The Crimson Bazaar

The scent of incense and jasmine lingered in the air, mingling with the muffled din of the bustling marketplace outside. Shadows from the latticed windows danced across her crimson silk choli, its intricate gold-thread patterns glimmering faintly in the soft light of the oil lamps. Amanita perched on the edge of the low wooden bed, her bare feet brushing against the woven rug underfoot. Her grey dhoti, tied low on her hips, moved like water with the faint breeze slipping in through the open window. Somewhere close, a stringed instrument hummed like an unwelcome prelude to what lay ahead.

The blade was warm in her hand, the delicate hilt a distressing contradiction to the weapon’s deadly edge. She adjusted her posture, catching her almond-shaped eyes reflected in the dark polish of the bed frame. Her full lips hardened into a thin line as she forced herself to focus. There was no room for doubt tonight.

The door creaked open, and Amanita’s hand darted instinctively to the small of her back where a second dagger was concealed. Instead of the assassin she half-expected, a young woman in a threadbare green shawl slipped through the entrance, her nervous gaze darting across the room.

“Do you have it?” Amanita’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence like the blade she clenched.

The girl nodded quickly, holding out a small leather pouch. It rattled faintly. Amanita took it, her deft fingers untying the string to reveal an ordinary-looking stone etched with faint crimson markings. From the corner of her eye, she caught a sudden twitch—a fleeting hesitation in the girl’s composure.

“You’ve led him to me, haven’t you?” Amanita’s question was calm, yet her hand tightened against the concealed dagger.

The girl’s voice trembled. “They promised me mercy if I—” The words froze on her lips as Amanita’s attention veered sharply to the sound of boots in the hallway. Several pairs, heavy and deliberate. They were here.

Amanita slipped the stone into her dhoti’s fold and moved quickly to the window. Snatching her satchel, she flung it over her shoulder and vaulted out onto the terracotta-tiled roof below. The sharp cry of a sentry echoed behind her as she landed with feline grace, her grey fabric blending with the nighttime shadows, while the red choli stood defiant against the moonlit backdrop.

From below, the labyrinthine alleys of the city stretched like veins, pulsating with flickering lights and murmurs of life. Amanita bounded across rooftops, her movements precise and daring. Each leap was a gamble, but there was no hesitation in her stride. The city’s rooftops were her domain; its secrets, her armor.

She heard the shouts of the pursuers growing closer, their torches bobbing erratically like spectral flames. Dropping lower onto a narrow ledge, she melted into the shadows, her breath steady despite the adrenaline surging through her veins. A single guard passed below, his helmet glinting briefly in the moonlight. She clutched her dagger, poised to strike if necessary, before slipping into an ajar window that led into a spice merchant’s storeroom. The pungent smell of saffron and turmeric hit her immediately.

From the pouch at her side, the stone seemed to radiate an unnatural warmth, a subtle hum vibrating faintly along her skin. It wasn’t a simple artifact; it was something far older and far more dangerous than anything she’d ever encountered. She didn’t yet understand its power, but she knew others would kill for it—had already killed for it. And she wasn’t about to let that happen again.

Hours later, Amanita found herself in a dilapidated temple on the outskirts of the city, its ancient columns entwined with vines and its sanctity corroded by time. The air felt heavy here, as though the gods themselves had abandoned its walls. She knelt before an altar, placing the stone in its center as it began to glow faintly, bathing her face in an eerie red light.

“It doesn’t belong to you,” came a voice from the shadows. Amanita turned swiftly, instinctively reaching for her dagger. Emerging from the darkness was Adarsh, once her mentor and now the man who had orchestrated her downfall. His crimson robes matched the malevolent aura of the artifact, his presence as unsettling as the whispers she thought she’d imagined on the wind.

“You taught me to fight, Adarsh. You didn’t teach me to betray,” Amanita spat, the point of her dagger aimed directly at his heart.

He chuckled softly, the sound void of humor. “Betrayal? No, child, this is transcendence. That stone holds the power of the ancients, the charm to command life and death. You would squander it on petty ideals.” His voice was smooth, almost hypnotic, but Amanita’s resolve hardened.

“Then let’s see if it answers to you.” In one fluid motion, she seized the stone and hurled it into the air, plunging her dagger into its glowing surface. The resulting explosion of light engulfed the temple, peeling away shadow and stone alike until only silence and emptiness remained.

When Amanita opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was a pale dawn breaking over the horizon. The ruins of the temple lay scattered around her, the once-mighty artifact reduced to ash at her feet. Her crimson choli was torn, singed at the edges, and her dhoti tattered beyond recognition, but she was alive.

The city was still far in the distance, a cruel maze of intrigue and danger she would return to all too soon. For now, she allowed herself a moment of triumph, tasting the fragile sweetness of survival. Somewhere deep within, she felt the stone’s echo, a faint resonance in her blood. Its power was gone—or perhaps, it was now a part of her.

Amanita tightened her satchel, adjusted the makeshift wraps she’d fashioned from the remains of her clothing, and walked toward the rising sun. The fight wasn’t over. It had only just begun.

Genre: Historical Fantasy