Like a wounded organism, the provinces recovered slowly, but they will bear cars from tearing themselves off Claridia. […] Decades later, one can find comfort in a fragile stability reminiscent of the Hegemony.

— Memoir of Claridia

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The main street of Clais flowed from the three towers that crowned the city, all the way to the old city gates, through the outskirts and outside the boundaries of the city. At the top of the hill, one could see its path until it disappeared in the distant fields around the city.

About three decades back, this street had been bustling commerce from all corners of Claridia. There were so many merchants that, despite its length, fights often ensued for the best spots. The turbulent emancipation of the provinces impoverished the whole continent, but not all was lost. Slowly, the merchants returned; farmers resumed Hegemony levels of production; people began to feel safe.

Veera walked down a street that attempted to resemble the old glory of the Provincial Clais, but fell short in Independent Clais. Merchants were not dissuaded, and their insistence had brought a measure of familiarity to those old enough to remember the bustling street.

Despite her strange presence, merchants could see Veera’s wealth in her silky cloak and the bejewelled mask. They attempted to draw her attention. She ignored them.

She stopped at a store peddling gemstones. The owner was an old tree frog, about as big as Veera’s head. He was quiet — a quality that drew Veera to his stand — and seemed more concerned with keeping his legs moist in a little bucket of water than with selling anything. He wore a colourful veil over his face; each knot of a different colour. Unusual for Claisian fashion, which favoured homogeneous hues.

“Morning, Master Enchantress,” he said with familiarity, watching his own legs swish in the bucket of water beneath the counter. “Having a pleasant week?”

Veera spared a grumpy look at the merchant and that was all the frog needed to know.

“Ah yes, your order,” the frog said, reaching below the counter and grabbing an ornate wooden box. He slid it on the counter and Veera opened it. Inside were several polished gemstones about as big as Veera’s digits.

Veera weighed each stone with a scale produced from her cloak and prodded around them with a mescope; an instrument that resembled a fountain pen, with a bone needle at the tip and small radial protrusions on the side. It amplified the properties of the stone, like looking at it with a magnifying glass. Veera attempted to embed little ideas on the stone, and the feedback she received was enough to make all sorts of thaumaturgical determinations: permeability, permutability, conductivity. It was not a precise instrument — she would need an entire laboratory to properly characterise a single gemstone — but it served its purpose for a quick examination.

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The frog was disinterested. He only paid attention to Veera again when she put away her tools.

“How are they?” He asked.

“Acceptable,” Veera said, producing a few beads tied up to a string. One Opal Hands, thirty-two Jade Palms — rounded up from the thirty-one Jade Palms and one-hundred-and-four Ember Fingers. She handed the money to the frog to count, and he stashed it after a brief glance.

Veera was about to leave when the frog called her attention. “Veera,” he said, “tell me something — a curiosity for my sake. Aren’t opals good for enchantments? Can’t you use them instead of going through the trouble of buying other gems?”

“Opals’ properties are not suitable for all purposes,” she said, stashing the box away in her cloak. “Farewell.”

The frog nodded thoughtfully, then waved his hand to say goodbye to Veera.

The next stop for Veera was Fontaine Street, the location of her favourite bakery. The owner greeted Veera warmly, but she only offered back a glance. He was a large aurochs with thick arms, kind eyes and a stained apron. Despite the size of his hooves, his tender pastries were decorated with delicate icing.

Veera pointed at the confections on the display and a rat, an assistant to the aurochs, retrieved them. The bigger mammal always made conversation while he was packaging the treats in kelp.

“Are you going to the Archentrantress’ demonstration later this moon?” The aurochs asked.

“No,” Veera said, focused on the pastries.

“I thought that’d be the kind of thing you would be interested in — or, you know, participated.”

“I have no interest in watching Celara perform parlour tricks,” Veera retorted.

The aurochs chuckled nervously and glanced around the room. Veera did not understand why Celara’s name brought such fear to others. She wondered if it was her status alone, or perhaps the enchantments she made a spectacle of.

“To be quite honest, I don’t like it too much either. It’s quite grim to kill people like that. As a spectacle, you know?” He said and Veera blinked in agreement.

“Farewell, master baker,” Veera said, placing the payment on the counter and taking her leave. She heard the aurochs say goodbye as the door closed behind her.

With her tasks for the day done, Veera headed for the library — but she found there were students from the Upper University there, so she retreated to a more desolate location. It was a path up the perilous edge of the rocky hill facing the sea. There was a little opening in the rocks where Veera could watch the ocean, eat her pastries and read a book. She placed a cloth on the cold floor and settled down. Clouds approached in the far distance and the sea grew more dangerous.

Tomorrow she would break into Celara’s laboratory, but today, she could enjoy the peaceful solitude she desired.