Brakar had managed to keep his tiny studio apartment in The Stack clutter-free for exactly seventeen hours—a new personal record. Now books once again claimed every available surface, their spines bearing titles that would have seemed absurdly specific just days ago. Some teetered in precarious towers near his bed, while others formed what he’d optimistically labeled “research zones” on his floor, though any actual system of organization had collapsed around midnight.

  The growing headache behind his eyes suggested he’d been reading too long, but each text seemed to unlock new understanding about their unique business venture. Sandria Val’s “Transformative Entities: A Practical Analysis” had revolutionized his understanding of mimic essence—they weren’t just shapeshifters, but rather living expressions of crystallized magical potential that had somehow achieved sentience. It explained so much about their nature, from their fluid transformations to their ability to absorb and incorporate foreign materials into their substance.

  Bashzush Koggin’s “Colonial Behaviors in Magical Predators” had proven equally enlightening, though the author’s obsession with footnotes made for exhausting reading. The chapter on mimic networks described how they naturally formed magical resonances when in proximity to each other, creating subtle webs of communication and shared experience. Isolated mimics, it seemed, often grew more aggressive and unstable without the tempering influence of their kind—a fact that carried concerning implications for any furniture they might eventually sell.

  Tumvavlu Redyemodu’s controversial “Understanding Mimic-Thought: A Theoretical Framework” sat open on his lap, its pages dog-eared and marked with notes. Her assertion that mimics didn’t just copy appearances but magically comprehended the fundamental nature of what they imitated had seemed far-fetched at first. Yet the more he observed their shop’s new inhabitants, the more her theories made sense. Their transformations showed genuine understanding—not just of form, but of function. They didn’t simply become furniture; they became better furniture, improving upon the original designs through some innate magical insight.

  His own magical reserves still felt depleted, though in a way that reminded him more of sore muscles after exercise than actual exhaustion. The books offered no guidance on this particular phenomenon, but then again, none of their authors had ever attempted to run a store staffed by reformed predators. He supposed some things would have to be learned through experience—assuming they survived long enough to write their own chapter in magical business history.

  A sharp rap at the door jolted Brakar from his studies. The sound echoed through his cramped apartment like a gunshot, sending carefully balanced book towers swaying precariously. He caught “Transformative Entities” before it could slide off his lap, marking his place with a scrap of parchment.

  “It’s open,” he called, though ‘open’ was a relative term given the fortress of literature he’d constructed between himself and the door.

  Thadan’s familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway, backlit by the hallway’s perpetually flickering mage-lights. He surveyed the book-strewn chaos with raised eyebrows.

  “I see the research is going well,” he said, picking his way through the literary maze. “Or you’ve started a very specific paper collection business.”

  “Very funny.” Brakar shifted a stack of scrolls to clear a space on his bed. “Did you need something, or did you just come to critique my organizational system?”

  “Can’t it be both?” Thadan perched on the edge of the bed, causing several precariously balanced tomes to slide onto the floor. “Well, I wanted to check on your progress. Learn anything useful about our new employees?”

  Brakar gestured at the open book in his lap. “Actually, yes. According to Tumvavlu Redyemodu’s research, mimics can maintain transformed states almost indefinitely, provided they’ve consumed sufficient energy beforehand.”

  “That’s good news!” Thadan’s face lit up. “So we won’t have to worry about our furniture suddenly deciding to take a walk in the middle of a sale?”

  “Not exactly.” Brakar flipped to a heavily annotated page. “They need regular feeding to keep their shape stable. Think of it like maintaining a spell—the longer it’s active, the more energy it consumes.”

  “Right, about that...” Thadan looked slightly nervous. “What exactly do they eat? Besides, you know...” He made a vague gesture that somehow managed to encompass ‘adventurers’ and ‘unfortunate customers’ simultaneously.

  “That’s the interesting part.” Brakar reached for another book, this one bound in suspiciously organic-looking leather. “I read Tumvavlu Redyemodu’s research, and they don’t ?need to consume solid matter. They feed primarily on magical energy, with physical consumption being more about acquiring new forms and materials.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Think of it like this—when a mimic eats something, it’s not just about nutrition. They’re absorbing the object’s essential nature, learning how to replicate its properties. The actual sustenance comes from ambient magical energy, which they can absorb through their surface area.”

  “So... they photosynthesize magic?”

  “Sort of? It’s more complicated than that, but—” Brakar caught himself before launching into another academic tangent. “The point is, they need a steady supply of magical energy to maintain stable forms. In the wild, they get this from their hunting grounds—dungeons, ancient ruins, places with high magical saturation.”

  “Which we don’t have in our shop.” Thadan’s brow furrowed in thought. “Unless... could we create something similar? Some kind of magical food source?”

  “Theoretically, yes. But it would require significant magical knowledge and resources. We’d need to create a concentrated form of magical energy that’s stable enough to store but accessible enough for the mimics to absorb. Something like a potion, but more...”

  “Leave it to me.” Thadan stood abruptly, nearly toppling another book stack.

  “Wait, what?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just keep researching. I’ll handle the feeding situation.”

  Brakar wanted to ask further, but hesitated. In a flash, Thadan had navigated his way back through the book maze and disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind only the faint echo of footsteps on the Stack’s creaky stairs.

  Brakar stared at the empty doorway for a moment, then turned back to his books. He’d learned long ago that when Thadan got that particular gleam in his eye, it was better to wait and see what happened rather than try to prevent whatever scheme was forming in his friend’s mind.

  Besides, he had more reading to do. Tumvavlu Redyemodu’s theories on mimic cognition weren’t going to understand themselves.

  The next morning arrived with another knock at his door, this one accompanied by the sound of clinking glass. Brakar, who had finally succumbed to sleep sometime around dawn, emerged from beneath a pile of research materials to find Thadan grinning triumphantly in his doorway, holding a crate of softly glowing bottles.

  “Problem solved!” he announced, setting the crate down with surprising gentleness.

  Brakar blinked sleep from his eyes, trying to process what he was seeing. The bottles contained some kind of luminescent liquid that shifted colors like oil on water, each one sealed with wax and labeled in Thadan’s surprisingly neat handwriting.

  “What... how did you...?”

  “Remember how we’ve been too broke to buy proper healing potions?” Thadan pulled out one of the bottles, holding it up to the light. “Well, I may have gotten pretty good at stretching our supplies. Turns out the same principles apply to other types of magical consumables.”

  “You know alchemy?”

  “I know how to water down potions without completely ruining their magical properties.” Thadan shrugged. “It’s amazing what you can learn when you’re desperate enough. Anyway, I figured if mimics feed on magical energy, we could make something similar to what they’d find in their natural habitat.”

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  Brakar picked up one of the bottles, examining its contents more closely. The liquid inside responded to his proximity, swirling with increased intensity.

  “These are... very impressive,” he admitted. “But how did you know what proportions to use?”

  “Trial and error, mostly. Started with a base of standard mana potion, added some stabilizing agents, threw in a bit of transformation catalyst...” Thadan’s casual tone belied the complexity of what he was describing. “The tricky part was finding the right balance between potency and stability. Too strong and it becomes volatile, too weak and it’s just expensive colored water.”

  “And you figured this out overnight?”

  “Well, no. I’ve been experimenting with potion modification for months. This was just... applying those skills in a new direction.” Thadan’s grin widened. “Plus, I may have borrowed some notes from that alchemist’s shop we cleared out last spring. You know, the one with the exploding mushroom problem?”

  “Thadan...”

  “What? They weren’t using them anymore! Besides, think about it—we could sell these to customers along with their furniture. Regular feeding schedule, guaranteed stability, no risk of your ottoman deciding to snack on the family pet...”

  Brakar had to admit, it wasn’t a terrible idea. Assuming the potions ?worked as intended, it would solve one of their biggest practical concerns about running a mimic-based furniture business.

  “We should test them first,” he said, already reaching for his notes. “Make sure they’re safe and effective before we start selling them to customers.”

  “Way ahead of you.” Thadan pulled out another bottle, this one with a ?different color pattern. “I made a few different formulations. We can try them out on our current inventory, see which ones work best.”

  “Agreed. Strange hearing you be coherent, though.”

  “Had to happen eventually.” Thadan’s expression turned slightly more serious. “Look, I know I usually rush in without a plan, but this... this could actually work. We just need to do it right.”

  Brakar studied his friend’s face, noting the faint shadows under his eyes that suggested he’d spent as much of the night working as Brakar had spent reading. Maybe they were both growing up a little. Or at least learning from their past mistakes.

  “Speaking of doing things right,” Thadan continued, carefully repacking the potion crate, “I was thinking we should learn more about running an actual furniture store. You know, beyond the whole ‘our inventory might eat people’ aspect.”

  “That... would probably be wise,” Brakar agreed. “But how? It’s not like we can just walk into established businesses and ask them to teach us their trade secrets.”

  “Maybe not directly.” Thadan’s grin returned. “But we do know someone who might be willing to help. Someone who already offered us assistance...”

  Realization dawned. “Mr. Kip?”

  “Exactly! He’s already shown he’s willing to help us, and he clearly knows the furniture business. Maybe he’d be willing to give us some pointers?”

  “It’s worth asking,” Brakar admitted.

  “Right. Meet me downstairs in an hour? That should give us both time to look somewhat professional.”

  Brakar agreed, and Thadan departed with his crate of experimental mimic food, leaving only the faint glow of residual magic and the lingering scent of alchemical reagents.

  An hour later, they stood outside The Stack, both making an effort to look like legitimate businessmen rather than retired adventurers playing at commerce. Thadan had even managed to tame his usually wild hair into something approaching respectability, though Brakar noticed he still kept his sword belt buckled at his hip—old habits died hard.

  The morning air carried the familiar sounds and smells of Ironweave coming to life—the clang of the bridges being adjusted for the day’s traffic, the aroma of fresh bread from nearby bakeries, the calls of early merchants setting up their stalls. Their section of the city wasn’t the most prosperous, but it had a certain determined energy, a sense of people making the best of what they had.

  “Ready?” Thadan asked, adjusting his collar one last time.

  “Wait—how are we even going to find Kip? The general store’s enormous, and he said he doesn’t work there.”

  “Already handled!” Thadan’s grin carried that particular smugness he reserved for rare moments of actual preparation. “Asked him the other day, when he came to drop off the desk. Kip has a place in the Plaigees District.”

  The walk gave them time to observe their potential competition—other furniture shops, general goods stores, even a few specialty boutiques catering to more exotic tastes. None of them, Brakar noted with a mix of relief and concern, advertised any connection to semi-sentient inventory.

  They found Kip in his workshop, carefully sanding what looked like the beginnings of a new chair. The lizardman’s movements were precise and deliberate, each stroke of the sandpaper following the wood’s natural grain. He looked up as they entered.

  “Ah, the new business owners.” His voice carried that same careful politeness they remembered. “How may I assist you today?”

  “Actually,” Thadan moved closer, “we were hoping to get your advice. About running a furniture business.”

  Kip set down his sandpaper, giving them his full attention. “I see. And what specific aspects interest you?”

  “Everything?” Thadan’s confidence wavered slightly under the lizardman’s steady gaze. “We... well, we know how to make furniture, sort of, but we don’t really know how to sell it. Or display it. Or... run a business in general.”

  “If I may suggest,” Kip’s tone remained neutral, but something like amusement flickered in his eyes, “perhaps a visit to an established furniture store would be educational? I would be happy to accompany you, point out various aspects of the trade.”

  “Really?” Brakar couldn’t quite keep the surprise from his voice. “You’d do that?”

  “Of course.” Kip carefully cleaned his hands on a workshop rag. “It benefits all of us when new businesses succeed, especially in this district. Besides”—a slight smile crossed his scaled features—“I find myself curious about your enterprise.”

  They waited while Kip informed his colleagues of his temporary absence, then followed him through Ironweave’s morning bustle. The lizardman moved with that same deliberate grace they’d noticed before, his tail helping him maintain perfect balance as he navigated the crowded streets.

  “If I may recommend,” he said as they walked, “Greenwood Furnishings would be an excellent example to study. Their operation is neither too large nor too small, and they maintain a good balance between quality and affordability.”

  Brakar exchanged a glance with Thadan. They’d expected to maybe get a few quick pointers, not a full guided tour of the industry. Kip’s generosity was starting to make them both ?uncomfortable—not because they doubted his sincerity, but because they weren’t used to people being helpful without ulterior motives.

  Greenwood Furnishings occupied a corner building two districts over, its large windows displaying an artful arrangement of chairs, tables, and various decorative pieces. The interior smelled of wood polish and leather, with carefully positioned mage-lights highlighting key pieces while creating a warm, inviting atmosphere.

  “Observe,” Kip said softly as they entered, “how the layout guides customers through the space. Major pathways are clear but not straight, encouraging exploration while preventing confusion.”

  Brakar found himself taking mental notes as Kip pointed out various details—the way different woods were grouped to create color harmony, how higher-end pieces were positioned to catch the natural light, the subtle ways the display encouraged customers to imagine the furniture in their own homes.

  A saleswoman approached a browsing couple, and Kip gestured for them to watch the interaction. Her approach was casual but professional, offering assistance without pressure. When the couple expressed interest in a particular dining set, she smoothly guided them to complementary pieces while answering their questions.

  “Notice,” Kip murmured, “how she focuses on the customers’ needs rather than the sale itself. Building trust is essential in this business.”

  Thadan nodded, his expression unusually serious. “People want to feel comfortable with their purchases, especially for something they’ll live with every day.”

  “Precisely.” Kip’s approval was evident in his tone. “Now, observe the front desk arrangement...”

  They dedicated the following hour to studying various aspects of the operation—everything from inventory management to customer flow patterns. Kip’s commentary was consistently insightful, drawing from what was clearly years of experience in the trade.

  “The desk,” Thadan said suddenly, interrupting Kip’s explanation of wood grain matching techniques. “Could you... would you be willing to help us build something similar? For our shop?”

  “Thadan!” Brakar hissed, mortified by his friend’s directness.

  But Kip merely smiled, his scaled features softening with genuine warmth. “I would be honored to assist. A proper front desk is essential—it sets the tone for the entire establishment, creates a focal point for customer interactions.”

  “We can pay,” Thadan added quickly. “I mean, not much, but—”

  “Perhaps,” Kip interrupted gently, “we could arrange a trade of services? I find myself intrigued by your unique approach to furniture making, if you’d be amenable to discussing it further. I would be interested in future collaboration, should your enterprise prove successful.”

  Brakar felt a moment of panic at the thought of revealing their mimic-based business model to someone in the industry. But before he could intervene, Thadan was already agreeing enthusiastically.

  “That would be perfect! We could definitely use your expertise, especially with some of our more... unusual pieces.”

  Kip’s eyes narrowed slightly at the word ‘unusual,’ but he merely nodded. “Excellent. Shall we discuss details over at your shop?”

  As they went back into the morning bustle, Brakar couldn’t get rid of the feeling that they’d just crossed some invisible line. The lizardman’s kindness seemed genuine, but it also meant they now had obligations beyond their immediate circle—expectations to meet, trust to maintain.

  He glanced at Thadan, who caught his eye and grinned with characteristic optimism. Perhaps it wasn’t all that bad. After all, they’d survived dungeons, they’d survived monsters, and they’d survived their own questionable decisions. How much harder could running a legitimate business be? Sometimes, he reflected, the hardest part of starting a new venture wasn’t the big challenges—it was all the small details that could come back to bite you.

  Literally, in their case.