The winter sun had long climbed past dawn, its icy beams refracting off every glass pane and cobblestone, as if the very air were polished by magic. There were no stray clouds to mar the relentless blue of the sky; even the birds and other winged creatures — more shadow than feather — flitted across the expanse like silent heralds of a brighter world.

  Asdras and Brian walked slowly along the narrow, winding thoroughfares. Their eyes roamed the street’s architectural oddities — buildings of asymmetrical spires and rough-hewn stones that glinted in the sun’s glare, and aged, intricate letterboards boasting goods and miraculous item.

  Brian cast a sidelong glance at his friend, his tone skeptical yet jesting: “I told you, we’d lose our way even if the path were paved in silver. I mean — if the road wasn’t lost, at least it’d wear a sign…”

  Asdras, scratched his nose as he adjusted the straps of his weathered backpack. His eyes slid left and right, scanning each alley and corner with deliberate caution. Shaking his head in a measured response, he replied, “First, it was you that didn’t want to ask Lady Reina for directions. Second, we’re not lost, as you think.” He paused with a wry smile and added, “After all, if we were lost, at least we’d be lost with style.”

  Brian’s laughter bubbled again. He stopped mid-step, waving his head in a self-deprecating gesture. “Not lost? Huh, wait and see,” he declared.

  It wasn’t long before the two friends came upon a small group of elders laboring in front of their home. The old couple, bent with years yet unbowed, methodically whipped the cracked sidewalk with well-worn brooms, their low humming an odd lullaby of routine that resonated with the spirit of the forgotten days.

  Brian’s steps faltered as he approached them. His eyes lowered in deference, and his voice softened into a hesitant murmur: “Excuse me, sir…” He trailed off, shifting his weight from one foot to the other with a palpable trace of shyness. “Might you… Could you please point me toward the merchant’s shop?”

  The elder, a surly man whose narrow eyes flickered with suspicion beneath thick brows, halted abruptly. “Ah?” he grumbled, the single syllable punctuating his confusion. Before Brian could press further, an older woman — her face creased with the gentle maps of a long life — stepped forward. “What is it, honey?” she asked.

  Recollecting himself, Brian cleared his throat and tried again, “Is this the way to the merchant’s shop?”

  The old man’s gaze intensified as he regarded the inquiry. “Shop? Dear, he is asking you about the bread,” he pronounced in a thick, halting cadence that made his words feel laboriously chosen.

  The old woman’s smile broadened as she brushed a stray silver hair from her face. “One moment, honey, one moment,” she chided gently as she turned briskly, her steps quickening toward the threshold of her worn doorway. Asdras watched with quiet amusement as she hustled inside.

  “Oh,” Asdras murmured, shaking his head with a wry grin. “This is going to be interesting.”

  Brian fumbled for a reaction, attempting to explain through clumsy gestures that he hadn’t been seeking bread at all. Yet the old man’s repetitive murmurings — invoking his wife repeatedly to hurry with the bread — only deepened the confusion. Brian’s face reddened with embarrassment, and Asdras found himself laughing softly, tears welling momentarily in his eyes as the absurdity of the situation.

  After a brief interlude marked by the shuffle of aged feet, the old woman reappeared, cradling two perfectly cylindrical rolls of bread. A second lady accompanied her. The lady’s eyes fixed on Brian with a bemused intensity as she announced firmly, “Two white ones.”

  “But—” Brian began, his protest barely forming before the lady cut him off sharply: “Two white ones, not less, not more.”

  Seizing an opportunity, Asdras stepped closer. With coins jangling softly in the crook of his hand, he asked the lady in a measured tone, “Miss, do you know where the merchant guild’s branch is located?”

  Before the lady could answer, the old man interjected with an unmistakable accent of eldritch simplicity, “Oh, jus’ go straight and take th’ first left…”

  Asdras offered a curt nod of thanks, and the pair resumed their journey. Not even ten paces had passed before Asdras’s restrained laught broke free once again.

  “Laugh, laugh,” Brian teased, his voice echoing his mild embarrassment. “By the gods, we’d get lost even if the city were paved in gold!”

  Shaking his head but smiling, Asdras replied, “Think on the sunny side, Brian. At least we have our rolls of bread to snack on while we wander.”

  Soon, their wandering led them to the modest building of the merchant guild’s branch — a structure marked by polished wood and roughly hewn stones that bore the scars of time yet shone with the promise of craftsmanship. Technically, it was Asdras who breached the threshold, stepping gingerly into the quiet, cool interior, while Brian lingered just outside. There, his eyes caught sight of the intricate letters engraved on an old, weathered letterboard: "Newest Edition of the North: Poems to Catch a Lady’s Heart, Volume II."

  At that moment, Brian’s face transformed: his eyes widened with joy and disbelief, his hands trembling slightly as he reached up to trace the faded script. “This!”

  Overwhelmed yet enchanted, Brian began muttering gibberish under his breath — a rapid-fire litany of half-formed words that Asdras couldn’t comprehend.

  Brian’s murmurs soon gave way to a sudden exclamation; his fingers pointed at the heavy wooden door behind him. “I need this!”

  Intrigued and slightly bemused, Asdras followed close behind, his thoughts oscillating between concern and wonder. He mused silently, ‘Should I be happy or sad that he’s practically enlisting himself because of this?’

  Inside, the room was pristine in its cleanliness but utterly barren of any bustle. Polished lumber and a deep red carpet merged to form a space. The sole ornament was a modest balcony. Carefully arranged flowerpots and a few tarnished frames endeavored to break the monotony; however, the dim, amber-tinged lights in the corners rendered these decorative elements ghostlike, their outlines more akin to fleeting glitches than deliberate design.

  “Whatt’a hell is this?!” Brian’s voice shattered the silence as he pointed at every forlorn corner. His frustration brimmed over as he scanned the empty shelves and bare walls. “Items? The books? Where?”

  Asdras merely shrugged and tapped Brian’s shoulder in an attempt to diffuse the mounting tension. “Maybe everything’s been sold.”

  “No! No! No!” Brian nearly fell to his knees, his tone trembling with desperate dismay. “My dream! My adventures — everything we hoped for. It’s all wise words and wonder, Asdras, do you not see? Better than what old Joe ever taught us…”

  Before the pair could sink further into their disillusionment, a raspy but calm voice cut through the silence: “Can I help, ya?”

  Startled, Asdras turned toward Brian. “Hey, did someone just speak?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he searched the hushed corners of the room.

  “Hell no, bro!” Brian retorted.

  Asdras, sensing that his friend might be teetering on the brink of a full-blown figurative breakdown, cast his eyes upward toward the balcony. Peering cautiously over its edge, he noticed a thin wisp of hair — at first he assumed it was a pet, perhaps a stray cat or a diminutive dog. But as he scrutinized the subtle movement, the truth became impossible to ignore: something else, something decidedly uncanny, stirred atop the balcony.

  “Excuse me?” A low, angry grunt — reminiscent of a half-suppressed horse’s snort — cut through the tension, drawing both friends’ attention.

  At that, Brian’s curiosity outweighed his caution, and he impulsively crept toward a nearby table, peering behind it. His eyes widened in shock, and he jerked back with the speed of a startled deer as a shadow flitted over the balcony, barely glimpsed but distinctly there.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  In that moment, a man appeared—a figure in his late forties, neither towering nor diminutive, but possessing a stance that suggested he belonged neither fully to youth nor age. His curly hair, artfully disheveled as if purposely arranged to evoke a sense of mystique, merged incongruously with a beard so meticulously trimmed that it demanded silent respect. Draped entirely in a green leather cloak that clung to his form, the man’s eyes burned with a fierce intensity as he regarded the two interlopers from atop a low, yet unwavering lotus pose.

  “Ain’t a bit too rude, ya?” he remarked in a tone that combined gentle reproach with an underlying challenge. His words rolled out slowly, each syllable measured as though he had all the time in the world.

  “Who?” Brian managed to squeak out, his voice trembling between defiance and uncertainty as he peered up at the enigmatic figure.

  The man’s eyes narrowed further, and with a quiet chuckle that seemed to blend bemusement and disdain, he responded, “And so I thought I was hearing things.” Asdras murmured under his breath, half to himself, “Strange indeed.”

  “Ain’t a tad too young to be a lunatic, ya?” The man continued, a mischievous grin creeping into his voice as he playfully pointed first at Asdras, then at Brian. “Who you!?”

  “Me?” Brian quickly pointed at himself with an awkward, self-mocking smile. “Your best customer! A poet!”

  Asdras fought to contain his laughter, his face splitting with mirth while his eyes amused for his friend’s impulsive declarations. The man scoffed — a low, deliberate sound — nearly breaking his meditative pose. “A lunatic and a poet? Really now?!” he muttered dryly.

  Reaching into the depths of his cloak, the mysterious man fished out a small pouch of tobacco. With the practiced grace of one who has long mastered the art of ritual, he produced his pipe and lit it, the first tendrils of grey smoke spiraling upward and mingling with the dim light.

  “Hey, relax; let me handle it,” Asdras whispered to Brian.

  “So?” The enigmatic man asked, his tone still tinged with sarcasm as the first swirls of smoke broadened across the space like ghostly fingers.

  With a sudden burst of resolve, Asdras stood to his full height. He grinned broadly, though the acrid fire of the tobacco forced a harsh cough from deep within him. In that instant, he wore not the assured bearing of youth but the weary exasperation of one who has weathered many winters. “Mmmm... a guild-man, he gave… deliver this, please, sir,” he rumbled, his words slow and thick with the effort of speaking through an almost comical bout of coughing.

  “Ain’t no frail old man, no sir, ya. Call me Yoozi,” the man declared with quiet authority. With an exaggerated inhale, he released a steady stream of smoke directly toward Brian, his eyes narrowing in challenge. “Show me, yo.”

  Lowering himself, Asdras leaned over to retrieve an envelope tucked away within his pack. Within the envelope, the emblem of the merchant guild shone faintly — a mark of authenticity that no true merchant would ever barter away. “Here,” Asdras said brusquely as he handed over the envelope.

  Yoozi examined the letter with a careful, almost ritualistic scrutiny, his fingers turning it over slowly as though weighing each detail of its provenance. “Ain’t it Asdras, ya?” he finally asked, his tone carrying a gruff familiarity.

  “Yes, it’s me,” Asdras replied, nodding demurely.

  “Ain’t it Brian, then?” Yoozi inquired, peering down at his captive audience with a glint in his eye that suggested he relished these exchanges.

  “Curses, old man, please stop this smoke,” Brian interjected, his eyes wide as he fumbled for a reprieve of fresh air, his words barely emerging above a cough.

  Yoozi simply nodded, then read aloud the short missive from the letter that promised rewards and conditions in equal measure:

  “By the by, to my two youngin’ nobles, I, this blessed rounded fella, do reward: for the calm boy, two gold coins and one set of ranked light armor—only on the condition that he delivers a token for Stencil from the North’s Academy; and for the energetic boy, in addition to the pills provided, the freedom to choose one item valued under two gold coins. Signed under the name of the blessed house from the west, Cinnamon Casket.”

  Brian’s eyes nearly bulged with a mixture of relief and fervor. “The book. I want the book. Do you have the book?!” he cried, his tone bordering on despair. His posture shifted, his shoulders tensing as though the weight of his dreams rested upon those fragile words.

  Yoozi arched an eyebrow and replied with a wry grin, arms folding tightly across his chest, “Ain’t thinking I’m a fortune teller or what? Which book, then?”

  “Poems to Catch a Lady’s Heart, Volume II,” Brian announced resolutely, his demeanor transforming into one of overwhelming certainty. “The book that will change my life! Written by that mysterious author — no one knows his name, yet every proud man in the North must hear of him! Please, tell me you have one.” His voice was both desperate and exalted, laden with the grand dreams of youth.

  Yoozi leaned back, his gaze drifting toward the balcony. As if summoned by fate, a book materialized at the very edge of that narrow overhang — framed by a faint, shimmering rectangle of white, glowing light. The book drifted silently from the void, as if borne on the wings of enchantment, and alighted in Yoozi’s outstretched hand. He examined it closely, verifying its authenticity, before extending it toward Brian with a gravely measured nod.

  Oblivious to the strange magic unfolding around him, Brian eagerly received the tome. He cradled it, running his fingers reverently along its embossed cover as he muttered words only partially comprehensible to himself.

  Witnessing this, Asdras gasped — a sound of awe and incredulity. “What was that?” he exclaimed under his breath.

  “Ain’t boy never seen it?” Yoozi shrugged dismissively, his tone laced with amused exasperation. “Bank?”

  “Excuse me, bank?” Asdras inquired, leaning in with a frown.

  Yoozi shook his head, giving him a sharp, annoyed look. “Ain’t wishin’ to have your gold and armor locked away in some blasted bank, ya?”

  Asdras sighed, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I don’t have an account yet,” he admitted softly.

  “Whatever, ya. Tell me, boy—can I trust you?” Yoozi’s words fell heavy, measured with the weight of expectation as his eyes fixed on Asdras in a silent appraisal.

  “I hope so, sir,” Asdras replied humbly, nodding in earnest.

  “Good, then,” Yoozi said, his voice softening slightly as he reached out and pressed a hand against the balcony. In an almost magical display, two yellow coins and a set of rank light armor materialized there, accompanied by a dark flask filled with an unknown, shimmering liquid. “Take it. And don’t you forget to fulfill the condition. I’m bettin’ my salt money on ya.”

  With delicate care, Asdras pocketed the coins and the flask. He scrutinized the armor, running his finger along its cold, dark surface. Despite its simplicity, it bore the weight of honor, and knowing it was his set him apart in a manner only destiny could explain. ‘Smooth,’ he thought quietly.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll do it,” Asdras vowed.

  “Good. Anything else, ya?” Yoozi drawled, dragging another thoughtful puff from his pipe as he extinguished his earlier ire with the calm finality of an elder who’d seen too much.

  Asdras glanced over at Brian, relief and amusement mingling as his friend seemed to settle back into himself. Suddenly, a memory struck him — a piece of advice from Raffin, echoing like a half-forgotten rhyme: “The book, the book, the book...”

  Unsure if he should pry further, Asdras inquired, “How much for two Monster Encyclopedias of the North, Volume 1, and two black clocks with a decent amount of pockets?”

  Yoozi paused, his weathered face wrinkling in thought as he adjusted the price with slow, deliberate gestures. “One gold and te—no, fifty silver coins,” he finally corrected, his voice trailing off as he tapped the table.

  “Good,” Asdras replied briskly. “We’ll take it.”

  Shortly thereafter, the two friends, their goods carefully gathered, stepped out into the brisk winter air once more. The sun, now low in its arc, peeked from behind the ancient Rine’s Heart doors, its rays washing the street in a warm, amber glow that belied the chill in the wind.

  Inside the familiar refuge of their inn, the atmosphere shifted subtly from the curious bustle of the street to the congenial comfort of shared companionship. Asdras, clad in his newly acquired light armor, and Brian, both sporting freshly minted cloaks, settled into their worn wooden seats at a sturdy, timeworn table. The clatter of their cups — simple, earthen vessels — marked a silent toast to victory, hope, and the endless horizon of new beginnings.

  “Ready, mate?” Brian asked, his voice soft but full of expectation as he leaned forward, his eyes alight with anticipation.

  “I’m…I just hope nothing goes wrong,” Asdras mumbled, his expression betraying the faintest hint of worry beneath his ever-resolute exterior.

  Brian let out a hearty laugh. “Don’t jinx, bro! Let’s make it legendary!”

  With the weight of playful seriousness settling between them, Asdras leaned forward, his tone dipping into a mock-serious timbre. “Don’t die; otherwise, I’ll hunt you down in whatever afterlife there is,” he warned, his voice edged with sincerity despite the shadow of a smile on his lips.

  Brian’s eyes sparkled with wild determination as he flung his hands wide in a mimicry of heroic abandon. “Puff! That’ll never happen. We’re destined to become adventurers. The world is our home now, mate!”

  “Then let’s become legends!” Asdras declared.