The past week had settled into a strange quiet that Brakar wasn’t sure he liked. Without Pockets’ constant stream of technical theories or Mira’s dry observations, the days felt oddly empty. He’d filled them with reading, spending long hours in his corner of The Six Spoons with borrowed books, but even that felt different. His usual satisfaction in learning new healing techniques was dampened by the knowledge that he had no one to practice them on—no Thadan charging recklessly into combat, no Pockets setting herself on fire with experimental devices, no Mira needing burns treated after another “slight miscalculation” with explosive arrows.
He told himself the quiet was good. Productive. The stack of books beside his bed had grown impressively tall, and for once he could read without interruption. But if he was honest with himself—and he tried to be, these days—it was mind-numbingly boring. Even the familiar comfort of The Stack felt different. The constant creaking of other adventurers trudging up and down the stairs now seemed less like the background noise of home and more like a reminder of opportunities slipping away.
His coin pouch was another matter entirely. Each day it grew lighter, despite his best efforts at frugality. He’d switched to a diet heavy on root vegetables and day-old bread, telling himself it was healthier anyway. The copper mines had taught him how to stretch resources, but this felt different. Back then, they at least had regular income, meager as it was. Now each copper piece spent felt like watching grains of sand slip through an hourglass.
The worst part was catching himself automatically noting potential healing opportunities whenever he walked through the market. A worker with a sprained ankle, a child’s scraped knee, a merchant’s stiff shoulder—all minor ailments he could easily treat. But without guild backing, offering such services would be... complicated. Legally questionable, even. So he kept walking, his unused magic itching beneath his skin like a muscle begging to be stretched.
Only Thadan’s daily visits broke the monotony, though lately those had grown strange too. His friend would burst in with his usual energy, start to suggest something wild, then catch himself and leave just as suddenly. It was unlike him—Thadan’s ideas usually poured out unfiltered, regardless of their practicality. This new, hesitant version of his friend was almost as unsettling as the silence.
‘BANG BANG BANG’
‘BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG’
The thunderous knocking jolted Brakar from his studies, sending a carefully balanced tower of borrowed books cascading across his tiny room. Magical theory texts crashed against his rickety bedframe while anatomical diagrams fluttered through the pre-dawn gloom like startled birds. He’d finally managed to organize them by subject just yesterday.
‘BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG’
“Coming!” Brakar called, navigating the literary obstacle course with practiced ease. His room in The Stack wasn’t exactly spacious on the best of days, and with his recent academic pursuits, it had begun to resemble a library after an earthquake.
He already knew who it was—only one person knocked with that particular combination of urgency and dramatic flair. The real question was what crisis had driven Thadan to his door at this ungodly hour.
The door creaked open to reveal his friend looking simultaneously exhausted and energized—a combination that usually preceded either brilliant inspiration or catastrophic decisions. Dark circles ringed Thadan’s eyes, but they blazed with an intensity that made Brakar instinctively check for signs of fever or magical influence.
“Perfect, you’re awake!” Thadan announced, as if he hadn’t just been trying to punch through the door.
“I am now,” Brakar muttered, noting the way his friend’s fingers drummed against the doorframe—another warning sign of impending schemes. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong! Everything’s right!” Thadan’s grin widened. “Get dressed. We’re getting breakfast.”
Brakar glanced at his window, where the first hints of dawn were just beginning to lighten the sky. “The Six Spoons won’t be open for hours.”
“They will be for us.” Thadan produced a slightly wrinkled paper bag that smelled promisingly of stale bread. “I may have convinced the night baker to sell me yesterday’s leftovers at a discount.”
“Of course you did.” Brakar sighed, but he was already reaching for his boots. Whatever Thadan had planned, it would probably be less expensive to go along with it than to deal with the consequences of refusing.
The Stack’s narrow stairwell carried a faint draft as they descended. At this hour, most of the other residents were either still asleep or just returning from night shifts. The communal kitchen on Brakar’s floor stood empty, its worn wooden table bearing the usual collection of mysterious stains and initials carved by generations of temporary residents.
Thadan cleared a space among the debris and began unpacking his bag with the air of someone preparing for a formal presentation. Day-old rolls were arranged with surprising care, accompanied by a small crock of butter that had clearly seen better days.
“Quite the feast,” Brakar observed, settling onto one of the less wobbly chairs.
“A meal fit for future business moguls,” Thadan declared, then immediately winced at his own words.
Brakar paused mid-reach for a roll. “Business moguls?”
“Well, maybe not moguls exactly.” Thadan’s usual confidence wavered slightly. “But... business something, at least.”
“Thadan.” Brakar kept his voice carefully neutral. “What are you planning?”
His friend took a deep breath, then said something Brakar never expected to hear: “Our adventuring career is over.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with finality. Brakar waited for the usual follow-up—some wild scheme to revive their fortunes, another “can’t-miss opportunity” that would definitely get them above iron rank this time.
Instead, Thadan simply nodded, as if confirming something to himself. “Let’s be honest—we should’ve made it past iron rank years ago. The cistern was just the final proof.”
“That’s... surprisingly practical of you,” Brakar said carefully.
“I know, right?” Thadan laughed, but there was no bitterness in it. “Here’s the thing though—maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Being practical, I mean.”
He reached into his bag again and pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment, spreading it across the table with the same reverence he’d once reserved for treasure maps. It turned out to be a property listing, complete with official guild stamps and notary seals.
“We’ve been looking at this all wrong,” Thadan continued, his earlier excitement returning. “Everyone thinks you have to be an adventurer to make it in this city, but look around! The real money’s in supporting adventurers, not being them.”
Brakar studied the document, noting the location in one of Ironweave’s lower districts. “You want to open a shop?”
“I want us to open a shop,” Thadan corrected. “Together. As partners.”
The proposition hung between them like a spell waiting to be cast. Outside, the first real light of dawn began to paint The Stack’s weathered walls in shades of possibility.
“You’re serious about this,” Brakar realized.
“Completely.” Thadan slung an arm around Brakar's shoulders, his voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “Look, I know my track record with plans isn’t exactly stellar—”
“That’s an understatement.”
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“-but this is different. This time I’ve thought it through. Well, most of it. Some of it.” He grinned. “That’s where you come in.”
Brakar raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“You’re the analytical one. The practical one. The one who actually reads contracts before signing them.”
“Someone has to.”
“Exactly!” Thadan’s enthusiasm was becoming infectious. “I’ve got the people skills, you’ve got the brain. Between us, we could make something work. Something real.”
Brakar found himself weighing the idea. The idea wasn’t entirely without merit—especially compared to some of Thadan’s previous schemes. And his own prospects weren’t exactly promising at the moment.
“The rent would be within our means,” Thadan added, clearly sensing his friend’s wavering resolve. “The neighborhood’s not great, but that just means room for growth, right?”
“You haven’t even told me what kind of shop you’re planning.”
“Ah.” Thadan’s confidence flickered slightly. “Well, that’s sort of... flexible at the moment.”
“Flexible.”
“Think of it as an opportunity! We can adapt to whatever the market needs.”
Brakar pressed his fingers to his nose. “You want us to sign a lease without knowing what we’re going to sell.”
“I want us to look at the space,” Thadan corrected. “Just look. No commitments. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Those words should have been a warning—they’d preceded some of their most spectacular disasters in the past. But something felt different this time. Perhaps it was the way Thadan had conceded their adventuring days were over, along with the surprising notion of addressing practical concerns like rent.
“Fine,” Brakar conceded. “We can look.”
“Perfect!” Thadan was already on his feet. “You won’t regret this!”
“I already do.”
But he followed his friend down The Stack’s winding stairs and out into the gradually awakening city. Ironweave was different at this hour—the famous bridges caught the early light like strands of spiderweb, while the morning mist softened the stark lines of the architecture. Market stalls were just beginning to set up, their owners calling quiet greetings to each other in a dozen different languages.
Thadan led them through increasingly narrow streets, where the bridges overhead created a permanent twilight even in full daylight. The buildings here showed their age more openly—crumbling stonework patched with whatever materials had been available, windows clouded with years of grime. Yet there were signs of life everywhere: window boxes full of hardy herbs, children’s toys left out on doorsteps, the smell of breakfast cooking from a hundred tiny kitchens.
They turned down an alley that seemed barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast, then emerged suddenly into a small square. A dried-up fountain occupied the center, its basin currently serving as an impromptu meeting spot for a group of elderly dwarves playing cards. The surrounding shops had that distinctly desperate look Brakar associated with businesses barely hanging on—faded signs, dusty windows, inventory that hadn’t changed in years.
“Here we are!” Thadan announced, gesturing grandly at what appeared to be an abandoned storefront.
Brakar took in the cracked windows, the peeling paint, the ominous water stains around the foundation. “It’s... exactly what I expected.”
“That’s the beauty of it!” Thadan fiddled with the rusty lock. “No one else can see the potential!”
“I’m starting to suspect that’s because there isn’t any.”
But he followed his friend inside anyway, ducking under a cobweb that looked sturdy enough to qualify as architecture. The interior was surprisingly spacious, though currently occupied mainly by dust and what appeared to be several generations of abandoned furniture.
“Look at these bones!” Thadan swept his arm around, disturbing years of accumulated grime. “High ceilings, good natural light once we clean the windows, plenty of storage space...”
“Possible rat infestation,” Brakar noted, spotting telltale signs along the baseboards.
“Easy fix! We get a cat. Doubles as a store mascot.”
“Water damage in the corner there.”
“Already talked to the landlord about it. He’s willing to fix it as part of the lease agreement.”
“The floor’s uneven.”
“Character! Besides, we can level it out with some basic carpentry.”
Brakar turned to stare at his friend. “You’ve actually thought about these things.”
“Told you this was different.” Thadan’s grin softened into something more serious. “I know I usually just charge ahead without looking, but... I want this to work. Really work.”
The sincerity in his voice was almost more unsettling than the shop’s structural issues. Brakar started looking at the space with new eyes—seeing past the current decay to what it could become.
The main room was roughly rectangular, with large windows along the front that would indeed provide good light once cleaned. A solid wooden counter ran along one wall, its surface scarred but fundamentally sound. The back room was smaller but dry, with sturdy shelving already built into the walls.
Thadan gestured toward the rear of the shop. “We also have a back room,” he noted. “Landlord says there’s a proper cellar down there too. Good stone construction.”
Brakar glanced toward the back room but made no move to enter. “Anything in it?”
“Doubt it,” Thadan admitted. “Said the last owner used it for storage, but no one’s been down there in years.” He smirked. “Could be full of treasure. Could be full of rats. The landlord even said it might connect to some of the old market tunnels, but they were sealed off years ago.”
Brakar snorted. “Tempting.”
Thadan shrugged. “At least it’s there if we need it. This, though, will clean up nice.”
Brakar’s eye caught something metallic glinting in a dusty corner. “What’s that?”
They approached carefully—letting go of habits was never easy—but it turned out to be nothing more sinister than an old strongbox, half-buried in debris. The lock was long since rusted away, but the box itself was still solid.
“Should we?” Thadan asked, already reaching for it.
“Probably not,” Brakar replied, already helping him lift it.
The lid squeaked open to reveal... ledgers. Dozens of them, their pages yellow with age but still legible. Brakar picked one up at random, squinting at the faded handwriting.
“These are business records,” he realized. “From the last shop that was here.”
“What kind of shop?”
“Hard to tell without better light, but...” Brakar traced the columns of neat figures. “Whatever it was, they were doing well for a while. Then something happened.”
“What kind of something?”
“The numbers just... stop. Mid-page, mid-entry even.” He closed the ledger carefully. “Like someone left in a hurry and never came back.”
They both stared at the strongbox for a moment.
“Well,” Thadan said finally, “that’s not ominous at all.”
“Could be worse,” Brakar pointed out. “Could be bloodstains.”
“Always the optimist.” But Thadan’s smile had returned. “Look at it this way—we already know what not to do.”
“Which would be more helpful if we knew what we were going to do in the first place. One last time—what exactly are we going to sell here?”
Thadan’s grin stretched to dangerous proportions. “We’ll figure that out after we sign the lease!”
And there it was—the familiar reckless enthusiasm that had led them into so many adventures, both glorious and disastrous. But something was different this time. The enthusiasm was tempered with actual planning, the recklessness balanced by genuine consideration of practical matters.
Perhaps, Brakar realized, they’d both changed more than they’d noticed. The cistern disaster hadn’t broken them—it had forced them to grow. Thadan was still Thadan, with all his wild ideas and infectious optimism, but now he was actually thinking about consequences. And Brakar...
Well, Brakar was seriously considering signing a lease for a shop with no clear purpose, based solely on his friend’s enthusiasm and some dusty ledgers. Maybe he’d changed too.
The morning sun continued its slow invasion through the windows, gradually revealing new details: intricate tilework hidden under years of grime, surprisingly elegant moldings along the ceiling, the ghost of old signage barely visible on one wall. The space seemed to hold its breath, waiting for their decision.
“So,” Thadan said, his voice carrying that dangerous note of certainty that usually meant triumph or disaster, “want to be business partners?”
As Brakar opened his mouth to answer, a distinct scratching sound emerged from behind the walls—too heavy, too deliberate to be rats. Both men froze, instincts honed by years of close calls and bad decisions kicking in. The sound drew closer, scraping and shuffling, accompanied by faint whispers—or something trying very hard to sound like whispers.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.
The silence hung in the air, oppressive and unnerving. Brakar licked his lips, glancing nervously at the walls. “About those sealed tunnels,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
“Yes?” Thadan replied, still grinning, though his eyes flicked toward the source of the sound.
“How sure are we that they’re actually sealed?”
Thadan’s grin didn’t waver. “Well, partner, looks like our first business decision might be investing in some better locks and a few good pest traps .”
Brakar’s brow furrowed, his fingers twitching at his sides as if wishing he had a weapon, or at least something heavy to throw. “And if it starts again?”
“Then we deal with it. But for now, nothing’s trying to eat us. Call it a win, partner.”
The word partner lingered between them. Brakar stared at Thadan, then at the wall, then back at Thadan. His stomach churned with doubt, the kind of knot that had made him walk away from risk time and time again.
He drew in a steady breath, rubbed the back of his neck, and shook his head. “Screw it. Yeah, fine. Partners.”