“Never thought I'd see you here.” Tyr mused. He remembered the woman being a bit wider around the belly not so recently. “Wait, weren't you with child? Glad you're alive, by the way.”

She turned, clucking her tongue at him. Away from the farm, she didn't look so bad, though she was a bit skinnier than one might like. Pale, but it did nothing to change her domineering attitude.

“As tactful as ever. Turns out you really are a prince, don't go expecting any special treatment from me because of it. My child was born, and the world moves on. At home with his father, gods believe he actually showed up, telling some mess of a story about some undead beast stalking him. Says he had post traumatic stress disorder. Can't work, so I have to.”

Women were truly a different breed, capable of shooting a child out of them and continuing on as if nothing much had happened. Especially considering that her home, lab, and fields – her entirely livelihood had all been ransacked. Being winter, and without much in the way of protection in the area, they both had fled as refugees – carrying their newborn child south as fast as their old cart and older horse would take them.

Apothecary and alchemist. With not much besides her modest life savings, they'd made their way here to the capital of magic to ply her trade. Only to find that those of her vocation were a dime a dozen in these parts. Land, taxes, it was all too expensive – so she'd sought to leave before landing on a rather cushy opportunity to money-count and secretary for the bank. Apparently she'd impressed them with the way she 'yelled'.

“I'm not supposed to be doing this, mind you. My supervisor will chew my hide after you get on your way, mark my words.”

“I doubt that.” Tyr chuckled. After learning of his heritage, the dwarven banker that had been so rude just recently had immediately changed his tone. Declaring the prince a VIP customer and shaking his hand, apparently forgetting about his 'bathing' comment. He wasn't sure if the dwarf was terrified of him, his father, or genuinely happy Tyr was here. Probably the second. Maybe the third, these money grubbing types were like that. Everyone had a purpose, though, in this life. Tyr didn't mind.

“This is your vault.” Ella waved to a circular disc of what must've been mithril, just the door alone was enough to fill his pockets for a lifetime. It was a wonder they'd managed to get it down here let alone mounted it to the wall, as heavy as it must have been. “Primus-12, Tyr Faeron of House Faeron. Since you've never visited, we've taken the liberty of addressing your security questions and the like. This is your personal vault, your household vault is down the way, but you will not have access until specified by your father, naturally.”

“My vault?” Tyr asked, raising an eyebrow but taking care not to lock his knees, imagining what kind of vast riches lay inside. “Why do I have a vault in the middle of a foreign successor state?”

“Beats me.” Ella shrugged in disinterest. “All the princes and queens and kings and the like have one here. One in our sister facility in Milano as well, the so-called capital of bankers. Opened the day you were born. We do run the securest facility in all the kingdoms, so I'm sure that has something to do with it. You father has a vault there.” She pointed at another door a dozen meters away. Each vault could hold several elephants and then some. “Your father-in-law there.” She pointed again. “Well, you get it. People tend not to keep their wealth all in one place, our network is quite large.”

There was a strange equity in it. On the lowest floor in the veritable citadel, where every stone coursed and pulsed with dense mana. To know that he'd been given due consideration as a primus was both embarrassing and a source of great pride to him. To be a 'VIP', and to feel important. He blushed.

Tyr rubbed his hands together. After the shocking discovery that he owned a literal castle in the city, with it's own servant staff and everything...

I can't wait to see what's inside! Maybe he'd been rich all along.

The door opened smoothly on its hinges, rolling and wheeling aside to disappear within a hollowed section of the wall. What lay ahead stunned him. A subversion of expectations in all regards.

What...?

There must've been some magic about it. He didn't understand the finer workings of artifacts, but the room was much larger than it appeared even from the outside. Near as big as a blitzball field, which is to say roughly one hundred meters wide by two hundred long. The ceiling was only about ten meters high, but given the vast stretch of it, it was huge. Divided neatly between open space and cages designed to hold and organize all manner of things.

The problem was... It was empty. Not entirely empty, with bits of furniture here and there like a waiting room, and a finely carved wooden drafting desk stacked high with documents. Beyond that, there wasn't a speck of dust or single hair upon the floor. At least it was clean.

“It's empty.”

“And it'll remain so, until you put something in it. As things are wont to be...” Ella looked at him like he was some kind of idiot. He surely felt like one. “Empty though? Not quite. If you look there...” She pointed to a series of steel vaults set flush with the wall. Almost looking like the doors of a bread oven. “You'll see that the first in that line of dimensional artifacts indicates something is stored inside. Only you can access it, we do not keep inventory of items that have not been appraised by our staff, which means basically anything a primus is going to own. So...? What would you like to do?”

“Make a deposit, I guess?” Tyr handed her his bank note for four thousand coins. She took it gently and slapped it against the wall. Above, an unseen mechanism whirled and with a flash, the note was converted to a neat stack of gold coins raining from the sky. Despite the vast sum he'd considered it to be, it looked paltry given the size of the chamber. Akin to a single drop of water in a very deep well.

“Here, your exchange rate remains frozen. Not minted until you withdraw funds, though note that as per our contract the Amistad National Bank does guarantee it – but it will be constantly invested through a variety of channels. Any withdrawals exceeding ten thousand credits in value may take two to three business days to process. Only liquid assets will be invested unless requested otherwise, or...”

Tyr stopped listening. She was deep into a monotone spiel about premium accounts and service fees, things he didn't understand, basically. He prowled over to the security box and attempted to open it, pulling with all his might – frowning as it resisted the attempt.

Did I not get an inheritance from my mother or grandfather? He wondered at this, but if he had – it was very possible it had remained in Haran. Jartor wasn't just a brute, he had a good mind for business, Uncle Don said so – so it was true. Tyr was absolutely certain that only the smallest sliver of their generational wealth was kept here. Things they wouldn't need with any sort of urgency or enough money to handle any economic dealings without the need to cart money from the empire.

“It's not a door.” Ella sighed, wondering at the ignorance of the boy. For an imperial prince, he sure seemed down to earth – but in the worst and most inconvenient way. “It's a dimensional artifact. A panel. Put your hand on it and say 'manifest'.”

“Manifest.” Tyr felt his stomach wobble uncomfortably as a sliver of his mana was sucked into the machine. It lit up with dozens of runes patterning its surface, all azure and swirling. The panel, such as it was, whirred audibly several times before stopping – with the light gathering into a tablet at its center. Not unlike the screens he'd seen in the lost city, though significantly more crude in comparison. No color to the display, only the wire frame representation of the items held inside. When one selected an item, it would 'poof' into being beside the panel and hover for closer observation until a new item was selected.

There was quite a bit here. An overlarge, single golden gauntlet with a fine faceted gem set into each knuckle, and one in the back of the hand. The gems varied in color and pulsed with a dull light. It didn't look like much, and it was too big for to wear comfortably, so he quickly moved on. No point in gems if there was no mana in them, that was just common sense. The inert object was pretty, but it had no apparent power to it.

An exceptionally well detailed ship in a bottle no larger than any other with a storm whirling inside the glass. It's masts were high and black, waving in whatever winds the bottom contained. A novel trinket, but once again – useless.

Seven orange balls with an accompanying star to indicate their number, one through seven. Useless, and boring, at least from his perspective. Tyr yawned as he scoured through the list, unable to find anything with a clear purpose or use. He felt that it would've been nice if someone had done him the courtesy of leaving some sort of summary on what they were supposed to do.

A blood red stone the size of his fist that beat like a heart. Useless.

A sword with a pyramidal shape engraved near the crossguard. Blade snapped in two and a leather strap holding an egg shaped wind instrument full of holes at its pommel. Useless.

A stack of thick vellum scrolls that burnt concentric rings and the image of a moth into his eyes when he tried to open one and look at it. It hurt, and he almost incinerated it if not for the protective faculties of this facility that made offensive magic difficult to manifest. Agitated, he threw it back inside the machine.

A blue, glassy cube full of energy... It looked magical, but not in the way he considered such things. He couldn't feel a single shred of mana from the things despite their impressive appearance.

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Finally, he came to a section full of things that seemed more... Normal? At least a normal as a suit of armor that shrank into a thin silver wristband went. All Tyr needed to go was send a tendril of his energy into the thing and it would unfold over his body, the metal turning liquid and making a pleasing 'clanking' sound. Not auronite, though... At least he didn't think so, it was the silvery color of any normal steel, maybe a bit louder.

“How do I look?” He laughed, turning to Ella.

“Dashing.” She had to admit, it looked... Interesting. Certainly not in the style of modern knights, there was very little in the way of plate to it. An archaic design with pauldrons shaped in the form of a front facing dragon in flight with its wings spread wide. Only the boots and gloves were plate, the rest appeared to be heavy chain beneath a paladin-esque tabard that hung to just below the princes knees. A wicked nasal helm with a spike sticking straight into the air parallel to the forehead and a long horsehair tail jutting from the rear of it.

A wicked design, with smooth lines and angles communicating its purpose. It was comfortable too, Tyr felt like he was wearing silks rather than heavy chain. Cool and snug, fitting his frame perfectly. The tabard was a bit long so as to be a touch too dramatic for his tastes, but it wouldn't come off. Everything seemed to be 'one' component. A deep, steel blue with a snow white stripe standing vertically on the breast and stretching all the way down to the edge of the cloth. On the middle, a heraldic symbol, the side profile of a snarling white wolf. It seemed appropriate enough for him, so out of all of the things in the vault, he kept it.

It looked, based on the image presented to him by Ella's mirror, quite nice. Violent, the horn was a bit ridiculous but he did like it. It was dramatic in a subtle way, purpose built, not so much for show or ceremony. What with the artifacts ability to spontaneously cover his limbs with no need for the long outfitting period normally accompanying combat wear, it certainly came in handy. It didn't seem to be enchanted much otherwise, though, which was a disappointment. Or at least, not in a way he could determine.

It was also the only artifact in his 'collection' with a name.

[Signe Gudrun Ebonfist's Wargear]

A note, too. One that would sting at his eyes and make him regret not taking longer in his care of the bastards that had taken her from him. His mother. Everything that had ever, or would ever matter to him. Even now, she might be the only thing he loved. If he understood that emotion at all.

“Ah. Well.” Tyr sniffed, resisting the urge to break down right then and there. He hadn't expected to be reminded like that, but he felt safe and secure in her armor. She was here with him, and always would be, just not in the flesh. Vicarious as it might be, she would see his victory, his triumph. Protecting him always, that last piece of her left on this piece of shit world. “Shall we go?”

“Whenever you're ready.” Ella had dropped her attitude after seeing the swaggering prince staring at the sheaf of parchment in his hands before gently returning it to the vault. Whatever it contained, it must've been heavy in the words to cause such a reaction. A single tear chasing itself down his cheek, a boy struggling to maintain his composure. And he was just that, a boy, much younger than she. It was good to feel, to mourn, Ella knew who he was now, and could guess at what that armor meant to him.

Seeing the vaults and considering how little four thousand coins really was, Tyr had an idea. Well, to be honest – it had been his mothers idea. 'Make your money work for you'. The Ebonfist's were warriors, but their family trade so to speak had always been the merchant trade. Even among southerners, they were rich. Blacksmiths and legendary ship captains. One of the largest trading families in all of the northern nations. She had literally made Donakan, a man Tyr called uncle, the powerhouse he was today in all things coinage. Smart, elegant, cunning. Tyr wasn't like that, but he could try his best.

It'd be rare to see their ships so far south, of course, but they had no need for it. What with Oresund's favorable trade relationships with the island nations, Haran, and the republic, and if rumor was to be believed – even the elves – they had no need to sail beyond Milano. In her lessons, Tyr knew an opportunity stood right beside him.

“Are you a good apothecary, Ella?” Tyr asked her, observing as she tilted her head and laughed at the question.

“I was trained here, in Amistad, it has always been a second home to me and mine. Apothecary and alchemist, but not a healer. If I hadn't made the mistake of eloping with my idiot of a commoner husband, maybe I'd be famous by now.” She shrugged. But if she had real regret regarding the choices of her past, she didn't show it. “But love is love. Granted, I'm miserable now and I hate the bastard but I want my child to grow up with a father. After that, he can kick rocks.”

“Aren't you a commoner?” Tyr asked. “No offense or anything, I wasn't aware you were of nobility.”

“My family is one of artisans and craftsmen. Perhaps in Haran I'd officially be a 'commoner' but most everywhere else among the more civilized lands a business owning artisan would have a similar status to a landed knight. If not for my husband and want for some peace and quiet, I'd have made the smarter choice and gone to live in the republic... Or somewhere better. No offense.”

“None taken.” Tyr shrugged, noting in the back of his mind once again how ridiculous the concept of nobility was. After all, there were barons of the cloth given quite a bit of face despite doing nothing whereas industry movers and shakers could still live under no title whatsoever. There were conglomerate chief operators worth tens of thousands of sovereigns, in Haran, that were of the common. You couldn't buy nobility, not in the empire, but they were far more deserving of it than most as job creators. Something like that...

He made his deal with Ella and departed. There wasn't much more to say. She would make his money move, and he trusted her. If only for her apparent, and ferocious dedication to succeed, all for the sake of her child. That was something. Tyr was an idiot in many things, but he knew what a good parent must look like.

Two hours later and a stop to finally purchase his school supplies after days of 'hard work', Tyr grabbed a bite to eat before heading 'home'. It was nice. With Okami padding on behind him, not a single soul attempted to bar their way. Magical beasts were fair and 'common' enough – but few wolves this far south would grow so large. None of them were this large at all. There's were stags and boars and the like, not quite so predatory in appearance.

He didn't really get it, though. It was like... 'This guy? You're afraid of this guy?' Tyr couldn't understand how anyone could watch the wolf playfully licking at the windows of bakeries and feel anything but good humor. The dope that he was. At least children seemed to like him, crying out with arms outstretched before being tugged back by their mothers. Okami did not harm, he was the most lovable thing Tyr had ever met. Tyr loved him. Wished he was more like the wolf at times. More trusting, soft but not disarmed.

The air was clean. Considering the density of the city, it wasn't much different than being out in the wild. Nothing could save a nose from the press of bodies and scent of sweat and the unwashed backs of laborers, but it was obvious how far ahead in terms of public works they were when compared to Haran. Here where the money was so concentrated in a much smaller area and magicians were allowed to do as they pleased with only cursory oversight. Magic solved most problems.

Hailed at the gate and allowed through without preamble, as he was so easily recognized by the northmen guarding the gates, Tyr carefully set aside his parcel in the caring hands of a servant. He wasn't sure if he liked it. To be waited on like that. He'd followed both his mother and fathers example of doing mostly for themselves, but the staff here was cloying. Constantly staring at him in longing, as if wishing he'd bark a command at them. It didn't feel right. Making them just... Wait around like that.

“Oi...” Tor, lounging about the sofas in the foyer, rose a hand lazily in greeting. “What up.”

“Get your feet off my couch, Tor.” That felt nice. Or at least, the consideration that everything the light touched in this place and more beyond belonged to him. In terms of ownership as per the law, it felt nice to own something real and material. To be able to say 'mine' and truly mean it.

“Actually, boss. Boys got questions.”

“Those would be?” Tyr turned toward the gaunt man, eye twitching as Tor flicked a chunk of filthy fingernail on the floor, picking at them with his knife. It didn't take long before a servant passed by, gracefully sweeping up the detritus with a huff and a dirty look toward the rogueish man, departing as smoothly as they'd come. The efficiency of the staff was incredible.

“Since you're broke and all, we're still getting paid... Right?” There was more than one look of interest at that question, regarding their pay. The only one who didn't seem to care was Samson, though that came as no surprise. They were staying in a literal palace, the food was free and their needs were met. Even given massages if they asked. This was the lap of luxury. “Not that I mind, I'll be fine missing a few paychecks and all but some are wondering if it'll last forever.”

“Broke?” Tyr raised an eyebrow, looking at Mikhail who remained perched on the top of a tea table. Instead, for some reason, one of the score of chairs all over the massive room. “I'll have you know that I return four thousand sov richer. You're all queensguard officially so until the day comes that I dismiss you – your stipends come directly from the palace. Not me. You'll get paid.”

“Did you just say four thousand?” Mikhail choked, Fennic too – making a raspy wet noise and nearly spitting himself on the skewered sausage he was chewing at. Doug slammed his hand frantically against the mans back to aid in clearing his throat.

“Four...” Tyr raised his fingers to indicate the sum. “Thousand. Turns out, I'm the greatest adventurer this land has ever seen. It's really something, how great I am. A born bamboozler, you might say.”

"Very clever prince!"

"Thank you, Douglas. No I will not give you a raise."

"Aw, man."

“Ah... So why are we the queensguard if we guard the prince?” Tor asked, looking around at the others – most of which shrugged and refrained from any response. “Shouldn't we be called the princeguard? Oi, maybe not. Sounds a bit softer now that you mention it. Queensguard it is!”

Mikhail sighed. “It is the purpose of the kingsguard to protect the palace and its interests, including the primus. The queensguard protect all members of the royal family. In the event that the queen is not with us, their duties fall on the crown prince or eldest heir. Not like we guard much of anything, anyway, what with our young prince always sauntering off without us.”

They chuckled, a nervous sound. It was true. If they'd been in the service of any other noble in all the kingdoms they'd find themselves headless or jobless, one of the two – likely the former. Perhaps the true benefit of taking no personal oath and working as pseudo mercenaries instead.

“Plans for today?” Samson asked from his usual position at the doorway to the room.

“Maybe some rest, I am very tired...” Tyr shrugged. All he could really think about was getting a good nights sleep, though it didn't come easy. A life of 'gainful' employment was not at all what it was cracked out to be.