stood sentinel. Clad in full, gleaming armour that seemed forged from the darkest obsidian, their icy, unblinking eyes tracked every creature with unnerving precision.
The Emporium was, in all technicality, a colossal shopping mall (though Luka had never heard of such a thing). The artfully decorated exterior was an alluring fa?ade, designed to deceive and enchant, making anyone who beheld it believe the building was a bastion of elegance and refinement — or at least a place where you might accidentally bump into a prince or a particularly charming ghost. Yet inside, it sold everything imaginable — from sinister dark talismans imbued with forbidden magic to the most mundane turnips, all at exorbitant prices that whispered of hidden power (and possibly a slight markup for the dramatic flair). There were shops for every conceivable need and want — food that shimmered with enchantments, clothes woven from the finest spectral silks that might or might not itch terribly, magic artifacts humming with latent energy, jewellery that sparkled with cursed brilliance, ancient books bound in dragonhide, living trees that whispered secrets (though mostly gossip), glass panels etched with runes, ornate doorframes carved with eldritch symbols, bottles filled with mysterious potions, charms that promised luck or doom (sometimes both, depending on the day), and tricks that could bend reality itself (or at least make your neighbour question their sanity). Floods of creatures stampeded through the labyrinthine aisles, their voices rising in a cacophony of haggling and bargaining over cauldrons, kitchen utensils, and arcane curiosities, occasionally punctuated by the odd curse or a particularly enthusiastic sales pitch. The marble floor beneath them gleamed immaculately, magically cleansing itself after every spilled potion or streak of mud, while the walls of each shop seemed to breathe, growing larger or smaller depending on the number of patrons inside — a feature that made it very difficult to find the exit if you weren’t paying attention. The very sound of the Emporium was muffled from the outside world, so that when Luka stood beneath the hovering sign at the entrance, all he could hear was the faintest, almost silent humming.
Removing his hood, Luka took a moment to breathe it all in. This was definitely illegal in Heaven. What would Seraphiel think — too much brightness, too much colour, absolutely no order and oh goodness, were those two demons kissing in the back of the bookstore?
Jahima grabbed his hand, leading Luka past the towering guards and into the entrance.
The noise hit Luka like a piano crashing over his head. It was so loud he could barely hear himself think. From everywhere and nowhere at all, Luka could hear each and every sound, layered and overlapping until he couldn’t tell the difference between one noise and another. Laughter, screaming, crying, bubbling, popping, fizzing, clanging, shouting, scraping, clicking, thumping — it came from all direction. Jahima seemed unfazed, dragging a stunned Luka through the crowd. Elbows and bags bashed against his side, and Luka looked up to see a massive chandelier that glinted under the candlelight. Then he gaped when he realised it was made entirely of glass.
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“Goodness me! Jahima, did you see the—“
“I’ve seen it all, Luka. Now hurry up, or else she’ll be too busy for any other customers!“ Jahima shouted over the roar of the crowd.
As they pushed deeper into the throng, Luka felt a strange unease creeping up his spine, a prickling sensation that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He tried to steady his breathing, but his heart hammered in his chest like a frantic drum. Nervous? Why should he be nervous? He scanned the crowd with quick, darting glances — yet not a single pair of eyes seemed to linger on him. No one even spared him a passing glance. And yet, the feeling persisted, as if invisible eyes were boring into his back, watching, waiting.
His grip tightened on Jahima’s gnarled hand until his knuckles turned ghostly white. She shot him an annoyed look, but then her brow furrowed, her expression softening into something more like concern. At least, that’s what Luka thought it was — it was difficult to tell if Jahima even cared about anyone at all, let alone show concern for his wellbeing.
“You look pale. Are you alright?“ Jahima yelled, though Luka’s ears still struggled to catch the words.
“P-peachy! Nothing’s wrong!“ Luka laughed nervously, internally cursing himself for stammering. Though Luka didn’t exactly know how to curse himself, so his inner mind voice said something more like this: Luka, you wilting potted plant, why did you stammer!
“Luka. Don’t lie to me.” Jahima hissed, her voice sharp and low, like a blade sliding through the thick, noisy air. She pressed herself unnervingly close, so close that Luka could feel the heat radiating off her, and despite her small stature, there was a terrifying intensity in her gaze that made his skin crawl.
“I think someone’s watching me,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the chaos. His eyes flicked nervously over his shoulder, but the crowd swallowed any sign of a watcher. Still, the prickling sensation at the back of his neck screamed otherwise. Noting Jahima’s blank expression, he leaned down, voice dropping to a whisper, “I think someone’s watching me.”
Jahima’s grip on his hand tightened until it bit into his skin, sharp and unyielding. “Who?” she demanded, her breath cold against his ear.
“I d-don’t know…” Luka stammered, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure it would betray him.
“Then we move. Now.” Jahima’s voice was urgent, a harsh whisper that cut through the din. “There are guards here, and not everyone in this place has a twisted sense of mercy.” She yanked him forward with sudden force. Luka stumbled, barely catching himself before stepping on a demon’s foot, just about stopping himself from apologising. The owner of the foot shot him a glare, but Luka was already being dragged deeper into the crowd, the oppressive feeling of unseen eyes burning into his back as they ascended the stairs.
One of the guards — a foot taller than Luka, his biceps the size of Luka’s head and the veins on his arms standing out in stark relief against pale skin — pushed past in front of Luka, parting the crowd easily. Luka’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as the warmth of Jahima’s hand vanished like a lifeline snatched away. Panic fluttered helplessly in his stomach. His limbs trembled, and his eyes darted wildly, searching for her familiar face but finding only a sea of indifferent shadows. He twisted and turned, finding no sign of her maroon skin, those shabby rags of clothes, her greying blonde hair.
He didn’t notice the guard glancing back at him, a slow, cruel smile curling beneath the icy, unblinking eyes that gleamed with cold satisfaction. He also didn’t notice the guard nodding at a figure hidden behind a pillar.
“Jahima? Jahima, are you th-there?“ Luka stammered, running shaky hands through his curls.
“Jahima’s not here, sweetheart. But don’t worry-“ Luka felt cold hands on his hips, pulling him backwards. “-you’re safe with me.“
