I walk into the village with pure excitement in my eyes. Practically sprinting down the road I skillfully maneuver around potholes and horse scat to find someone willing to buy the hare.

The road splits off in four directions. Wooden structures surround me as I begin feeling eyes follow me. Not the curious kind, I look left of the intersection and see three men walk across the road staring directly at me. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, Now uncomfortable I begin heading back the way I came. Until he appeared.

Barry Perkins walked towards me, he’s a friend of my father and sometimes comes over for dinner. A merchant by trade would be the person to sell anything of worth. In my joy, I ran to meet him. When I saw his face I felt a chill go down my neck again. A deep frown seemingly deepens as he sees what’s in my hand.

“Hello Mister Perkins, How’s the day go’n” I say with a forced smile.

He looked me over twice before answering, “It was go’n fine ‘nough until a thief walked up to me.” After he finished he spat on the ground as if he said the filthiest thing.

I felt my face pale and my empty hand became clammy as I realized what he was insinuating. “Uhh, I-i don’t think... I mean, think-.”

He grabs my right arm, the hare loosening in my hand as his grip tightened, and slaps me across the face. Now with a louder voice, “What I don’t think you understand is that hare is worth at least a crown, and don't make the plea that you hunted it. Even the luckiest trappers I know grab prey like that once a year, at least. But you, a Forsaken with no luck, walk up with prey that expensive, it smells of a thief.”

I feel the eyes turning to look at the commotion. Even in the evening, there are still plenty of people in the village to watch as my lip bleeds and my head loll, not knowing why this is happening on, what was supposed to be, a good day.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I imagined bringing back a crown, and him finally acknowledging that I’m not a burden. But as I see the hare slowly slip out of my hand, I hear Mister Perkins speak once more, now holding my collar.

“Al, tell me where you stole it and I’ll take you to apologize to them. Now who did you steal it from?” he spoke in almost a whisper.

My head snaps up in outrage, then with a smirk, I reply, “The Bowood forest.” not giving him the answer he wanted.

SmAACk! Is heard around the village as the second slap tosses me to the ground. Pain explodes across my cheek and ear as the swelling around my left eye begins inclosing.

“BOY! YOU KNOW WHAT THE PUNISHMENT FOR THIEVERY IS, SO TELL ME THE TRUTH!”

I barely hear his yelling as a trickle of blood leaks out of my ear. All I see through the tears is a crowd of condemning figures and a man stomping towards me in anger.

Trying to get up my hands slip from under me as I’m kicked in the stomach. The blow made me vomit the little food that was in it. Bial lazily dripped from my mouth as he began circling me like a wolf around a bonfire. Eyes full of pity, but overflowing with disgust.

“Well, you did this to yourself,” he says barely audible, then he looked towards the crowd, “Somebody, get me a knife! Boy, you do remember the punishment for thieves, don't you?”

I remember them vividly, a finger for lanterns, a hand for crowns, and two for a dragon. But he wouldn’t do that, would he? I looked up as he approached my prone form. He is holding a butcher’s knife, and his face shows not a single shred of guilt.

Startled, I began backpedaling from him when two other men grabbed my arms and held me from escaping. Now having a clear view of the crowd I can see a face, I wish I hadn’t.

My father, a man three times my size standing in the crowd, face downcast, refusing to look into my eyes. The feeling of betrayal added with the feeling of desperation made me want to vomit once more. The man who I thought was a friend of my family, began reaching for my left hand.

Suddenly, a man walks out of the crowd and steps right in front of me. He’s about six foot and grey is prominent in his hair and beard. A blue and white overcoat with a badge of swords marks him as a mercenary, a longsword in hand. Hard lines, scars, and empty eyes look down at me as I wonder what he is doing.

He faces Mister Perkins with a glare that could scare Onthran. “Barry, what are you doing to this poor child?”

Mister Perkin still, knife in hand, “he’s not a child. He’s a curse and is a bringer of rough times. At least we can properly discipline him so he is less of a pest.”

“By mutilating him, that is not discipline, that's torture.”, the old man replied, each word becoming more stoic.

Mister Perkins seems to mentally back peddle as he registers the claim, “I wasn’t go’n to use the knife, I-i was just... uhh trying to scare him into telling.” Acting like a five-year-old caught taking a second serving of dinner, red-faced, he couldn’t seem to face the mercenary.

In the few moments between the merc stepping in and now, most of the crowd dispersed with only my father, the mercenary, Mister Perkins, and the two guys holding me standing in the road.

“First,” the man looked towards my father with a sword in hand, “let's act like this never happened and let cool heads prevail. Mister Morrow, may I ask you if your son is a hunter, and do you know if this is your son's query.” With a shaky nod from my father, the merc’s face relaxed a little and sheathed the blade. “Good, with that I think this is over.” He glared hard at Mister Perkins until he realized that was his cue to leave. He backed away a few paces, the left with the remnant of the crowd.

Looking in my direction, the old man waved his hand at my captures, and they released my arms. Barely standing, I begin to slump forward. I’m then caught in the pair of arms. Thinking that it was my father, I looked up only to get an eye full of the mercenary's bearded face. In my now gaping mouth, he began to pour something out of a small glass vial. The pain on the left side of my face disappeared as the popping of my ear signals that I can hear clearly again.

In total surprise, I backed up not fully realizing what happened. The mercenary looks at my father with the same expression he gave Mister Perkins.

He then goes over to the crumpled corpse of the hare and squats to get a closer look. “Nice catch kid,” was the only thing he told me, before picking up the ruined query, tossing a small bronze square, and walking away.

My hands trembled as I picked up the crown. I stammered as I tried to say ‘Thank you,’ but the words wouldn’t come out.

Then that left my father and me, the last on the road. I looked away from the crown to see my father’s tear-stricken face as he walked past me to head back towards the cottage. That was the last time I went into the village, but that was not the last time I'd see that expression on my father.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Al awoke sore and in pain. His head exploded when he opened his eyes. The light of the window filtered through the drapes, and the noise from the streets echoed into his ears. People yelled as they announced their products, children laughed and played, and neighbors and friends spoke as they went through morning chores. The day had begun and he was lagging.

His body quivered as he rolled out of bed. The bed itself was too comfortable, unlike the hay he usually slept on, this was made with a less lumpy material. As his feet hit the floorboards, all he could think about was—Where am I?

His bag was at the foot of the bed. It still had the carcasses of the bird and the fox attached. The smell that wafted from the bag itself made his eyes water. The smell of the room contrasted the horrible stench to such an extent that it was the only thing that could be noticed. Al looked around the wood-paneled room. With dressers, chairs, wardrobes, and side tables, the room was complete. Nothing was left to the imagination, the room had everything functionally needed for a guest.

He stretched his arms and legs, they were stiff from all the running yesterday. Afterward, he went to his pack and pulled out the small flask of Soma. He uncorked it and brought it to his mouth with a practiced chug, the slightly greenish, gold liquid unwillingly went down his throat.

The headache lessened, but never completely vanished. Now he only had a simple hangover, that made him think, again. What happened last night?

Then he remembered the shots. He panicked as he reached for his money pouch, he relaxed as he felt it, still there—albeit, slightly lighter than it was the other morning. He grabbed the handful of coins and calculated the losses. The amount was staggering, for him at least. The lantern-pincher was horrified at the revelation.

A knock on the door broke him out of his thoughts, he walked to the oak door and opened it slightly. Looking through the crack, the sight of a maid greeted him. He realized where he was now.

“Hello Master Morrow, I am Jezebel, servant of the Daraling Family. May I come in?” The maid swiftly curtsied to Al still confused why his friend didn’t toss him in a hospital for the night or something like that.

“Um, yeah…” He opened the door and allowed the maid into the room. Jezebel walked in keeping her eyes from lingering in any one spot. Her nose wrinkled as she noticed the smell that had long settled in the room. As she made her way to open the window, Al beheld his own awkwardness and got the hell out of dodge. Not forgetting the bag, he left the room and entered the hallway.

It was not a long hallway, Al had found the stairs before he blinked twice. He entered the servant’s quarter. Flashes of black and white crossed his vision as he watched the butlers, servants, maids, and stable hands head to do their day-to-day jobs. Many walked on by reflex, barely looking at where they walked. So when Al walked to the servants' entrance, he was noticed by almost everybody in the large servant hall. Almost, because the poor stable boy who collided into him had not. Next thing, Al was on the floor, staring at the ceiling of the servants' hall. The boy was standing up, apologizing, and running to do an ‘important job’. Al tried to leave the scene, but a salt and pepper-haired butler walked over before Al could make his escape.

“There you are, Master Morrow, the young Master would like to see you. The reason you aren’t in your room is concerning, but I will ignore it for now. Please, follow me.” The butler turned around and headed to the main household. Al didn’t want to be rude to his friend, so he followed the older man. They exited the servant’s quarter and took a sharp left turn away from the main hall. To the back of the estate.

“So… ahh, Mr…”

“Call me Samuel, Mr. Samuel if you would.”

“Well, Mr. Samuel, why did Fraenen take me to his family's house, didn’t his parents object to my existence the last time I was here.”

“Ahh, yes, the incident, while most of the staff knows that you are present, Master Daraling and Mistress Grace do not.”

“Won’t they see me if I walk in the middle of the estate?”

“No they will not, as long as we take the service corridors and servants' entrances, they should be none the wiser. All the servants that were in spy detail have been given a day off.”

“Wait, what spy detail?”

“Now that is a story, Master Daraling is slightly more inclined to his instincts, so he does not trust others easily. The young master has the habit of, I would say, abusing this trust. So the Master hired spies and allocated them around the estates to catch any would-be escapes. The young master's ability to sneak out yesterday night was closer to a miracle rather than any skill.”

“Well, I didn’t know that.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, till they approached an intricate, silver-inlaid door. The butler opened the door and allowed Al into the room. Sitting alone with a cup of tea was Fraenen, looking exhausted from a long night without sleep. Bags under his bloodshot eyes, he was not in the best of shape. While Al took the hangover in stride, his friend was not.

“Welcome to my prison Al,” he said dripping with sarcasm, “my parents have not found you yet? Well, it's only a matter of time before they do, Samuel can only do so much.”

“If it pleases you, young master,” Samuel spoke affluently, “the master and mistress are more concerned about you at this very moment. Not that they would welcome Master Morrow with open arms, but they need to repair their damaged reputation. As you are well aware of.”

“Yes, yes Samuel, I called a few gold diggers, whores, and suddenly I’m the villain. I will not apologize. Nor am I even regretful of the whole event.” The young man took a sip of his tea, a tea made specifically for relieving hangovers.

Al stared at his friend in confusion, “wait, did this happen after or before I blacked out?”

Fraenen smiled, “before, or after, I don’t know. The tavern I was in was a few blocks away from The Prancer, the victims were a gaggle of young ‘nobles’ who wanted the wealthy merchant’s son to make a misstep. Well, I did, by insulting all of them, but that was not the mistake they wanted. Now my father is trying to clean up the mess. Future clients and all.”

He looked rather upset, behind the smile was not an apologetic expression. But one of stubborn, righteous anger. The wrath that he felt was still fresh and Fraenen did not forgive lightly.

Al was flabbergasted, this was not like his level-headed friend at all. His friend was kind to even the lowliest of beggars, criminals also. The confusion on his face must have shown because his friend's smile became somber.

“Al, I’m sorry for leaving you yesterday night. I should have told them to shove off—I—I.” Fraenen began to stutter, tears welling up in his eyes as he stared deeply into his teacup. The young man was as confused as Al.

“You’re fine, it wasn’t like you were there to babysit me. I’m sixteen, practically an adult. Please don’t blame yourself for my stupid decisions.” Al made an effort to comfort Fraenen but failed because he had not completely understood why his friend was distressed.

“But I left you alone for three hours and you got so drunk that you were in a coma. It was my fault.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it is not!”

“Yes, it is!

Both sat in general disagreement when they stopped yelling at each other. Neither wanted the other to take the blame. They both were mules, unable to be forced against their wills. With the silence, the butler spoke up finally.

“If I’m not needed any longer, I will observe the preparation of lunch, and return when it is ready.” With that, he left and closed the door behind him. The two young men realized that they had completely forgotten that Samuel was still in the room.

——

In the pursuing hour, Fraenen and Al spoke of little consequence. The knock eventually came. Samuel stepped in with a cart of steaming dishes, which just came out of the kitchen. A plate of steamed potatoes, sautéed zucchini over rice, fresh bread, and a slow-roasted slab of beef. To Al, this was a feast on which he’d be lucky to afford in a year. To Fraenen this was a regular Tuesday.

The butler was setting dishes and silverware as Al salivated. To the vast majority of the city, the food was still within the reasonable budgets of their coin purses. Thus, when Samuel saw the young man turn into more beast than man, he was startled at the unnatural change in overall appearance. It was not an actual transformation, but a psychological one. Al was not used to such extravagance.

They ate the food as the scent of spices filled the room. Etiquette was the last thing on his mind as Al ripped into the beef with negligible use of the serving fork. If any high-class persons were to see this, they would have been completely appalled. Samuel was at least.

Fraenen, who was trained in polite society, was just happy that his friend ate something other than hardtack and alchemist bars. It was a rare occasion, the miserly boy had the ropes of his coin purse tied tightly. Money was a problem many times for Alvin, but he never asked for money nor accepted any help. Fraenen looked over his friend once again, even though there was a two-year age difference, Al was the same height as him.

Alchemist Bars. Fraenen deduced that the reason his friend had not died of malnutrition was the mysterious cakes of questionable origins. The randomly colored ‘food’ was not the tastiest, well, the vomit afterward was more enjoyable than the bar. Not knowing what was in it makes most people afraid to even touch the things. But Al ate them and it staved off malnourishment, though the rumors of what was in them were less than appetizing.

Fraenen chewed on a bit of the beef, it melted in his mouth, the vegetables were soft and buttery, and the tea was delicious as well. He enjoyed this moment of peace, for such an occasion would be rare in the future.

As lunch went on, the food disappeared. Only the dishes and the utensils were left in their wake. The two young men sat there in silence, enjoying one another’s fleeting company.

——

Al left the Daraling estate after lunch. Saying a stiff ‘see ya’ to his friend as he exited stage right. The sun beat down as he crossed the servants' entrance to the wealthy part of the city. Mansions upon mansions littered the streets, almost no room for decadent gardens, they instead had marble statues lining the road. Many cost his yearly income three times over. He headed towards the merchant district.

The merchant district was a weird mixture of a craftsman district and loud, unbearable yelling. Merchants and shops populated the district, craftsmen showed off their products, and even more hawkers screamed for attention. The smell of food wafted with the scent of fresh leather— and spices, herbs, and salt were being sold for high prices. Bakers addressed crowds as men and women bought bread and pastries. Shops flooded and emptied as their merchandise was purchased. In no small part, it was anarchy with the outline of order.

Al walked with the crowd, his curse minimized today, people walked next to him without strange effects. The crowd thinned as he approached his destination. The high-end bakery greeted him, Catherine’s Bread and Pastries, not a place people dressed like him entered casually. But in all his non-existent glory, he walked in like he owned the place.

As he stepped through the door, a wave of cool air submerged him. The hot muggy spring was an afterthought. The building had tables full of bread and sweet pastries. In the right corner of the room stood a cold fire, white flame flickering and slowly consuming alchemical fuel. It felt refreshing, but only paying customers were allowed to stay. He walked to the counter that looked over the entire room.

A girl sat on a stool behind the counter, reading a small leather-bound book. Red hair tied with string, a white apron, and a short-sleeved shirt. She was muttering something under her breath as she looked up and saw Al walking towards the counter. After a moment of disappointment, she began reading her book again.

“Alvin, I don’t want to deal with you today.” She said in a monotone voice and without looking up.

“Come on, Cathy! I just need adventurers' biscuits, I have the money to pay for it.” Al whined in a higher-pitched voice than usual. She glared at her book, still ignoring his very existence.

“So what? Those things cost a Lantern a dozen. We get half a crown for a single loaf of bread, what I want to ask is why should I sell you anything?” She finally slammed the book shut, and stood to stare him down. Her green eyes seemed to pierce his soul as she squinted.

“But isn’t your father here? He would be willing to sell me some.” Al looked around the shop, the man was nowhere in sight.

“Ha, dad went to buy ingredients, he won’t come back for... another hour. So if you want the shameful bread then you’ll have to wait or go to another shop.” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. When he did not exit the building. She huffed, sat back down, opened her book, and went back to ignoring Al.

As he stood he began listing everywhere he’d needed to go. He needed to visit the Alchemist, Albane Hemsworth. His wares were on the more... pricey side, so it would be expensive, two watered-down Soma potions, five alchemist bars, and some ground lavender. After that, he needed to sell the fox to a Fur Trader and the bird to a Boyer. Then visit his other friend in the city. The butcher wouldn’t want anything to do with the carcasses now that they started to smell. The scent of rot almost caught Cathy’s attention before he walked a few steps away from her.

Once he finished, his head was pounding. He waited for another ten or so minutes before Cathy looked up again.

“Do you really need those biscuits that badly?” She looked up at Al without her former antagonism. Al simply nodded his head.

With a sigh, she stood and went into the back of the bakery. After a few minutes of silence and two or three ominous clangs, she came back into the main room. Looking a little peeved.

“Your bread will be ready in a moment.” She sat back down on the stool and picked up the book. This was the first time Al noticed the title of the book, Somatic Theory, and Souls. This confused Al greatly, Why would a baker be reading about how to become a Magus.

The confusion must have shown on his face because when she next looked up she glared at him. But instead of speaking to him. She went into the bakery and came back with two bags of adventurer biscuits.

“Four lanterns.” She grabbed the coins out of his hand, then shooed the boy. Even though they were around the same age. She acted like she was older than him. As he picked the bundles, he realized the amount he paid for was a lot less than the amount in the bags. He looked back as he crossed the threshold of the door and saw the girl who only wanted to be left alone.

——

The crowd had increased in size as he stepped out of the shop. Which was weird, people came to the markets in the mornings and late afternoons. Which meant that something special was in the city today.

“Foreign Traders.”

As Al heard the whisper that was the cause of the ruckus. A tan man with colorful and puffy clothes stood on top of his wagon. He looked no older than twenty-five. His eyes gleamed as he seized the attention of every soul in the street. He spread his arms out wide and began the announcement.

“Hello the good people of Fenrir, I am Draman, a lowly wandering trader.” he then smiled as if he had said something funny, when nobody laughed he continued. “I have traveled from the deserts of Takan to the Shattered Serfdoms, from there I traversed the horrors of the Abyssal mountains and met the Uukaken tribes in the Jungles of Banra. Passing through the forest of both monster and man, I found the Bridge of Valana and made my way to the Halls of the Androthi… ”

There was many a gasp as he spoke, the men, women, girls, and boys all looked at the man with awe, for none had traveled farther than a hundred miles outside the city. Al looked at the man and saw not a trader…

But a conman.

A man walked to his side, not even noticing Al. Speaking what the whole crowd was thinking.

“I wish I could go on such an adventure.” Al looked at the man in pity.

“I bet he wishes also,” Al spoke to no one in particular. Yet it jostled the man out of his trance and he turned to Al.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s lying, the Abyssal Mountains aren’t near the Shattered Serfdoms, but the City-States. And the travel time itself would have taken years, he looks no older than a farmhand.” Al said all this not to the man, but to himself. “He has no visible scars from his stories, and lastly, the things he is selling look like all Takan make.”

“But he’s from Takan.” the man spoke astonished.

“Yes, but he should have other baubles from far-off places. Instead, he is selling these. Nick-nacks. for triple the price.” Al had no interest in buying the junk, the people around him though had been taken in by the man. Then Al realized why he was the only one not to be tricked.

Soma.

This was a theft in broad daylight, Al walked through the crowd. Bumping into people as he made his way to the Alchemist Laboratory. Each individual he walked in front of emotions changed as he passed. By the time he was out of the crowd the yelling had begun, and the guards had been called.

----

The broken-down building billowed smoke, Al looked upon the ‘laboratory’ of the Alchemist Hemsworth. The ‘lab’ was on its last legs, walls were rotted, the roof was in shambles, a ghastly smell—between garlic and burned hair—could be easily noticed, and whiffs of smoke were coming out of the broken windows. It was not large, but it wasn’t small either. The derelict lab would probably fall apart once the Alchemist left.

Al walked by the unhinged door, which had been ripped off from what appears to be an explosion. He did not try to knock, instead, he walking into the near-collapsed building. The smog inside made him choke as he breathed it in.

A series of yells caught his attention, a smash of shattered glass followed. Al stepped lightly towards the noise. As he rounded the corner, Al caught sight of the man he was looking for who stood with his back facing Alvin.

Not a tall man, he stood to Al’s shoulders, disheveled white and brown hair in long locks down his back. The Alchemist turned around and Al caught a full view of the man's face. Burned and scarred from many experiments and years of exposure to the elements. He was probably good-looking in his youth, but the path of an Alchemist was not one in which beauty survives. The man was already annoyed at the boy's presence.

“Why are you here, Tarry?”

“It’s Alvin.”

The Alchemist gave an amused glance at Alvin, “nice try Tarry I’m not falling for that again. No, no, no.” Waving his finger, he concentrated back on his work. “Again what do you want?”

Al sighed and decided that the alchemist would never remember his name. “I want… three lantern-weight of lavender, five bars, and a couple of Soma poti—ahhh,” Al screamed as objects flew at him. A small bag smacked the boy right in the face, while two flasks followed in its wake. He fell backward as he tried to catch the flasks. The liquid soma jiggled as the potion moved through the air. Al caught one, but the other missed his hand by an inch pushed away like an invisible hand had snatched it in mid-air. He closed his eyes waiting for the glass to break.

He waited, yet no sound came; only laughter.

“Hehe, I got you! Shatterproof glass, hehehe!”, the Alchemist was giggling while still looking down at what he was working on.

Al was not amused, he picked up the flask and shoved it down into his pack. The Alchemist still giggled. With a frown, Al took out each bar looking at the missed colored ‘food.’ It did not look like something edible, he’d been eating them for years, still. He had no idea what effect it had on his body. The things were the only nutritional food he ate, often because they were cheap.

“Leave the coins and the empty flasks on that table over there,” he pointed at a table that would fall apart any second. He shakes his head, “hehehe, gets you every time.”

Al started to count the coins, it would have been a lie if he wasn’t tempted to short the man. But he paid the proper amount for them anyway. He started walking away when he heard.

“Thanks for the business, Tarry!” In a joyful laugh.

Alchemists are $#%@ing crazy!

——

The sun was still in the sky as he made his way to the Fur Trader. It took no time finding both the Boyer and the Furtrader. The Furtrader bought the fox for a nice crown, the merchant had a habit of haggling for Al’s queries. Today, though, the merchant went higher than expected. The Boyer, though, paid two lanterns and wouldn’t budge. So Al sold the small bird for two lanterns.

By the time he was done, the setting sun painted the sky with vibrant purples and reds. The buildings’ shadows lengthened, the diurnal shops started to pack up, and the bars, pubs, inns, and other such places opened for business in full. Though tonight would not be like yesterday, Al wanted to have a quiet night. He headed to the outskirts of the district to where the blacksmiths live.

The mostly wooden and brick buildings turned to stone and lime. There was a light haze in the streets and the temperature went up a degree or two. The sound of hammers and metal echoed off the walls. The clangs would stop in less than an hour per the sound curfew. This law was created when the first Geofraxi came to the city for two reasons. First, the Fraxi don’t sleep, so they would regularly work overnight. Which made their neighbors angry, leading to complaints, then the law. Second, to allow for domestic blacksmiths to have a chance at competition. The Fraxi had double, sometimes triple, the output of a normal human blacksmith, this law allows the human blacksmith the same amount of time as their competitors.

Al walked a little bit further until he came upon a building that looked like any other. It had stone walls with a tile roof, multiple windows, and a small outcropping of plants on the left side. On the right side, there was a glowing forge within an open shed. Clangs rang out as he approached a man working at the anvil. He was finishing with what was shaped like a horseshoe. As he moved the metal, it lost its heat and was placed back into the forge, not with any tools, but with the smith's bare hands.

The metallic hair was a dead giveaway that this was a Fraxi, not a human. Al knocked on a column, the earthen man still did not notice.

“Hey Cred.” The smithy whipped around and went into a battle stance. Then he realized that it was just Al. He glared at Al as the young man began laughing.

“For Androthi sakes, man, couldn’t you be a little more subtle than that, every time you do that it causes me to erode myself!” The man was only a little infuriated at the sudden appearance of the boy.

“Ha, Sorry, it's rare to catch your kind off guard.” He said, still laughing.

“Not to you, you do it every time you come here!” The smith was breathing hard even though he didn’t have to. The man was a perfect representation of a blacksmith, with bulging muscles, a trimmed beard, and short-cropped hair. His brown, glass-like skin—literal—sapphire eyes, and grey-green hair pointed to his race. The mountain race. The fountains of Soma. The Geofraxi.

The man quickly grabbed the hot horseshoe and hammered it three more times before dunking it in a nearby vat of water. He then looked it over and tossed it in a pile of metal. Brushing off his hands, he then turned back around and pointed at a stool.

“You can sit down if ya want, why are you here. Get me any scrap.” The Fraxi spoke inquisitively on what the young man was here for.

“Don’t have any right now. I just wanted to check in, make sure you hadn’t forgotten me.” Al did a few scrap runs in old battlefields. A dangerous but lucrative job, if you got lucky. Sadly the only thing he brought back were arrowheads. Nothing of real value.

“I wouldn’t forget you, my wee lad, I mean how many Fraxi can say that they met a Somaless. Or even were friends with one.” Al was still surprised by the Fraxi’s weird curiosity of the Forsaken Ones. They don’t hate them, just the complete opposite actually, the Geofraxi thought that the Somaless were awesome and weird. It probably sprouts from the Fraxi inability to have children that didn’t have some Soma production ability.

“Aghhh, well at least some people don’t hate me for being born. Well, any fun projects recently?”

“No, a few horseshoes and hoes. One guy came in and toyed with the idea of commissioning a sword, well that went to the dump when I told him the price of it.” Cred looked sad about the lost opportunity. He had a few showpieces, a spear, a curved blade, and a tower shield. All were mundane, but anyone with a trained eye would be able to see the craftsmanship.

“Yeah, that guy missed out.” Al didn’t know what to say, lost opportunities are lost opportunities. Nothing you can do about it.

“Enough with me, what about you? Have you finally found a girlfriend, and you need to ask a real man for advice.” He smiled smugly.

“Umm, I was kicked off the farm,” Al spoke with some hesitation. Not rising to the challenge.

“Oh, I’m sorry lad.” He was genuine. The man knew how it felt to be an outcast. “I just remembered, I have a gift for you” He stood and went over to the right of the forge, and lifted a thick book. A book that he was curious about because no such thing existed in a library. A history of the Androthi. An exotic thing, pure white leather with pitch-black lettering, the cover was engraved with vines. The lettering was illegible from years of wear. Al did not care about how much the tome cost, he didn’t even know how the Fraxi found something like this.

The smith handed the book to Al, “a birthday gift you might think of it as. I got lucky and found it with an idiot merchant who had no idea what he had, bought it cheap.” He fiddled with the cover, then handed it to the boy.

Al looked it over once, then twice, and then a third time. Finally, he opened the book. The book was truly old, the words were practically gibberish to him. Some had too many vowels while some had misplaced consonance. He had read hundreds of books, even some older ones, but this was ancient. Each page was yellowed, not yellowed enough. Which was weird, it had to be hundreds of years old. That was when he noticed the Androthi runes underneath the leather cover. He dropped the book.

He gingerly picked it back up and brushed off the now dirty cover. All this happened while Cred smiled like a certain Alchemist. Then Al lost the words to speak, he held a gift fit for a lord. Something so coveted as the original stories of the Androthi. Al’s hands were shaking.

This-this was a good day.