DC:The dark merchant

Chapter 9: The Girl Who Sees Souls

Time Skip: One Year Later

The city of Gotham was as bleak as ever. The sky remained a constant shade of gray, thick clouds hiding any sign of the sun. Cold wind rushed through the streets, carrying the ever-present scent of rain and gasoline.

Inside a small apartment in New Gotham, a young girl sat at the dining table, slowly eating her breakfast. She wore a neatly pressed school uniform—dark blue skirt, white blouse, and a red tie. Her silver-blonde hair was tied in a loose ponytail, a few strands framing her delicate features. Her eyes, a deep shade of violet, held a tired, almost detached look as she quietly chewed her food.

Across from her, a mature woman adjusted the cuffs of her white blouse, tucking it into a black pencil skirt. She had the same silver-blonde hair, but hers was tied in a professional bun, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. The aura she gave off was one of elegance and control—perfectly put together, like a woman who had no time for nonsense.

"Emma, dear, finish your food. You're going to be late for school," the woman said, her tone firm but not unkind.

Emma nodded wordlessly and continued eating.

This was their usual morning routine. No unnecessary words, no warmth. Just expectations and silence.

A few minutes later, they left the apartment, stepping into a sleek blue car parked outside. The drive to Gotham High School was quiet, save for the soft hum of the radio. When they arrived, Emma unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed her bag.

"Have a good day at school," her mother said without looking at her.

Emma glanced at her, hesitated, then simply nodded. "You too, Mom."

The door shut, and the car drove off, disappearing into Gotham's morning traffic.

Emma sighed.

She never expected much from her mother. Sonia Blake was a successful businesswoman, always preoccupied with work. After her father died, their relationship had become strained, and over time, Emma had learned to stop expecting the warmth she craved.

Because, in truth, warmth was a luxury in Gotham.

And Emma had her own problems to deal with.

POV: Emma Blake

My name is Emma Blake.

I'm sixteen years old, a student at Gotham High, and—on the surface—just a quiet girl who doesn't talk much. People think I'm just introverted, a little distant. Maybe a little odd.

But I have a secret. A secret no one would believe.

I can see ghosts.

It started when I was nine, the day my father died. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but as time passed, I realized that what I saw was real. The problem? No one else could see them.

I tried to tell my mother once. She thought I was traumatized, grieving. She sent me to doctors, therapists. When they couldn't "fix" me, she stopped listening altogether.

So I stopped talking about it.

I learned to pretend I didn't see them. Because as long as I ignored them, they ignored me.

…Most of the time.

As I walked through the school gates, I noticed an old man standing near the entrance. His skin was gray and decayed, his hollow eyes filled with malice. A thick, ominous aura clung to him like tar. He wasn't real. He couldn't be.

Just a ghost.

I looked away.

Rule number one: never let them know you see them.

Inside the classroom, it was worse. Dark shadows clung to the walls and ceilings, twisted figures watching silently as the students went about their day. Some of them had human shapes, others didn't.

A mass of writhing shadows curled around one of my classmates, whispering something I couldn't hear.

I ignored it.

I always ignored it.

After School

The day passed uneventfully. I walked home with two of my classmates—one of the few times I socialized.

The streets of Gotham were always dangerous, so sticking together was the best option.

At some point, we stopped by an old theater in the Narrows. It was run-down, barely standing, but it had cheap movies and even cheaper popcorn. After watching something forgettable, we stepped outside.

It was late. The sun had long since set, leaving the streets dimly lit by flickering streetlights.

We said our goodbyes, and I started heading toward the bus stop.

That's when I saw her.

A tall woman in a tattered white gown stood near the bus shelter. Her long, dark hair covered most of her pale, decayed face. Her fingers twitched unnaturally, sharp nails scraping against her own rotting skin.

Her aura was different.

Darker.

Red.

It radiated pure malice.

I glanced at her once, just a quick, instinctive look.

That was my mistake.

She grinned.

"You can see me, can't you?"

A chill ran down my spine.

No.

No, no, no. This wasn't supposed to happen. I had spent years perfecting the art of pretending. Ghosts didn't talk to me. They never talked to me.

I took a step back.

She took a step forward.

Then I ran.

The streets were empty. Not a single human in sight. Only ghosts.

And they were all watching.

Their hollow eyes followed me as I sprinted through the alleyways, my breath coming out in ragged gasps. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst.

Behind me, the woman laughed. It was a horrible sound, distorted and inhuman.

I turned a corner. Then another. My legs burned, my vision blurred, but I didn't stop.

Then—hope.

A light.

A single, warm glow in the darkness.

A shop.

I didn't question it. I ran straight for the door, slammed it open, and threw myself inside.

The moment I stepped in, everything changed.

The air shifted.

The heaviness in my chest lifted, the cold terror that had gripped me moments ago vanished like mist in the sunlight.

I turned back.

The woman was outside, pounding on the door. But she couldn't get in.

She couldn't enter.

I exhaled shakily and looked around.

The shop was dimly lit, shelves lined with strange artifacts, books, and trinkets. A faint scent of incense lingered in the air. It was unlike any store I had ever seen.

I hesitantly walked toward the counter and rang the small bell.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—from the shadows—a man emerged.

He wore a black robe, a hat tilted slightly on his head. His sharp eyes gleamed with amusement as he smirked at me.

His presence was... different. Unlike anything I'd ever felt before.

"Welcome to my shop," he said smoothly, his voice rich and deep. "I am Silas, a Merchant of Wonders."

His piercing gaze locked onto mine.

"What do you desire?"

I didn't know why, but in that moment, despite everything—despite the fear, the exhaustion, the overwhelming weight of my secret—

I felt like I could trust him.

To Be Continued...

(A/N: new arc new character with new problems that silas need to solve. Janet will be kept likw this girl. Some characters from dc will appear in this arc so be prepared. Which characters would you want to see?).