Amara Thistledown stood in the center of the dusty plaza, her gold earrings catching the late afternoon sun. She closed her eyes and pictured rows of vendor stalls glowing under lantern light. Merchants would sell rare potions in glass bottles of every color. Customers would haggle and laugh while the moon rose above Melonya. This was her dream—a bustling night market where magic changed hands. She opened her eyes and looked at the empty space around her. The plaza sat silent and forgotten. But not for long. She pulled a folded cloth from her bag and shook it out. The fabric stretched wide, growing larger than seemed possible. Curved supports sprouted from the edges and locked into place. Panels shimmered with colors that shifted in the light—blue to purple to green. The tent stood complete before her, its iridescent surface catching every glint of sun. Amara stepped inside and set down her first crate of potions. The glass bottles clinked together softly. She had no other merchants yet. She had no customers waiting. But she had made her first move. The night market had begun with a single tent, and that was enough for today. Morning came, and Amara returned to the plaza with a cart. Its wide wheels rolled smoothly over the uneven ground. Open shelves lined both sides, perfect for her work. She positioned it beside the tent and unpacked her supplies—empty vials, dried herbs, measuring spoons. A few people walked past, glancing at the shimmering tent. One woman slowed down, curious. Amara smiled and mixed a simple healing potion, letting the ingredients swirl together in clear view. The woman stopped to watch. When the liquid turned pale gold, she asked about the price. Amara made her first sale. The cart had brought her first customer, and the empty plaza felt a little less empty now.