"First, food and supplies," he thought, observing the shop signs around him. A group of children ran past, nearly bumping into him as they chased a rolling hoop.
Their laughter faded amidst the sound of negotiations, hurried footsteps, and creaking cart wheels. The familiar chaos of urban life seemed both strange and comforting after so much time in confinement.
The market district stretched ahead like a labyrinth of narrow alleys and wider avenues. His keen eyes identified the symbols of different merchant guilds: the crossed hammers of the armorers, the twisted flask of the alchemists, the interlaced needle of the tailors. Each storefront competed for attention with colorful awnings and elaborate displays.
His fingers touched a few coins in his pocket. The resources left by Kaelus would need to last until the completion of the guild mission.
The crowd parted for a moment, revealing a worn sign depicting adventurer's gear. He adjusted his course, already mentally cataloging what he would need.
Inside the shop, the heavy air mixed leather, metal, and polish. Shelves covered the walls, filled with travel equipment, from sturdy boots to well-used backpacks.
— Welcome to Garrett's Gear — said a stout man, appearing from behind the counter, his calloused hands on display. — Looking for something specific?
— Basic travel equipment — he replied.
The shopkeeper nodded, pulling items from different shelves.
— Guild mission? — he gestured with his head toward the silver insignia pinned to the collar.
— A recovery mission. Nothing too complex.
The bell tinkled as the door opened again. A woman draped in black silk glided through the shop, her blonde hair catching the low light like forbidden gold. Her perfume cut through the air, tearing through the earthy scent of old gear.
For a brief moment, far too calculated to be casual, her eyes lingered on his white hair before turning toward the display of enchanted compasses.
Even in a city this size, the hair draws attention, he thought, relieved that no one seemed to recognize the familiar features behind it.
The shopkeeper grunted softly and began laying the items out on the counter.
A robust canteen caught his eye first—well-treated leather, firm stitching. He gauged the weight, satisfied with the finish.
— Genuine deer leather — the merchant said, puffing out his chest. — Won't leak even after months on the road.
The canteen joined the pile, followed by dried meat wrapped in waxed paper, hard cheese, and travel bread. Then came a small pot, simple utensils, flint, and steel.
The woman approached discreetly, her attention divided between the objects and his reflection in the polished metal of a compass.
— Need anything more specialized? — the shopkeeper pointed to shelves with uncommon items: enchanted torches, compasses that pointed toward magical sources, water-purifying crystals.
Aslam's eyes widened slightly as he observed the objects. That said a lot about human progress during his absence.
Packaged magic, he thought, picking up one of the self-illuminating torches. They learned to store mana in objects in a stable way.
The craftsmanship was sophisticated. Precise amounts of mana, bound by meticulous enchantments.
— Our latest model — the shopkeeper explained. — Three brightness levels. Lasts an entire year.
He twirled the torch between his fingers, feeling the controlled flow of energy. Less raw power, but impressive efficiency.
— The Artificers' Guild provides most of these items — the woman commented, with studied naturalness.
She took the torch from his hands, her rings glinting in the dim light, each carrying magical signatures that made his senses react.
— These commercial products are hardly worth the Eldros they charge — she said, spinning the object delicately. — My family's artifacts last for decades, not mere years.
Decades?
The idea was astounding. In his time, enchantments required regular mana infusions. Sustaining them for so long without maintenance seemed unthinkable.
She noticed the genuine fascination.
— Cassandra, of House Blackthorn — she introduced herself with a slight nod. — Our techniques have been refined over generations.
The complex layers of enchantment on her jewelry were evident.
— Perhaps you'd like to see what a true magical artifact is — she suggested, with discreet pride. — Our products make these look like toys.
He evaluated her carefully.
Long blonde hair, sharp golden eyes, elegant posture. There was wealth there, but also practicality: reinforced sleeves, functional cut. The rings were not ornaments; each had a subtle pulse of mana with different patterns.
— Your house's work must be fascinating — he replied, keeping his voice neutral despite his growing curiosity.
Her smile warmed slightly, though her gaze remained calculated.
He recognized that look. He had seen it countless times in people who sought to mold others' talents for their own benefit. Still, the technological advancement of that simple torch stayed in his mind.
If common items can do this…
— I would be honored — he replied, after a moment.
She pulled an ornate card from her sleeve. The paper was enchanted, the ink shimmering faintly.
— Our atelier is in the Noble District, past the silver fountains. — Her fingers touched his as she handed over the card. — Tomorrow afternoon. Do not disappoint me.
The shop door rang as she left, leaving behind the perfume and the sensation of carefully contained energy.
The man leaned his forearms on the rustic wooden counter and cast a critical look at the youth's robes.
— So… how many days on the road? — he asked, his voice husky like someone who had seen many depart.
— Three. Maybe four — the traveler replied. — Depends on what crosses my path.
The shopkeeper let out a dry laugh and pointed with his chin at the young man's chest.
— With that red tunic and those white clothes? — The tone was pure warning. — You look like a living flare in the middle of the woods. The white will turn to mud at the first monster track you find, and the red is an invitation for thieves and looters to slit your throat from ten paces away. If you want to make it to the end of the week, you need discretion.
He turned and pulled a set of simple, functional clothes from a shelf: a thick linen tunic in an earth-brown tone and reinforced leather trousers. He tossed them onto the counter along with a small, sturdy waxed canvas backpack.
— This here camouflages in the shadows and holds up if you need to roll on the ground to escape some beast or a poorly cast spell — the man continued, placing a piece of dried meat, hard cheese, a flint, and a canteen inside the bag. — Less bulk, more life.
The youth analyzed the pieces. They were sober and smelled of resin. He put the dark tunic over his red one just to check the size and began organizing the new items in the backpack.
— How much for the whole set? — he questioned, feeling the practical weight of the gear.
The shopkeeper tapped his fingers on the counter, calculating the value of the provisions and the survival clothing.
— The clothes, the backpack, and the rations... it all comes to eighteen Eldoras. It's a fair price not to be an easy target in the forest.
The traveler reached into his pocket and pulled out his coins. The metal with the Eldora stamp glined under the lamp light. He counted them one by one onto the wood, the metallic sound hitting in rhythm: ten, fifteen... eighteen.
As he closed his hand, he felt the weight of what remained. A quick glance confirmed he still possessed exactly seven Eldoras for any emergency.
— Eighteen — he confirmed, pushing the amount toward the merchant.
The man collected the payment with an agile movement and tucked it into the drawer.
— The Blackthorns make good products — the shopkeeper admitted, finishing the adjustment on the last buckle of the customer's backpack. — But the price matches the pride... and the guarantee that you won't die just because you chose the wrong color to travel in.
He tucked the package under his arm, feeling the weight of the card in his pocket. That was an opportunity… and a risk.
— What else can you tell me about the Blackthorns?
The man lowered his voice.
— Old house. Made their fortune during a pre-unification war. They say they found ancient artifacts.
— The patriarch, Lord Edmund, hasn't appeared in public for months. Works obsessed with something new.
— And Cassandra… — he hesitated. — Inherited her father's talent and her mother's ambition.
The tone grew graver.
— She always approaches promising youths. Mages, warriors, even just handsome young men. Some become apprentices. Others simply disappear.
His fingers touched the card again, feeling the subtle enchantments.
— Three young mages in the last year — the shopkeeper continued. — Guild members. After the Blackthorn atelier, they vanished.
A new customer entered. The man composed his expression but cast one last serious look.
— Careful with her. Curiosity usually hides darker things.
He nodded. Then the seller gestured to an isolated part of the shop where he could change clothes.
Aslam dressed in the new clothes for the mission.
— Thank you. For the supplies… and for the warning.
As he left, he paused for a moment. The mission in Tirath required departure at dawn, which complicated the scheduled meeting.
The market was even more crowded. Suddenly, the voice of a herald echoed, amplified by magic.
— Attention, citizens! By decree of the Council and the Guild of Eldria, the Arcane Championship will begin in seven days!
Conversations ceased.
— Noble houses from all kingdoms will participate! The winning family will receive the title of Baron of Magic and a seat on the Royal Council!
Excitement spread rapidly.
— All races are welcome! Humans, elves, dwarves, and more! May magic unite us in honorable competition!
Elves from the Celestian Court stopped their shopping, attentive.
— Each house may present up to three champions! Registrations begin tomorrow at the Guild!
He noticed the audience's familiarity. This was not news. It was tradition.
Fragments of conversation arose around him—nobles calculating prestige, merchants predicting profits.
The world kept turning. And something big was about to begin.