Malthus’s shop was tucked away in one of the quieter parts of New Taranis’s Central Business District. Nestled between a pawn shop and a tattoo parlor, it was a modest four-story building with a plain white exterior. A faded banner that read The Enchanted Emporium hung above the door, its unremarkable font barely catching the eye of passersby.

I remember the first time I laid eyes on this place, Kyro thought, standing outside the nondescript door. Anything to pass the time while he gathered his wits.

He’d been baffled. In a city full of dazzling storefronts and creative designs, the shop’s lack of visual appeal seemed like a surefire path to bankruptcy. He was so confused, in fact, he had asked Malthus outright if the bland appearance was part of some grand scheme to cash in on insurance.

Malthus had laughed heartily, giving Kyro a look he would later recognize as his time for a lesson face—a look Kyro would see plenty of times in the coming years.

"Little Kyro," Malthus had said in his gravelly voice, "style has its place, but when push comes to shove, substance always wins."

That had been two years ago, but Kyro still remembered the conversation as if it were yesterday. I didn’t understand his words back then, but it didn’t take long for me to see the truth in them…

At first glance, Malthus’s fondness for simplicity might have seemed like a career misstep in a city like New Taranis. But Kyro learned quickly that what his boss lacked in flair, he more than made up for in quality. And for the shop’s diverse clientele, quality was all that mattered.

Quality and variety.

Malthus had been in the game for more than two decades in his line of work. He’d earned quite the reputation, and in this city, reputation meant everything.

Deciding he’d lingered outside long enough, Kyro turned the handle and stepped inside. The bell above the door jingled, its chime louder than he remembered, but the shop was empty. Not a single soul in sight, at least from what he could see.

The interior was brightly lit, shelves cluttered with objects of all kinds—jewelry, scrolls, trinkets, and various other items of different shapes and sizes.

Kyro’s gaze drifted to a human-sized jade fish sculpture, carved with eerie precision, standing in the far corner.

A chill ran down his spine.

Damn it, he cursed silently. Even after two years, damn thing still creeps me out.

He wasn’t the only one either—customers had their own names for it: Bubble-Eyed Horror, Jade Nightmare, and Kyro’s personal favorite, the Eldritch Fish Stick.

Simply put, the fish had an odd, disturbing presence. Even if you discounted the matter of its wide, bulging eyes, the lips were unnaturally pouted, curling upward just enough to give the illusion of a smile, though it was more disturbing than friendly.

I tried to talk Malthus into getting rid of it so many times, Kyro mused. But Malthus never listened. Maybe the grinning abomination held sentimental value... Whatever it was, it couldn’t be any kind of healthy attachment.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Then again, I keep regular tabs on a hundred-year-old skeleton, so maybe I’m not one to judge, Kyro thought.

He examined the shelves, taking in the familiar surroundings. It’s all just as I left it. Except for the dust.

It was obvious Malthus hadn’t bothered to clean in the past five days, which, honestly, relieved him a little. That Malthus might have hired someone to replace him was one of his greatest concerns coming here.

Looks like I had nothing to worry about. Nothing except how I’m going to convince the old codger to let me keep my job, anyway.

He approached the dark wooden counter at the center of the room. Behind it sat a tall stool—one fourteen-year old him had convinced Malthus to buy after realizing the counter was too high to sit at comfortably. The ledgers he had memorized in exchange for the stool lay stacked to one side, half-obscured by a dusty cloth.

Kyro stepped behind the counter and pushed aside a hidden panel to reveal a secret compartment with three buttons: red, blue, and yellow.

Malthus spent most of his time on the upper floors, and each button had a purpose. The blue one summoned him for important customers. Or, at the very least, garnered his attention. The red signaled trouble—usually unruly visitors like drunks or spies from competitors, though those incidents had become rare since Zoren reinforced the wards.

As for the yellow? Kyro had no idea. Malthus never told him, and he never asked.

You know what, I’ll just go upstairs instead, Kyro decided, letting the panel slide back into place.

He wasn’t forbidden from going to the second floor, after all. The third and fourth, however, were strictly off-limits. Kyro had sneaked a peek at the third floor once. No matter what happened today, Malthus couldn’t take that memory away from him.

Just as Kyro was about to head upstairs, the doorbell jingled.

"Welcome to The Enchanted Empori—" The greeting rolled off his tongue from habit, but as he turned to see who had entered, his voice faltered.

A tall woman stood in the doorway, her presence commanding. She was draped in a long, dark cloak that billowed softly around her calves, her black hair pulled into a tight knot.

A sorcerer, Kyro thought, another kind of knot tightening in his stomach.

Years at the Emporium had taught him to spot the subtle, and sometimes not-so-subtle, tells of an emu sorcerer.

Sometimes it was a tattoo. Sometimes impractical gear no normal person would wear. Occasionally, it was unnaturally good looks, and very few times it was an eclectic combination of all three.

Then there were the times when no tells were needed at all—like when a wolf-human hybrid strolled into the shop in broad daylight… Some things just didn’t require explanation.

With her, it was her intense gaze and the odd energy she radiated. An Augmenter, Kyro guessed. And a high-ranked one.

Could her arrival be related to Nia Soren? He wasn’t sure.

“You… What’s wrong with you?” she demanded, her sharp voice jolting him back to reality.

Kyro’s heart raced. “I—I’m sorry?”

“Why are you gawking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

Oh.

“N-no, I didn’t realize I—”

“Forget it,” she snapped. “Do you work here?”

Kyro cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Uh, yes, I do.” Technically, he still did. “How can I help you?”

The sorceress looked him over, unimpressed. “I don’t think you can,” she said coldly. “But we’ll see.”

Without another word, she brushed past him. The scent of lavender filled the air as she moved to inspect the shelves, her sharp green eyes scanning the items like a hawk.

She’s… kinda rude, Kyro thought, more flustered than surprised.

Sorcerers usually fell into three main categories when it came to dealing and interacting with normies. The most common—and his least favorite—were the arrogant I can smash you with my finger like a bug if I wanted types who were as dangerous as they were annoying.

Then there were the protective guardian ones, friendly but often condescending. His favorite was the indifferent kind, who didn’t care enough to put on airs. They were the easiest to deal with.

This one’s probably a category one, Kyro thought. Or maybe just a really antisocial category three. Or a bit of both. It was rare, but some sorcerers tended to blur the lines.

She doesn’t seem to like me much, Kyro thought, walking back to the counter. Admittedly, that made it a little harder to use this situation to his advantage.

But was it too late to turn things around?

Maybe not.

When the sorcerer turned her back, he discreetly pressed the blue button hidden in the secret compartment.