The Shopkeeper's Tale

A few days slipped by since Neil departed for The Veil. Life in the shop settled into its usual rhythm: Cliff opened at dawn, tended to his customers, and closed by sundown. Evenings found him at The Mountain’s Hearth, often dining in silence. Sometimes he’d exchange words with regulars or passing adventurers. Fowler occasionally sparked a conversation, but other nights he’d leave Cliff to his thoughts. Mila would occasionally offer a brief comment before vanishing back into the kitchen. More often than not, Cliff ate alone.

Then one morning, a letter arrived. Cliff’s stomach knotted at the sight, half-expecting it to be from his family or, worse, the university checking up on him. But when he saw the plain, unmarked envelope, he relaxed. Inside, the handwriting was rough and unrefined. To his surprise, the letter came from Boor, the blacksmith. Cliff couldn’t help but smile as he read the brief note of thanks. He hadn’t expected Boor to bother with something so personal. The thought crept into his mind that this could be the start of a partnership.

In this empire, shopkeepers often formed alliances with other trades—alchemists, blacksmiths, enchanters. If an alchemist discovered a new potion or remedy, a merchant would sponsor them, helping distribute their product across the land. Cliff sighed, feeling the weight of inevitability settle on him. No matter how much he wanted to keep his shop small and simple, partnerships were part of the business. Without them, his family and the university would never get off his back. He folded the letter and tucked it away in his desk, a heavy decision forming in the back of his mind.

___

The morning sun poured through the shop’s windows, casting a warm glow over rows of glimmering potions and armor plates. The air buzzed with life—adventurers trading tales of perilous journeys, novice mercenaries bickering over enchanted arrows, and townsfolk marveling at some frostbane armor plates Cliff had recently added to his shelves.

"Cliff!" A voice rang out from the crowd. Eris, a seasoned archer known for her impeccable aim and sharper wit, made her way to the counter. In her hand, she twirled an enchanted arrow, its icy tip glinting in the sunlight. "Didn’t expect a small shop like yours to carry gear like this. Gotta say, thought it was a scam at first, but I can feel the magic humming."

Cliff grinned, a flicker of pride crossing his face. "Boor’s forge. Only the best."

Eris inspected the price and let out a low whistle. "Yep, definitely from him." With a smirk, she tossed a full silver tab onto the counter and slipped the arrow into her quiver.

Business picked up quickly after that, the shop filling with a steady stream of customers. Coins clinked against armor, weapons were tested and traded, and the rhythmic hum of commerce carried on through the afternoon. Cliff barely paused for breath as he wrapped items and handled payments, his hands fluidly wrapping their equipment. It was only as the day waned and the crowd thinned that Cliff’s attention was drawn to two soldiers hovering by a display of swords. Their conversation reached his ears.

"There's talk about that guild again," one of them muttered darkly, his rough hands trailing over a dagger's hilt. "Capturing magical creatures this time."

His companion raised an eyebrow. "Aren’t those monsters just dungeon spawns?"

The first soldier snorted. "Not even close. Dungeons churn out monsters, sure. But magical beasts? They’re smarter. More like livestock. And the guild’s been harvesting them—for their fur, their feathers, and based on the recent rumors, their heartstones." He shook his head in disgust. "It's sick, treating them like they’re nothing more than simple cattle."

Cliff’s heart sank. He glanced around his shop, his gaze falling on the enchanted arrows, the frostbane armor—items that could very well be connected to the very practices these soldiers were condemning. His thoughts flickered back to the ethical beastmasters he had met back at university when they silently protested the corrupt guild’s ways. A deep unease settled over him.

Would he be any different from the guilds if he kept turning a blind eye?

Cliff’s stomach churned as he looked over the glowing potions and gleaming armor on display. The enchanted arrows Eris had bought, with their shimmering feathers, gnawed at his mind. He was almost certain they came from a Stormbird. He could only hope Boor, for all his gruffness, knew how to source them without harming the creatures. Doubt crept in like a slow chill.

Eris, still within earshot of the soldiers’ grim conversation, scowled. “Have any of you tried talking to the beastmasters?” she asked, her voice sharp with frustration. “They’ve been looking for help, but the guilds keep dismissing them as lunatics, and the public eats it up. Nobody cares where their gear comes from as long as they get it cheap.” She twirled one of her arrows between her fingers, her expression hardening. “Heartstones from Silverfang Rocs fetch a fortune. The guilds pay pennies, and they’ll do whatever it takes to get them.”

Cliff’s fists tightened on the counter. He had heard stories of the heartstones; rare and immensely powerful gems. But the image of how they were harvested made his skin crawl. He recalled the beastmasters he had seen at a university lecture years ago. They spoke of harmony with magical creatures, sustainable methods that ensured both the creatures' well-being and the high quality of their products. His professors had laughed at the idea, valuing only the materials the creatures provided—their hides, their blood, their bones.

Cliff’s voice dropped, almost a whisper to himself, “Maybe it’s time to reach out to them.” His thoughts wandered to the elusive beastmasters. He didn’t want to attract too much attention, but standing by while others profited from cruelty was gnawing at his conscience. There had to be a way to source materials ethically, without bloodshed or suffering.

“Cliff?” Eris’s voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. She stood at the counter, watching him with a bemused smile as he hurriedly wrapped her purchases.

“Sorry,” he muttered, tying the last bundle of arrows with practiced hands. Eris smiled as she collected her new weapons, testing the weight of the bundle over her shoulder.

“Business is booming for you, isn’t it?” she said, her tone light. “Fowler’s been grinning like a fool lately.”

Cliff blinked, puzzled. “Why?”

She tilted her head, as if surprised he hadn’t noticed. “You’ve been bringing attention to the place. Reuben’s Rise isn’t exactly a hub for adventurers, but ever since you set up shop, more people have been coming through, stopping at the inn, visiting the bakery. Everyone’s feeling it.”

Cliff hadn’t considered that. His little shop, once just a quiet place on the edge of town, was drawing in a new crowd. As Eris adjusted her cloak and pulled her hood over her long hair, the green ornamental leaves woven into it glinted softly in the shop’s dim light.

She winked at him. “Keep it up, Cliff. You’re making things interesting around here.”

Which is not something he had set out to do. He felt his stomach tighten. He should not have had to worry about these things, determined as he was to stay under the radar. But that was before Neil. And that was before he started to care about the world again.