The air in the forge was hot and full of hope. Eon stood in the center of the room, feeling the heat on his skin. Behind him, the elves were in their positions. The bellows were pumping, huff, puff, huff, puff, and the fire was growing into a beautiful, roaring orange beast.
"This is it!" Eon shouted, his voice full of excitement. "Group A, bring the ore! Let's show this world what a real factory looks like!"
Kaelen the smith stood by the anvil, his eyes glowing as he watched the flames. It had been years since he saw a fire this bright. He felt ready. He felt alive.
But then, the movement stopped. Pelen, one of the elves in charge of the ore, walked over to a large wooden bin. He reached inside, and his hand made a scraping sound against the bottom. He looked back at Eon, his face pale and embarrassed.
"Umm, Eon..." Pelen whispered. "There is no more."
Eon's heart sank. "Huh, What do you mean, no more? Check the other bins."
Kaelen walked over to the coal pile. He kicked the small mound of black rocks. "It's empty, Eon. We have enough coal to keep this fire hot for maybe five minutes. And the iron..." He picked up a tiny, rusted piece of rock. "This wouldn't even make a spoon."
The roaring fire, which had felt like the start of a revolution, suddenly felt like a mistake. The elves stopped pumping the bellows. The light in the room began to fade as the fire died down. The silence was heavy and awkward.
Eon felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. He had spent all that time organizing everyone, giving them grand titles like "The Lungs" and "The Hands," and he had forgotten the most basic thing: the supplies.
"Right," Eon said, clearing his throat and looking at the floor. "Everyone... just... take a break. Go help the others in the garden. We are going to the market."
An hour later, a plain wooden carriage rattled down the bumpy road leading away from the mansion. It was an old, ugly carriage used for moving grain, chosen specifically because it wouldn't attract any attention.
Inside, Eon, Elsa, and Carla sat in the shadows. All three were wearing heavy, dark hoodies that hid their faces. The hoodie was big. It was not to the extent of making them suspicious but it did its main job of hiding their face.
The carriage jolted over a deep hole, and Elsa bumped her head against the wooden wall. She sighed, reaching up to touch the pointed tip of her ear through the fabric.
"Eon," she said softly, her voice sounding tired. "Can't you just give us that potion? The one you used before? It would be so much easier to walk around if we looked like humans."
Eon looked at her. He saw the sadness in her eyes, not even being able to go outside after all this time freely.
"Elsa, listen to me," Eon said, his voice gentle but firm. "That potion doesn't actually change you. It's a 'Controlled Hallucination.' It's like a magic trick for the eyes. It makes people think they see a human, but it doesn't change your biology."
He leaned closer so she could hear him over the noise of the wheels. "If someone stands too close, or if they look at you for more than a few seconds, the trick breaks. They would see your true ears through the blur. If it were a real transformation, I wouldn't keep you locked in that house. I want you to be free more than anyone, but a fake face won't keep you safe in a crowd."
Elsa looked down at her lap. Her shoulders slumped. "I just... I hate these hoodies. I feel like a prisoner even when I'm outside."
Eon reached out and briefly squeezed her hand. He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes promised her that one day, the hoodies would come off for good.
As they entered the market district, Eon's eyes narrowed. He had imagined a fantasy market to be full of life, with shouting merchants and colorful stalls.
But what he saw instead was a ghost town.
The streets were made of cracked stones with brown weeds growing through the gaps. Most of the buildings had boarded-up windows. The few people walking around were humans with thin faces and ragged clothes. There was no music. There was no laughter. Even the air smelled of damp wood and rot.
"It's so quiet," Eon muttered. "Where are the others? No beast-kin? No other elves?"
Carla shook her head, her face full of grief. "They are gone, Lord Eon. The old Count ruined this place. He taxed the merchants so much until they couldn't afford to even buy bread. He spent all the county's money on his own greed. Now, there is no work. Even the free demi-humans fled to the cities years ago. The only ones left here are the ones too poor or too attached to this place to leave."
"Umm, Carla. You can speak casually to me, you know. You dont have to add lord to my name."
"Yes." Carla blushed a little.
She pointed to an old man sitting in the mud, staring at nothing. "Countess Teressa tries her best, but you can't fix a decade of rot in a few months. This market is a graveyard for business."
Eon felt a surge of anger. He realized that the "monsters" in this world weren't just the ones with claws. The humans who had ruled this land had been far more destructive.
They stopped at a small, soot-stained shop at the edge of the market. A faded sign showed an anvil, but the shop looked like it was falling apart. Inside, a man was slumped over a wooden table, snoring loudly. He had messy, salt-and-pepper hair and a face covered in old scars and soot.
THUD!
Carla slammed her hand onto the table. The man shrieked, falling off his chair and scrambling backward on the floor.
"I didn't do it! The taxes are in the mail!" he yelled, waving his arms in a panic. He blinked, realized where he was, and stood up with a groan. "Welcome to Meron's shop... whatever. What do you want? I don't have any horseshoes left."
When he saw Carla, his grumpy face softened. "Oh. Carla. It's you. Is the mansion's chimney falling down again?"
"No, Meron," Carla said, giving him a small, sad smile. She turned to Eon. "Lord Eon, oh. Sorry. Eon. this is Meron. He was my neighbor when I was a girl. He used to make the most beautiful swords in the whole North. Even Kings used to send him letters."
Meron snorted, leaning against a cold forge. "Kings don't send letters to beggars, Carla. Now I just wait for the day the roof finally collapses on me."
Eon stepped forward, his face hidden by his hood. He handed Meron a long list of items.
Meron took the paper, his eyes squinting. As he read, his hands began to shake. "Fifty crates of iron ore? Two tons of coal? Leather? Steel flux? Carla... what is the Countess doing? Is she preparing for a war? Tell me now, because I'm too old to be executed for treason."
"It's not a war!" Carla said, her voice jumping an octave as she lied. "We are just... fixing the basement! Very big basement!"
Meron didn't look like he believed her. He looked at the hooded man standing behind her. Eon didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stood there like a statue. Meron felt a strange chill go down his spine.
"Fine," Meron grumbled. "I have the ore in the back. It's been sitting there for three years since a merchant went bankrupt and left it. If you have the gold, it's yours."
As Meron went to the back to move the crates, Carla whispered to Eon. "He was a great man once. But the taxes took his apprentices and his pride. He's all that's left of the trade in this town. So dont mind at his words."
After leaving Meron to gather the listed items, they all go out to explor other shops.
After visiting an alchemist, where Eon was shocked to find that a simple healing potion cost more than a month's worth of food, he whispered to Carla," Is this really the normal price of potions, or is it just this towns situation which made the prices of potions this high?"
Carla responded," No, this is almost the same price as the capital. There isnt much difference."
After some walking around in circles, they returned to the smithy. The sidewalk was now piled high with heavy crates of iron, bags of coal, and bundles of wood.
"There," Meron panted, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Now, where is your cart? You'll need a massive wagon and at least four strong oxen to move this much weight. You can't fit this in that little grain carriage."
Carla looked at the mountain of supplies, then at Eon. She put her hands on her hips. "See? I told you! I told you we needed a bigger wagon! We are going to have to drive back and forth all night!"
Elsa, however, just stood back with a small, smug smile. She knew what was coming.
Eon didn't say a word. He walked over to the largest pile of iron ore. He reached out and placed his bare hand on the cold wood of the crate.
Whossh.
The crate simply vanished. It didn't fall; it didn't break. It was just gone, as if the air had swallowed it.
Carla stopped talking. Her jaw dropped open, and she stared at the empty space where the iron had been. Eon moved to the next pile.
Whossh.Whossh.Whossh.
One by one, the massive, heavy supplies were sucked into Eon's palm. Within seconds, the sidewalk was completely empty. It was as if the mountain of metal and coal had never existed.
Eon turned to Meron, ready to pay him the rest of the gold. But he stopped.
Meron wasn't just surprised. He was paralyzed with a terror that looked like death. His face was the color of chalk. His eyes were wide and watering. He collapsed to his knees, his hands trembling so hard he couldn't even keep them still.
"A... a Homunculus," Meron whispered, his voice cracking with horror. "You... you are one of them. Right? "
He pressed his forehead into the dirt at Eon's feet, weeping. "Please, Master Homunculus! Don't take my soul! I am a useless old man! I have no life force left for you to eat! I will be silent! I saw nothing!"
Eon stood there, his hand still frozen in the air. He looked at Elsa, who was now looking confused, and then at Carla, who was still staring at his hand.
"I... I just wanted to save time," Eon said to the empty air, his voice full of genuine confusion.
He had intended to be efficient, but in his attempt to be a modern manager, he had accidentally convinced a broken man that he was a monster from a forbidden laboratory.
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