Serabi

In a city built atop a roaring cascade, the loudest sound is not the water, but the silence of a deal gone wrong. Serabi stood on the lower docks, where the smell of fish and river mud clung to everything. The frog merchant floated face down, their fine silks spreading like a lily pad, a pouch of coin bobbing near their hand. Serabi didn't watch the body. They watched the pale stone temple on the far bank, its reflection shimmering on the turbulent surface. An old pact had been broken tonight, a line crossed that even the most ruthless traders usually respected. They adjusted their collar, the coarse fabric a familiar comfort. The mission was complete, but the cost was a stain on the water that would not wash away by morning.