> “The artefact’s legacy, it’s ability to transfer objects in vast distances... we must study it. This is an opportunity we cannot miss.”

The day blurred in dull monotony, Eddie would fill in orders of medicines and remedies, extract ingredients and stock up the stock, then close the shop, it was always been like that since a few years ago, the same routine, the same activities each day.

That evening, the glass front door of Welton’s Apothecary clicked shut, the chime of the bell on top of the door sounded as Eddie closed it.

“What do you mean you’re not going to the Swordfish Pub?” Eddie asked Markus,

“Sorry Ed,” Markus sighed, “My ol’ man needed help with his back muscles, I gotta help him out.”

“Well alright then, that couldn’t be helped.” Eddie said,

“That being said, you’ve gotta lessen your liquor, you know how much Mrs. Welton doesn’t like the smell of it.”

“She can dislike it all she want.” Eddie chuckled, “See you tomorrow, Markus!”

As Markus started walking the opposite way, he gave Eddie a faint wave as his silhouette swollen by the depression of the road down the hill.

It was just him now, the cold evening air breezed through him, it was cold as usual, seagulls’ cries in the distance and the howling of the sea wind passes through.

With a sigh, Eddie headed toward the street, its sparse bustle hinting at the end of the workday.

-o-

The sign bearing the name Swordfish Pub swayed in the sea breeze as Eddie neared the pub, Fishermen, Merchants, and all sorts of people began to gather to cool off in the evening, including Eddie.

He opened the door, and entered the welcoming yet warm chaos within.

Wood-panelled walls adorned with fishing nets surrounds him. Mounted fish and faded nautical charts decorated its walls. Roaring fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the bustling room. A comforting wave of grilled fish and strong ale washed over him.

“Well well, if it ain’t the young Welton!” the barman said as Eddie neared the counter, wiping a tankard by the bar. “Come to bless us with your wisdom on herbs and potions, aye?”

“More like blessing myself with a pint.” Eddie chuckled as he heaved up to the stool.

“The usual then, Edward?” The barman smiled

“You know me,” Eddie chuckled,

The barman then took the tankard, filled it with a pint and set it down in front of Eddie, “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

“Hard day at the shop?”

“Something like that.” Eddie said, putting his tankard down.

“You can always talk to me about that kinda stuff you know, Edward. It makes it weight less on your mind!”

“What are you? My therapist?” Eddie chuckled

“My fees are cheaper than the therapist.”

Eddie laughed, “Yeah sure, I’ll make sure to ring you up the next time I am in a sort of crisis.”

The barman laughed, The barkeep chuckled, but the sound was cut short as another patron waved him over. “Duty calls. I’ll see ya later, Welton,” he said, setting the clean mug aside and heading to the other end of the bar.

Eddie was left with his drink. He stared into the amber coloured liquid for a moment. Letting the pub’s ambience fill his ears—the murmur of conversations, the occasional clink of tankards, and the crackle of the fire.

Then, his attention was caught by a voice. Its rhythm sharp and musical. But layered with an unfamiliar guttural quality. Eddie’s attention peaked; the tone familiar, though he couldn’t remember it.

Turning his seat, he looked around, scanning the room. Maybe it’s Lydia? Or someone he knows, but then, his eyes landed on a figure seated at a corner table.

The figure’s sharp, pointed ears were a dead giveaway; Eddie knew instantly who it was.

It was Catherine.

Her figure is leaning forward. Her apple-red hair caught the lantern light. Her sharp, pointed ears made a silhouette distinguishing that she is an Elf. She speaks in rapid bursts of a foreign tongue Eddie didn’t recognise. Opposite her sat three merchants, their attire adorned with intricate patterns and jewellery that marked them as travellers from distant lands. On the table between them lay a worn, yellowed map, its edges curled and frayed.

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What the hell is Catherine doing here? In his usual pub? And what the hell is she doing with those merchants? Is she selling something? Buying something? Didn’t she go with his mother earlier this morning?

The merchants were speaking now, their voices hushed. Catherine’s response was fluent, her voice low and measured. Eddie could barely follow, but a few phrases in the common tongue broke through, and from Eddie’s old lesson in Alamirian language, it began to slowly be pieced together, like fragments of a puzzle:

“...the Artefact of the Nightingale Dragon...”

Eddie’s curiosity flared. Quietly, he picked up his tankard and moved to a table a few feet behind her. He moves, taking care not to draw attention to himself. He leaned back, feigning a casual demeanour as he sipped his drink, his ears straining to catch the conversation.

The merchants leaned closer to Catherine, one gesturing toward the map.

“We will pay you whatever you ask,” the man said.

“The artefact’s legacy, it’s ability to transfer objects in vast distances... we must study it. This is an opportunity we cannot miss.”

Catherine tilted her head, her expression unreadable as she considered their words.

One of the merchants chuckled. “Study, leverage—it’s all the same in the right hands.

You know where it is, and we have the means to recover it. Name your price, Katarina.”

Eddie’s thoughts churned. Why was Catherine speaking to these merchants about such dangerous things? And why hadn’t she mentioned any of this before?

Catherine leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming on the table. “If I agree,” she said slowly, “You pay me upfront. No games, no bargaining.”

“Done,” the merchant said without hesitation.

Catherine then rose from her seat, her movements quick and light as she folded the map and tucked it into her sash inside her coat.

The merchants nodded in satisfaction. One of them counted out a small pouch of coins and slid it across the table.

“Thanks for the deal!” Catherine said, her expression triumphant—like a child who had just been handed a hefty allowance.

She left the table with a spring in her step, dodging the crowded pub toward the door. On her way, she tossed a few coins onto the bar, calling out a quick thanks to the barkeep.

Eddie’s heart raced as she approached. He sank deeper into his chair, his body to remain hidden in the pub’s dim lighting. The flicker of a gas lamp threw shadows across his face, and he held his breath as she passed mere feet away.

She didn’t notice him. The door swung shut behind her with a soft creak, and Eddie exhaled, relief washing over him.

The merchants remained at their table. They are deep in conversation, their voices slipping back into their native tongue. So many questions had popped inside Eddie, who were Catherine talking to? What is she doing here? And most importantly, what does she have to do with The Nightingale Dragon?

Maybe It’s a conversation for another day, Eddie wasn’t supposed to hear about this anyway, it was Catherine’s business, he shouldn’t pry. Eddie relaxed, taking another sip from his tankard,

But then—

“Were you listening, boy?”

Their voice cut through the bustling pub with a pierce thick with an unfamiliar accent. Eddie froze, his drink halfway to his lips, his eyes shooting toward the source, it was the merchant.

One of the merchants had turned in his seat, his piercing gaze locked on Eddie. He was the eldest of the group, his grizzled beard streaked with silver and his eyes sharp as a hawk’s.

“What did you hear?” He continued

“What are you doing, brother?” The other one called, “Leave the boy alone will you?”

“No,” He said, “He is eavesdropping, he listened to confidential client conversations.”

“What?” his tone changes, “For how long?”

“Don’t know,” The eldest continued, “That is what I want to find out.”

After that word, other two merchants followed. Their expressions shifted from joviality into a serious one as they joined the first, moving to stand in front of Eddie’s table.

Together, they loomed over him. Their faces were half-shrouded by the flickering light of the gas lamp above. Eddie sat in shadow, trapped under their watchful eyes.

“Look, I—I wasn’t—” Eddie stammered, his mind scrambling for an excuse.

“Don’t lie to me, boy.” The eldest merchant leaned closer, his tone low and menacing. “How long were you listening? What did you hear?”

“N-no, I wasn’t listening, I—I’m just here for a drink,” he stammered, his eyes darting between the men.

“Liar,” the second merchant hissed.

Eddie’s hand patted against his jacket pocket. Then the next, and the next, his fingers patting each in turn as if searching for a lifeline. Nothing. He moved to the inner pocket. Still nothing.

Then—his pants pocket. His heart skipped a beat. There it was. A wand.

Torrie’s wand.

How did he still have it? He had meant to give it back earlier this morning, but with Markus coming in and everything else, it must’ve slipped his mind. His fingers curled around it instinctively.

The fishermen at the bar let out a booming laugh, the sound breaking briefly through Eddie’s rising panic, Indifferent to his danger.

Eddie glanced around the room, eyes landing on a table a few feet away. A bottle of something dark and potent sat precariously close to the edge. Right beside the burly, tattooed fisherman who had just been served.

Bingo, Eddie thought, a carbonated drink.

Eddie’s eyes darted back to the merchants. Their intent was clear.

No more time to think, he got to act fast.

Eddie took the wand out from his pocket, and pointed it to the bottle just behind the merchant,

He focused on the bottle, he tried to remember his old lessons, stages of alchemical transmutation. Nigredo, Albedo, CItrinitas, then Rubedo… All of it, he imagined the carbonated drink to bubble up, and spurt, that will give him an opening to escape!

With a swift flick of Torrie’s wand hidden beneath the table. He triggered the stages of transformation, shifting the bottle’s integrity.

But instead of the carbonated drink to spurt, the bottle shattered with a loud crack. It sends a spray of carbonated drink, sugar, and glass shards across the burly fisherman’s chest and face. The man shot to his feet with a roar, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor.

“Oi! What the fuck?!” the fisherman snarled, rising to his feet. His chair scraped loudly against the floor, drawing the attention of his companions.

The merchant with the staff barely had time to react. The fisherman’s massive fist collided with his shoulder. Sending him stumbling into the second merchant.

The scimitar-wielder tried to draw his blade. But another fisherman tackled him, his thick arms locking around the merchant’s waist.

The third merchant routed, trying but barely escaping the chaos.

But alas, Chaos erupted.

The pub filled with the sounds of shouting, breaking chairs, and clattering glass. Other fishermen joined in, eager for an excuse to throw a punch. The merchants, caught off guard, scrambled to defend themselves.

Eddie slid his chair back quietly, sinking deeper into the shadows. The commotion provided the perfect cover.

As fists flew and tables overturned, he clutched the wand tightly in his hand and edged toward the door.

Eddie slipped out of the pub and into the cool night air, the sounds of the brawl fading behind him. His heart pounded in his chest as he shoved Torrie’s wand back into his pocket.