We find ourselves in Ul’dah, in the twilight days of the Seventh Umbral Era. The desert sun scorched the streets of the sultanate, draping fabrics offering scant shade over the stalls of Sapphire Avenue, the city-state’s chief trading hub. A mess of silhouettes rushed to and fro beneath them, like crashing waves. Laymen making the rounds, merchants plying their trade, people making themselves unseen in the crowd.

  Among it all, a small white figure could be seen wading through, evidently busy, holding a small scroll in one hand and periodically poring over it while barely making a path through the masses; stopping by various stalls and ordering this and that, sparing little time for small talk.

  “Well, if it ain’t the busiest wespe in the Alchemists’ Guild! What’ll it be today? More filtered water?” an eccentric Highlander man inquired from behind a stall counter as the person stopped before him. An Auri lady, scales as fair as her skin, no shorter than five fulms and five ilms, looked back at him with piercing lavender eyes. His own would dart between her face and the long list she’d been holding, waiting impatiently for a response from her as a small line already began forming in her wake.

  “Yes, like usual. Here’s the amount we need this time – I’ll also thank you not to call me that.” She’d answer curtly, turning over her list and pointing at an entry, watching as the color vanished from the man’s cheeks.

  “Thal’s b–” he would start to bellow impulsively before catching himself. He cleared his throat. “Hagane,” he opened confrontationally, “you know that’s nearly all I’ve got on hand, right? Far be it from me to complain about the patronage, but I can’t find me some new customers without stocking such a basic need as water!”

  “Yes, Fridurih, I’m aware.” She pulled her list back, tilting her head as her bangs would shuffle away from her face. She leaned forward, resting her idle hand on the counter. “I would, however, urge you to think. As you may know, we use it as a solvent in our potions. This, of course, means that each and every potion made from your stock could save one of your potential customers.” She stared unwaveringly into his eyes as she spoke, unintentionally intimidating the man as she dropped a decently-sized sack of gil onto the counter and pushed it toward him.

  He would not deign to reply at first, simply hanging his head and accepting the coin. He then sighed. “...You’re right. I s’pose the cause is noble.” he’d follow tersely, mostly giving her empty platitudes. Ducking below the counter, he’d grunt harshly while raising a heavy crate onto the counter, dropping it on top with a loud clatter of glass ringing out from inside. Bottles, no doubt. With a dry, brief laugh that hardly matched his countenance, he reached toward the pouch of gil, briefly sized it up in his hands then stashed it away beneath the counter, somewhere out of sight.

  Watching the Raen trying to drag the crate off of the counter, he snuck a look to either side, fully expecting some large guild associate to come out of the crowd and assist her with the goods. To the equal surprise of both Fridurih and the line formed in front of his store, she would instead simply hoist it herself, barely letting out a grunt of effort as she walked off with the crate in tow. It was, however, quite apparent that it still took a toll on her, several people watching as she set it down a few yalms away by the nearby Aethernet shard, straightened her back and exited the crowd of people, and stared at the aforementioned shard. She then sighed in disappointment, picked the crate back up and headed straight into Pearl Lane – judging by the brief look of consternation on the faces of a few individuals, this may have been an unusual choice.

  Making her way through the notably more open alleyway, the diminutive Auri lady looked like a particularly vulnerable sort, barely walking normally with a box half her size in her arms, its contents constantly clattering about. Of course, among the street urchins of Pearl Lane, there was little care for what was in the crate – what mattered was that there was a crate at all. Most of the downtrodden simply watched, while some would throw out an insulting remark or two at someone with such prim and proper attire traipsing about their haunt. The words missed their target, for the most part; while those that landed were met with little care.

  Right as she readied to turn heel and head toward the staircase to the much safer Hustings Strip, she’d end up briefly stopping as she heard footsteps behind her. It was easy to ascertain the source: a young Midlander lady, evidently the reckless type judging by her stride. She looked like she had barely seen twenty summers.

  “Lady…” she opened with a soft chuckle, “...are ya really going to pass by without sharin’ whatever it is ya got there?” She leaned close to the Raen’s shoulder, her hands at rest in her pockets. “Have ya no heart?” She taunted, brandishing a flimsy pocket knife and holding it to the back of the Au Ra.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  The woman stopped, and laid the box down. She turned, slowly, to face her would-be aggressor, and maintained a completely stern countenance. The rings decorating her eyes shone in the dim light of the alleyway, making her gaze hard to meet. She wordlessly stared, slowly approaching the ill-intentioned girl, who took a step back in reaction. A meek, fearful noise rang out from her as the Raen suddenly grabbed her by the wrist, the leather of her glove creaking in the quiet street as her grip grew steadily more forceful.

  The Au Ra tilted her head, looking at the crude blade, then at its wielder. Her grip grew stronger yet. “There is nothing for you in what I have.” She opened in an uncompromising tone, inviting a frown from the would-be attacker before a sudden harsh squeeze forced away the girl’s grip on her weapon. The Auri lady let go afterwards, content with hearing the blade clatter against the ground. Her confrontational gaze, however, held.

  She turned away, hoisting her luggage into her arms again. Yet, she continued to side-eye the girl. “A weak will dulls an edge worse than any rust or rot.” She stated coldly, with resentment – but not toward the girl. She turned fully and placidly walked away toward the Strip. She heard the Midlander grunt and shout angrily behind her, calling her various names best left unspoken, but not once did she hear the knife leave the ground. She would not spare another word.

  Some minutes later, the door to the Alchemists’ flew open with a kick from the Raen, who no longer bothered to set the crate down.

  “Severian!” She called loudly. “New stock is here. I’m leaving it with Esmenet if you need any.” She walked toward the reception desk, letting the crate drop onto the counter with a loud thud. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she turned to look at the guildmaster, whose shoulders shot up in surprise at the loud sound.

  “Assistant!” He scoffed in frustration, softly hitting the table with the side of his fists. “Do you absolutely have to disturb my work so?” He grumbled to himself, staring at a pile of notes and crossing his arms.

  “Well, yes. You haven’t had a single meal today. Someone needs to remind you…” She stated frankly, looking away and adjusting her gloves and sleeves with a placid, yet mildly warm countenance. She then shook her head, hearing her overzealous guildmaster scoff yet again, with even more obvious frustration. Behind both of them, Esmenet, the guild’s supplier, simply nodded along with her as she was stocking distilled water onto some shelves.

  Turning heel, she went back to the counter and rested her elbows on it, looking at the Midlander stocking for a moment longer before tapping on the counter with her knuckle to draw her attention. “Hey.” the Raen called quietly, waiting for Esmenet to stand and walk up to the desk. “Make sure he doesn’t keel over, okay?” She opened, her voice beginning to rasp. “He needs to e–” She attempted to speak, before being overtaken by a sudden cough. She rushedly rolled up her sleeve, covering her mouth with her arm. Supporting herself on the counter with her other arm, it was not long before she got ahold of herself. Esmenet came forward, resting a hand on the woman’s back as she steadied her breathing. “Shinobu! Easy! Deep breaths!” The Midlander gently rallied the Raen, tapping her softly on the back.

  After a moment, Shinobu stood upright again, fixing up her clothing somewhat, then clearing her throat. “Sorry. As I was saying…” She resumed as if nothing happened, “...he needs to eat something today.”

  Esmenet took a deep breath, closing her eyes, then frowned at Shinobu and crossed her arms. “Yes, you’re right, but…the same could be said for someone else, don’t you think?”

  The Raen sighed, then huffed in amusement. “Yes, I suppose so. I’ll have something soon.” She gave the Midlander a gentle smile, though her eyes were too tired to match.

  “Here’s your pay for today. Compensation for the water, also, since I’m told you paid out of pocket.” Esmenet followed, sliding a decently-sized pouch of gil over to the alchemist. She took it with a quiet chuckle and a head shake, and set both hands in her pockets as she headed for the door. “Make sure you eat!” The Midlander called in Shinobu’s wake, met simply with a friendly wave as the Raen didn’t even turn on her way out.

  “You heard her, Severian.” Esmenet taunted the high-strung guildmaster, who scoffed yet again.

  “Yes, yes, I know. Leave me to my work for a moment longer.” He languidly acquiesced, still staring at his notes.

  Walking up to the Aethernet shard right outside the guild, Shinobu gently held out her hand near it, and set her mind toward the Adventurer’s Guild. She took a deep breath, and disappeared into the aether. Upon her arrival, she breathed deeply again and stretched, then calmly placed her hands into her pockets, ascending the stairs to the doors of the Quicksand and showing herself inside. Most of the tables were full, but she was able to seat herself at the bar. She saw the proprietor, Momodi Modi, having a chat with a leonine Hrothgar right next to her, one that easily towered over her Auri self. His attire was pristine, wearing a well-decorated black longcoat over a white shirt, adorned with a black tie.

  Not quite wishing to interrupt Momodi to place an order for herself just yet, she found herself idly listening to the chatter between the two, noting the differences between his dignified demeanor and her blunt tendencies. While quietly sitting there, one word from the Hrothgar brought her undivided attention.

  Thavnair.