The roulette cube spun faster and faster, humming like an overloaded engine. Ethan grinned, palms rubbing together.
"Alright, come on give me something useful. Armor, staff, divine gauntlet, I'm not picky"
Clink.
Something tiny hit the counter and rolled once before stopping dead.
A lollipop.
Blue and gold candy shimmered under the shop lights, innocent, harmless, absurd.
Ethan just stared. "No. Nope. Not doing this today."
The cube floated beside him, projecting calm white text.
[Reward: Divine-Grade Consumable – Type Unknown.]
[Reminder: Roulette rewards are random.]
"Random?" he echoed, voice flat. "I nearly burn a hole through reality for candy?"
Silence.
He jabbed a finger at the cube. "You're laughing, aren't you? You don't have a face, but I can feel it."
The cube pulsed helpfully.
[Emotional state: amusement – denied.]
"Yeah, that's what I thought." He dropped the lollipop into a jar labeled Things That Betrayed Me and slumped into his chair.
"Fantastic. I own the most powerful vending machine in existence."
A few minutes later, Chrysalis stepped out from the storage room, arms full of folded cloth. "Everything alright, boss?"
"Absolutely," he said, tone deadpan. "Just celebrating the miracle of disappointment."
She tilted her head. "That sounds healthy."
"It builds character."
She eyed the jar behind him. "What's that?"
"Evidence."
"Of?"
"My ongoing bad luck."
Chrysalis chuckled softly, then busied herself arranging relics on a nearby shelf. "At least your bad luck is colorful."
"Colorful and useless," he muttered.
The morning drifted by in slow motion.
No customers.
No emergencies.
Just the rhythmic tick of the rune clock on the wall and the faint hum of the domain's energy.
Every few minutes the cube chimed politely.
[Customer Detection: None.]
Ethan groaned. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."
Chrysalis dusted a crystal vase. "You sound bored."
"I'm not bored," he said, spinning lazily in his chair. "I'm creatively unchallenged. Totally different."
"You're bored."
"...A little."
She smiled. "Then create something. Isn't that what you do?"
"Without purpose? That's dangerous."
"You created candy."
"That was an accident."
"So? Accidents are still creations."
Ethan considered her for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Fine. We'll make something."
"'We'?" she asked warily.
"Congratulations, Apprentice. You're now part of a groundbreaking research project."
"That sounds ominous."
"It probably is."
He grabbed a few leftover materials from under the counter: scraps of enchanted metal, glass beads, a shard of beast core. He tossed them into the air. They hung there, suspended by thin threads of light.
"Let's see what happens when we mix pure curiosity with mild stupidity."
"That's your motto, isn't it?" Chrysalis said dryly.
"Trademark pending."
He gestured, and the pieces began to spin. Sparks of color danced between them, forming the rough outline of a… something. The cube projected faint warning text.
[Unstable composition detected.]
"Relax," Ethan said. "I'm just improvising."
The object solidified with a soft pop.
A small metallic flower floated midair, petals unfolding in slow motion.
Chrysalis's eyes widened. "That's actually beautiful."
The flower wobbled, tilted… and sang.
Off-key. Loudly.
"LAAAA LAAAA LAAAA—"
Ethan blinked. "Okay, not what I intended."
Chrysalis clutched her ears, laughing. "You invented the world's first tone-deaf flower!"
"Great. My legacy."
The flower's pitch climbed higher until glass trembled.
"Shut up!" Ethan snapped. He flicked his wrist; the flower exploded into harmless glitter.
Silence.
Chrysalis coughed back a laugh. "I give it an eight for effort, two for melody."
"Harsh critic."
By midday they'd created:
a self-stirring teacup that refused to stop spinning,
a broom that cleaned everything except the floor,
and a miniature sun that followed Chrysalis around calling her 'Mother.'
She stared at it, expression somewhere between delight and panic. "Why is it following me?"
Ethan rubbed his temples. "It imprinted. Probably my fault. Definitely your problem."
The little glowing orb circled her head happily.
She sighed. "This is my life now."
"Could be worse. It could talk."
The orb chirped. "Hello Mother."
Chrysalis groaned. "You jinxed it."
"I have many talents."
Afternoon settled over the shop like a lazy blanket.
For the first time in ages, the place felt… alive. Not with chaos or danger, just small laughter and idle chatter.
Ethan leaned against the counter, watching Chrysalis teach the miniature sun to stay on one side of the room. She was smiling—a real smile, not the cautious ones she'd worn when she first arrived.
He realized then that the silence didn't bother him anymore. The quiet felt earned. Peaceful.
He almost said something sentimental then decided against it.
"Apprentice," he called. "Tea."
She rolled her eyes. "You have legs."
"I also have a subordinate."
"Barely."
Still, she made the tea.
They sat at the small table near the window. Outside, the streets of Aerion shimmered under the late afternoon light.
Chrysalis took a sip and sighed. "It's strange. I used to wake up every day expecting battle. Now I polish shelves."
"Exciting career change."
She shot him a look. "You're mocking me."
"Professionally."
But then his tone softened. "Still, you seem… lighter."
"Maybe," she admitted. "Maybe this quiet isn't so bad."
He smiled faintly. "Careful. You'll start enjoying working for me."
"Let's not get carried away."
The cube interrupted their banter with a gentle ping.
[Customer Detection: None.]
Ethan raised his cup in salute. "Cheers to another day of absolute mediocrity."
Chrysalis smirked. "You'd hate normal life."
"I'd sue it for boredom."
"Then make something else."
He eyed the jar behind the counter. "I'm not touching that lollipop again."
"You still haven't figured out what it does?"
"Nope, and I'm not testing divine candy on an empty stomach."
"Coward."
"Survivor," he corrected.
As the sun dipped lower, golden light streamed through the crystal windows, casting long shadows across the floor. The rune clock ticked softly, the air warm and still.
Chrysalis leaned on the counter, looking at the glow. "You know, it's kind of beautiful in here when nothing's exploding."
Ethan nodded. "Don't jinx it."
The cube chimed.
[Minor anomaly detected.]
He sighed. "See?"
One of the shelves began to slowly rotate in place, all the objects upon it spinning like a lazy carousel.
Chrysalis blinked. "Is that supposed to happen?"
"Sure," Ethan said, sipping his tea. "Let's call it… creative architecture."
The shelf tilted thirty degrees.
She raised an eyebrow. "It's tilting."
"Feature, not a bug."
The shelf groaned and righted itself.
"See?" Ethan said. "Perfectly stable."
Chrysalis laughed under her breath. "You're impossible."
"And yet, thriving."
Evening crept in. They closed the shop early.
Chrysalis dimmed the lights while Ethan locked the front door with a gesture. The cube drifted behind him, projecting faint text.
[Daily Summary]
Customers – 0
Creations – 7
Explosions – 3
Profit – 0
Ethan grinned. "Productive day."
Chrysalis gave him a flat look. "We made negative income."
"Can't put a price on experience."
"Apparently, you can't put a price on common sense either."
He laughed softly. "Tomorrow will be different."
She smiled, uncertain but hopeful. "You sound sure."
"I'm not," he admitted, "but confidence is ninety percent of being divine."
When she finally left for her room upstairs, Ethan lingered by the counter. The shop was quiet again just the hum of power beneath the floorboards and the faint twinkle of that ridiculous jar.
The lollipop inside glowed once, ever so faintly, like a heartbeat.
Ethan frowned. "...Don't you start."
The glow faded, pretending innocence.
He sighed, turned out the last light, and muttered, "Peace and quiet. I'll take it while it lasts."
Behind him, the cube flickered softly.
[End of Day Report Complete.]
[Forecast: Unlikely to remain quiet tomorrow.]