Chapter 014: A Matter of Scale
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{SUNDAS, SOLYRA 22, 999 – 09:10}
{LOKI}
The morning air in the east quarter had a shimmer to it, that late-spring kind of gold that made even cracked stone look expensive. Loki liked that. Expensive-looking things had stories—and she'd been following this one since Riveria mentioned it with that tight little frown of hers. When Riveria Ljos Alf frowned, it meant something had her worried, and that was as good a reason as any for Loki to go sniffing around.
She stopped at the end of the lane, imaginary tail flicking lazily as she took in the shop that had half of Orario whispering. Gilford General Store. The sign was still new enough to shine in the light, the paint clean and bold. It smelled faintly of linseed oil and fresh polish, which didn't belong on this street. Weavers' Lane usually smelled like boiled dye, thread dust, and burned starch. But here? The air was sharp with pepper, cumin, and something brighter—like ground citrus peel.
"Smells like money," she murmured.
Finn, walking just behind, didn't rise to the bait. He never did. "That's the shop?"
"Mm." Loki leaned forward just enough to see through the open door. Bottles of water gleamed along one wall, neat little soldiers catching sunlight in their ranks. On the counter sat rows of jars and tins, their labels handwritten with absurd care. Even from here, she could see the grain of the wood beneath them was clean—no stains, no scuffs, no sign the man running it had been at this long.
"So that's the mortal who's got Riveria muttering about impossible artifacts," she said with a grin. "Cute little setup, huh? I half expected something flashier. Gold sigils, maybe a glowing orb over the door that says look, I'm suspicious."
Finn's expression didn't change. "You came to judge his business model or his handwriting?"
"Both," she said easily, clasping her hands behind her head. "Can't have a mystery merchant setting up shop in my city without me at least peeking. You know what Ouranos's people said? That this guy's water might've come straight from Heaven's drainpipe."
Finn gave her a sideways glance that said he'd heard worse from her.
She looked back at the storefront, one brow arching. The mortal was inside, moving boxes with easy rhythm, sleeves rolled up. He wasn't glowing, wasn't chanting, wasn't even sweating despite the work. Just another face in the crowd, except for the way he organized—like every bottle had to earn its place or get exiled. Gods, the man stacked glass like Riveria shelved books.
"Neat freak," Loki muttered under her breath, half amused, half impressed. "Bet he alphabetizes his socks too."
A group of merchants passed behind her, chattering about something she didn't care to follow until she caught one word—Valis. Then another—pure water. She cocked an ear.
"...sells out every few hours, they say."
"...clearer than potion water, swear on my mother's hair."
"...and not a drop of magic in it! None!"
Loki smiled to herself. Gossip like that was a gift from the heavens. You didn't even have to ask; Orario just fed you answers if you stood still long enough.
"Riveria's probably losing sleep over this," she mused. "Pure water, mortal hands, no divine trace? Her hair's gonna turn silver by the end of the week."
Finn sighed quietly. "You realize you're the reason she's losing sleep."
"That's how you know it's love."
Her eyes stayed on the little shop, taking in every quiet detail—the swept threshold, the sign's straight lines, the faint reflection of movement inside. There was something about it she couldn't place. Not quite divine, not quite mundane. A mortal shop that behaved too cleanly, too consistently. It felt—balanced. And that was the strange part. The world didn't do balanced.
"Looks simple," she said after a while, "but there's a trick in there somewhere. There's always a trick."
She rocked back on her heels, tail curling like a question mark. "You ever notice how mortals get the weirdest luck, Finn? You give them a shovel, and they dig up secrets nobody else could find."
"I've noticed," he said.
"Guess that's what makes them fun." She stretched, the motion lazy and deliberate, eyes narrowing in the sunlight. "C'mon. Let's see what kind of trouble we can buy."
Loki stepped through the doorway with the easy confidence of someone who'd never once in her long, troublesome existence been told no and made it stick. The faint jingle of the hanging bell above the frame sang out, sharp and small, before settling back into silence. Inside, the air was cooler, touched by the clean scent of water and something sharp beneath it—pepper, maybe cinnamon, definitely money.
She paused just inside, hands resting on her hips while her eyes swept the room. The place was as spotless as it had looked from the street. Bottles lined the wall in disciplined ranks, each one catching and scattering the sunlight that slipped through the front window. The spices, meanwhile, sat in neat tiers of labeled jars. Even the counter gleamed. It was almost unnerving how tidy it all was, as though dust and disarray had been outlawed at the door.
The man behind the counter glanced up at her entrance. His dark hair caught a trace of gold in the light, and his expression didn't shift much at all—no panic, no awe, not even the awkward reverence mortals usually stumbled through when realizing who had just walked in.
"Morning," he said simply, setting aside a jar of ground pepper. "You're early if you're here for water. I usually get cleaned out by noon."
Loki blinked, then grinned. "Oh, I'm not here to drink you dry, sweetheart."
He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "That's new."
Finn, who'd followed her in, sighed quietly. Loki ignored him. She took her time wandering between the displays, dragging a fingertip along the edge of a shelf just to see if the man flinched. He didn't. Not even a twitch.
"So," she drawled, "you're the mortal giving half of Orario a reason to gossip."
"Depends on which half," he replied, leaning his elbows on the counter. "The buying half seems fine with me. The other half keeps sending officials."
That earned a short laugh out of her. "Touché. You've got a tongue on you. I like that."
"Most gods do," he said evenly, "as long as it doesn't talk back too much."
Finn cleared his throat in what might've been a warning, but Loki just waved him off, enjoying the way this mortal didn't shrink under divine attention. Most humans either groveled or pretended they weren't terrified. This one didn't bother with either. He looked at her like she was just another customer—an unusual one, sure, but not someone to worship.
"What's your name, again?" she asked.
"Lucian."
She tested it with a hum. "Lucian, huh. Rolls off the tongue. And you run this little miracle factory all on your own?"
"For now." His tone was light but careful. "It keeps me busy."
"Bet it does," she said, circling the counter and pretending to study a stack of bottles while really just studying him. "Riveria says your water's purer than anything she's ever seen. That's saying something. She's picky enough to argue with the rain."
Lucian gave a small, crooked smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should. I don't hand them out often." Loki leaned forward on the counter, chin resting on one hand. "You're not what I expected."
"I get that a lot."
He met her gaze easily, and for a flicker of a second, something about the steadiness of it struck her as odd. Not arrogance. Not defiance. Just calm. Like he'd seen worse things than gods before breakfast and decided not to make a fuss about it.
Loki straightened, crossing her arms. "So tell me, Lucian. What's your secret? Some hidden spring? A water spirit in your pocket? Don't tell me you're squeezing clouds for it."
He smiled faintly. "Trade secret."
"Ah." She clucked her tongue. "A businessman, then. Dangerous breed."
"You'd know."
That earned him another laugh, sharp and bright. Finn pinched the bridge of his nose behind her, already regretting agreeing to come. Loki didn't care. This was the sort of mortal she liked—unshaken, sharp enough to parry without overstepping. The sort who didn't treat her divinity like something fragile or holy.
"Alright then," she said, straightening up. "I think I'll take a look around. See what all the fuss is about. Maybe buy something flashy while I'm at it."
Lucian gestured toward the catalog rack with mock solemnity. "Be my guest. Just don't blame me if the prices make you question your life choices."
"Oh, honey," Loki said with a sly grin, "I've been questioning those for centuries."
She picked up one of the glossy pamphlets, flipping through the pages until her eyes caught on something enormous, absurd, and wonderfully pointless. A giant teddy bear, plush and golden-brown, big enough to seat her entire Familia on its belly. Perfect. She'd seen it in the pamphlet Riveria brought home, but… could he actually get it?
Her grin widened. "Now that," she said, tapping the page, "is exactly the kind of nonsense I live for."
Lucian looked up from his ledger, already wary. "You're not serious."
"Oh, I'm very serious."
Loki leaned her elbows on the counter while Lucian pulled the pamphlet closer, swiping through something on that smooth black slab of his before setting it back down. "Alright," he said, glancing at her. "So that bear—ten feet tall, imported plush, custom embroidery. Retail's twenty-five thousand. With your delivery fee, it'd come to thirty-five thousand total if you want it today."
Her eyes brightened immediately, the corners of her mouth twitching up like a cat spotting a canary. "Today? You can get that mountain of fluff delivered today?"
"If you're willing to pay for expedited handling," he replied evenly, tone as calm as if she'd asked about a bag of flour. "Otherwise, it'll show up in two days at seven sharp."
"Thirty-five thousand, huh." Loki tapped her chin. "That's barely an evening's worth of wine. Fine. You've got yourself a deal."
Finn's exhale behind her sounded like the quiet death of his patience. "You're really going to buy a stuffed animal taller than Bete?"
Loki smirked. "Bete'll love it. I'll make him guard it."
Lucian chuckled under his breath and began noting the order. While he worked, Loki flipped through the pamphlet again, idly turning the glossy pages between her fingers. Rows of items filled it—half of them things she couldn't name even with a century of mortal meddling under her belt. "Tell me something, Lucian," she said, eyes still scanning. "Is this all you have? Just what's in here?"
He shook his head, the motion easy and unhurried. "Not even close. What's listed there are the monthly features—things that sell well. I can pretty much get my hands on almost anything people might need." Then, with the faintest hint of humor tugging at his mouth, he added, "Except weapons. I don't deal in those. Pacifist at heart."
That drew a snort out of her. "A merchant with morals. What an endangered species."
Finn ignored her, stepping closer to the counter. "Do you carry ration packs? Something easy to store and carry for delving?"
Lucian nodded, scrolling again. "I can do better than rations," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as though he enjoyed the reveal. "There's a long-term meal supply from a brand called Mountain House. Comes in sealed tins—two thousand, eight hundred and fourteen servings total. Lasts for decades, light to carry once portioned, and easy to prepare. Costs more upfront, but it feeds an army."
Loki leaned sideways to peek at the screen, eyes narrowing. "And what's an M-R-E?" she asked, pronouncing each letter with careful disinterest.
"Meal-Ready-to-Eat," Lucian said. "Add hot water, wait five minutes, and you've got yourself a meal that tastes home-cooked. Or close enough to fool you when you're hungry. They're not bad, actually."
"Food that cooks itself," Loki murmured. "Mortals are getting cheeky these days."
"It's convenient," Lucian said with a shrug. "Especially when you don't have a stove or a kitchen the size of a temple."
Finn rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Two thousand meals in one shipment would cover the next expedition's supply line for weeks. That's… efficient."
Loki glanced back at him with a grin. "And no burnt stew from your lot. Imagine that."
Lucian only smiled faintly and tapped his ledger. "So. You still want the bear delivered today?"
Loki spread her hands in mock grandeur. "Please. Make it appear in the Twilight Manor courtyard. Preferably facing the gates. I want every passerby to wonder which lunatic commissioned it."
Lucian gave the faintest bow of his head. "Then congratulations. You're officially my most ridiculous customer."
Her grin widened. "Oh, darling," she said, voice sweet and wicked all at once. "You haven't even met my familia yet."
Lucian frowned at the device, tapping through a few menus before pausing. "It seems," he said, his brow creasing slightly, "I'll have to visit your manor. The system wants me to put down a delivery beacon first—something about a large-item protocol for oversized shipments."
Loki tilted her head, more delighted than confused. "Delivery beacon," she echoed, savoring the words. "You mean you have to come to my house to make the bear appear?"
"Your courtyard, preferably," he replied, a little warier now that she was smiling like that. "Apparently, anything the size of a pallet or larger needs a confirmed drop zone, or it risks… well, spawning halfway through a wall."
Finn's eyes flicked toward the ceiling, quietly praying this man wasn't going to accidentally materialize an eighty-pound plush monstrosity inside their dining hall.
Loki leaned her elbows on the counter, grin widening. "Oh, I love this. You'll come to the Twilight Manor, set your little beacon thingy, and—poof—the bear appears. Perfectly harmless."
Lucian looked unconvinced. "You say that now."
"Trust me, sweetheart," Loki said, waving him off. "If it explodes, I'll take full responsibility. Finn'll just scold me later."
"...I always do," Finn muttered under his breath.
Lucian thumbed the screen again, double-checking the order. "Alright, then. And you're adding the food supplies as well?"
"The—what was it called?" Loki tapped her chin. "Mountain something?"
"Mountain House. Emergency meal rations. Twenty-eight hundred servings."
"Oh, that's right." She turned to Finn, eyes twinkling. "You hear that? Food that doesn't rot, doesn't need a cook, and tastes good enough to trick you into thinking someone loves you."
Finn folded his arms. "If it works as advertised, it'll save us a fortune on field provisions."
Lucian scrolled down, tapping once more. "Good choice. Just… I'll have to confirm both deliveries while I'm there. Bigger shipments need direct authorization."
Loki smiled sweetly, already thinking three steps ahead. "Of course. Come by this afternoon; I'll have someone show you where to drop your 'beacon.'"
As he nodded and began finalizing the purchase, she was already plotting. If this man could deliver goods instantly—or within hours—with no middlemen, no transport fees, and no divine intervention… well. Every Familia needed suppliers, and she wasn't about to let Freya or Ganesha get their claws on him first.
Her grin lingered, all sharp edges beneath its charm. Personal supplier, she thought, already picturing it. No fuss, no questions, no limits.
Lucian looked up from his screen, puzzled by the gleam in her eyes. "Something wrong?"
"Not at all," Loki said, straightening. "You just became my new favorite mortal."
Loki couldn't help but look smug about the whole thing. Every god in Orario tried to make their Familia look larger than life — powerful, wealthy, divine. But she had managed to walk down the main road with her captain and the mysterious merchant who'd turned half the Guild upside down in a week. She might as well have been wearing a sign that said Exclusive Contract Pending.
Lucian, of course, looked entirely unfazed by the attention. When he'd asked — politely, if a touch firmly — that they handle the delivery beacon now rather than later, she'd nearly laughed in his face. Mortals didn't tell gods when they were available. But then he'd started locking up his shop without waiting for an answer, muttering something about "responsibility to existing orders," and she found herself more amused than offended.
"Bossy little thing, isn't he?" she said to Finn as they walked.
"He's organized," Finn replied, tone neutral. "And likely doesn't want to risk upsetting whatever system runs those deliveries."
"Or maybe he just doesn't want to owe me a favor," Loki said with a grin, clasping her hands behind her back as they turned into the main street. "Which means he's clever. You know how I like clever."
The streets were busier now, merchants calling, adventurers hauling bundles of gear, and common folk pausing in their routines to stare as the trio passed. Loki thrived on it. The mix of curiosity and suspicion painted across the faces around them was delicious. Whispers followed in their wake — that's the god of mischief herself… the blonde one's Finn from Loki Familia… who's the man? the merchant? the one with the divine water?
Perfect. Let them talk.
Lucian didn't so much as flinch under the attention. His hands stayed in his pockets, his stride steady, gaze fixed ahead like a man walking to an appointment rather than beside one of Orario's most notorious deities. Every so often he checked the strange black slab in his hand — that little "artifact" of his — which occasionally chimed or flashed faint light before going dark again. It seemed to obey him and only him, and Loki found that endlessly intriguing.
"So," she said, matching his pace, "this beacon thing. How's it work? You plant it in the ground and say a prayer to the great god of logistics?"
Lucian gave her a sidelong glance, faintly amused. "Not exactly. It just marks a spot so the shipments know where to go. Big items can't appear in unregistered areas, or they might end up halfway through someone's wall. Or face."
"I'd pay to see that," Loki said cheerfully. "Still, I'll make sure there's a good space for you. Big courtyard, lots of gawkers."
"Can't wait," he deadpanned.
Finn's eyes flicked toward Loki, silently asking if she'd planned this little parade just to show him off. She didn't bother hiding her smirk. Of course she had. If the merchant was going to walk into her home, she wanted every Familia in the city to know that she had him first.
By the time the Twilight Manor came into view — sprawling, red-bricked, proud and imposing against the pale morning — Loki's smile had turned downright predatory. "You know," she said casually, "I can already hear the rumors starting. The merchant who walks with gods. The man who delivers miracles. That sort of thing."
Lucian adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, eyes forward. "You make it sound like a problem."
"Oh no," Loki said, savoring every word. "It's wonderful."
Loki stood with her arms folded, watching Lucian with the self-satisfied air of someone who already knew the world was about to get more interesting.
Lucian, however, had a businesslike focus that made even Finn look relaxed. "Before we do anything else," he said, "I'll need payment upfront. Standard policy for large orders."
Loki blinked, then gave him a mock gasp. "Upfront? You think I'd stiff you, doll?"
"I think I don't want to carry a ledger argument with the Guild," he said mildly. "Seven hundred eighty-five thousand Valis, exactly."
"Ha!" Loki waved a hand toward Finn. "Go fetch it, Captain Wallet. You know where I keep the good coin."
Finn gave her a long, silent look that translated perfectly to you're pushing it before turning back toward the manor. "I'll return shortly."
As soon as he was out of earshot, Loki turned back to Lucian and leaned in, resting an elbow on his shoulder. "You know," she said lightly, "you've got options. Smart, capable human like you? I could make a spot for you in my Familia. Nothing too strenuous. Cushy hours, good pay, personal divine supervision."
"I'm flattered," Lucian said, brushing her off with the patience of a man who'd dealt with worse sales pitches. "But I'm just a merchant. I sell things. I don't swing swords or pray to anyone."
"That's a shame," she said, grinning. "I'd look very good on your résumé."
"I'll take your word for it."
Her grin sharpened. "You're the first mortal in a long time who hasn't tripped over himself trying to impress me."
"Then I'm already ahead of the curve."
She laughed—a quick, bright sound that echoed in the courtyard. By the time Finn returned with a small chest clinking full of Valis, she'd already decided she liked this one. Not as a follower, but as something more entertaining—an unpredictable mortal who somehow refused to play her game.
Finn set the chest down beside Lucian, who crouched to count through it with neat, methodical precision. He nodded once, closed the lid, and tucked the whole thing into the nondescript satchel slung over his shoulder. The bag didn't so much as sag from the weight.
Then he tapped his strange black device a few times, frowning slightly as symbols shifted across its glassy surface. "Alright," he said, "step back, please."
Loki did, still grinning. "Oh, this is going to be good."
A hum filled the air—soft at first, then rising like static before a storm. The stones beneath their feet shimmered, color bleeding from gray to pale marble as if the earth itself had been repaved in seconds. A perfect circle spread outward, two meters wide, bordered in white. At its center blazed a bold red G, crisp and clean as if stamped by divine hands.
Finn raised an eyebrow. "That's new."
Lucian barely looked up. "Beacon set." He swiped the screen again.
The air above the circle warped, light bending inward. With a sound like wind rushing through an open gate, a massive pallet materialized—wooden slats creaking under the weight of sealed tins and tidy boxes stacked to chest height. A heartbeat later, beside it, the enormous plush bear appeared with a muffled fwump, ten feet tall, brown and soft as a cloud.
The courtyard fell silent.
Loki clapped her hands together, eyes alight. "Oh, I adore you."
Finn just exhaled through his nose, resigned. "Where exactly are we supposed to put that thing?"
"Front and center," Loki said, already circling the bear like a proud new parent. "Let every poor soul in this city know Loki Familia has taste."
Lucian pocketed his device, expression somewhere between satisfaction and quiet disbelief at what he'd just done. "Your delivery's complete. Anything else?"
Loki looked back over her shoulder, still smiling. "Oh, plenty. But one miracle at a time, merchant boy. One at a time."