Evolto City: The Nexus of Eternity

They walked through the bustling pathways of one of Evolto City's many market squares this one draped in floating ribbons of starlight and root-like cables that pulsed gently underfoot. Nyxia's gaze swept across the sprawling chaos of food stalls and scent-vortices, where cosmic cuisine clashed and harmonized with local flavor in impossible ways.

A floating cart bobbed past, tended by a sentient puff of steam in a bowtie, offering Phasefruit Jelly a dish that shimmered between states of matter depending on your mood. Next to it, a tall stall run by a pair of Dendrites long-limbed tree-beings with leaves that glowed faintly with photosynthetic joy was serving a gentle, steaming bowl of Sunroot Broth harvested from their own fallen branches.

The Dendrites bowed politely as Nyxia passed.

"Ethically shed," one said, tapping a leaf to their wooden heart.

"Vegan in spirit and timeline," added the other, offering a sample spoon that sprouted a flower after use.

Vidarath leaned toward Nyxia, smirking.

"They once threw a fruit at a Jaeger pilot for eating a steak sandwich too close to their stall. Gave him a vision of his grandma for three hours straight."

Nyxia raised an eyebrow, eyes catching on another stall where a reptilian woman flipped discs of Nova-Shell Pie pastries filled with deep-sea stardust and a splash of voidfish ink. Nearby, a crystal crab in a chef's hat clicked its pincers while serving Molten Memory Waffles, each bite unlocking a random childhood memory not always your own.

One booth proudly displayed a banner:"FREE SAMPLE: Taste a Timeline You Never Lived!"beside a bubbling stew that sparkled with colors outside the visible spectrum.

Vidarath finally stopped in front of a squat kiosk carved from a meteor chunk. The cook, a Cyclops with a beard made of smoke, nodded in greeting.

"Two cosmic ramen. Extra gravity noodles."

"Make his extra weird," Vidarath added, gesturing at Nyxia. "He needs to open up his palate. And probably his third eye."

Nyxia sighed, but didn't object. Instead, he scanned the crowd all species, shapes, and origins mingling and feasting under floating lanterns and the soft warmth of the artificial Cerian Sun.

"You ever think this place shouldn't work?" he murmured.

Vidarath took a bite of his swirling, star-flecked noodles and shrugged.

"Constantly. But it does. Somehow."

And in that strange stillness of a moment between crises, they sat cosmic food in hand, Dendrites dancing gently to ambient market music, and the scent of a dozen universes wafting through the air and just enjoyed lunch before the next multiversal disaster arrived.

As they ate, a teenager strolling past nudged his friend and whispered loud enough for them to hear: "Hey, what's with that guy's clothes? Looks like he got caught in a glitch or something."

Vidarath immediately burst out laughing, nearly choking on a noodle.

"They're right," he said between chuckles, nodding toward Nyxia. "I mean, look at it! Alright, once we're done eating, let's go get you some new clothes. Something less... glitchy."

Nyxia glanced down at his dark, shifting void-silk coat with its flickering fractal patterns, then back at Vidarath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"Fine," Nyxia said quietly. "But only if you promise not to pick anything too flashy."

Vidarath grinned.

"Deal. We'll find something that says 'mysterious' without screaming 'data corrupted.'"

They finished their meal amid the lively market buzz, the promise of a wardrobe upgrade adding an unexpected lightness to the afternoon.

After finishing their meal and after Vidarath loudly declared he could still feel time bending inside his stomach from the "extra gravity noodles" the two made their way toward one of Evolto City's larger clothing hubs.

Calling it a "shop" would've been misleading.

It was a mall, if malls were designed by reality-bending architects who believed doors should appear based on your mood and escalators should occasionally whisper fashion advice. Towering columns of light spiraled upward into impossible geometry, and the air smelled like a mix of ozone, new fabric, and some nostalgic scent you couldn't quite place like your childhood home, but only on sunny afternoons.

Vidarath gave a low whistle.

"Alright. Let's fix your aesthetic confusion, Nyx."

They stepped through a gateway shaped like a blinking eye and entered the first section ChronoStyles. Racks of 4th-dimensional clothing lined the walls, garments that shimmered through moments of time. A jacket displayed itself worn by its future owner before fading to show its past stitching phase. Shirts hovered midair, phasing in and out of fabric, color, and mood depending on who was watching.

Nyxia raised an eyebrow as a mannequin wearing a coat collapsed into a puddle of liquid velvet, then reassembled into a business suit made of starlight and whispers.

"This feels excessive," Nyxia muttered.

"This is Evolto," Vidarath replied, grinning.

They wandered further, past the Photosynthetic Boutique, where Dendrite-grown leafwear fluttered on organic hangers. Clothes pulsed with gentle life, shaped from sustainably shed leaves of ancient sentient trees. Each piece was labeled with a short poem and the Dendrite who grew it.

"Warning: may sing to you during storms," one tag read.

Across the aisle, a store called Glitch Couture sold chaotic ensembles made of anti-matter threads and corrupted data fibers. Holographic jeans glitched with every step, showing fractured timelines where the wearer either became emperor or spilled spaghetti on their shirt.

Nyxia paused at a long coat black with red veins of flowing script. It shimmered, but didn't boast. The tag read: "Woven from silence harvested between stars. Soft on the conscience. Doesn't judge your past."

Vidarath glanced at it and raised an eyebrow.

"Huh. That's… actually kind of perfect for you."

"It doesn't hum," Nyxia said quietly.

"That's rare."

They kept walking past Skythread, where cloud-based tunics floated gently over wind mannequins, and Beastform Collective, where armor-fur hybrids promised to adjust to your inner predator.

One corner had a Void Punk stall, run by a floating orb with a mustache. There were jackets made of voidstone lace, shoes that whispered your name backwards, and belts that actively debated with each other.

Eventually, Nyxia stopped at a quiet section titled "Wraithline – For the Subtle Shadow."

The clothes here didn't shimmer, glitch, or scream. They suggested. Tailored with understatement. Threads dyed in shades like "ashen dusk," "memory-stain," and "regret black."

He ran his fingers over a simple high-collared coat. Elegant. Sharp. No chaos. No sparkle. Just… presence.

Vidarath gave an approving nod.

"There we go. Less 'glitched USB stick,' more 'entity from a forgotten war dimension who drinks tea quietly.'"

Nyxia sighed, but this time he didn't argue.

"I'll try it on."

As he stepped into the fitting portal which folded space around him instead of using a curtain Vidarath leaned against a gravity-defying pillar, arms crossed.

"This city may be ridiculous," he muttered, smirking, "but at least it knows how to dress its eldritch introverts." 

Vidarath waited half lounging against a levitating rack of self-ironing scarves as Nyxia stepped in and out of the fitting portal like a brooding fashion ghost.

The first outfit was a little too chrono-punk a jacket that aged backward and shoes that emitted poetry. Vidarath gave it a thumbs-down.

Next came something involving floating shoulder pads, sleeves made of feathers that turned into smoke, and boots that made thunder sounds with every step.

"You look like a rejected boss from a dream sequence," Vidarath muttered.

Nyxia didn't dignify it with a response.

But then… he stepped out again.And everything stopped.

A hush seemed to ripple over the fitting area, even though no one else actually noticed as if the fabric of the moment itself took a breath.

He wore a sharply tailored black suit, modern in its cut and unnervingly perfect in its fit. The jacket's deep V-shaped lapel subtly emphasized his frame, blending into the slim-fit trousers that ended crisply at polished, black dress shoes. It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.

The once-white dress shirt and waistcoat were now a carefully layered study in black, each shade playing with depth and texture matte, satin, void-silk gloss. It was monochrome elegance that whispered power.

But the centerpiece was the cape.

Long, flowing, a shadow with structure. It cascaded from his shoulders like stylized wings, lined in a dark grey so subtle it only revealed itself under movement. With every step, it flared silent, majestic, and somehow more real than the air around it.

His gloved hands completed the image: poised, calculated. And in one of them, he held the can black with a dark chrome ring near the top, gleaming faintly like the edge of a storm.

Vidarath straightened up, blinking.

"...Okay," he said. "Now that's the Nyxia I know."

He circled him once, nodding in approval.

"You look like a walking paradox. Like you give lectures on existentialism to reapers, and then judge their thesis submissions."

Nyxia tilted his head slightly.

"I like it," he admitted.

Vidarath clapped his hands once.

"Perfect. Let's pay before the cape starts billing us by the dramatic flare."

As they walked out of the boutique Nyxia's new silhouette drawing subtle glances from mannequins and mirrors alike Vidarath grinned.

After leaving the surreal fashion cathedral of a mall, Nyxia's cape flowing like a quiet shadow behind him, the two slipped into the winding arteries of Evolto City not the luminous sky-bridges or the market squares bursting with spectacle, but the quieter places. The real places.

Vidarath led the way, whistling softly, hands in his pockets.

"See, anyone can find the flashy stuff," he said, turning into an alley narrow enough that the neon above barely reached. "But the best spots? They hide. They don't want crowds. They want the right people."

The polished streets gave way to cobbled paths made from old Void-slate, walls adorned with murals that shifted subtly when you weren't looking. Pipes overhead leaked faint steam scented with spices, grease, and ink. Signs were hand-carved or projected by flickering sigils only visible at certain angles.

Nyxia followed silently, eyes flicking over every detail.

"Like the blacksmith," Vidarath continued. "The one who forged Shadow's Requiem, Ebon Wrath, and Noctem's Veil. Best of the best."

He gestured to a doorway nearly invisible beneath a curtain of ivy and rusted chains.

"That guy? Zalthorion personally recruited him. Doesn't even advertise. You just... find him when you're meant to."

Nyxia remembered the workshop. The forge ran on silence and gravity. Every strike of the hammer felt like it echoed across dimensions. The blacksmith a scarred, wordless man who spoke only through the weight of his work had simply nodded once, as if he already knew the cane belonged to him.

They moved deeper into the alleys, Vidarath pointing things out casually like a tour guide of the hidden city.

"Over there? Best hand-pulled star-ink noodles in all of Evolto. Cook's part ink elemental. Don't ask how she kneads."

"That building shaped like a melting bell? Apothecary run by a retired warden from a dream-realm prison. Sells tinctures that calm cosmic insomnia."

"That crack in the wall? It's a bookstore. No door, just ask politely and the bricks part. Some of the tomes in there… remember you."

Nyxia silently took it in. Each shop had a feeling weight, presence, like they existed slightly outside of the city's main frequency.

Eventually, they passed a tattered red awning with no sign. Just a subtle glyph etched on the wall: an inverted feather bound in chains.

"And here's a tailor who only works with cursed fabric," Vidarath said cheerfully. "He's retired twice. Every time, the clothes pulled him back."

They walked on.

"Zalthorion doesn't just build cities," Vidarath said finally. "He plants them. Let the weird stuff grow in the cracks. That's where the heart is."

Nyxia looked around the shadowed alleys, the soft murmurs of quiet lives, the stories stitched into each crooked building.

"And if someone doesn't belong?" he asked.

Vidarath smirked.

"They get lost. Or eaten. Or turned into a spice rack by a vengeful barista."

He winked. "This place sorts itself."

As they turned another corner, the alley opened into a tiny, candle-lit courtyard. A street musician plucked at a bone-lute. Lanterns floated low, casting warm shadows. A small tea shop sat nestled beneath a crumbling arch.

Vidarath gestured.

"Time for something warm. The owner here brews tea with fragments of lullabies and starfall."

Nyxia gave the faintest nod.

"Lead on."

They stepped into the candle-lit courtyard, where the ambient hum of the city faded into something softer calmer. It wasn't silence, not exactly, but absence a gentle exclusion of noise, as though the space was protected by a spell of quiet reverence.

The tea shop looked like a forgotten temple swallowed by vines and time, with stone-carved dragons nestled around its rooftop and wind chimes made from cracked porcelain and meteor shards. A sign hung overhead on a splintered beam, written in ancient script that translated itself differently for everyone. Nyxia read it as:

"Warmth, If You've Earned It."

Vidarath pushed open the wooden door with a contented sigh, and Nyxia followed.

Inside, it was dim and fragrant. Shelves lined the walls with jars that shimmered with powdered dreams, dried songs, and leaves harvested from plants that only bloomed during eclipses. The air smelled like honey, charcoal, and rain on old parchment.

An old woman stood behind the counter, her hair bound in constellations and her eyes reflecting distant galaxies. She nodded once at Vidarath, as if picking up a conversation paused years ago.

"He still brings strays, I see."

Vidarath grinned.

"I upgrade them. This one needed a new coat and a reason to drink something that doesn't bite back."

Nyxia remained quiet, scanning the shop until his eyes settled on a teapot floating mid-air no fire, no strings, just levitating and humming faintly like it remembered lullabies then Vidarath sat at the counter Nyxia took a seat beside Vidarath at the weathered wooden counter, its surface worn smooth by centuries of quiet conversations and unspoken understandings. He didn't speak he rarely did in places like this. Places that felt older than time and more awake than they had any right to be.

The old woman placed a small, porcelain cup in front of Vidarath, steam curling lazily from it like it had nowhere else to be. The tea shimmered faintly gold, and Nyxia swore the steam formed shapes familiar places, laughing faces, a mountain Vidarath had once set on fire by accident.

"Made with sun-warmed laughter and the last breeze of autumn," she said simply, as Vidarath inhaled deeply, eyes already softening.

Then she turned to Nyxia.

Her eyes deep, dark, reflecting nebulae long collapsed seemed to look through him rather than at him. She didn't ask his name. She didn't need to.

"Someone like you," she said, voice like creaking parchment and velvet gravity, "doesn't need help forgetting."

She reached out to one of the high shelves, fingers brushing lightly over the jars.

"You long to remember."

Nyxia's expression barely changed, but his hands still gloved rested a little heavier on the counter.

"I have just the perfect one."

She moved like the air had parted for her, precise and patient. From one jar, she took a pinch of "Twilight Fern" leaves that rustled even without wind. From another, a shard of frozen birdsong wrapped in silver thread. She plucked a single petal from a flower that only bloomed during void eclipses, and then strangest of all she reached into a drawer and withdrew a small, black stone with a crack of golden light running through it.

She placed it in the teapot that still hovered behind her, which pulsed once in recognition.

The tea poured itself.

Into a cup darker than ink, it swirled like smoke flecks of starlight, hints of deep forest after rain, the scent of something once cherished but now lost to time.

She set it down in front of him without ceremony, but her voice lowered to something gentler.

"Drink it slowly. It brings back only what the soul is ready to carry."

Vidarath glanced sideways, silent now, watching with rare seriousness.

Nyxia looked at the cup, his reflection warped and fractured in its surface. For the first time since they entered, he spoke:

"What's in it?"

"A memory that missed you," she said.

The room waited, soft and still

Nyxia hesitated, the steaming cup cradled in his gloved hands. Then Vidarath gave him a gentle nudge.

He drank.

The moment the tea touched his lips, the shop dissolved around him, and he was pulled into a dream

"Daddy, wake up!"

The voice was soft and urgent. Nyxia blinked, confused, as he slowly sat up in a small, sunlit room. A little girl clung to him, her eyes wide with joy.

"I thought you wouldn't wake up!" she giggled. "Come on, I'm hungry!"

Still dazed, Nyxia followed her to a humble kitchen. As he made her food, a strange warmth bloomed in his chest something long forgotten. They ate together, her smile infectious, and afterward, she dragged him outside to play.

"Can you play with me, Daddy?" she asked.

"Of course," Nyxia replied, his voice softer than he remembered.

They played hide and seek. She laughed. He laughed.

Then pain.

A sharp stab to the back of his neck dropped him. As the world faded, voices screamed: "The demon is here! And the witch as well!"

Darkness.

Nyxia awoke on cold stone, drenched in water. A knight sneered above him.

"Did you have a nice sleep, demon?"

A man stepped forward cloaked in black, eyes sharp.

"I am Heinrich Kramer, Pope of Celestia. And I will rid this world of you and your spawn."

Nyxia, confused and shaken, tried to protest.

"We've done nothing wrong!"

But they didn't listen.

Bound in chains, Nyxia was paraded through the streets. The crowd jeered. In the town square, his heart shattered there she was. The little girl. Chained to a cross. Terrified.

The Pope raised his voice.

"This demon and his child have brought us plague and ruin. Today, we offer them to Celestia!"

A knight stepped forward, torch in hand.

"NO!" Nyxia screamed.

"Daddy! It hurts! Please!" the girl cried as the flames took her.

He was powerless, forced to watch her burn. The crowd cheered.

Until something broke.

The shadows responded.

They rose.

Black tendrils burst from the ground, impaling the knights, the priests, the crowd. Screams filled the air as Nyxia's voice thundered:

"If you miss your loved ones so much… go join them."

The massacre was swift, merciless. The village drowned in shadow and blood.

Nyxia approached Heinrich, now bound by living shadows.

"Damn you, demon…" the Pope gasped before the darkness claimed him.

Silence fell.

Nyxia stood amidst the ruin, the little girl's charred remains at his feet. Gently, he buried her in the ashes. The headstone read: "Here lies a young girl with a bright future, taken too soon."

As the pain in his chest and head surged, the world collapsed again pulling him back into black.

And then he awoke, the empty teacup warm in his hand, the candlelit shop quiet around him. The old woman watched with knowing eyes.

Vidarath said nothing, but his gaze was steady.

Nyxia didn't speak.

He simply stared into the cup, as if hoping to fall in and never come back.