Roland arrived at the shop early, before the street had properly woken up, and the bell above the door rang once.
The moment he stepped inside, he knew something was off. Master Klein wasn't at the counter with an open ledger like usual. He was moving between the shelves and the back room, setting aside things he normally never touched,small crates, wrapped bundles, even a few items secured the way Roland had only ever seen with stock that wasn't meant for sale.
"Good morning," Roland said, hanging up his coat and heading toward his usual spot.
"Morning," Klein replied without looking up. He was inspecting the seal on one container, running his fingers along it like he was counting tiny cracks in the warding.
Roland got to work anyway. He opened the books, checked yesterday's entries, filled in a few missing lines,but every so often his eyes drifted back to Klein. The way the older merchant was organizing things wasn't the normal daily tidying. It was deliberate. Each item went to a specific place like he was preparing for a long absence.
Eventually Roland couldn't keep it in.
"Master Klein," he asked carefully, still writing. "Are you… getting ready to leave?"
Klein smiled faintly, as if the question was inevitable, and set the crate aside.
"Yes," he said calmly. "Not today, though."
Roland looked up.
"I thought you had more time," he said. "You mentioned it was still a while away."
"I do," Klein confirmed. "More than three weeks until the meeting itself."
He stepped closer to the counter and leaned against it for a moment, like he wanted to explain properly.
"But the trip will take me nearly two weeks," he added. "The road to the guild's headquarters isn't short, and at my age you don't travel in a hurry."
Roland nodded, understanding clicking into place.
"So… you'll leave early."
"In about a week," Klein said. "That's why I'd rather pack slowly. No rushing. No forgetting the sort of things that are hard to replace."
He glanced around the shop,at shelves and crates,like he was measuring what still needed to be prepared and what could wait.
Early afternoon was still bright, but the light coming through the windows had already dulled into that muted shade that meant the day was starting to bend. Rethan stopped outside Edgar's apartment door and knocked,short, firm, no hesitation. If he had to do this, he wanted it done before the pain and exhaustion convinced him to retreat again.
The door opened almost immediately.
"Reth, …fuck," Edgar cut himself off, because only now did he really see the state his friend was in.
Bandages wrapped Rethan's entire arm up to the shoulder,thick, already faintly stained in places. His leg was braced and bound up to the knee. And the way he stood made it obvious he was distributing his weight with the careful precision of someone who knew one wrong shift could end in a fall.
"What the hell…" Edgar stepped back and let him in. "They're screaming everywhere that the raid went smooth. That the boss dropped without trouble. What did you even do in there?"
Rethan entered slowly, shut the door behind him, and only then let out a longer breath.
"Smooth," he echoed, so tired the word sounded meaningless. "That's what they're calling it now."
He lowered himself into the chair at the table with deliberate care, like he knew the exact limits of his body. Edgar stood there a second longer, staring at the bandages like he was trying to force them to match the image he'd heard all morning in the streets.
"Alright," Edgar said finally. "Talk."
And Rethan did.
Not from the beginning of the world,just from the moment they entered the dungeon. The three mages. The rush. The refusal to hold formation. How the boss adapted. How people died one after another. How the propaganda had nothing to do with what actually happened inside. The deeper he got, the more tension returned to his shoulders and jaw.
"They didn't even look at who was dropping," he snapped at one point. "Like they were sacks of meat, not people. Then they walk out, lift their chins, and the city applauds."
"Bastards," Edgar said without hesitation.
Rethan gave a bitter snort.
"Houses, mages, all of it," he went on, anger rising again. "For them the dungeon is a stage. For everyone else it's the bill,someone has to pay it."
He cut himself off, leaned back, and closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them, the anger had ebbed, leaving only exhaustion behind.
"But I'm alive," he added more quietly. "And the injuries aren't that deep. That's what matters, I guess."
Edgar exhaled,a breath he hadn't realized he was holding,and only then did it truly land that Rethan was sitting there, breathing and talking, instead of being one of those names people said in a lowered voice.
"Good," Edgar said, genuinely. "Good you're alive. The rest… we'll survive it somehow."
He turned sharply to the cabinet against the wall, opened it, and pulled out a bottle and two small glasses, setting them on the table with the solid clink of glass on wood.
Rethan raised an eyebrow.
"Didn't you say recently we only drink in the evening?" he asked with a crooked smile.
Edgar snorted as he poured.
"Circumstances changed," he said. "When someone comes back from a dungeon looking like that, you can shove the clock up your ass."
He handed Rethan a glass.
Rethan didn't argue. He took it, lifted it slightly,not a toast, just a simple acknowledgment that he was here, and he still could be.
"Thanks," he said.
And drank.
For a moment Rethan sat in silence, turning the glass between his fingers like the motion helped him gather his thoughts. When he finally spoke again, it was quieter, steadier,without the rage that had spilled out before.
"Yesterday…" he began, then paused, searching. "Yesterday I went door to door."
Edgar didn't say a word. He sat across from him and poured them both a little more, slower this time, careful, like the sound of liquor hitting glass could cover what was about to be said.
"Six apartments," Rethan continued. "Six different doors. Six different silences before they understood why I was there."
He lifted the glass, but didn't drink.
"Some screamed. Some went quiet. One woman asked me if it hurt," he said, and the smile he gave was sharp and empty. "Like it would change anything."
Edgar nodded slowly, still silent.
"The worst part isn't what they say," Rethan added. "It's how they look at you,like you're the last thing connecting them to that person. Like you could still rewind it, fix it… and you know you can't."
He finally drank, in one motion, like the alcohol was a tool and nothing more.
"As the one in command…" He let out a heavy breath. "It always comes back to you. Even if you know you did everything you could, you still know they walked out under your orders,and didn't come back."
Edgar poured another without asking and slid it toward him.
"No normal person would want that job," Edgar said softly. "But someone has to take it."
Rethan nodded and accepted the glass, but just held it. After a moment he exhaled, and it looked like he forced his mind onto a different track,because if he didn't, he'd be stuck there for the rest of the night.
"Your father," he asked, calmer now, deliberately shifting away. "Is he planning to leave the city? I heard something, but I don't know if I caught it right."
Edgar looked up from the bottle, surprised by the change, then nodded.
"Yeah," he said. "Something with the Trade Guild. Not yet, but he's gearing up."
Rethan nodded slowly, filing it away.
He went quiet for a few seconds, like he was arranging something in his head,not a favor or a sales pitch, just a practical decision shaped by experience. Then he spoke in a level voice, no pressure in it.
"If your father wants," he said, resting an elbow carefully on the table so he didn't jostle his shoulder, "he can travel with us."
Edgar lifted his gaze.
"With you?"
"In just under a week," Rethan continued, "the Adventurers' Guild leader and a few units are heading to the main headquarters. Official business. Proper escort. The route's been checked. I'm cutting through Vethan anyway."
He paused.
"If Klein wants to, he can join. It'll be safer than hiring his own protection, paying out of pocket, and hoping no one gets ideas on the road."
Edgar nodded slowly,no enthusiasm, no resistance.
"I'll tell him," he said. "Though you know my father. If he's decided something, he'll walk against the current just because someone offered him the easy road."
Rethan smiled briefly, only one corner of his mouth.
"I know."
They sat in silence again, broken only by the quiet click of glass, until Edgar spoke, his tone shifting,more personal.
"Vethan…" he said, as if testing the thought out loud. "The temple?"
Rethan nodded without hesitation.
"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly. "An arm doesn't fix itself. Burns, deep damage. Even if the surface closes, the first real strain will tear it all apart. If I'm going to fight again, I need it set right."
He glanced at the bandages, like he only now felt their weight.
"Without the temple, there's no point pretending time will handle it."
Edgar let out a slow breath, poured them both another glass, and set it down without a word, without a comment,just the soft tap of glass on wood.
"The temple," he muttered. "So you got hit worse than you're saying."
Rethan didn't deny it.
"Like always," he said simply.
Edgar lifted his glass,not a toast, just someone trying to hold a moment still.
"Then drink," he said quietly. "Before you're on the road again."
Rethan nodded and reached for the glass, knowing this was one of those small pockets of time that never lasted long,before the world demanded movement again.