*Date: 33,480 Third Quarter — Thornbrook Village*
Rodran's home was on the edge of the village, where the buildings gave way to fields and forest. A small stone cottage with a thatched roof. The windows were dark. No light spilled from within.
As they approached, Fox stopped.
"I'm not going in there," the fox said.
Aris looked down. "What? Why?"
"It's too creepy." Fox's ears were flat against his head. "Something's wrong. I can feel it."
"Fox, it's just a house."
"No." The fox's voice was firm. "I'll wait outside. You go. But be quick."
Aris wanted to argue, but Fox's expression stopped him. The black fox was genuinely afraid. And Fox was rarely afraid.
"Fine." Aris turned to Rodran. "My fox will wait outside. He doesn't like enclosed spaces."
Rodran's face flickered with something. Disappointment? Or relief? Aris couldn't tell.
"Of course. Of course. Come in."
---
The inside of the cottage was sparse. A single room with a dirt floor. A fireplace in one corner, cold and dark. A small table. A few chairs. And in the far corner, a cauldron set up over a fire pit, already prepared.
But what caught Aris's attention were the items laid out on the table.
A mage's robe. Dark blue, with silver thread running through the fabric in intricate patterns. It was old but well cared for. The kind of garment that would have cost a fortune new.
And beside it, a dagger. The blade was short but wicked sharp, and it glowed with a faint inner light. Enchanted. Imbued with magic.
"These belonged to my father," Rodran said quietly. "He was... he was a mage. Not a great one. But he tried. He always tried."
Aris picked up the dagger. The magic in it hummed against his palm. It was a good weapon. Better than anything he had ever owned.
"And the robe?"
"Same. He wore it when he practiced. When he tried to teach me." Rodran's voice cracked. "Before he got sick."
Aris felt a pang of guilt. He had been so focused on his own problems that he hadn't considered what Rodran had lost. What he was trying to reclaim.
"Thank you," Aris said. "These are... they're too much. But thank you."
"Take them. Please. They're no use to me."
Aris folded the robe carefully and tucked it into his pack. The dagger went into his belt. Then he turned toward the door.
"I should go. The caravan leaves at dawn, and I need to prepare."
"Wait." Rodran's voice was urgent. "One more demonstration. Please. I'll take notes. I'll write down every step. The timing. The crucial moments. Just one more time."
Aris hesitated. The sun had set. The artificial moon was rising. If he stayed much longer, he might miss the caravan's departure.
But Rodran's face was so desperate. And he had given Aris the robe and dagger. The least Aris could do was one more demonstration.
"One more," Aris said. "That's it."
---
They worked for an hour. Aris walked Rodran through the process again, slower this time. Explaining each step. Why the herbs needed to be ground to a specific consistency. Why the heat had to be exact. Why the magic had to be channeled at the precise moment the mixture changed color.
Rodran wrote everything down. His notes filled page after page. His hand moved frantically, trying to capture every detail.
"Now try," Aris said.
Rodran's attempt was better. Not perfect. But better. The mixture reached the right color. The magic flowed. But at the last moment, something went wrong. The potion turned cloudy instead of clear.
"Almost," Aris said. "You're getting closer."
"One more time. Please. I'm so close."
Aris looked at the door. Outside, he could hear nothing. No sounds from Fox. No sounds from the village. Just silence.
"One more," he agreed.
---
They were halfway through the second attempt when the door rattled.
Not a knock. Not a polite tap. But a series of strange sounds. Scratching. Scraping. Like something was trying to get in.
Then Fox's voice, panicked and urgent.
"Aris! Come already! They're leaving! The caravan is leaving!"
Aris's head snapped up. He moved toward the door, but before he could reach it, there was a loud BAM.
The door burst open.
Standing in the doorway was Vorn. The halfling beastmaster held a club in one hand, and his other hand was wrapped around Fox's neck. The black fox struggled, but Vorn's grip was too strong.
"Hey, you creep." Vorn's voice was cold. "Hey, you. Rodran or something. I'm taking the fox. You can keep that idiot owner. No one will look for him. I swear. He's a son of a bitch player."
Aris's eyes widened. His mind went blank with shock. Then rage flooded through him.
"Let him go!" Aris lunged forward.
But Rodran was faster.
The man grabbed a wooden stick from beside the fireplace and swung it with all his strength. It caught Aris in the back of the head.
Pain exploded through Aris's skull. White-hot. Blinding. His legs gave out beneath him. He hit the dirt floor hard, his vision swimming.
Through the haze, he saw Vorn disappear into the darkness, Fox still struggling in his grip.
He saw Rodran standing over him, the stick raised for another blow.
Then everything went black.