Summoning America

Chapter 165: Gahara

Author's Note (Story and Patreon Updates):

Author's Note (Story and Patreon Updates):

If you like Summoning America, you'll love Manifest Fantasy!

NOTE: Manifest Fantasy (rewritten) is available through RoyalRoad.

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/75057/manifest-fantasy

Note 2:
Chapter 165 is now out for all Tier 2 Patrons and higher! Tier 2 Patrons and higher will be able to read one chapter ahead!

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd

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January 8, 1641
Shirakawa Port, Thearchy of Gahara

Under a sullen winter sky, the port of Shirakawa bristled with life. Merchants hawked their wares with the vigor of men who knew the cold bite of poverty, and fishers flaunted their catches, diverse scales glistening like coins in the sun. Tharazim, a tall figure cloaked in the guise of a merchant, hunched over his stall, his wings concealed by the enchantment woven into his broad mantle. It was uncomfortable having them compressed in an unseen grip of magic, but he paid it no heed.

"Fine silks from the southern lands!" he called out, his voice finding a home amongst the marketplace's din. It was an unremarkable declaration, but his eyes, a sharp contrast to the earthy tones of his wares, scanned the crowd with discreet vigilance.

Verashta, less imposing but no less intent, arranged their textiles with ease, her movements indicating nothing of the discomfort that came from her own concealed wings. She caught the eye of a local – a wiry man with a threadbare coat who browsed the wares with scrutiny until finally selecting one. Relief. It was simply an interested customer.

"Is this dye resistant to the rain?" a woman inquired, holding up a piece of fabric.

"As enduring as the wind dragons that protect your fair city," Thazarim responded, a practiced smile curling at his lips.

She reciprocated the smile, seemingly satisfied with his answer. "I'll take a set of five, then."

Thazarim completed the transaction, securing a handful of printed bills from the local. It bore a likeness to the American currency, but the paper was of cheaper quality. As Thazarim pondered the influence exerted by the technological giant to the east, he was approached by another customer. It was here, amidst the commerce and chatter, that Thazarim wove himself into the background of Shirakawa. He bartered, he laughed, he haggled – each action crafted to build the facade of a traveling merchant.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Thazarim felt the familiar twinge of unease that always accompanied the folding of his wings. They itched like a mendicant's rags. All these hours and the contact was yet to appear. How much longer?

The twilight began to settle, leaving them to wonder if they accidentally gave the contact erroneous information. Packing up the unsold merchandise, he noticed a lone figure approach from the corner of his eye – a tall man dressed in an American suit. Shit. How? How did an American find his way here, now, amidst their delicate operation?

"We're closed, good sir," he called out, voice steady despite the alarm bells clanging in his mind.

The suited man halted, his stance casual yet calculated, a half-smile playing upon his lips as if privy to an inside joke. "Apologies for the intrusion," he began, his tone betraying no hint of his origin, "but I am in search of a rather unique item. Perhaps you've come across fibers from the Spinthra Silkmoth? Exclusive to the Branchel continent, I hear they are."