Zalthorian Rumul Drayveth Tharn Orellis the XXIV, the king of Crystalholm, was at a loss. No matter what he attempted the last year and a half, the situation was getting worse and worse. If he was honest with himself, the situation had been bad for a long time before that. When he ascended the throne of Crystalholm, he inherited an empty treasury and heavy debts to The Golden Reliquary. His ancestors were incompetent in managing the kingdom’s funds, and the extensive remodeling of the palace only worsened things.
He sighed deeply and looked out the window at the garden.
His mistake was heeding terrible advice, leading to significant losses in tax revenue—most notably from demanding plaza permits on top of the higher city tributes and selling bazaar permits, both of which had a substantial negative impact. On top of these blunders, countless minor decisions, seemingly insignificant on their own, compounded the problem and created an even greater mess. Now, he was forced to hire mercenaries and adventurers to stop the nobles’ fighting from spilling into the streets, but he did not know where to find the money to pay them.
His hands shook. He yearned to go down to the dungeon and personally break the neck of that fool traitor, Damarion Fusil. How can somebody with the Comptroller of Estates class at level 26 be so foolish and cause so many problems?
It was not enough that he used funds entrusted to him as a Comptroller to build his new ridiculous spire, the tallest spire in the city; he then lost the rest of the funds. On top of that, he collected dirt on aristocratic families to blackmail them and keep them under his thumb. Zalthorian clenched his fists in anger at the imbecile.
Now, almost all the noble families in the city were fighting each other, trying to clear their name on one hand and recover their lost funds on the other. And that wasn’t the worst part. Crystalholm used to have a balance, but not anymore, and that was the biggest problem. The Southern Comptroller of Estates, Marquess Eldric Therion Valenmar Cresthall of Pemisor, held sway over all the noble families below him in the south of Crystalholm. The Northern Comptroller of Estates, Marquess Lorian Drakemir Vaeloran Tristfall of Crystaledge, held sway over all the noble families below him in the north of Crystalholm.
Those three financial titans kept each other in check and prevented each other from gaining too much strength and influence. Now, with Damarion Fusil stripped of his titles and imprisoned for treason, the other two juggernauts were eying Crystalholm as if the rest of the country were a feast spread before them, ripe for consumption. And the fighting noble families didn’t make matters easier. Instead of presenting a united front to keep those two hungry wolves at bay, they were too busy fighting each other.
Zalthorian prayed daily to the Two-Faced Father that the fighting wouldn’t reach the streets. The treasury couldn’t afford the repairs it would entail. On top of that, after the arrogant bastard attacked the Wizard Spire, the wizards announced to the king they wouldn’t be coming to his aid, and the mages sided with the wizards.
Every night, before Zalthorian fell asleep, he fantasized about taking the rest of the funds in the treasury, changing his appearance, and immigrating to Solaria as a humble merchant. After all, he had the class as a family secret tradition—not that it helped any of them make better financial decisions.
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Shosh Hamion sat at his desk in the small office above the Mana-Infused Bakery, staring at the folded parchment in his hands. It was an official document, a deed, making him the owner of the Silverhaven Skyrest, a 35-floor luxury hotel towering above Crystalspire. The deed stated Lord Damarion Fusil as the Comptroller of Estates, but it listed Shosh as the owner, confirming the fact with his name in bold black ink.
Earlier that day, he had found a note attached to the deed, tucked beneath a pile of financial reports. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the message was clear:
“Mr. Hamion,
I apologize for the trouble at the bakery and for embarrassing you in front of your son. I never meant to disturb your life or your business. As an apology, please accept the deed to the Silverhaven Skyrest in compensation. I know this won’t make up for what happened, but I hope it gives you and your family a better future. Now, you will have two businesses to leave for your children. Take care of the core—its place may not be in a bakery but somewhere far grander.—John
P.S. I still think you should tell your kids about the core.”
John, whoever he was, had given Shosh one of the most prestigious properties in the city. It wasn’t just an inn—a luxury skyrest reserved for the wealthy and powerful. It felt unreal.
He had told no one about the deed yet. If word got out that a simple baker owned the Silverhaven, people would ask questions—ones he wasn’t ready to answer.
The note also mentioned the dungeon core hidden in the bakery for generations. It infused the baking with mana, drawing customers from across the continent. But John had suggested Silverhaven would be a better home for the core. Moving it and claiming the skyrest wouldn’t be easy.
That evening, Shosh gathered his children around the table. “Our family has run the bakery for generations,” he began. “But there’s something you don’t know. Something we’ve kept secret for a long time.” He pulled out a glowing orb—the dungeon core. It shimmered in the dim light.
Jerel, his son, gaped. “What is that?”
“This,” Shosh said, “is why our bakery has thrived for so long. The core infuses our ovens with mana, but it’s time for it to protect something greater.”
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Astha, his daughter, narrowed her eyes. “Why are you telling us this now?”
“Because things are changing. Someone left me a deed to the Silverhaven Skyrest.”
Weeks later, Shosh stood before the towering Silverhaven. The legal battle had been as grueling as expected. Nobles vied for ownership, questioning his rights. But Shosh stood firm, knowing he had prepared for this moment. It had cost him more than time and patience—a considerable sum of gold discreetly passed as a “gift” to the Truth Mage. Not a bribe, but enough to ensure a favorable interpretation of the deed.
After weeks of hearings, Shosh was summoned to the throne room. The Truth Mage stepped forward. “You must swear on two points,” he said. “First, that Lord Damarion Fusil was only the Comptroller of Estates and not the owner. Second, that you, Shosh Hamion, are the rightful owner of the spire.”
Shosh nodded, his throat dry. “I swear, Lord Damarion Fusil is only the Comptroller. And I am the rightful owner of the Silverhaven Skyrest.”
The Truth Mage scrutinized him, but Shosh kept his outward composure steady. After all, now he was the owner.
The Truth Mage nodded, turning to the king. “It is the truth,” he declared. “Shosh Hamion is the rightful owner of the Silverhaven Skyrest.”
The king leaned back, considering, then gave a single nod. “Then so be it. The Silverhaven Skyrest belongs to Shosh Hamion.”
Relief flooded Shosh. The spire—his spire—was officially his.
But the work was just beginning. Shosh hired a team of wizards to inscribe protective runes throughout the Silverhaven, weaving a web of magical defenses to ward off intruders and dampen detection magic.
The last step was the connection ritual. Late one night, Shosh led a wizard into a secret cellar beneath the bathhouse. The core, glowing faintly, pulsed in his hands. As the wizard chanted, the runes glowed, binding the core to the spire and sealing the connection.
When Shosh opened his eyes, Silverhaven wasn’t just a skyrest—it was a fortress, protected by the core’s power.
Shosh smiled. The Silverhaven symbolized more than wealth now. It was his family’s legacy.
In the following days, Shosh told his children everything—the core’s new role, its protections, and their responsibilities. They didn’t just manage a bakery anymore. They now held a powerful position as the Silverhaven’s owners.
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Sister Fartay sat in her office and wept—not from sorrow or grief, but pure relief and joy. For years, she and her fellow sisters of the Triple Goddess had fought daily to keep the two orphanages running. It wasn’t easy to keep the orphanages running in a country devoted to the Two-Faced Father, where they celebrated fighting prowess and crafting achievements, but often overlooked nurture, balance, and the cycle of life—the very essence of the Goddess.
But one day, the Goddess sent them a helping hand. First came a generous supply of desperately needed household essentials. Yet, the greatest blessing was the books.
Now, they had enough to educate their children, offering them the chance for a brighter future. And the ancient books, sold for a vast fortune, secured the orphanages’ survival for many years to come.
So, Sister Fartay sat, prayed, and wept—her heart full of gratitude and joy.
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Adi hummed to himself as he worked in his shop. His fingertips brushed the vibrant fabrics and the stacked cosmetics. The store was quiet. Only the soft clink of glass bottles broke the silence as he rearranged the perfume display. It was early morning, and the hustle of Crystalspire hadn’t made its way into his part of the city yet. He relished this calm before the storm of customers arrived.
He went to the back room to get more items for the display and glanced at the sorting table. An elegant perfume bottle perched atop a folded parchment caught his attention. It hadn’t been there when he’d closed the store last night.
He froze, his heart skipping a beat. His eyes darted around the shop, scanning for signs of an intruder. But everything else was as he had left it. He inched toward the table with careful steps.
First, he picked up the bottle with a shaking hand, feeling its familiar weight and shape. The glass shimmered in the dim light, reflecting a myriad of colors. He brought it closer to his face, inhaling the soft, floral scent. It was a perfume from the new batch he had purchased recently—but who had placed it here?
Adi set the bottle down, his curiosity piqued. He turned to the folded parchment beneath it. Unfolding it, his breath hitched as he saw the official seal at the top. His name, written in precise calligraphy, stared back at him.
Deed of Ownership
The Cabinet of Secrets
Adi Abay
His hands trembled as he reread the words, struggling to believe them. It seemed impossible. Since he stopped being a courtesan, he had worked under someone else’s control for years. His supporter had taken a significant cut of his profits. It limited his ability to run the business on his own terms. But now, here it was—the deed, in his name.
“What… how…” he murmured, rereading the document as if the words might change.
A surge of emotions flooded him: relief, disbelief, and elation. For the first time in years, he experienced genuine freedom. He hugged the deed, bounced on his heels, and gracefully pirouetted in the back room, squealing in glee the whole time.
But who could have done this? Who had left this deed here, along with the perfume—almost as a token of congratulations?
His mind raced back to recent events. Could it have been John? The peculiar merchant with more secrets than a locked vault? Adi couldn’t imagine anyone else with the power and the audacity to do something like this. It had to be him. He was a wizard, after all, not only a merchant.
After his glee subsided, he sat on the floor, deep in thought. All his life, he had dreamed of immigrating to Azureas, buying an apprenticeship, and becoming a fabric designer. He weighed the pros and cons and made up his mind.
It took him a month to sell all the recent and old merchandise. Every day, he blessed John in his heart and prayed for his safety. Not only for the deed but also for the fantastic merchandise that flew off the shelves. Next, he sold all the displays and furniture and discreetly contacted the manager of the Potion Emporium. They approached Lord Damarion Fusil several times about purchasing the building that housed The Cabinet of Secrets, but the lord always refused.
After selling his modest one-room apartment and the Cabinet’s building, he hired a group to escort him to Azureas to start a new life. On the way, one adventurer became his lover. Upon reaching Azureas, he went to the temple of the Two-Faced Father and lit a candle for his friend and benefactor, John. As he watched the flame flicker, Adi reflected on how a chance meeting with John had changed his life. A brief encounter had grown into something bigger and opened doors he never thought possible. He realized that small actions, like John’s, could create vast changes. Changes that could reshape his future and that of everyone around him.
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The badger lived happily ever after in the forest, enjoying life with four healthy legs and no worms. Still, he couldn’t help but miss television and those elaborate meals of smoked and grilled snakes.