The tavern they were in was probably the nicest in Varant. It wasn’t a city for merchants, by any means, but as the logistical center of the northern wall the market for armaments was thriving.

And since the knights were paid handsomely, they tended to leave most of their salary to their family’s discretion. Coin purses were stout enough to support a healthy commercial district, and it was a choice location for ambitious merchants looking to be the big fish in the small lake.

With his overcoat dyed sunny yellow, and his suede gloves, Ceric certainly looked wealthy enough to be a merchant—but his gaudy tastes made Ailn suspect he wasn’t.

Even a week in this world was enough to teach Ailn that merchants shied away from nouveau riche behavior, which is what Ceric’s clothes would’ve screamed to them. Though, that could plausibly be unique to Varant.

“Are you a merchant, Ceric?” Ailn asked.

“Only as a means,” Ceric said, with a shake of his head. “I’m an explorer… no, an investigator.” He paused and stroked his beard to ponder the profound question of what he really was.

“I take it that means you’re always on the hunt for funding,” Ailn said, glancing down at the man’s worn boots.

“Yes,” Ceric gave a worldbeaten sigh, “the only thing people want to risk less than their life is their money.”

“You’re not wrong,” Ailn shrugged. “What’s your poison, Ceric?”

“I like to drink what the locals drink,” Ceric said.

“‘Locals,’ huh? The wine’s good here,” Ailn said, calling over a barmaid and handing her a silver coin. “Just keep us topped off and keep the change. Oh, and some cheese, too?”

Giving her most generous customer a kittenish smile and wink, the raven-haired barmaid sauntered off, dropping the coin into one of the jars on the counter.

There were a lot of good smells floating around the tavern. The aroma of meat roasted with rosemary mixed with the scents of all the drinks being poured: meads, ales, and wines, which smelled sweet, yeasty, and tart in turn.

It was great for tempting overindulgence.

Soon enough, the barmaid returned with two clay mugs, wide and tall, and filled to the brim with a white, sparkling wine.

“Aha!” Ceric’s eyes sparkled just like the wine. “Champagne, my friend? What’s the occasion?”

“To friendship,” Ailn raised his mug, tapping it against Ceric’s. “Champagne technically only refers to wine produced in that specific region of France, by the way. They call it pearl wine here in Varant.”

“So that’s how it is! You learn something new every day.” Ceric took a gulp, and swished his mug around. “Pearl wine… I like that.”

“It’s classy, isn’t it?” Ailn took a small sip of his wine, feeling a little stupid he’d wasted a whole silver just to ply Ceric with drinks. The guy had gone and outed himself before he’d even imbibed. “Say, why were you trying to sell an appleseed, anyway?”

“It’s a trade secret, my friend,” Ceric said leaning in. “But I know for a fact a single appleseed is the first step to the riches I so desperately need.”

“Tell me,” Ailn said. “I can keep my mouth shut.”

Ceric just laughed, and downed his mug. The barmaid didn’t take long to fill it back up, and she brought their cheese too.

“Listen here, what do you suppose happens if I trade that appleseed for something just a little bigger and pricier? Say, a small glass jar?” Ceric asked.

Ailn pretended to very seriously ponder this rhetorical question. The reality was, a glass jar was a valuable commodity in this world. They were currently drinking from clay mugs, after all.

“What happens?” Ailn asked.

“Then I’ve just created capital out of thin air. Now, what do you think I’d do next?” Ceric asked, taking a bite out of the cheese that arrived. “Oh, this is magnificent.”

“Trade the glass jar for a hen?” Ailn suggested, eating some cheese himself. “Pairs well with the wine, doesn’t it?”

"Precisely! You’ve got a fine mind for economics," Ceric waved his arms out in a show of praise, and took another big gulp of the sweet pearl wine. Sweetness still on his tongue, he ate another piece of the sharp cheese, then stared at their tablefare struck. “It’s a vicious cycle…”

“Just wait till you try the roast,” Ailn said, calling the barmaid over. “Could you leave us a full jug? And bring us some venison while you’re at it.”

She didn’t look entirely happy that the order of meat would eat into her gigantic tip, but she nodded, anyway.

When she was back with a huge jug of pearl wine, Ailn topped his off with a splash, and filled Ceric’s entire mug up.

"Why, keep doin' that and lemme tell ya…" He pointed very close to Ailn’s face, and slurred. "Soon 'nough, you will have an empire."

“An empire?” Ailn asked.

“An empireh!” Ceric downed his whole mug again, as if to demonstrate this hypothetical wealth via his lavish gluttony, and held it out for Ailn to fill.

“Hmm, very wise, very wise,” Ailn took another sip of his wine. Then he took a big swig, because he had the feeling this conversation would be more enjoyable if he was tipsy. “Just where do you get such wisdom? It’s rather… otherworldly.”

Even though this was a get rich quick scheme so common it was already a cliche, Ailn knew it wasn’t completely meritless. In principle, you really could always trade upwards in value so long as you found someone. The real issue was that, at a certain point, finding the next trade up takes extraordinary effort.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

It ends up being more of a hassle than just doing normal business.

Two plates of roast venison were set down on their table.

"Otherworl’ly… yes," Ceric stroked his beard. “Auhhh… that’s good.”

Now that their meal was here, Ailn just let the man inebriate himself. It was probably a little overkill, but he wanted to get this guy’s jeweled eyes in one go.

Cairn and Renea, who each gave their ruby eyes fairly easily, would be the exception and not the rule, considering the circumstances.

This roast really was good, though.

"I have an—otherworldly shource,” Ceric slurred unprompted. Then he pointed to his head and said something Ailn didn’t expect. "I've—got a shuperpower.”

Ailn blinked a few times.

“...The superpower to… come here from another world?” Ailn asked.

“No, no! How do you even knoweh that?” Ceric waved his hand around and scoffed loudly as if Ailn was stupid. “...Sorreh… that was rude.”

“It’s fine. Tell me about this superpower?”

Ceric rummaged around in his overcoat, before pulling out a small journal bound in leather. Thumbing through its pages, he found its most recent entry.

The two pages that were open talked to each other.

On one side was a question. And on the other side was its answer.

‘Q: How can I, Ceric Windrider, become rich enough to fund my expeditions?’

‘A: The seed of an appletree is no different from the seed of an empire.’

“Thish,” Ceric gave Ailn a knowing smile, “ish Nightwriter.”

And for just a second, in Ceric’s eyes, Ailn caught a flash of gold.

----------------------------------------

In Ceric’s past life, he worked construction. One day a steel beam fell on him.

Suffice to say, he died.

It was an unfortunate end to an unremarkable life. His wife had already passed on, and his children had already left the nest, so he died fulfilled yet unattached. He thought he’d lived a pretty good life.

Except.

He always wanted to know what happened to those ships that disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle.

He knew what was in Area 51, which was aliens, so he was only slightly interested because he wanted to know if they looked like grays or little green men. He wanted to find Bigfoot, but he would’ve been depressed if he found out Bigfoot was already dead—so he let that matter lie.

He thought it would be educational to see what kind of lost ancient technologies had built the Pyramids and Stonehenge.

And he wanted to read the Voynich Manuscript properly one day.

Thanks to the History Channel, he was a learned man, and his list of fascinations went on.

He’d never get to all of them, but he always had an inkling he’d get around to at least one, and he probably would’ve if it weren’t for his untimely death. He was no spring chicken when the beam fell on him, of course—he just planned to follow his passions after he retired.

That’s what he saved up for.

When he came to, he was a whole different person. But he wasn’t Ceric Windrider, yet.

He was just Ceric, the merchant who’d apparently just lost his life’s savings in a bad deal. That Ceric had been teetering on despondency for a while, and had a habit of rowing out to the middle of harbor to stare into its depths.

Yes, that Ceric was probably not long for this world anyway, because when this Ceric woke up he had stones tied to his legs, and he was staring into the harbor himself.

The first thing he saw was his new face. Young, roguish, blonde. A full life ahead of him, even if he had to restart and build his wealth.

That day, his eyes glowed gold, so gilded and lustrous he thought he could reach into the water’s surface and pull out a nugget.

He was sure that meant he was going to be rich. Confidently paddling back to shore, and enduring the yells of the angry shipowners that he was disturbing maritime traffic again, he made a declaration: this time he was going to live his life differently.

All the boring folks in mer-Sereia harbor thought he’d finally lost it.

Against his best hopes, though, Ceric quickly found himself in construction again. Lots of people in this world used magic, but he didn’t have any. He needed to figure out how to build his wealth fast.

A few years passed like that, in a standstill. He wasn’t living hand to mouth, but he wasn’t anywhere near wealthy enough to travel the way he wanted to. Who knew when something else was going to fall on him?

He’d taken to writing in a journal to keep his spirits up. And one day, when he really was at his lowest, he wrote it into his journal: a question to reflect on until he woke up, in hopes his dreams would give him an answer.

“Just what am I meant to do?”

And the next day, as if by a miracle, it came back. Written right there, on the next page, by some mysterious force was the answer.

“Solve the mysteries of the world.”

Of course. He’d known it all along, but he’d been losing his confidence. And he’d never been quite confident enough to say it out loud: that he was going to solve all the world’s greatest mysteries.

Ceric was going to solve them all. And to do that, he needed a change of attitude.

He wasn’t simple Ceric anymore. No. From that point on, he was Ceric Windrider, because that’s exactly what he was going to do. And he was going to use this newfound power, which he called Nightwriter, to do it.

“How can I get the money to start my new journey?” Ceric wrote into his journal.

And the answer came back: “Look into your depths.”

Ceric understood what this meant immediately.

It meant that there was treasure at the bottom of the harbor, and he had to look for it. And that’s exactly what he did every day after working his construction job, for a full year.

He got so good at diving he could hold his breath for four minutes at a time. The young bodies in this world were amazing, and he only made his stronger and healthier.

It was inevitable he’d find the chest of gold coins, lost in the harbor’s depths from an unfortunate crash between two ships decades ago, still unrecovered despite the port authority’s best efforts.

They didn’t have Nightwriter.

They weren’t Ceric Windrider.

----------------------------------------

“And thash how I became ‘n investigator,” Ceric slurred out with a grin.

“You know what, Ceric?” Ailn nodded in appreciation. “I like you.”

“Wai’... You didn’ already?” Ceric asked.

“We were friends, but now we’re comrades. Get it?” Ailn asked. “Oops, let’s hold back on that last drink, shall we?”

“Yeahhh… Comrades,” Ceric slurred.

It was readily apparent that when Ailn and Ceric each called themselves an investigator, they meant two very different things, but Ailn felt strong kinship with Ceric nonetheless.

One thing stood out to him about Ceric’s story, though.

If everything Ceric said was true, he probably didn’t have ruby eyes. He probably had eyes of gold. The young god understood that gold wasn’t a jewel, right…? Maybe ‘precious mineral eyes’ was too much of a mouthful.

At any rate, he wanted to test out a few theories. So, Ailn, having been let into Ceric’s grand little secret, asked him a favor.

“Ceric… I’m gonna make a big ask of you,” Ailn said.

“Anythin’ forh my new comrade,” Ceric replied.

“Can I ask you to use Nightwriter once for me?” Ailn asked.

“Sureh,” Ceric said, flipping to a couple of blank pages like it was nothing for him and smirking. “I know you’reh testin’ me you sly fox.”

“Alright, Ceric. Could you write this question down for me? ‘Ten days ago, who tried to kill Ailn eum-Creid?’”