The carriage wheels clattered against the cobblestones, each jolt sending vibrations through the specially reinforced containment boxes. Brakar watched from the doorway of Mimic & Co. as Rytha’s party maneuvered their cargo through the morning crowd. Four standard-sized containers and one that required two people to lift.

  “Where do you want them?!” Rytha yelled as she entered the establishment.

  Thadan emerged from the back room, smoothing his shirt. “Set them down anywhere for now. We can sort out proper placement once we’ve had a chance to inspect the merchandise.”

  “Fine.” She squinted at the wooden sign above the door, reading the letters slowly. Mimic & Co. She let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Wait. That sign’s not a joke? You’re actually using these things as furniture? Wait, are you going to sell these to people?!”

  She turned to the party beside her, throwing up a hand. “This guy’s crazy. You hearin’ this? He wants to sell mimics disguised as furniture.” Her usual sophisticated way of talking was gone, completely thrown off by the absurdity.

  Thadan scoffed, crossing his arms. “Crazy? Rytha, this is brilliant. You ever think about security? A mimic chair keeps intruders out and improves posture! Sit wrong? It nudges you into alignment. Try to steal from it? Well… that’s a different kind of correction.”

  Rytha gave him a flat stare. “That’s not security—that’s an accident waiting to happen.”

  “Only for people with bad intentions or bad posture,” Thadan countered. “And really, isn’t that natural selection at work?”

  Shaking her head, she exhaled sharply. “Vess, Pez—the big one goes against that wall. Mind the corners, it’s a deep-dweller.”

  Her party—presumably Vess and Pez—grunted acknowledgment as they maneuvered their burden into position.

  “Payment?” Rytha’s attention snapped to Thadan even as her companions continued arranging the smaller containers.

  “Of course, of course.” Thadan circled the largest cage with exaggerated interest. “But first, let’s make sure everything’s in order. Brak, come take a look at this. Does this really look like a deep-dweller to you?”

  Brakar felt his stomach tighten. He recognized that tone—the same one Thadan used when trying to haggle down prices at the market or convince guild clerks to waive late fees. It never ended well.

  “Payment first,” Rytha said, her voice dropping an octave. “Then you can examine them all you want.”

  “Just a quick peek,” Thadan insisted, tugging at the cloth cover. “Want to make sure we’re getting what we paid for, right?”

  “What you haven’t paid for yet.” Rytha’s skin darkened to a stormy blue. “The manuscripts?”

  “Right, right. About those...” Thadan’s hand dropped from the cloth. “Funny story, actually. Might need a bit more time to locate them. You know how it is with family archives, everything gets so disorganized—”

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Brakar recognized the habitual tremor creeping into his hands—the one that signaled impending disaster in a dungeon run.

  “Payment.” Rytha’s voice had gone completely flat. “Now. I need to go back to the Copper Mines.”

  “Look, why don’t you come back later? Gives you time to go there, right?”

  The shadows in the corners of the room began to writhe.

  Brakar observed in horror as darkness pooled beneath Rytha’s feet, spreading outward like ink spilled across parchment. Where it touched, the floor disappeared, replaced by a bottomless void that pulsed with energy. Red-black lightning crackled around her form, casting strange reflections off her now-metallic skin.

  Her hand shot out fast, closing around Thadan’s throat. The shadows followed, wrapping around them both like hungry tentacles.

  “Let me be clear. You will pay me what you owe. Now.”

  Thadan’s Adam’s apple bobbed against her grip. “About that... see, there might be a slight issue with the immediate transfer of funds—”

  “You don’t have it.” It wasn’t a question.

  Behind them, Rytha’s companions shifted uncomfortably. The dwarf took a half-step forward before the elf caught his arm, giving a small, firm shake of her head.

  The shadows continued to spread, crawling up the walls like living things. Where they touched, reality blurred, as if the very substance of the world was being eaten away by whatever power Rytha was channeling.

  “Now hold on,” Thadan managed, his voice strained but somehow maintaining its usual conversational tone. “I’m sure we can work something out. Maybe some kind of payment plan? Or we could discuss alternative forms of compensation—”

  The shadows constricted. Red lightning danced across Rytha’s skin, which had taken on the texture of polished obsidian.

  “You promised me those manuscripts.” Her voice echoed strangely, as if coming from very far away. “You swore they were genuine. That they contained his original notes.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “They are! They do! I just need extra time to—”

  “Time?” The word carried enough venom to kill a basilisk. “You waste my time, risk my team, transport valuable merchandise across half the city, and now you tell me you need extra time?”

  The void beneath their feet pulsed, sending ripples of darkness across what remained of the visible floor. Brakar could feel the mimics stir restlessly in their containers, responding to the waves of magical energy filling the room.

  “I can explain,” Thadan wheezed.

  “Explain quickly.”

  “The manuscripts... they’re real, I swear. But they’re... they’re not exactly in my possession at the moment.”

  The shadows tightened further.

  “Where are they?”

  “My father’s vault. In Brightkeep.”

  The merfolk’s skin flashed through a vibrant array of hues so quickly it made Brakar’s eyes hurt. “You promised me documents you don’t even have access to?”

  “I can get them! I just need—”

  “If you say ‘time’ one more time, I will show you exactly what the shadows between worlds look like from the inside.”

  The lightning intensified, casting strange patterns across the ceiling. The void beneath them deepened, if that was even possible, and Brakar could have sworn he heard whispers coming from its depths.

  Rytha’s party had backed up against the far wall, clearly wanting no part of whatever was about to happen. The elf was muttering something that might have been a prayer, while the dwarf just shook his head slowly.

  “Look,” Thadan managed, his face starting to turn an interesting shade of purple, “I know this looks bad—”

  “Bad?” Rytha’s laugh held no humor. “You haven’t begun to see bad.”

  The shadows writhed more violently, and for a moment, Brakar caught glimpses of things moving in the void—shapes that hurt his eyes to look at, geometries that shouldn’t exist in normal space.

  “But I have a plan!” Thadan’s words came out in a rush. “A real one this time! Just... just give me a chance to explain?”

  Rytha’s grip didn’t loosen, but she tilted her head, like a predator considering whether to play with its food before eating it.

  Like a sudden judgment, a blinding flash of divine light slammed Rytha against the wall with explosive force, obliterating her shadows in an instant. Where the creeping void had been moments before, a gleaming figure now stood, radiating energy so intense it stung Brakar’s eyes. The figure—clad in bronze-tinted platemail that glew from within—raised a war hammer crackling with consecrated power.

  Rytha struggled against the divine binding, her skin cycling through shades of bruised purple and stormy gray. The shadows around her writhed weakly, trying to reform but dissolving under the relentless radiance.

  Everything happened at once.

  Thadan lunged forward with a strangled cry. Rytha’s companions charged from opposite directions. Brakar found himself moving before his mind could catch up, driven by pure instinct. They collided with the armored figure in a chaotic tangle of limbs and desperate grabs.

  “Wait!” Brakar’s voice cracked. “Stop!”

  The hammer swung in a vicious arc. Someone yelped. Metal scraped against metal. Through the confusion, Brakar caught a glimpse of familiar orange skin.

  “Othh’nam’?b-Br?ghan M?zg’rg-U’fthgarz!” Thadan’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife.

  The hammer froze mid-swing.

  Silence fell, broken only by heavy breathing and the fading crackle of holy energy. The citrus-colored orc priest blinked in surprise, his momentum arrested by the sound of his full name.

  “Don’t attack!” Brakar held up his hands. “Everyone just... stay calm.”

  “Calm?” Othh’s deep voice rumbled with confusion. “I saw void magic! Dark energy! I thought—”

  “It’s fine!” Thadan wheezed, still rubbing his throat. “Just a small business disagreement! Everything’s under control!”

  “Business... disagreement?” Othh lowered his hammer slowly, divine light dimming. “But the shadows—”

  “Were entirely justified!”

  Othh sucked in a breath and let it out in a huff. “I came here to give you the deposit early.” He reached for his belt and pulled out a small pouch.

  Before anyone could react, Thadan snatched it from his hand and tossed it to Rytha. Coins clinked inside.

  “There! Twenty silver. I’ll get you the notes, I swear. No hard feelings, right?”

  Rytha caught the pouch reflexively. Without a word, she turned and stalked toward the door. Her companions—the elf and dwarf who’d been watching the whole scene with increasing discomfort—hurried after her.

  “By the gods, he was a true envoy of the Order of the Sunlit Depths,” the elf muttered.

  “Never seen an orc that orange before. Must’ve been on holy magic since he left the tit,” said the dwarf.

  The door slammed behind them with enough force to rattle the windows.

  Silence stretched for several long moments.

  “So,” Othh said finally, gesturing at the cloth-covered cages scattered around the room. “Are we going to discuss the mimics?”

  After everything that had just happened, Brake had almost forgotten about their “merchandise.” The cages sat accusingly in the wreckage of their transaction, impossible to explain away.

  “Right.” Thadan brushed his hand across his hair. “About that...”

  “We should probably tell him the truth,” Brakar said quietly.

  “The truth?” Othh raised an eyebrow. “You mean about the lanterns being mimics?”

  Brakar’s jaw dropped. Beside him, Thadan made a choking sound.

  “You... knew?”

  The orc’s laughter filled the room, deep and resonant. “Of course I knew! Quite fascinating.”

  “But...” Thadan struggled to find words. “You never said anything!”

  “I assumed it was part of the experience!” Othh’s shoulders shook with mirth. “I thought everyone was just playing along!”

  “Playing along?” Brakar grew a slight faint. “With man-eating beasts?”

  “Why not?” Othh wiped tears from his eyes. “Though I must admit, I was curious how you managed to keep them so well-behaved. Most mimics I’ve encountered in my inspection work aren’t nearly so... cooperative.”

  Brakar and Thadan exchanged looks.

  “That would be a secret. We can’t reveal that information.” Thadan said. “Let’s just say we have a way with them.”

  “Really? Still, fascinating!”

  “Anyway, let’s talk about those lanterns you need...”

  “My supervisor won’t stop talking about the one you rented me. He asks me every time how it works. Even had a merchant from the upper tiers asking where I got it. If this keeps up, we might need a steady supply.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “Oh, and some weird guy—pale as bone, dressed all prim—asked me about it the same day I rented it. Looked like a vampire, but, y’know, polite.”

  The conversation with Othh continued, drifting between practical business matters and enthusiastic tangents.