(Charles)

Thirty minutes earlier…

Charles woke surrounded by the familiar darkness. Proprioception confirmed that the room had shrunk. Last night, he’d added a room to the arborhearth, taking space from both his bedroom and storage to make a place for Dylan.

No one at the hospital could cleanse Dylan’s vermilion ivy rash last night—not surprising, since toxin cleansing was a specialized ability. If they’d gone during the day, they’d have had better luck finding a mender with a global cleanse—just one more reason Charles preferred the day shift.

He pulled his pants up with a hop, the zipper’s curt rasp breaking the room’s silence. After slipping on a fresh shirt, he grabbed the first of many belts lined with storage loops and pouches. Under his pillow, his fingers found the dagger—he hadn’t needed to sleep with it in years. Thinking back, he’d been too sentimental about his decision to store all his weapons when they suspended his adventuring license.

He’d enjoyed adventuring, taking contracts, and helping people, but staying with Ebonscale? He still felt bitter toward them, even now. The thought of indenturing himself to another guild held no appeal, but he wasn’t about to start his morning angry, so he focused on the tasks at hand. He had an errand to run and needed to check on Dylan before leaving.

Charles left his room, only a few strides from Dylan’s newly added quarters. He knocked on the door and waited. No response. He knocked harder.

“Present,” came Dylan’s muffled reply through the door.

‘How does anyone sleep this much?’ Charles eyed the door, but Proprioception warned him there wasn’t enough clearance to open it safely. A glowrune would’ve been optimal, but most merchants were already closed by the time they’d returned last night. He was lucky to have bartered for a few candles—one of which was burning right behind the door.

“Dylan,” Charles said.

Dylan grunted.

“As we’ve discussed, the arborhearth combines both dark and plant magic. It’s highly susceptible to fire, so don’t leave candles unattended while you sleep.” Charles spoke to the door, knowing Dylan could hear him.

“Excrement. Sorry.”

Charles didn’t understand Dylan’s obsession with feces. He waited as Dylan picked up the candle from the floor and set it on the small serving table he’d lent him. He’d arranged a cot and stool for Dylan. The chubby man had disrupted his routine, and this was the best hospitality Charles could offer on such short notice.

“Stop scratching.” Charles shook his head. Even in his sleep, Dylan’s fingers found the blistering rash.

Dylan stopped, looked at the door, and said, “You know, it’s really creepy when you do that.” Slowly, he lowered his palms to his thighs and rubbed vigorously, making the rash worse.

Charles wouldn’t warn him again. It’d be more productive to just get the cure. V’ega’s Potions & Lotions should be open by now. Leaving Dylan alone wasn’t ideal, but the arborhearth was the safest place for him.

“I need to step out for half a turn of the clock. I’ll be back soon. Keep an ear out for your caseworker.” Charles winced, realizing how insensitive that sounded. He hadn’t meant to be cruel, bringing up Dylan’s deformity. “They’ll be by sometime today.”

“I already told you, I’m not answering if they use that stupid government name,” Dylan’s muffled voice called from behind the door.

“The League of Adventurers isn’t a government, Dylan.” Explanations and Dylan mixed like oil and water. Charles didn’t think he was good at giving or receiving them.

“I’m serious, Charles. I won’t do it.”

Charles sighed. “Dylan, it’s just a name.” He understood why Dylan was upset, but it wasn’t the League that had chosen the unfortunate name—his own people had.

“It’s a stupid name.”

Charles was out of patience. Arguing about something neither of them could change was a waste of time, and he’d only be gone a short while.

“Stay inside until I get back,” Charles reminded him. He left the arborhearth and headed for the shop. His stay in Dartmouth was stretching longer than planned, but he was his own elf now—no rush to be anywhere. Before the chubby man, he’d be setting up stalls and hawking his wares by now. ‘Only an extra day or two,’ he thought.

Before leaving, he opened the chest and grabbed a cloth bag of empty vials. The glass clinked as he slung them over his shoulder and shut the lid. A woman passed by and nodded. He didn’t recognize the elf, but she wore the jacket he’d sold her during his last visit.

By this time tomorrow, Dylan would be out of his life and in the care of someone better suited to help him. The chubby man had proven to be surprisingly resilient, if a bit ignorant, and Charles wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or wary. He pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. He strolled down the street toward V’ega’s Potions & Lotions, passing at least one alchemy shop on the way, but V’ega’s selection was always better.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The bell above the door chimed, announcing Charles’ arrival as he stepped into the small shop. Shelves and display racks filled every corner, stacked high with vials of every shape and size. The air was thick with the scent of herbs, oils, and something faintly metallic that clung to the back of his throat. The wooden floor creaked underfoot, adding to the shop’s rustic charm. If you had an ailment, V’ega had the cure—he was one of the best alchemists for leagues around.

“Charles!” an attractive, cerulean-scaled draconi called from behind the counter. V’ega’s personality was as warm and welcoming as always.

“V’ega.” Charles gave his usual curt nod. The draconi had changed his horns since Charles had last seen him. They were still dual horns, curving down and back, but now a couple of fingers wider. The new look gave the draconi a more proportioned head, which was a better fit with the rest of his figure. ‘Very fitting,’ Charles thought.

“What can I get for my favorite customer?” V’ega smiled, revealing his bright, sharp teeth—an expression that suited him.

‘Favorite? Why does he always say that? I’m only here three times a year.’ Charles figured it was just a sales tactic. Unfortunately for V’ega, it didn’t work on him. He only ever bought what was on his list—that’s how he stayed within his means and out of debt.

The glassware rattled as Charles set the bag on the counter beside V’ega. The scent of peppermint—his favorite—cut through the medley of aromas in the shop, always sharpest near the handsome draconi.

“I need something for a vermilion ivy rash. Not for me—an acquaintance.”

“An acquaintance, you say?” V’ega gathered the bag of empties and placed it behind the counter. “Better be careful, Charles. That sounds dangerously close to making an actual friend.” He leaned back on the counter. “Should I be jealous?”

‘Why would he be jealous?’ Charles wondered. “I found him on the way to Dartmouth. He needed help, so I took him under my protection.”

“Oh, such chivalry.” V’ega placed a hand on his chest, smiling playfully. “I wish someone would take me under their protection.”

“Why? Has someone threatened you?” The League might have suspended Charles’ adventuring license, but he was still a common-ranked adventurer and wouldn’t stand by while thugs extorted his favorite alchemist. “Just give me a name, and you’ll never see them again.”

V’ega laughed warmly, shaking his head and waving the notion away. “No, nothing like that.”

Charles liked that laugh. He wished he could hear it more often, but with no family of his own, he’d resigned himself to being alone. Maybe it was safer that way. Letting others in had never gone well for him in the past, and while he valued his independence, there was a certain emptiness that gnawed at the edges of his contentment. His thoughts drifted back to the chubby man and the effect he had on Y’rell. She was exquisite too—like V’ega. Y’rell was slender and graceful while V’ega was warm and charming. Charles sighed, wishing he had half the charisma and confidence of his misshapen ward.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a list. “I’ll also need everything on here, too.”

V’ega took the note and scanned it. “A rainy-day grenade?” He raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I’ll have that one, but for you, I’ll check in the back.” From behind the counter, he swung the door open to the storage room and disappeared inside.

Charles heard the sound of bottles emptying in a corner, followed by V’ega shifting boxes and sorting through them.

V’ega raised his voice slightly. “Any chance you’ll stick around this time?” he asked.

“As long as it takes to get my ward settled. I might be here a day or two longer than usual.” Charles turned and leaned against the counter, facing the door.

“It’s all work, work, work with you, isn’t it?” A vial shattered on the floor. “Bollocks,” V’ega cursed as his tail knocked it off the shelf.

Charles considered offering a hand, but Proprioception showed the space was already too tight. V’ega’s question stuck with him. Charles liked spending his downtime puzzling out designs or reading to keep his mind away from his past. But maybe there were other options he hadn’t considered. “What’s there to do besides working?” he asked.

V’ega returned, placing several items on the counter, and handed Charles the empty cloth bag. “Perhaps a nice dinner with someone?” He excused himself past Charles and grabbed a basket to gather the rest of the list.

“Who’d want to have dinner with me?” Charles only ate flak, and no one else seemed to enjoy it like he did. Most people reacted the same way Dylan had, which was why he’d stopped offering it.

“You might be surprised.” V’ega’s finger ran down a shelf and stopped at the common healing potions. He grabbed two and placed them in the basket. “Is there anyone you’d like to have dinner with?” He looked up at Charles, smiled slightly, and waited.

Charles mentally mapped out a mundane dinner. First, he’d have to choose a dish—preferably something his guest would enjoy—but how was he supposed to know their preferences? Then, there’d be the shopping for ingredients, possibly involving several stops. Interacting with merchants wasn’t his favorite, though if they were like V’ega, he wouldn’t mind. Cooking wouldn’t be so bad, but serving the meal, with all the unnecessary focus on presentation, felt like a chore. He sighed, already dreading the small talk he wasn’t good at. ‘No thank you,’ he thought.

Then a novel idea struck him: What if someone actually wanted to join him for flak? There was just one problem. “How do I know if someone wants to go to dinner with me?”

V’ega reappeared, rounding one of the floor racks with a basket of supplies. He set them on the counter, excusing himself past Charles in the cramped shop. Charles inhaled, giving him as much space as possible. He could taste the peppermint now, and it was delicious.

“It’s simple. You just ask.” V’ega stood behind the counter, a brief pause settling between them as he looked at Charles expectantly. Folding his clawed hands, he rested them on the counter. “Is there anything else you’d like?”

“No. That’s everything on my list.” Charles picked up the items and placed them in his bag. “You’ve been helpful.” He pulled out his suspended license, which still worked as a League card, and tapped it on the register at the counter’s corner. He used League credits to pay. When he was done, he looked up at V’ega. “Thank you.”

V’ega’s smile faded. “Back to work then?”

The rugged elf nodded.

“Alright,” V’ega sighed, “maybe next time…”

‘That’s unfortunate,’ Charles thought. V’ega’s disappointment wasn’t lost on him, but he refused to buy things he didn’t need. He’d never let himself fall into debt again.