Entering the store, the first thing that struck Alric was drawers. Lots of them. Not a modest chest tucked beside a bed, but floor to ceiling, wall to wall, like a library maintained by a cult obsessed with socks and left unchecked for decades. He blinked and moved closer to the nearest section. Above it, a small oval plaque read Reagent Section 1. He gulped.

  Looking around the rest of the shop, he noticed a woman watching him over a pair of glasses. Her gaze dipped briefly to his boots before she returned to her book. He could not see much of her beyond that.

  Searching for anything that was not a wall of drawers, he crossed to the only other fixture in the room, a bookcase. He took down a volume and checked the spine. Principles of Mana Theory. Alric opened it somewhere near the middle and tried to read a short passage before giving up. Where he was used to words stretching and shifting, here the lettering changed constantly, fonts altering in size and proportion from one word to the next, sometimes in the same word. A headache bloomed almost immediately.

  He closed the book and returned it to its place.

  Looking around again, the only other feature in the room was the woman reading. Alric headed toward her, already expecting the interaction to be a chore. He glanced at the spine of the book she held. Advanced Archonology Theory. Deciding that starting anywhere was better than nothing, he spoke.

  “Good morning. Is advanced archonology interesting?”

  The woman looked up at him, blinking, then turned the book slightly to check the spine herself. She studied Alric anew, placed a marker between the pages, and set the book aside.

  “Not particularly,” she said. “But critical nonetheless. What are you looking for?”

  Alric hesitated. “Answers, I think.”

  Her head tilted slightly, a small smirk forming.

  “Aren’t we all? Something a little more specific than that?”

  “Magic stones that create heat,” Alric said. “I was hoping to ask a few questions.”

  She glanced down at his hands, the smirk deepening, then nodded. Reaching beneath the counter, she retrieved a set of keys and rose from her chair.

  “This way.”

  She moved deeper into the shop, gesturing for Alric to follow. After stopping at the appropriate section, she touched a key to a small metal plate set into one of the drawers. There was a soft click, and the drawer lurched forward. She pulled it the rest of the way open and gestured again.

  Alric lifted one of the stones. The moment he held it between his thumb and index finger, an instinctive sensation surfaced, like a closed tap waiting to be turned. He opened it slightly.

  Heat surged immediately.

  He hissed, fingers burning, and fought the urge to drop it. He did not think he could afford it if he broke it. He returned the stone to the drawer and promptly stuck his fingers in his mouth.

  When he looked up, the woman was laughing.

  Alric studied her over his knuckles. This felt less like cruelty and more like genuine amusement. She wore simple robes, no hat. Middle-aged, with grey beginning at her temples, though clearly well cared for. Her nails were kept short, her fingers long and precise as she covered her mouth, still chuckling.

  “I’d never have believed that would work,” she said, snorting softly.

  Alric shot her a mock glare. “Vat os ood,” he said thickly, fingers still in his mouth.

  She turned away slightly, laughter slipping free again. “Ask away,” she said between chuckles. “You’ve earned it.”

  “First, then,” Alric said, taking his fingers out his mouth and pressing them together. “How hot do they get?”

  She tilted her head, still amused. “Very.”

  “Right,” he said. “Are we smelting iron ore, or boiling water?”

  That made her pause. She blinked, considering the question properly this time. “We’re not forging metals,” she said at last, “but it can certainly boil water.” Her head tilted again, curiosity creeping in.

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

  “I see. And if you put… mana into it?” Alric hesitated, searching for the right phrasing. “How long does it last?”

  She thought for a moment. “Mana, yes. About a bell.”

  Alric frowned slightly. “A bell?”

  “Yes. A bell,” she replied, assuming he had misheard.

  “How long is a bell?” he asked, then corrected himself. “Or rather, how many bells are there in a day?”

  He regretted it immediately.

  Her expression cooled. “Are you here to waste my time?” she asked, the humour gone from her voice.

  “No, no,” Alric said quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m just from far away. We measure time differently.”

  She studied him for a long moment.

  “Twelve,” she said at last.

  Alric nodded slowly, thinking. He exhaled, realising she had already turned away.

  “Wait,” he said. “One last question. How much are they?”

  “A gold each. Good day.”

  That settled it.

  Alric hesitated, then decided it was safer to leave it there. It was abundantly clear he could not afford anything in this shop. With a quiet sigh, he followed her back toward the counter and turned for the door.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “And thank you.”

  She did not respond, already back to her book.

  Stepping out of the shop, Alric turned toward the bridge. It took him a moment to understand why she had bristled. The answer had been obvious to her in a way it simply had not been to him.

  He sighed as he approached the gate.

  Moving through the gatehouse, no one stopped him. Another of the massive, six-legged lizard creatures was approaching, towing a carriage, and Alric stepped back out of the way. It passed without incident, Alric studying the terrifying thing the entire time. Neither it nor its rider spared him a glance.

  He continued on, crossing back onto the thankfully clear bridge.

  The walk back toward the inn was uneventful, though he realised he was taking the long way around without meaning to. He tried to orient himself by memory alone. The dwarf’s smithy was somewhere over there. He thought so, at least. The certainty did not last.

  He let himself fall back into the flow of foot traffic. Afternoon was settling in, the light beginning to shift. Whatever else he might have planned, it was clear the day was already slipping away from him.

  The gate was quiet when he passed it. Turning down the familiar road toward the inn, he felt eyes on him again. Vendors watched as he moved past, but he kept his gaze forward, stepping carefully around wares, not engaging, not slowing. Eventually, the white dove sign came into view, and he angled toward it with quiet relief.

  The dining room door was closed at this hour, so he entered through reception instead. Inside, Ruth was back at the desk. She looked up and smiled when she saw him.

  “How was the market?” she asked. “Did you buy magey stuff?” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

  “Nope. Nothing like that. Just fruit and grain.” He hesitated, then added, “Do you want an apple?”

  She looked faintly disappointed, then shrugged and nodded.

  “It’s coming out the item box?” she said, already edging back.

  He paused. If he pulled out the whole bag, it would drop, and the fruit would bruise. He tried instead to summon a single apple into his other hand. The item box formed. Nothing happened.

  With a quiet sigh, he retrieved the bag instead. It landed in his hand, immediately sagged, and tipped, a few apples tumbling out despite his best effort. He muttered under his breath, fished one free, put it on the counter, then carefully stored the rest one by one.

  He heard her take a bite while he was still working.

  “So?” he asked as he straightened, holding the bag. “Is it good?”

  She looked at the apple, considering it as if the question had only just occurred to her. “A bit sour,” she said. “Early harvest, maybe?”

  He shrugged. She took another bite anyway.

  “I’ll be in the dining room,” he said. “I need to do some thinking. Maybe some magey stuff.”

  Her eyes widened. Then she scowled as it clicked that he was teasing.

  Alric laughed as he headed off to sit down.

  Once seated, the thought hit him. The item box had rules. No, wait. First the fruit.

  The apple had been fine. Unremarkable. Not very sweet. That meant a narrow window for cider. He paused, realising with faint annoyance that he really was thinking like a brewer now. He had not committed much money to it yet, but once the armour sold… bah.

  He pulled out his notes from the day before. Brewing was the only option where he had anything resembling an advantage. Think like a brewer, Alric.

  Yes, cider was a short window. But the heat stone. That changed things. No. First the item box. That needed understanding before anything else.

  He set the bag of fruit on the table and drew out an apple. He tried to place it back into the item box deliberately, choosing a specific spot. It worked, but only if he held both the object and the location in his mind at once. That took more effort than he had expected.

  Alright. But what about quantities? Grain. Liquids.

  He retrieved the sack of grain and loosened the tie, spilling some into his palm. He pushed the handful into the item box and it vanished immediately. When he tried to retrieve a single grain, nothing happened.

  He frowned.

  Why?

  He placed the pile of grain he’d just put into the item box onto the table. That worked immediately. He stared at it, as though it were trying to tell him something.

  “So… if I think of it as a group,” he muttered, “it’s a group?”

  He spread the grain out slightly, then tried again. It worked. He spread the grain out and found it came back in the same loose arrangement.

  Alright. But rotation?

  He focused and turned it ninety degrees. That worked too, though it felt wrong, like pushing against something that preferred things to stay as they were. The strain crept in quickly, a pressure behind his eyes, as if the item box itself disapproved of the effort.

  He stopped before the headache could take hold and cleared the table, leaving only a single sheet of paper.

  On it, he sketched a crude pot with a magic stone beneath. Childish, but serviceable. He added a line of text beside it.

  Would it be better to submerge it, or place it underneath like the soup guy?

  He tapped a finger beside the question.