The morning was ordinary,quiet in that way where the shop woke up slower than the city. Dust and wood and stored goods hung in the air, mixing with the cool draft slipping through the half-open door as Klein pulled on his coat and checked, one last time, that he had everything. He knew perfectly well the list was already finished. Still, his hands went through the motions.
"Don't forget the stock," he said, adjusting a cuff as he looked at Edgar with an expression Roland had seen many times,a blend of concern and a stubborn refusal to show it too openly. "And don't get pulled into long chats with customers. The shop runs as normal."
"I know," Edgar replied, leaning on the counter. "I've run it with you for years. Nothing's going to collapse in a month."
"You said the same thing the first time I left," Klein muttered. "And then I had to listen to how you offended three merchants in a single day."
"Because they were idiots," Edgar shot back, then sighed when he caught his father's look. "Fine. I've got it. Stock, customers, paperwork. Nothing's going to happen."
Klein nodded as if he accepted that, even though it was obvious it didn't actually reassure him. He walked a few steps, then stopped in front of Roland.
For a moment he studied him in silence. Then he lifted a hand and ruffled Roland's hair,so naturally, like he'd always done it.
"Keep an eye on him for me," he said evenly. "Make sure he doesn't pick fights with noble houses, doesn't slack off, and doesn't insult customers,even if they deserve it."
Roland nodded solemnly.
"I'll do my best," he said honestly.
Edgar snorted under his breath, shaking his head with a smile.
"See? Even he knows you're overdoing it."
Klein looked at his son again, like he wanted to memorize the sight. Then he headed for the door.
"Watch yourself," Edgar called after him, quieter now.
Klein didn't turn around. He only lifted a hand in a gesture that might've been a farewell, and stepped out. The bell above the door rang once, then the shop settled back into silence.
Edgar stared at the closed door for a beat, let out a heavy breath, and turned to Roland.
"Alright," he said, sliding back into place. "Back to work."
As if to confirm it, the bell rang again with the first customer of the day, and Edgar immediately slipped into the familiar tone.
"How can I help you?"
***
The evening had turned cooler by the time Roland headed home through narrow streets. The city moved with that muted rhythm that always came a few days after something big,the first wave of emotion gone, but the words still circulating out of habit, not need.
In one of the squares he passed two Halven heralds. Their voices were already hoarse, their gestures less energetic than before, but the message was the same: the great victory of young mages, a Beast-rank boss defeated in a single raid, the city safe, the strength of the house that watched over it. Roland listened with half an ear. Those phrases had lost their weight for him, fading into the background noise of the city.
When he reached his home, he reached for the latch, expecting the usual quiet of evening,then stopped.
Laughter and conversation spilled out from inside. Bright, lively, louder than normal,like someone was celebrating more than just the end of the day.
He opened the door and froze on the threshold, eyes widening.
At the kitchen table sat not only his parents, but three others as well: two adults around his mother and father's age, and a girl only a little older than him. He recognized her from years ago, from visits back when he'd been noticeably shorter and thinner.
"Good evening," he said automatically, then smiled more fully. "It's been a long time."
"Roland?" The woman rose almost at once. "Look at him,he's grown!"
"Last time he barely reached my shoulder," the man added, amused. "And now? Almost grown."
"Almost?" The woman waved a hand. "He looks like a young man. The girls must be turning their heads for you already."
Roland felt his ears go hot. Instead of finding a sensible reply, he scratched the back of his head and gave an awkward smile.
"Thanks," he mumbled, not quite sure what else to say.
His gaze drifted to the table,set far more generously than usual, with meat, bread, and a few dishes they didn't eat on ordinary days. For a second, his mind automatically calculated what it must've cost,then he caught himself. Tonight wasn't for counting coins.
"Well, don't stand in the doorway," his mother said, pointing to an empty seat. "Sit. Before everything goes cold."
Roland obeyed, circling the table and taking the seat beside the girl. She gave him a brief smile. He returned it, still a little intimidated,because somehow an ordinary walk home had turned into something he hadn't expected at all.
The girl beside him didn't match the image he'd kept from years ago. Back then she'd been thin and a little shy. Now there was something about her that drew your eyes even when she wasn't trying. Pale skin. Dark hair falling loosely to her shoulders. Eyes sharper than her calm expression suggested. And when she smiled, she did it without excess, like someone not used to being the center of attention.
"So you work at Klein's shop now?" one of the adults asked, leaning slightly toward him.
"Yes," Roland replied, straightening on instinct. "I help with the ledgers and the stock. I'm learning trade, too."
"You were always quick," the woman said with approval. "But writing? Reading? Really?"
The girl beside him looked at him with widened eyes.
"You can read?" she asked, genuinely surprised, without a trace of mockery. "Like… properly?"
Roland nodded and glanced at her for only a moment before looking back at her parents as the conversation continued.
"I'm learning," he added. "Mr. Klein decided I won't get far without it."
"And he was right," the man muttered. "These days it's rare,especially in families like ours."
The girl smiled to herself, like that answer impressed her more than she wanted to show.
"And outside of work?" her mother asked. "Do you have time for anything, or does the shop take everything?"
Roland gave a small shrug.
"Depends on the day. Sometimes I help in the storeroom, sometimes I'm home earlier. Nothing special."
"Nothing special," the woman repeated with a laugh, like that was ridiculous. "As if that's nothing."
The conversation drifted to other things,until his father cleared his throat and gave him a pointed look.
"If you want," he said, "you can show Elin around the city. She hasn't been here in a long time."
Roland frowned on instinct. A nighttime walk didn't sound appealing,most shops were closed, the streets quiet and empty. But when he glanced at the girl, he caught something in her eyes, somewhere between curiosity and hope.
"I'd like that," she said softly, then gave a small nod.
Roland hesitated, then looked to his parents.
"Alright," he said. "We can take a walk. I'll show you the city."
***
They left the house when the city had settled into evening quiet. Sparse lanterns lit the narrow lanes of the trade district, throwing long shadows across the stones underfoot. Roland knew these routes by heart, but he walked slower than usual, matching Elin's pace,like the walk itself mattered more than the destination.
"Over there," he said, gesturing as they passed a narrow street, "is the warehouse where I work sometimes when the shop gets cramped. Once a shelf of tool cores collapsed because someone misjudged the weight."
"Seriously?" Elin asked, amused. "What happened?"
"Nothing too bad," he said quickly. "Low-grade stuff, thankfully. But we cleaned it up for two days. Mr. Klein kept saying math matters more than magic."
Elin smiled, watching him closely. Roland's eyes dropped to the street without meaning to, because suddenly his face felt strangely warm.
"You talk about him a lot," she observed. "He must matter to you."
"He does," Roland admitted. "He taught me more than numbers." After a beat he pointed toward a small square. "And there,once an old woman came in trying to sell a 'beast fragment' from a dungeon. Turned out it was just a rock."
"And what did you do?" Elin asked quietly.
"I gave it back and told her not to trust everyone who promises something," he said, shrugging. "She was… a little disappointed."
Elin nodded, listening like each small story mattered. Roland kept going,talking about shops that vanished and reappeared in the same spots, customers who haggled out of habit more than need, and how the city at night felt calmer… truer.
"I like how you talk about it," Elin said at one point. "Like you're really here."
Roland coughed lightly and pretended to adjust his bag strap, because he didn't know how to answer that.
"It's… just my job," he muttered.
They walked on. Elin asked questions now and then,whether trade was really as hard as people claimed, whether dungeons were truly that dangerous, whether Roland wasn't afraid to handle things that came from places he'd never step into himself. He answered patiently, sometimes too long, sometimes too detailed, because he could tell she was actually listening.
He avoided her gaze, focusing on the road, the walls, the signs,because every time he looked at her, he had the uneasy feeling her presence distracted him more than he wanted to admit. So he kept talking, like words were safer than the silence between them.
When they turned toward the western district, where lanterns grew sparse and the streets narrowed into tighter, twisting lanes, Roland was about to explain that he usually took this route to work,
,but before he could say a word, three figures stepped out from the shadow beside one of the stone buildings.
They leaned casually against the wall, like they'd been waiting there for a while. Their eyes landed on Roland first,flat, assessing. Then, almost at the same time, they shifted to Elin and lingered too long, with that unpleasant attention you couldn't mistake for coincidence.
One of them smiled crookedly and spoke in a low, drawn-out voice.
"Well, well… look what we've got here."